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wildestdreamsblog · 2 years ago

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Santa Tell Me

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You needed protection. Steve was only too un(willing) to take you in his mountain.

Warnings: Swearing, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: One shot that has more that 5k words. One day, I’ll get over Chris Evans. But today isn’t the day. My Christmas gift to you hihi merry christmas lovely humans~

“No.”

A door slammed on Bucky’s face. He had not even said a word and yet, his best friend, Steve Rogers took one look at him and decided that it was best to slam the door in his face.

This punk, he thought.

Bucky took a deep breath before turning to look at the lady hiding behind his back. He offered you an assuring smile, pointing his thumb on the closed door before making a face as though saying that his friend was unnecessarