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danwhobrowses · 1 year ago

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nothing to see here just a crazy shipper guy going crazy over Callowmoore under the bit, if that's not for you then go about your business

So fellow Callowmoores how we feelin' this morning/evening? Because it's evening right now and I'm still bouncing off the walls in my mind

The one post could not keep me contained! No seriously the amount of tags I put in hit a limit and doesn't show them all

I mean yes we didn't get a kiss (yet) but goddamn we got so much, it has possessed me, deranged me, it's leaking outta my brain I gotta talk about it, so either jump out or buckle up because this overflow is gonna be long

First off I just gotta talk about how so many things almost lined up how I imagined them because it just makes it feel like they looked into my head and thought 'hey that's kinda good'. Like, I wanted Fearne to take the shard at Mori's, it was a safer space for her than the Ziggurat which is tainted by bad memories (this and other campaigns), I just didn't expect it so soon, thought they'd at least have a full rest first. In fact I had a whole scene in my mind where in a desperate gambit Delilah took over Laudna while she slept and just knocked on Ashton's door in a form of dread going 'where's the shard Ashton?'. It's key to this I promise not only because I enjoyed the idea of Ashton not taking any of Delilah's shit (plus for you Imodnas out there the mental scene involves Ashton whispering 'Imogen's in danger' to wake her, they also ask where Paté is because they still have that 'Paté is Delilah' theory) but it also expanded on the possible helplessness Ashton would have being unable to assist Fearne with taking the shard

'You're a child, Ashton. A blunt instrument that charges blindly into harm, would you really risk Fearne's life to earn her forgiveness? You know what it can do, what happens when you can't protect her from it?'

Of course, Ashton would never give Delilah the shard, which would frustrate Delilah since she can't manipulate them, but the comment weighs on Ashton a little. Which is when the whole waking Laudna happens and she leaves, but Fearne is in his room (the Vox Machina bathtub scene being inspiration), having asked to sleep there for comfort and asks them if it worries them. Which is where I often got to use this quote

'I don't believe in fate, but I believe in you'

And it sticks with me because it's super romantic, but also on-brand for Ashton, there were variations like the longer 'things only affect our path if we choose to believe they do; fate is complicated, the gods don't give a fuck, and I don't wanna even think about legacy anymore, I don't believe in them, but I believe in you' but then the next morning comes and Ashton gives her the ring, since I forgot about attunement there were instances where it was a sneaky sleight of hand thing, and Fearne completes the process. Of course, with weeks to go on there were a lot more scenarios like Fearne pickpocketing the Ashton doll to practice talking to and putting it back, Ashton seeking Mori for advice, herbal tea visions where Ashton entered their own mind and encounters the empress while on the outside Delilah possesses Laudna to try and drain the power from them, one where the shard having been reshaped through Ashton is less intense on Fearne for the first 4 rounds (since they blew up on the fifth) because Ashton's essence is containing and dissipating the hostile energy, and one where the group secretly vote against Ashton being there for Fearne taking the shard (Imogen, Laudna, and Chetney 3 to 2 against Orym and FCG) but Fearne as the decider pulls them over because she needs them there, stuff like that I'm sure fanfic writers could consume to their heart's content (and are free to, go nuts). But these scenes stood out because it had elements of stuff that are linked to or actually happened in the episode; Fearne does take the shard, Ashton endorses that Fearne is the only one who can take it, Ashton gives her the ring and Shattered Vigor is apparently a thing where Ashton is practically taking Fearne's pain to protect her, that alone is enough to go insane over.

And can we talk about the ring for a moment, because like THE RING. I'm not talking about generically either I mean that this ring has been significant to the shard saga ever since Ashton claimed it. It was found on the corpse of someone infused into stone, into the earth, right between the whole eidolons stuff where Ashton connected with an Earth elemental and then the Grau Dashari stuff with the crystals they merged with their hammer and then the Bor'dor incident, that could've easily been a titan-based punishment. Also, Ring of Volcanic Flesh, like Ashton's stone arm? And if that wasn't enough, what was the first thing Fearne stole from Ashton when they reunited? The ring, the act that broke down Ashton's walls as they let out a most heartfelt 'I missed you, so much' the ring that Fearne stole right off of Ashton's fingers only for them to willingly put in her hand to protect her, because just as they said at the clock tower, everything they have belongs to her. And while legacy and hubris had a part in the shard incident, part of it was also for Fearne. I don't believe there's any situation where if Fearne said she wanted the shard at the clock tower Ashton would've said no; Ashton knows that Fearne was key to the shard dislodging in the lava, they sensed it was in a way key to both of them, but there was no reality where Ashton was gonna force Fearne to take the shard if she didn't want it. And yes it blew up in their face, much like Fearne they saw an image of themselves they didn't want to be, their soul broke with the realisation that they hurt the one person they never wanted to hurt, but thanks to Percy they also realised that they had to change. It wasn't enough to see everyone else having someone at the reunion and internalizing 'if someone has to not come back it's gotta be me' they had to make steps towards being the person the Hells needs them to be, someone who can come back with them.

Which is where last episode started setting it up, and I didn't speak much about it at the time because other than the pretty plain 'I would've rather died than hurt Fearne' insinuation (which in turn was confessed to save Fearne from falling) there was only crumbs that could be interpreted other ways; for instance Birdie's tale with Athion and Olly being somewhat of a parallel to Tevan and Ashton, the formers wooing Birdie and Fearne with temptations of indulgence while the latters drawing their attention by being subjects of intrigue, defiance and kindness, plus they saved the latters (Birdie literally via escaping the prisons and Fearne emotionally and literally), or before the Orym conversation when Ashton takes 'one last look' Taliesin looks towards Ashley last. But I knew there was poetic significance to Ashton failing the communication trial, Marisha sensed the vibe too, but even though Fearne was nervous about guiding Ashton, the fault fell to poor dice rolls (and Liam not keeping shtum and summoning thunderwasps) and once again Ashton in an attempt to prove themselves falls flat on their ass in front of the person they most want to prove it to. And that did break my heart a little I must admit because as poetic as it was who hasn't been there? Ashton's journey of proving themselves has been laden with failure too; being unable to protect anyone from Otohan led to them almost being TPK'd, being unable to keep the group together at the Malleus Key led to the group being scattered, and then Team Trauma's stuff - Orym was despondent and Laudna's a wreck, got a random 'shepherd's boy', a powerful Cobalt Soul teen prodding about the solstice and all of Deni$e here added as mainly combat support, loners but no leaders, Dawnfather angel thinks them insignificant, dark spirits trying to consume their only leads about the Hishari - and the moment Ashton started to trust Bor'dor after the pipe vision what happens? Betrayal, Hunger of the Shadow and Delilah is let back in, Ashton couldn't even keep Laudna safe from herself, they reunite, try to sort out their shit with their past, discover that they might have a destiny to fulfill and end up being too willing to die in place of others, and unable to protect their new family from themselves, because of these recent failures it was important that Ashton proved themselves in the trust trial.

And thankfully they did, there was no way to prove that anyone was a Doppelganger and yet, Ashton still trusted Fearne; twice saving her from the flora even when told to leave her behind. And they were close to another failure when the branch was snatched - after their attempts to keep it safe by throwing it in the pool alone - but they trusted Chet and Orym (father/son duo) to cover more ground while they helped Fearne. And even when FCG told Ashton 'I think it's Fearne', and when Imogen was untrusting of Fearne, Ashton abandoned their held action to save FCG from the brambles because they knew Fearne could be trusted. They trusted Imogen to connect to Ruidus and as mentioned endorsed Fearne to take the shard.

And sure, in my mental scenarios Ashton gives her the shard, doing the same she did for them, but I did say almost like how I imagined. And Ashton still did everything they could, plus Imogen comforted their visible worry, but once it's complete they're just in awe, and then their own spark awakens through her touch, a touch they were unafraid of even at the threat of newfound fire, and now for the first time ever they feel whole. She saved them, and now they finally feel complete, and now this time Fearne is agape, Fearne is in awe, and everything she had hoped Ashton would gain from taking the shard before has come to fruition through her, and it's just, joy, pure incorruptible joy, a kindred connection that belongs to just them. Plus a big piece of paper for all the new powers they are excited to learn about from each other, with each other, and while Matt can talk about there being risks to them because you gotta balance the combat the narrative significance is still there.

But dammit they need to kiss, I've yelled it enough times in my head; like the lava, the clock tower, before and after Fearne took the shard, the only times they did kiss was before the solstice (the forehead kiss) and the ziggurat and both preceded bad times, they deserve a proper one, not one at risk of being a goodbye, something precious, irreplaceable and theirs to have, to share. And I don't know if they should use the patented 'can I kiss you?' or take a tip from BeauYasha and use 'I wanna kiss you so bad right now' or find something else to make their own but I desire it so much, had it happened this ep I probably would've melted out of my seat. They're awkward and nervous but they gotta take the leap, Ashton needs to realise they're loved and maybe even be told that they deserve it even when they feel they don't, and Fearne has to take a risk too, the shard put doubt to her decisions but that doesn't mean she can run from her strong emotions. It doesn't fix everything of course, but sometimes people heal better together than apart. As a currently vorbed half-elf once said 'drink the courage first'.

Curiosity continues to send me after the ep, and while some people are attempting to blemish or rain on the parade (I mean, I try not to speak ill of other ships in general, but if you're gonna be negative about it you can at least do it in your lane, your tags not ours) I am still just riding the high of the possibilities. True, the unknown can make me nervous, and I will admit the group has to give Ashton and Fearne space (they're just excited, and with the bloody bridge hinting to be a final moon-based battle there is that sense of urgency) Imodna had nudges sure but they have been a bit heavy-handed and kinda chaperoned around them, Fearne and Ashton seldom get time alone, one can hope they can get that time with each other next episode.

#critical role #cr 3 #cr 3 spoilers #c3e80 #callowmoore #ashton greymoore #fearne calloway #ashton x fearne #fearne x ashton #rockwild #bells hells #for anyone who read the whole thing props to you I understand I unloaded a lot of crazy onto you I'm sorry #I have questions about the new powers too; does Mister get an upgrade? Can elementals be summoned? Is it like a Sorcerer multiclass?#do primordials have a equivalent to divine smite? Can it be used on other champions or Predathos?#how do the divines react to this? Asmodeus wanted them for the Calamity and Dawnfather does seem to hold grudges...Wildmother not so much #and do the titans themselves feel adverse to stopping Predathos? Since it aids their enemy that essentially colonized on them #I fear fuckery next episode of course but today's a good day and I will not let anyone ruin that #I will ride this high as long as I can though but I do also need to sleep I got a travel weekend to do visiting relatives #I am so consumed by this ship that it rivals my own birthday as the best thing to happen this week #I am absolutely unashamedly not normal about them #tag bonus: matching shirts! Precious/Irreplaceable and Adorable/Ignorant also all the Hells have 'if lost return to Nancy' shirts #taliesin jaffe #ashley johnson

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roamingtigress · 10 months ago

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Desire

Hosea and Dutch, who have been inseparable for over thirty years, are now old men. Though their love has remained the same, their bodies have changed over the years, changes that have left them feeling a bit self-conscious and vulnerable.

One Valentine's Day though changes their perspective, and they both learn to embrace the beauty of aging. (It's safe for work just a bit lengthy! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Even if you just want to call me a nerd.)

It's Valentine's Day, a day we forego going on trade runs and bounty hunts, to make it a day just for ourselves and, well, what one often does on Valentine's Day.

Our Valentine's Days are also never without the theme of trying to outdo each other. If Dutch gets me orchids and chocolates that are just the right size to hand-feed to me, I'll set up a bathtub littered with rose petals with classic music being played in the background. You can call us sappy if you'd like; we've been called worse.

"This will be the year I will outdo you, Hosea!"

I roll my eyes inwardly, scoffing. Truth be told, there is, of course, no real winner in this competition; we both benefit when we try to out-spoil each other. Eventually, we both end up being naked at some point in the day, sometimes throughout the whole day. If you can guess it was Dutch who started it all, you'd be right. He wanted to make our Valentine's Day more romantic than anyone else's and wanted to see how far we'd take it. It's one of the plans he has put together that hasn't turned into a disaster, for the most part. There was that one disastrous breakfast in bed which he burned, but he meant well.

I roll aside and sit up in bed, playfully tapping him on his nose. "Game on, Dutch, game on."

Dutch just giggles, the winter sun reflecting beautifully on his features. They also expose the scars he's gained over the years from misadventures, some of which he exaggerates; the one on his chin was from when he dared to shave himself in the dark. Mistake. I've seen his hair in better shape; the messiness of it adds to his decidedly playful demeanor this morning. He pokes my nose back.

"It'll be hard to beat last year."

Yes, last year. We stowed away on a classy passenger ship, that lovely Grand Korrigan. I had intentions to buy tickets but they were sold out, so we did what we did, with the added thrill of the idea of being caught being a stowaway. We managed to stay off the radar, up until . . .

"We emptied everyone's wallets in poker, and we ran out on the deck . . ."

As Dutch chuckles, there is as much laughter in his eyes as there is in his voice. "We had that mob of stuffed shirts chase us back inside, down the hall towards our room --"

"And I was so turned on by the way you handled the table, that you had to relieve me. I couldn't make it to the room and well, it was getting awkward trying to run with an erection." I let my finger drag along the side of his cheek as I lay back down beside him.

"Stroking me off in the hallway, while we kissed . . ."

Dutch's eyes take on a mischievous glint. "And we got caught."

"We did!"

The fellows we played with weren't so disgusted at us for doing what we were doing (I suspected a few were queer; one just gets a vibe from another) but rather that we parted with their money and they finally caught the miscreants who robbed them. There was that one comment about 'I knew you two were's queer before you two even sat at the table together.' I threw them an empty wallet that I had often carried around with me to throw off someone's game (fancy wording for scamming) and dragged Dutch down the hallway and into our room.

I lean over, kiss him softly on his lips, and slowly pull away just to make soft eye contact. Perhaps it wasn't a traditionally, conventionally romantic moment; there was the thrill of being caught and sure enough, it happened. For us, it was thrillingly romantic; our hearts pounded when we heard those footsteps rushing towards us and before we could pull away (not that we wanted to), they caught it.

"Oh, it was so much fun."

Dutch's hand softly cups the side of my face, as he looks into my eyes. "Unbelievably so."

Dutch later got a fancy bath prepared for us, complete with champagne and rose petals. Securing that arrangement was interesting. I stole a man's identity when we were playing poker, and the fellow who was smooth-talked into arranging the bath assumed the fancy lady who accompanied the stolen man's identity was going to join Dutch; ironically some raven-haired dutchess from Europe. It would come as no surprise if I told you we made love in that tub; not merely sex, but making love. When Dutch puts his weird little mind to it, he is something. We both deserved a little reward for that collaboration.

"Got any plans, Dutch?" I had to ask.

Dutch looks like he's in thought as if he hadn't planned for weeks. I know better and he knows that I know better. "I might have a few . . ." He muses. "But they're for me to know and for you to find out!"

"You little shit!"

My husband, finding amusement at my expense once more, I have a way of bringing it out in him. He pulls me up on top of him as if I were a blanket, in such a position that I would be facing him; I can't complain. His body is so warm that it felt like I was pulled up over a hot water bottle.

"I thought I'd surprise you, 'sea."

I couldn't help but notice that when he pulled me up on top of him, his pyjamas (surprisingly with mangos and books and cigars printed on them) had shifted in such a way that revealed a nipple; it stared up at me. What a tease.

"With a nipple reveal, Dutch? What a slut."

I lean in and kiss it, I just had to. He squeaks.

"T-they might make an appearance."

I smile a mischievous smile. "Well, I would hope so. It's Valentine's Day! So what if Hosea Fucks Friday was the other day. If we don't take our clothes off at some point of the day, then it's just another day."

I close my eyes as I feel a big hand slip underneath my pyjama shirt, finding its way to my back. He rubs in a smooth massage, his fingers gracefully working their magic. "Patience, Mr. Matthews. I have a plan!"

Of course he does.

If that plan involves him massaging me all day, I'll take it. I arch my back, encouraging him. Sure enough, he gets the hint and works in a firmer caress and I let out a long sigh; the combination of the warm body against mine, his touch, his heart and my heart beating against each other.

"You're off to a good start . . . " I murmur, my eyes closing.

Dutch of course, almost; in that childish sort of way he does over every little thing he does that goes without a hitch. "Had to start somewhere." There's a spark to his eyes. "You know how it goes with us, once one touches another . . ."

"Of course . . . " I murmur, framing his jaw in my hands. "Both of us are just so . . . Easy."

I study his face for a long time, taking in the contours of his cheekbones and how the light played on them. There are scars scattered across his cheek and chin; the one you might see most noticeably is from a shaving challenge if you will. He thought he could shave just as well in the dark as in the daytime, I dared him to do it, and well, he did, and removed a little piece of chin. He tells everyone it was from a grazed bullet. I then feel his face studying mine. He had a sort of dreamy look to his face, almost . . . Almost like when we first met. We 'looked into each other's eyes and saw something', and it would seem he's seeing something. He's eyeing me like a beautiful painting, a statue, a prize-winning stallion.

We've been together for over thirty years. Things have changed over those decades. We both have wrinkles and curves in places that didn't have them before. Certain things are sagging a bit. We both have a bit of a paunch, one of us more than the other and by 'other' I'm not referring to myself.

"My days of looking good are long over, Dutch."

"Nonsense!" Dutch scoffed, giving my nose a gentle tweak. "And as part of my plan, I'll show you!"

Now I've heard him say 'I have a plan many a time and for the most part, nothing of note comes of it (minus those plans that go awry and end up in absolute chaos) . . . But, I was curious, given what day it is.

Dutch carefully rolls me off of him and heads to our bookcase which is a glorified small library. I watch curiously as he meanders over to the bookcase. His once rolling strut now takes on a bit of a shuffle, the limp that he's had since his forties has gotten more obvious. The life that we led had caught up to us both. I shake my head as I note his pyjama pants have hiked down a bit, I see the crack of his ass; that ass isn't as supple as you can say these days but still something to grab. I have to reassure him that he looks as handsome as ever, as he doesn't think so. Words aren't always enough; I have to show him, touch him in those special spots he feels vulnerable about, and make him feel beautiful. Likewise, Dutch still thinks I'm as handsome as ever. I'm a weathered old man of seventy-five, but . .. He has his way of bringing me around. He's a man who can master words, and know how to say the right things even if if I'm not feeling the words he's describing. Some say that's mere manipulation, but speaking of someone who has such an intimately deep connection, I can tell you it's the intimacy of the soulmate.

I watch curiously as he picks up a long green-covered book, of medium thickness and then a stick of graphite from a box on the bookshelf and slides on his thick black-framed glasses; I raise an eyebrow. It then occurs to me . . .

Did this man creep into my head, and rob me of my plan? Now I taught him a few things but I don't think I've taught him *that* well. I want to tell him that I have the same idea where I'd be drawing, but . . . No. I'll surprise him.

"Oh, I'm sure there are prettier things that you can draw. Like what's outside the window, that Heartlands landscape—"

Dutch lets out a deep belly laugh as he sits down, clapping my knee as he perches on the edge of the bed, facing me. "Am I married to the landscape?"

I retort; he opened the door for it. "Sometimes I think life would be easier If I was married to the Heartland Overflow! With all the frogs and the muskrats . . . "

"Destined to live with pests then, huh?"

That idiot just laughs again knowing it was my turn to walk into it, hugging that book to him as I give him a halfhearted kick. He then studies me for a long moment, his eyes twinkling as he just looks over at me. I can't deny he's being adorable; I can't get seriously annoyed. Yes, he's still frustratingly charming and uses it at every opportunity to get his way. Very frustrating.

"How do you want me posed?" I ask, remembering the last time we've drawn each other . . . Oh, it's been years.

We were both young and took up (illegal) residence in a shoreside house on Iron Lake. It belonged to an artist who was at the time, away in Paris and as something to do to pass the time when it was raining, we took time drawing one another. We were fitter then, with fewer wrinkles in some places, fresher faced. The drawings are still framed over our bed. That house went from being owned by an artist to a fisherman and now it's abandoned when he packed up his fishing gear and took up residence that was owned by some fellow named Hamish. Maybe one day, we'll get our boys to fix it up for a little family retreat.

I watch Dutch's face take on a pondering expression, his eyes softly scanning my form, mentally taking note of every detail. I find myself doing the same with him; there's love in those eyes, a certain twinkle to go with it that tells me this is a fun little activity borne out of love. I could tell him that there are more attractive, younger models out there he could use. I'm sure some art school out Saint Denis could provide them, but he'd argue that there'd be no one else that he'd want to draw.

"Natural, with that faraway look I often catch you in. Y'know, the look I catch you when you're reading and tryin' to ignore me."

I laugh but sit up in bed, keeping one knee up and bracing myself with my left arm, while the other casually drapes down.

"A little overdressed there, Mr. Matthews?" Dutch warmly teases; that twinkle in his eyes, that playful but loving tone in his voice... I suppose he loves me. "I... I want to show how handsome you are still."

I sigh. There's no fighting with him over this; he'll think I'm gorgeous if I'm wearing a paper bag. With some feigned reluctance, I shed off my pyjamas, putting on a little show for him because I do like that stupid smile and making him a little thirsty somehow, before placing them on the bedside dresser.

As Dutch makes himself comfortable on the edge of the bed, I reposition and take on that look he so desires. He's got that mustache twisted up into a smile as he starts. He's posing rather artistically himself; he's got his ass sinking into the corner of the mattress, one ankle and foot tucked up behind his knee which belongs to a leg he lets lazily dangle off the mattress. His head is tilted in that way when he's about to cause a stir with me, complete with that damn spark in his eye. He's got that damn pyjama top unbuttoned to his navel and has a nipple staring out at me. I'm not sure if this 'wardrobe malfunction' (as you kids call it) is intentional or accidental, but knowing him so intimately I'm going with the latter. It drives me nuts when he dresses like that, I can't keep my eyes off him, I can't keep my hands off of him, and he knows it; what an old tart.

As Dutch makes himself comfortable on the edge of the bed, I reposition and adopt the look he desires. He's got that mustache twisted up into a smile as he starts posing rather artistically; his ass sinking into the corner of the mattress, one ankle and foot tucked up behind his knee, lazily dangling off the mattress. His head is tilted in that way when he's about to cause a stir with me, complete with that damn spark in his eye. He's got that damn pyjama top unbuttoned to his navel, and a nipple is staring out at me. I'm not sure if this 'wardrobe malfunction' (as you kids call it) is intentional or accidental, but knowing him so intimately, I'm going with the latter. It drives me nuts when he dresses like that; I can't keep my eyes off him, I can't keep my hands off of him, and he knows it; what an old tart.

I decide to poke him in his belly with a toe, making him squeak; he's still stupidly ticklish. "Dutch, you're distracting me."

Dutch's silly smile turns into a grin. He felt my eyes on him; I was egging him on. "Pretend I'm being an annoying shit when you're reading, and you're trying to engross yourself in your fictional fantasy."

I scoff, somehow managing to retain my expression and pose. I scoldingly point and shake my finger at him, and that grin just widens, with a chuckle. "When aren't you being an annoying shit? And when I do engross myself in my fictional fantasies, you decide it's time to get needy and crawl into my lap for your hair to be played with and your belly to be rubbed." Admittedly, I inadvertently encourage that because I can't resist; once he brings out the puppy eyes act, I can't resist.

"Point taken!" Dutch's voice is boisterous at my rebuttal; he rolls with my punches and brings out another zinger at me as he points the graphite stick at me.

"Now who's distracting who? With you thinkin' about touching me and all."

I roll my eyes and shake my head at that sass, which he accentuates with a squirm of his ass. "Dutch . . ." I could go on with this back-and-forth banter all day; I enjoy it more than I let on. A big part of me wants to keep poking the bear, to see what he comes up with next, and to surprise him with what I'm capable of. But . . . I am curious to see this masterpiece he's working on, and I'd like to see it before I head off to the afterlife.

Dutch starts at his work slowly, his hand moving at a slow, fluid pace for the most part, intermittently peppered with rapid flicks of his wrist.

"This isn't one of those caricature pieces, is it?" I ask curiously, maybe with some caution; we have such a piece above our dresser; some silly Frenchman did it for us when we made a trip to, ugh, Saint Denis when I visited family and Dutch insisted on tagging along. It's a cute style, a cute piece, but I'd rather some of my features not be exaggerated if he's drawing me in the nude.

"Real-life study, Old Girl!" Dutch beamed, creases forming in the corners of his eyes; he's frustratingly adorable when he's enthusiastic about something to the point where the crow's feet arrive to roost.

I feel like disappearing into the bedsheets as I sense a wave of vulnerability washing over me. It's not often I feel vulnerable. He means well; the love is evident in his eyes, though; I can't bring myself to say no to this thing.

"You . . . You don't have to draw every detail."

Dutch frowns, tipping his head in that way when he's puzzled by something, not dissimilar to a dog puzzled by some strange sound that it doesn't know what it is. Occasionally, he'll do that in an argument, as if not understanding why I'm upset with him.

"I find every detail of you to be beautiful, 'sea."

"Every bit?" I ask, tilting my head as well.

As a spouse with over twenty years of experience, it's natural to find at least one part of your partner's body to be, well, not beautiful. For Dutch, it's that damn ugly right toe of his, crooked and bigger than the other, and yet it's the one that he likes to poke me with.

Dutch gently insisted, his face taking on a sort of dreamy expression. "Every bit. And I love to kiss every bit of your body --"

I gently but firmly interrupt; if I don't, there goes his plan, and it'd be another on the pile of failed plans. How do I know this? Because that silly man has a hard time keeping his hands off of me (and I admit the feeling is mutual for as much of a pain in the ass he is and how much it just encourages him), or his lips off my body, and this drawing will never get done! Maybe if he doesn't interrupt me again, he can get what he wants. It is lovely having him kiss over my body, and they can be the softest, sweetest little kisses. He's a bit slower at them these days, as if memorizing every inch of my body.

"Dutch, you're distracting me."

Dutch snickers, outright snickers, and returns to work once I roll my eyes and regain my composure, repositioning myself.

"Cheekbones . . . " Dutch whispers, half to himself; it was one of those cases where he thinks his thoughts are still inside his head but he lets them spill out. "Still beautiful, defined cheekbones . . . "

I have a tiny smile threatening to grow. My cheekbones are one feature of me that I'm still rather fond of. My face has sunken with age, as Dutch's has; his cheekbones are more prominent than when I first met him. I often catch him running a thumb over mine as he looks into my eyes. Sometimes before a kiss, sometimes as he's telling me how much he loves me or something equally sappy. He likes to kiss them in the morning, trying to butter me up after he stirs me awake because, with certainty, I can say that he's the thing that stirs me awake, and I'm not a morning person.

"Eyes that look into my soul . . . "

Now he's getting a bit sappy. I've heard him describe my eyes as having a lot of soul and, at times, a certain weariness to them (I can't imagine why). I manage that faraway look, though my focus isn't entirely so far away, but at the man drawing me and beyond.

"I'm so attractive you can't keep your eyes on me." Dutch teases, snickering again when I scoff. He is indeed a lovely specimen to look at but at this moment, he's more silly than sexy, but I'll let an old manchild dream that he's still a Roman sculpture of a man.

"I'm looking behind you." I'm trying to focus on the painting of our dearly departed Labrador, Matilda -- who was buried between Silver Charm and The Count -- emphasis on trying, as he's 'caught' me.

My dear husband is onto me, scoffing away. "Sure, sure . . . "

Dutch studies me for a long time, just smiling, looking at me the way a schoolboy looks at his crush, and I let out an exasperated sigh when he itches at his chest. It looked a little planned, to tease me, to show a little skin, which isn't as taut as it used to be; I might have caught a bit of a jiggle on that tit. But he's still gorgeous to me, jiggly bits and all. "Hey, when you got an itch, you scratch it!" Dutch tsk tsks as he catches me glancing at him for half a second.

"Slut!" I retort.

The idiot just grins like the Cheshire Cat; he knows that I know that was an attempt to flirt. Love. He's in love. I've had fleeting moments where I think life without him would be easier but they're fleeting when I think how much life would be. . . Well, duller, without him. He does provide unexpected moments of amusement like this, he's a warm body to snuggle up to at night and a damn good kisser. In my prime, I could have found someone better in bed (he's a bottom through and through and a bratty sub at that), but, well, I suppose I'm in love, too. I take on that faraway look, just 'thinking.'

"You know, I've always loved your nose. Perfectly kissable!" Dutch will be narrating this whole thing, just wait; he doesn't have to give progress reports but he feels it's his duty.

"You think every part of my body is kissable."

I'm convinced that the smile on Dutch's face will freeze on his face permanently. "Oh, I do . . . " He plans on kissing every inch of my body when we're done with this thing, I just know it. And I plan on doing the same for him.

All banter aside, as I put on my 'faraway stare', I feel exposed, but at the same time . . . Desired. Now and then we put each other in such a position where we will feel vulnerable; some may say it's 'toxic' but it's one of our ways of showing the trust we have in each other, a sort of gentle surrender in our dynamics; normally I'm the head of the household here but once in a while I'll let him take the reins and see what he does with them before taking hold of them, where I'll remind him. I would never shed my clothes in the name of art for anyone other than this man. In his younger years, Dutch would have jumped at the chance to be drawn in the nude, but with the contours he's gained over the years and knowing how self-conscious he can be of them, it's likely he too would only do this for me.

I can't help but be drawn by the elegance of his hand movements, even the movements he's making for what I'm assuming is shading; those are more deliberate. "Right after your hands, my favourite part of you is your chest. It's a safe for your heart and there's no force on earth or beyond that can bust it open."

The damn fool thinks I'm invincible. I know it's a lie he tells himself that he believes and tells me and tells others, as I know losing me is one of his greatest fears. It's a lie he uses to comfort himself and I won't take it away from him. Deep down, with my decade age gap, I fear I may go first, and one of my fears is leaving him behind. Dutch is much more fragile than he lets on. He won't do well without me. Not one bit.

But enough of the depressing talk.

Going from the circular motions of his hand, I can tell he's drawing my nipples, a part of my body that I don't think much of. That is until my mustached companion here decides to play with them and then I'm convinced they're hooked up with electricity with all its nerves. We both alike used to be firmer on that region on the map, like everything else but, we'll live with what we have.

"Do you know why men have nipples for, 'sea?"

Ahah! I knew it.

I think for a moment, though. I could think of some smartass response, but then I decided to show I know as much as he does. "They're leftover from when us fellows are developing in the womb if my memory serves me." I vaguely remember those details; it's been a bit since I've looked up the medical books. The last time I read one was when Dutch got a boil on the inside of one of his ass cheeks a few years ago and I wanted to get it properly drained; pardon me, that was too much information. I'm sure nobody wanted to know about an old man's bottom.

Dutch decides to be the smartass.

"Well, that's the boring answer."

"I was going for the scientific explanation."

"You can call it what you want," Dutch insisted with a smirk. "Medical professionals say they serve no purpose as we develop, but I disagree. These medical 'professionals' as they call themselves, must have less of a sex life than us old wrinklies."

I scoff. No doubt some of those experts are 'old wrinklies themselves, not much younger than us, but . . . "You can call yourself an old wrinkly. I prefer to use the term 'senior citizen.'"

Dutch can't help himself. "With citizenship, comes governance!"

Yes, he's still a rebel. He has trouble now and then getting up on his horse, an Irish Cob gelding named Blagdon, but he still thinks he's a revolutionary. I'll let him dream on.

Dutch is putting details into the collarbone; I can just tell from the expression alone; a soft, reflective expression as his eyes fall on my chest. Though the connection was there right at the beginning -- we looked into each other's eyes and saw something -- Dutch was, possibly to your surprise, socially charming at the start of our dating -- he could charm the socks off of you -- but awkward when it came to the art of seduction; maybe he was shy. I was his first experience with another man and I thought at the time he was a bit intimidated; my age gap didn't help, I thought. I was gentle, I was patient, and we took that part slowly. He loved to linger on my chest; he still does. He peppers a series of kisses along my collarbone before working his way downwards. It feels wonderful, and I can even remember the first time he did it; I ran my hands through his hair, giving the softest of kisses, and the lightest of nibbles as if he was eating corn on the cob.

"Such an underrated part of the body . . . " I think out loud, amazed at myself for remembering those little memories. "And yet you give it so much love . . ."

There's a warm twinkle in Dutch's eyes. "First place I kissed south of your lips. Every part of the body needs a bit of attention; everything is connected."

He works on my arms and shoulders next; those admittedly are still decently toned, as are his. We often don't think about how often we use them in our day-to-day lives. Even at my age of seventy-five and him at sixty-five, we still dance with our arms around each other, we enwrap each other around with them at nighttime. We often get nightmares; I suppose with the lifestyle we led before retiring, it comes naturally, so those embraces at night can get tight. Often, we wake up with crescent marks on our skin from our nails, and our ribs feeling bruised, and we don't even realize that we've been clinging to each other so hard. We use them to embrace each other during our lovemaking; we don't leave dents in the wall much anymore, but us 'old wrinklies' as Dutch refers to us as, do have sex. It's a little slower now, but still so good, even better as we've become so at one with each other's bodies.

Pardon me.

Attached to arms, of course, are hands, which his focus floats on next. I've mentioned before in another story that they're Dutch's favourite part of me, tied with my heart. Well, as an update, Dutch still loves the way I touch him. I love how they glide over the contours of his body, how they'll move about like a spider when I scritch and tickle, which he acts like he hates but I know he loves it, and eventually surrenders to. I love the way our fingers interlace; despite the difference in size and shape of our fingers. I love how they fit in with each other.

"I should do a study on your hands, Old Girl," Dutch purred, taking his time; I know he won't skimp on their details; every line on my knuckles will be drawn. "I still remember the first time you touched me, just a quick touch on the top of my hand when you brought that pan of bacon and eggs over to me, but I felt 'something' even there. And did I ever do things where you could 'accidentally' touch me."

I laugh, having a memory of him 'accidentally' brushing his hand against mine as we walked through some town. I don't know where it was, but I damn well knew he was flirting with me and I had to take him back behind somewhere to give him my first kiss. I wish I could remember where it was; I'd be happy to recreate it with him.

After a moment, he puts the graphite stick down for a moment and swallows hard. There's something he was trying to forget; I know the look he gets when he does that.

"Dutch . . . ?" I asked softly, concerned; I want to hold him and will.

"I'm just scared . . . " A word he doesn't use often; now it was his turn to feel vulnerable. "Of losing our memories."

I want to reach out and hold him, and I will. Sometimes I find myself forgetting about mundane things, locking the door and such, and it scares me. Dutch will forget things and will put on a stoic act; except today. Today was the first day where I caught him afraid of losing his most precious memories. The fear of getting dementia for people of our age is very real; we've built a life together, raised a family, lived out some dreams and let others slip through our fingers. To help us preserve those memories, we've created journals, and photographs taken of us, and now . . . Drawing each other again, this time as old men.

"I'll help you with that, my love," I speak softly. "It's why I agreed to do this."

I get a smile out of him again, and I'm glad of it. I don't like letting him stray into dark thoughts for long; it can be hard to bring him out of it. "I thought it was because you knew I was going to bring out the puppy eyes." Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he still uses them to try and get his way and yes, it's still very effective; damn manipulative old fart.

"That was part of it," I scoff. "I've never been good at resisting those."

Dutch gave me that look as he continued to draw, presumably my torso next. I know he won't spare any details. "There were maybe a handful of times when they didn't work. You put up one of those big personal space bubbles. I didn't care to cross those. You'd chase me off, and I knew how good you were with the gun." He laughed, still that husky laugh from all those years ago.

I smirk. I admit I got a bit of a power trip out of that. The others . . . Oh, they couldn't help but stop and watch. Maybe I earned more respect from them, and I might have carried a little swagger with them as well. Everyone needs a little ego boost.

"But . . . You'd always charmed and wormed your way back into my heart," I laugh, fondly remembering; putting up those invisible barriers was for the best when I felt my blood boiling after he said or did something particularly stupid, but it was so hard on both of us. "You did your damned 'I'll lie in your lap while you read so you pay complete attention to me' thing, to buying expensive things for me from chocolate to wine and silly imported cologne and gold watches and other expensive trinkets." Truthfully, one could think he was trying to buy off my anger, and maybe it was an attempt to do that, but . . . I found it amusing to see how far he'd go with it.

"You still have that gold watch from when that happened the first time," Dutch said, a certain twinkle in his eye; it still works after all these years. "Bought it with the money I got from that bank job."

There were so many opportunities that he had where he could just steal something for me but just didn't. "You never did like stealing my gifts directly."

"I find it more rewarding," Dutch murmured, a wide smile appearing across his face; from the motions of his hand, he's working on some shading. "Besides, we got the money, might as well put it to some use."

I find that charming. And one of his best assets is that he's charming, and he can be an absolute menace with it. It's why, of course, I've gone softer on him than I should have over the years. I could have rejected those little gifts when I dropped my invisible barrier, could have shoved him off my lap when he crawled into it, but . . . Sigh. He's impossible.

Then, Dutch charms me yet again.

He turns the sketchbook around to show me the progress of his work.

I'm speechless.

"You like it, Hosea?"

I swallow hard. I feel vulnerable once again, but . . . Something else.

Desired.

Laid out in front of me in that drawing is a portrait of an aged man. He has skin that has sagged in places, wrinkles, and contours that weren't there before. He has a slight paunch, very slight, that was once flat. Details of the legs haven't been completed, but there's already the start of some muscle definition there. And yet he carries himself with an air of dignity and wisdom. The shoulders and arms that he's bracing himself on are still nicely toned; maybe not as toned as they were in his youth, but no judgment. He's looking off to some faraway destination, that if I didn't know better, was miles away versus the other handsome elder man a few feet away.

"Yes . . . Yes, I do."

I seem transfixed for a long moment; we just give each other soft eye contact, saying so much with that alone. How we love each other, how we trust each other. He slowly moves back to drawing but peeks out at me from the top of the book as he does.

"What would you say about getting this framed?"

I break my expression to smile. "I'll steal the damn frame for you."

I get another hearty laugh out of him. He works on my legs next, and then my. . . assets. He's a study in concentration, not letting one bit of detail escape him. He knows his way around my body better than I do. Even at our age, we still explore each other as if it is the first time again; truthfully, with that familiarity he has of my body, he probably could have done this drawing blindfolded.

When he's completed, Dutch slips up next to me with the sketchbook clutched to his chest. He has a smile that wouldn't have just lit up our house with electricity, but also the next residence a few miles away that belongs to Lenny. He wraps an arm around my shoulder as he shows me the completed drawing, and I feel a hint of that strength that he still has as he gives me even a gentle squeeze.

I swallow hard, snuggling into his embrace. He senses that I'm getting emotional and kisses me on the top of my head, then my shoulder, and that spot between my head and shoulder. I feel myself nearly speechless, and the words that tumble out of my mouth don't seem enough to convey how I feel. Every detail was etched in; he even drew in scars I've collected over the years. I still feel an edge of vulnerability, but . . .

"It's wonderful, Dutch, thank you . . . " I turn in his hold and hug him tight, lightly rubbing his back as I do; although it still feels strong, the skin shifts there more easily these days and ripples underneath my fingers.

"You make me feel . . . Handsome."

Dutch gives my shoulder a squeeze. "Because you are, Old Girl."

"It's been a while since I've done some drawing, mostly landscapes and rabbits and things as you know, but I promise that I'll try to do you justice."

He nuzzles a kiss on my cheek. I still love the feeling of his bristly stubble on my cheek.

"Don't worry, Old Girl, I'll love it."

There is both unpredictability and predictability to Dutch, even now; he's frustrating in that regard. At the same time, he's a boy who's insecure and needy, craving every scrap of attention and affection that can come his way. He gets plenty of both, but Dutch is Dutch, and I don't see that changing anytime soon.

I take the graphite stick and sketchbook from him as he hands them over, kissing him on the cheek reluctantly as I break away from the hug and shift over to sit at the corner of the bed. "Now, pyjamas off. If I had to, you have to too." I sneak a playful wink.

Dutch chuckles and strips off the pyjamas, deciding to make a little show of it just as I did for him because Dutch is Dutch. He's already front and centre of attention as he's about to restart his modelling career, who thought he'd get back into it at sixty-five? I scoff and roll my eyes; this man amuses me as much as he can frustrate me.

I think for a moment about what pose he should get himself into. He does look rather sexy when he's brooding and smoking a cigar, is still rather delicious when he takes on a pinup girl pose, a silly thing he sometimes does to help get me in the mood. I could have him pose on his hands and knees, but I fear that would be too distracting for me. Then I had another idea, one pose of his that I find so underratedly sexy and beautiful.

"Now something... Vulnerable," I warmly suggest, my eyes gently meeting Dutch's eager gaze as he waits for further instruction. "Maybe that pose you often take after we've had sex, after the aftercare, where you look so... Delectably submissive." As much as the sex is still good and as much as we enjoy, I relish that period afterwards; I often lie in the crook of his arm as we lazily trace patterns on each other's skin, sometimes blowing raspberries on each other if we're feeling silly, and if this isn't unfolding at night, it causes us to happily put off whatever else needs to be done in the day.

Dutch smiles shyly at me and slowly lies on his back. He tucks one hand behind his head, as if playing with his hair (something he does when caught in a lie or playing coy with me for one reason or another), while the other is tucked up on his chest, not unlike a dog who wants his belly rubbed. His legs sprawl out, openly exposing his genitals. His expression is soft, trusting, and loving, his body language submissive and vulnerable, echoing the trust in his expression. At once, he looks incredibly sexy and slutty, yet adorable; a wonderful contradiction before my eyes that I could just about gobble up. Cute aggression, as they call it, is very real.

"You look comfortable," I murmur, letting my eyes roam over him before I start; my voice is soft and soothing, as if calming a restless horse instead of the man who looks anything but restless. "And absolutely... Precious."

Dutch almost whispers; many of you know him as someone who can be, well, loud. "The only way I could be more comfortable would be if you'd be snuggled up against me."

"That'll come when I'm done, Dutch," I smile, deciding to start with his face; I know how hard it is to maintain expression, so I thought it'd be humane to start with that first. "You still have such a gorgeous face."

Truthfully, I feel his face looks wiser than he is, but I love framing it in my hands as I look into those eyes. That big nose is a feature that some (wrongly, in my eyes) view as 'ugly,' but I find it to be wonderful, so unique, and I kiss it at every opportunity. Likewise, I find something special about that cleft chin, which he loves getting scratched. I love tracing a finger along his jawline, along those cheekbones, and of course, kissing those lips. I admit, I enjoy scratching that stupid soul patch, and I can't resist tracing a finger along that mustache as those early morning rays peek through the curtains. I draw each of these features in order of my narration in this paragraph and pour my heart into putting as much detail into them as possible.

Just as he had done with me, I want Dutch to feel as handsome as I see him.

"We should do this more often," Dutch spoke with a slight catch in his voice in his suggestion. "I think... I think it'd be a good way to remind us of the beauty of growing old."

I was touched by that and swallowed hard. He's right; there should be no shame in growing old. Old age shouldn't be something to be ashamed of; it's an accomplishment. I waste no time in making my decision.

"Absolutely," I answer softly, thinking of how beautiful the flowers are in spring in our surrounding area; we reside at what was once called Hanging Dog Ranch. Dutch decided to call it Casa Van der Linde. Are you surprised?

"During nice weather, we could even do it outside. I think that'd be lovely out by the flowers, by the creek."

There was no argument from Dutch. It's one of his favorite spots to read, go for a ride. I've once worried he had gone missing, but I've found him napping against a boulder among the lupins with that damn Evelyn Miller in his lap.

One of his novels, you perverts.

Once I was done with his other facial features, after I etched in my last detail for his ears, I shift my focus to his hair. It's still beautiful, and even more so now that it's silvered, and long! It hangs down his shoulders like a lion; magnificent. And it shines so nicely in those warm sunsets and sunrises and in the candlelight. His hairline has been receding, but he still has those lovely ringlets which I love to twirl between my fingers, and Dutch gets just as much enjoyment out of it. He still pushes his head back against my fingers, his eyes closed in contentment; it's not unheard of that my scalp massages, my playing with his hair goes on for hours. At times, I use his hair as something to grip onto for more risqué purposes. I know what you're thinking, but no, that's not the reason behind his receding hairline.

When I reluctantly pulled my attention away from his hair as I drew one more curl in, I worked on his neck next. The skin there had lost some elasticity, as mine had done as well, but still strong enough to carry that big head of his; it's weighed down with mangoes and plans. Then, his shoulders are my next target. They still have some nice muscle tone to them, and attached, long, lean strong arms (whose skin is thinner these days) that still hold me close and strong at night, as if protecting me from the boogeyman at night.

"I always liked your arms, you know," I muse, taking my time and shading them. "Lean and long and strong, and how I just... fit so well in them."

Dutch looks lost in thought for a moment, though I knew he was listening. There's a warm look in his eyes as if he was reliving a memory. "I remember holding you for the first time. It was that cold night . . . Someplace in West Elizabeth, before there was more development out in Strawberry. The fire wasn't doing a good enough job at keeping you warm and I thought, you'd be warmer up against me."

I chuckle, remembering. We tried to get back there for our latest anniversary; alas, the location was turned into a hunter's lodge for the rich, some big gaudy thing. It made our hearts sink. "It was when we were getting to know each other a little more. Truthfully, I thought you were coming onto me, holding me that close, and so tight. Not that I minded if you were, of course. I kept warm."

There's a spark in Dutch's eyes as he remembered. When you're married to someone as I have been, you notice little things that they tell you with their eyes. "I opened up my coat and pulled you into it, couldn't get all the way closed but I think the combination of our body temperatures compensated."

I can almost feel that warmth again. He had a massive Grizzly Bearskin coat that was an import from Canada, before getting that Black Bear one you might have seen him in; he unfortunately lost it during a train robbery.

Once I finished the shading on his shoulders and his arms, I start sketching out those big hands. I love them. His long, lean fingers are a bit stiffer these days, particularly in the colder months, but still do what they need to do; Special Tonic helps our old man hands tremendously. I massage his hands when they get particularly ouchy, as he does with me; Dutch always gets a bit grumpy when I start, but eventually, he gives in and enjoys it. If you guessed it, yes, he's still a bit of a baby at times over things. He still touches me in the right way, in the right places; they work well for that.

Just to tease me, Dutch plays with that hair a titch, giving me the puppy eyes look for no reason other than he can. I shake my head, scoffing. "You are really trying to prolong this, aren't you, Dutch?" I tease.

"Just got some locks caught up in my fingers, is all," Dutch teases, knowing that I know better. "I want my hair to look presentable for the drawing."

I scoff again, turning the book around to show the progress. "I've already drawn it."

"Oh, he's handsome!" Dutch grinned, giving his hips a bit of a squirm. "If you're not careful, I might flirt with him."

Flirting at an illustration of himself! It's just so... him. I just had to laugh, even if I encouraged him.

"You are impossible, Dutch."

Dutch just chuckles, giving that waist a bit of a squirm because he can. I pause the drawing for a moment because he is simply being too distracting.

"And now you're flirting with me!"

"When don't I?"

That old imp got me then. He always flirts with me; I could be reading the paper while sipping my coffee when he decides to pull my attention away by kissing me on the neck. It comes off as a bit silly these days rather than sexy. I haven't been able to fully read a newspaper in the morning in over thirty years, I'm secretly amused, and I think he knows it.

I eventually do get back to the drawing, moving my attention onto his chest. As mentioned earlier, the skin is, well, less taut there these days. He's never been the most barrel-chested fellow but looks even less so these days; all the same, I still love laying my head on it, feeling, and loving the warmth from it. I still love blowing kisses right over that heart, as he does with me. I etch in the details as I see them presented before me, details that took him a long time to come around to accepting, with some convincing from me. He's been gaining positive associations, learning to like parts of his body better through my kissing them more. Over time, Dutch has been feeling more handsome these days, something I regret from time to time!

"You ain't drawing me with saggy tits, are you?" Dutch teased; he's growing more comfortable with his aging body, so much so that he'll crack a joke about it.

"You drew me with a potbelly," I playfully retort, though I won't live in denial; I do have a tiny bit of one these days that has been resistant towards me working it off, but alas, it remains. "It's only fair."

The graphite stick does its job as I gradually work my way down towards his lower torso, along that ribcage that carries a bit more flesh on it these days. Like the rest of his torso, he's still very ticklish there; I just have to dig in a little deeper when I poke him there, still often in public when I need to keep him in line. Most recently, Dutch got a good jab when he flirted with the new bartender in Valentine; a rather handsome, big Irish fellow of around our age who took a liking to us. I got a little jealous!

It was during that flirty moment that I cut short that we get older it's not uncommon for us seniors to... Get a little daring, and explore different things with each other. Maybe next time we're in town, we'll ask that Irish gentleman if he has any plans for the afternoon outside of pouring beer and cleaning glasses.

But! There's a drawing that needs to be done.

I etch in some more details on that mid-torso; one being a bit of a roll of his waist; a lovely love handle. I love them. They're something extra for me to grab that wasn't there all those years ago, and it's a secret kissing spot. That spot on his right hip is as sensitive as it ever was, though like his ribs I have to dig in just a little more to get a reaction out of him. Just because those hips, that waist, are a little thicker these days, doesn't mean they're any less slutty. Oh, they are. I'd be lying if I said he didn't use them to get his way from time to time. Imagine being manipulated by a sixty-five-year-old man's waist, complete with love handles! It's not something I'll openly brag about.

Dutch's ass is largely absent in this drawing; it's buried itself comfortably into the bedspread but a teasing hint of it is seen.

The next stop on the drawing Dutch tour, his belly. It was once so flat you could drive a train on it, and well, now, that train would fall off the rails. To put it bluntly, Dutch has developed a paunch (which I love), that I could just bury my face in — and I do. It sits like a well-used cushion as he lays in the manner in which he is posing, the lower roll slightly curtaining his groin. The married life has been suiting him well; there are some consequences to hand-feeding each other expensive imported chocolate from Europe every evening, but we've earned it for living as long as we have with the lifestyle we've led. If I want to hear his laugh, I'll blow a kiss on that irresistible belly button that doesn't know it wants in or out.

It makes me sad to think that he had once been so self-conscious about the changes to his body. To me, with more flesh on him, more of him to love, he looks even more handsome as he's aged.

Dutch's genitals, which he openly has exposed in a show of voluntary vulnerability and submission, weren't spared of aging, but they still do their job. They're dipped down between his legs that lay sprawled before him, his pubic hair as grey as the hair on his head and chest. A lot of men of our age have trouble getting it up; we are not foolproof in this regard. As mentioned earlier, sex is still good, but when we can't get it up, we've found other ways to deliver pleasure to each other, and in many ways, sex is even more enjoyable as a result.

His legs are part of the final journey in this session. Dutch's are long and lean, and thanks to daily horseback riding, their musculature is still damn fine. Their appearance hides the stiffness that's in them these days; for us both, our walks take us a little more time. Now, before you take, would you be shocked to learn though that I suspect he milks it now and then through so that he gets leg massages?

Dutch's feet are my last target. Those too get massaged, sigh. I again leave no detail undrawn; yes, I even drew that gross big toe of his. He says it happened many years ago during a heist when he accidentally dropped a safe on his foot, but I know damn well it's because The Count stomped one night at camp. He had a few drinks and forgot his boots and well, bare feet around horse hooves aren't among the best combinations out there. Dutchi is a little dramatic; he likes to exaggerate from time to time.

I finish the drawing with some extra shading around those soft curves of his body and etch in a few details here and there that I have accidentally left out. I finish the drawing off with those rings of his, and I set the graphite stick on the bedside table. Just as he had done with me, I slip up into bed next to him, kiss him on the forehead, and open up the book to him with my arms around him as he cuddles up close into my lap.

Dutch gets emotional. We all know he's emotional, that's nothing to be alarmed at, but there are times when I think he's just going to crumble. I thought one of those moments was unfolding before my eyes as he rapidly blinks back tears. He's come so far in regaining self-esteem over the changes to his body; had I undone all of that?

Dutch shifts half of his torso into my lap to get a better look at my work, his eyes taking in the details. There's a noticeable waver to his voice as he speaks, but there's a smile on his face, and it can be heard in his voice.

"I don't think the finest artists out of Europe could draw a better likeness of me."

I was touched, honestly touched, but I laugh. Someone who hadn't drawn much lately aside from the odd rabbit and deer, and maybe the odd folks in town (clothed in case you get any ideas), better than those highly fluent artists who have their artwork displayed in major art galleries around the world? Dutch is still a charmer.

"Oh, you flatter me," I laugh, hugging as much of Dutch as I can. "But I think we both know you'd be thrown out of their studios. You talk and fidget too damn much for a model! You'd be a pain in the ass and go off on some philosophical rant about art and man."

Dutch belts out a laugh, turning over onto his back with a big, silly smile. We know each other a bit too well. "Oh, I thought I was being a bit on the quiet side."

I grab a lock of that hair, twirl a long silver strand between my fingers, and give it a playful tug. "Only because I didn't actively engage in conversation!"

"And you flirt! You'd be kicked out for that. Something about needing to maintain professional conduct between artist and model." As if to emphasize, I poke him on his chest and then his belly, because I had to make him squeak. He deserves it.

There's a playful twinkle in Dutch's eyes as he positions himself to be poked again; he secretly loves it. I can also almost see the wheels, rusted as they might be, turning in his head. He's planning something and plays it coy.

Oh, but I think we don't have to maintain any of that pompous professional conduct here. We're small gallery-type artists. Flirting just grows familiarity with the model and artist. We have the perfect formulation."

I sigh, shaking my head, but decide to play along and see how far he goes. I smirk a knowing smirk, knowing it'll just egg him on. "What if the artist and model have already grown very familiar with each other?"

"Then, flirting becomes flirting with creativity," Dutch speaks a bit lower, dragging a finger along my jawline, to my neck, to the base of my ear. My breath hitches sharply; he knows damn well how that touch affects me.

"It can change perspective, explore new art concepts."

The moment I saw that glint in his eyes, that smirk, I knew Dutch was going to make good on my promise to 'kiss every inch of my body.'

"It's important for artists to study their subject before they even pick up their medium of choice," Dutch perfects the voice of an artist giving a speech at one of those big art galleries as he sets the book on the bedside table.

"You want to take in what you see in front of you and decide, what style should I use? Should this be realism, or should it be abstract? What medium should I use? And what will the meaning be behind the result?"

Dutch gently, smoothly, lays me down and starts to kiss my neck. I close my eyes, taking in the warmth from his lips, his warm breath tickling the fine hairs on my neck. He slowly trails more kisses down towards my collarbone, spending some time there before making his way down further on my chest. My back involuntarily arches up off the mattress as I feel his tongue just lightly tease a nipple, urging more out of him.

In between those kisses though, and the further he shifts his way down my body, Dutch starts to offer a string of names and dates of some famous paintings throughout history. He's trying to impress me with his artisan knowledge. Sometimes, I think there's a library in that thick skull of his, but a library where the books have all fallen off the shelves following a tornado. It all becomes a mess of dates and names that I cannot possibly save for later reference.

I roll my eyes, trying to tune out Dutch's voice as I focus on the sensation of his lips and tongue exploring me as if it were the first time. I encourage him when he's quiet, my hands roaming through those long locks of hair, savoring how nice it feels after all these years and just how thick it still is. While my hair hasn't turned to shit, I might be envying his.

And then, Dutch brings up the subject of man and art and how it will change humanity.

Oh God. He's going philosophical.

I'll have to stop this or he'll be talking at all hours of the night.

I know that to interrupt his ramble, I'll have to put the kisses—wonderful as they are—on pause. I firmly guide him up so that we're facing each other and roll my eyes as he gives a look that resembles a love-struck teenager, wanting to kiss again after stopping to catch a breath after a lengthy makeout session. Only this is a sixty-five-year-old man who thinks he could kiss every inch of my body while rambling about the history of art and its philosophy without me falling asleep.

I smirk and, after wrapping my legs around him, I turn him over so that I'm on top of him; there's very little resistance from him. Before he can get another word in about 18th-century philosophy in paintings, I entangle my fingers through that gorgeous silver hair and ease him in for a long, lingering kiss on his lips, which he returns in earnest. It does a damn good job of shutting him up, and well, I rarely turn down an opportunity to kiss that man. His lips are still so soft, and that mustache creates a ticklish sort of feeling on my skin that might turn others off, but I rather enjoy it.

Despite our age, something primal sometimes stirs within us when our lips are locked and tongues slip into each other's mouths, and I love it. This was one of those times.

There's a subtle battle of dominance taking shape. Dutch rolls me back over as he pushes his tongue against mine, a low, animalistic growl erupting from his chest. Being that I'm still very much top dog in this relationship (something that certain someone needs to be reminded about), I simply can't allow that. I push him right back with all my might, which isn't much these days, but he doesn't fight back too strongly, knowing. As evident from how easily it was to turn him over, I would say some of that strength reserve of his isn't quite at full tilt either. He tries once more to gain control of the situation -- complete with a playful grab of my ass. Naughty boy! I give his hand a light smack as I turn him back over, and finally hold him down with my legs possessively wrapped around him.

When we break from the kiss, Dutch looks at me that way again, as if I were some magnificent sculpture in Italy instead of this old man lying on top of him. I smack him on his ass with a snort; there's a satisfying sound that sounds not unlike what you'd get from smacking the rear of a pig, if you're into that sort of thing. I'm not one of those people, so you'll have to use your imagination. He loves it, evident from his boyish giggle.

"Happy Valentine's Day, you old rogue."

Dutch just looks at me with that lovestruck puppy expression. I can't resist, and I kiss him again.

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thenukacolachallenge · 7 months ago

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some screengrabs of Aries' traincar home.

what i have deduced from this:

-man never fully grew up. he still collects toys and memorabilia from stuff he loved as a kid. also all the halloween decorations make me happy. -lots of med-x around, probably uses it to treat face-being-ripped-off related pain. also, love that he's a whiskey drinker too. -the movie posters are fucking great. i especially love the robot romance ones, for, uh, obvious reasons. (come on, the man who got oopsie-doodled by a robot he programmed cryptid mating rituals into? having a poster like that in his room? there's something to that) -man likes his music. he has a radio and a working(i think) gramophone. -sir why do you have a mini nuke on what is presumably your nightstand? -there's also a bathtub outside with psycho in it and a beer next to it. i have a working theory he probably uses psycho on caravan runs to hype himself up to murder his fellow man, but hell, who knows?

#aries fallout 76 #fallout 76 aries #calvin van lowe #i wish you could ask him what books he has on his shelf alkdhfalsdfh #i definitely did not take these for fic purposes. nope #also i'm mildly surprised there's not more cryptid stuff in here #but hey i guess after meeting and eating multiple sheepsquatches the fun goes away?

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jackalopesao3 · 2 years ago

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Mmm…still kinda leaning towards Michael/Celestial Realm being the big bad of the OM! series. I decided to write down some thoughts and theories regarding Nightbringer and recent developments.

Below are my speculations at antagonists, nightbringer, Michael, Solomon, and the Celestial Realm

Generally speaking

The exchange program didn’t happen until the brothers fell. Michael wouldn’t even speak to or meet with Diavolo before this (assuming because he believes demons are beneath him). It was Lucifer who went. He needs that line of communication open now until he can devise a plan to get the brothers back.

He is jealous of MC and speaks to and about them in a condescending way. He’s told Raphael a lot about MC. It’s not because he’s a fan. He’s keeping tabs on the person that’s suddenly so close to the objects of his desire.

He’s probably not fond of the idea that MC is so close to Solomon and the angels either. He gave Solomon his Ring of Wisdom which is like a pact with an angel. He’s likely not fond of Solomon getting too close to the brothers either.

The Angels

Simeon and Luke are his subordinates and are loyal to him. He was outraged when Simeon stole Lucifer’s ring from his paraphernalia of Lucifer’s belongings. He punished Simeon for doing something noble and altruistic - saving the lives of both MC and Lucifer.

Kinda convenient how fast he was inside MC’s head when they or Lucifer go to stab themselves, eh? I think he would have intervened himself to save Lucifer. He may have been planning on giving the ring to MC because he doesn’t like seeing the brothers hurt by their death or it would have been a convenient way to let MC die - I’m still unsure on this.

Simeon’s punishment for being brave and doing the right thing was being turned into a human. He couldn’t go back to the Celestial Realm. Being made mortal, Simeon’s life was in danger wherever he went. Vindictive much? The response is likely due to both a subordinate “betraying” him and his jealousy of MC and even Simeon’s closeness with Lucifer.

Luke is young so he’s still malleable and I doubt Solmare would have Michael do anything horrible to Luke for being close to MC (because he’s a child). He’s proven to be very manipulative by showing off his best traits in front of him, presenting himself as the very best example of an angel and a fellow lover of sweets. We’ve all seen how Luke wants to bake for Michael.

Raphael is incredibly quiet in the game. Game lore states that he knows Michael best. It seemed to me that he was practicing caution around MC. He heard about MC from Michael but we don’t know what he heard. Raphael is a sensitive angel. He’s an archangel of healing. He probably has at least a little sense of what Michael’s true feelings are. Maybe he knows Michael is at least sus of MC. The problem is, Raphael also trusts Michael. I don’t think Raphael would suspect Michael of any scheming. Raphael is very blunt and simple in his own dealings with conflict. When the brothers were causing trouble in the Celestial Realm his solution was to rain spears down on them. It was simple and effective.

I don’t really see “god” in the picture so authority has defaulted to Michael. Anyone in a position of power has the potential to abuse their powers. Is Michael biding his time?

Solomon

Is it just me or is Solomon weirding anyone else out in Nightbringer?

He seems especially callous to the demons, like his old self many years ago. Pushing Levi into the bathtub first, how he commanded Barbatos to make a portal, and how he doesn’t seem that bothered that Barbatos is ready to violently murder his ancient ass every way possible and impossible.

How can he not remember what would have pissed Barb off? They have a long history and this is definitely a serious spat. Surely you remember the serious fights you have with the people you’re closest to.

I know people are speculating that this Solomon is actually the past Solomon. It very well could be. It’s plausible. I would enjoy that plot twist. However, it could just be that Solomon is trying to act to his character as he was back then. It would raise red flags if he suddenly started acting like bffs.

Solomon has Barbatos at his command and therefor access to timelines. I’ve always HC’d that those two and Diavolo are the most powerful characters for exactly that reason. Fucking with time has major consequences. (I promise this is circling back to Michael.)

Solomon is also trying to get pacts in the past which is beyond shady to me. He tries yet again with Lucifer, asks Lucifer to have one with Levi, and succeeds making one with Asmodeus after saying that he wouldn’t do it. He’s opportunistic. Is he chasing his own goals or is something bigger going on here? Something he’s trying not to get us further involved in?

We know by the end of Lesson 10 that whoever Solomon is talking to, likely Nightbringer (only likely because what if NB is both Michael and someone else which will be explained below) and/or the Antagonist, “made Solomon who he is today”. Solomon received the Ring of Wisdom before making his 72 pacts with the demons. It was through this ring, that he was able to outwit the demons and enslave them to build his temple. Most theology has Solomon receiving the ring from God directly or Michael iirc. In Obey Me, he receives it from Michael. Would it not be Michael who made Solomon who he is today? Who is testing Solomon to choose a side? Diavolo wouldn’t do something to compromise the exchange program. Who does that leave?

Solomon also claims that this person is acting like a demon. You wouldn’t insult or warn a person that they’re acting like a demon.

This person refers to MC in a condescending way when speaking with Solomon, much like a certain angel we have yet to see.

The texts from Nightbringer even sound like Michael’s vague/evasive way of talking.

The big one: MC was sent to the past. You know who was able to send MC to the future after being sent back in time due to Solomon’s cooking? Michael. The game confirms he has some powers concerning time.

Who Else?

I believe if NB is the antagonist they will end up either being Michael or one of two things:

1. What Satan is to Lucifer. New Character.

Lucifer and Michael were often compared to one another. Lucifer created Satan from his anger, much like Zeus created Athena in mythology.

If there are more parallels to Lucifer and Michael, it would make sense for Michael to have created someone too. The closest equivalent would be Metatron. Metatron and Michael are sometimes referred to as one and the same much like the Satan/Lucifer situation in theology.

It could be Michael and Metatron working together either purposely or with the other unaware.

2. A Past or different timeline version of a character we already know.

Maybe someone had regrets. Solomon, Barbatos, or even Michael. It would need to be someone who can mess with time or has access to someone who can. Even MC might be a contender considering how much they’ve been messed around with now in timelines. It wouldn’t make sense but who knows at this point. I’m not placing money on anything right now.

Gonna add on that in some texts, Barbatos was a fallen angel. Could be that NB is a pre-fall Barb. I’m trying to find more info on that but it’s scarce and I don’t remember all the websites I used to get all my occult info from back when it was one of my adhd focuses.

One more contender would be Uriel - the angel that is noted to have time powers in different religious texts.

Ultimate Big Bad(s) Goals

These are speculative from me and if I wrote the script I would totally make them these!

Michael’s Ultimate Goal

To have the brothers back in the Celestial Realm with him.

It’s stated how he keeps pictures of them and also keeps their belongings, especially Lucifer’s.

He’s jealous of MC.

He’s willing to participate in the exchange program. This is likely to keep tabs on the brothers.

He doesn’t know how to get the brothers back without risking the wrath of god or other angels. He is biding his time. Maybe this will tie into NB.

The Celestial Realm’s Ultimate Goal

Supreme reign over all three realms.

We learn in Nightbringer that:

1. Every Demon King before Diavolo’s father has died in combat. They don’t even know what their average lifespan is.

2. Diavolo wants to establish peace like his father and the ones before him.

Just how long has the Devildom been trying to make peace with the Celestial Realm? Why is the Celestial Realm so reluctant?

It has to be that they want control of everything. They believe that their way is the only right way. We saw how terrified Luke was of demons. Yet it seems like demons came around to accept him and Luke made friends. The brothers were met with bigotry when they first fell but became very popular later on.

The Devildom shows more of a willingness to change than the Celestial Realm.

I believe the main takeaway will be Freedom/Ideals (Devildom) vs Truth/Laws (Celestial Realm). It’s never been about Good vs Evil. Diavolo is one of the most pure characters in the game (he still has issues, yes) and he’s the next King of Hell. Michael is a shady AF angel.

Please feel free to comment your thoughts or reblog with your thoughts!

#obey me swd #obey me shall we date #om! swd #obey me spoilers #om! nightbringer #nightbringer spoilers #obey me nightbringer #michael obey me #solomon obey me #barbatos obey me #om! solomon #om! barbatos #nightbringer #obey me theories #obey me theory

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nekomacheercaptain · 2 years ago

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Kin’emon was one of the dilfs requested for the dilf event!

Kin'emon thinks his perving is going unnoticed by you, and as time goes on and he doesn’t make a move, you get tired of it. Time to take matters into your own hands!

I took some liberty and made the character chubby 🫶

Pairing: chubby! female reader x "Foxfire" Kin’emon

Rating: explicit mature content (18+), NSFW

Word count: 2K

Content: female reader, chubby reader, size difference, fingering, vaginal penetration, bathtub sex, makeout session, Kin'emon gets tired in water

Kin’emon was a lot of things. Courage, strength and loyalty being his most darling qualities. But gods… discretion was not one of them. His eyes had found a grace amidst hell, a flash of heaven each time you came around a corner. And he should have felt guilty about the sins clustering his mind. But when you walked by and smiled at him like everything was okay with the world, how could he not? And, well, he might have stared at something other than your smile as well… but you would never notice that! Kin’emon is sure of his abilities to keep a poker face and plans in check! Everything is always carefully thought out, of course! You would never know of his desire for you.

Another quality that drew you to him was what a silly man he was. Of course you knew, and were patiently waiting for him to make the first move. However, after each passing day of disappointment of your guest on board only drooling over and ogling you, the matter seemed to fall into your own hands. A little more cleavage and thighs on display were sights the poor samurai was not ready for, perving out with the cook and musician of your fellow Strawhats.

To fulfill your wish, it demands sacrifice.

You just had to ignore Sanji and Brook also getting something out of your seducing, the goal being to get Kin’emon alone. And boy were you happy when out of everybody accidentally walking in on you in the bath as you undressed, it was the samurai. Wide spread eyes, slack jaw hanging open and crimson cheeks; such a handsome look on his face, and you felt yourself get excited.

“I- my apologies!” his words contradicted his actions, his eyes scanning over your bare back and hips littered with stretch marks, showing no sign of exiting the room on his own accord. His eyes feasted on your body as you turned slightly towards him, a small, mean towel the only thing keeping your breasts and sex from entering his memory. You just had to get him to close the door, and your craving from him could be fulfilled.

“Don't look at me like that unless you intend to do something about it,” your voice was low, but clear, and he understood your command as you smiled at him in a way that made his body ache, “finish what you start, Kin'emon”.

Kin’emon gaped at you, a ferocious blush creeping up his neck and ears before he shut the door with an accidental slam, but neither of you cared. The samurai came to you in long, quick strides before falling to his knees, wanting to face you on equal height. And even then he still towered over you, his broad frame dwarfing you in comparison. Words wouldn’t come forth, but they weren’t needed by the way his fingers shakily reached for the towel to discard it like a dirty washcloth of no use anymore. The sight of his eyes softening and his chest heave when he finally saw you in all of your glory was enough to make your core knot in carnal need.

Huge calloused hands carefully and exploringly kneaded your breasts, causing you to gasp at how they covered most of your torso. And how good his touch felt treasuring your skin. His eyes looked down at your chest, still not convinced this could somehow be reality, but when your lips pressed softly against his, his mind went blank. Through the blood pumping loudly through his body, like his heart was suddenly in his ears, he could barely hear you giggle against him at his apprehensiveness.

“You can be rougher with them, if you want to,” your small hands placed themselves over his large ones, encouraging him to grope harder, your lips moving smoothly against his like velvet.

He could only gulp in response, showing you how well he took commands when his palms rubbed harder over your mounds, creating a delicious friction over your nipples. He breathed in the small sigh that fell past your lips at his touch. The knot in your stomach grew more impatient, more needy, and you diligently guided one of his hands towards your sex, smiling when he inhaled sharply against you.

“Are-are you sure?” with a slight stutter he asked for your consent, and kissed you harder when you gave him an enthusiastic yes.

Your lips continued to envelope each other in a warm embrace that quickly grew clumsy and passionate, teeth threatening to clash together as your tongues were eager to explore more of each other. He groaned when your heat was on his fingers, stroking you softly through your folds, obvious inexperience in his touch. And despite his lack of expertise his thick and long fingers felt heavenly as they dragged softly through your slit, and with a hint of luck they also made you moan loudly as they brushed over your clit.

Your hands rested on his heaving chest while your kiss grew sloppy and loud, drool escaping the corners of your mouth as you pushed yourself against his hand begging for more friction. And the samurai happily obliged to your non-verbal wish, pressing his digits harder against you while sliding them back and forth, selfish in the way he got addicted to your sounds. Kin’emon pushed you lightly against the edge of the bathtub, making you take a seat with your legs spread wide, balancing yourself with your hands around his shoulders. With the new angle he dared to guide one of his digits into your entrance, feeling your slick coat him as he pushed deeper into your tight, warm cunt.

Your lips left his shortly with a loud gasp and pull of his hair, automatically bucking your hips against his palm, revealing just how desperately you needed him.

The two of you continued to devour the other until your walls spasmed on the three thick, long fingers pumping into your squelching, wet pussy, only pulling out when you almost fell into the bath because of the near overstimulation. You gave him a small smile as your bliss buzzed throughout your body while you calmed down.

“I didn’t know Samurai could do that,” you teased, and his cheeks went red, “but we’re not finished yet, Kin, are we?”.

At your words and the small bite of your lips made his eyes widen as your own trailed down his kimono to see a very sizeable tent greeting your hungry gaze.

“We should tidy up a bit, don’t you think?” you smirked and did a small nod backwards to the bath, water already nice and hot. And just as he always did when he didn’t know what to say, he made you laugh.

“Yes, of course! It’s important to stay clean during such intimate matters!”

He wasn’t a man known for his sweet-talk or seduction, but the way he could always make you laugh so easily was better than any dirty-talk you could ever want. You went into the hot water and drenched yourself, droplets falling down your face and skin shining from the soap. And in the blink of an eye, and what sure had to be a world record for taking off a kimono so fast, he was naked too, his cock finally revealed to you. It hung proud and heavy, and if you were honest; it both impressed and intimidated you at the same time, no size you had ever seen before could compare. You tilted your head in excitement and swallowed at the thought that ran through your mind as you looked at your own forearm before looking back to him. The only thing that was close in comparison.

“Is it okay with you in here? Or will you get too tired?” you leaned back against the wall, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes still holding that sweet post-orgasmic bliss.

“Y-yes!”

And you chuckled at his direct, though flustered, response.

“Then take a seat, I think it’s only fair I get to treat you now”

It didn’t take long before his long limbs carried him into the bath, quickly drained of energy as he sat down, submerged in water. Well, because of his size only his legs and some of his hips were submerged in the seat against the wall, but his size was to your advantage in this situation. You just needed him to lean back a little for you to do your work. With the water’s effect and your small hands pushing at his chest, he easily fell back, and you were free to climb (yes, climb) his lap, his legs easily supporting your weight as you smiled down at him.

Should you have felt a little bad about the water draining his energy? Yeah. But when he groaned as you put your weight on his cock and he could feel your slick-coated pussy against him, you didn’t care. Grinding against him, your hands could feel the muscles beneath your hands as you explored his torso where you could reach, and his own hands worshiped your voluptuous thighs before they found comfort in the soft and doughy flesh of your hips. With eyes barely open he saw how the fat on your body jiggled so deliciously at your movements, your breasts hypnotizing him whenever you leaned forward. Had he reached paradise? Oh why couldn’t he stay like this forever?

With a lift of your hips, you stared at the panting man while guiding his pulsing cock to your entrance, with a hope you could at least take some of him, the tip alone proving to be a challenge for you. You couldn’t even form a single word once you felt his massive size stretch your walls. And neither could he as he took in the feel of you, even if it was just a little. Your hands needed something to keep busy with, leaving marks on his chest as you dug your nails into his skin while moaning and groaning above him. The sight of you already exasperated knocked the breath out of his chest, his hands the only thing keeping your weight from impaling you even further.

“Fuck, I- Kin, I can’t take all,” you managed to whimper out from above as you attempted to inch more of him into you, but stopping once the stretch became too painful.

Of course you couldn’t. He is 5 cm short of 3 meters for goodness sake.

Kin’emon looked down at where your bodies met and saw that you hadn’t even gotten halfway down, and he smiled while his thumbs soothed over the stretch marks trailing down your stomach to your hips, “You’re doing perfect, darling”.

His words and the sudden name of affection melted you, and you started a small rhythm up and down the part of him that you did manage to get inside of you, making moans and grunts erupt from the giant below. Already sensitive from his earlier actions, it didn’t take long before a string tightened inside of your core, the samurai’s cock rubbing deliciously against your walls. Drool escaped from the corner of your mouth while it hung open as a chorus of moans, whimpers and mewls fell past your lips, Kin’emon drinking every sound you made. Every sensation you made, and the view of your breasts jiggling at your desperate bouncing on his lap - it was all to much for the samurai with no energy to spare, the thought of warning you before he came didn’t cross his mind.

When he came, he threw his head backwards into the wall with a small call of your name as you felt his cock pulse inside of you, hot cum oozing out of your pussy and down his length. You gasped loudly when you pulled yourself off of his length, before laying your head on his warm chest listening to his heart pump loudly.

Maybe you had to add a few things to the list of qualities you admired in him…

I fucking love Kin'emon, although he'd be a little awkward lmao but that's just cute tbh

Tags: @unsuretater-simp @standfucker @mamaalpha @zoros-sheath @benkeibear @wurm-food @owlight @icy-spicy

If you want to join my taglist, you can find it here!

#can’t resist them dilfs event #foxfire kin’emon #kin’emon #kin’emon one piece #one piece kin’emon #my work #sinful #one piece #one piece smut #kin’emon smut #x reader

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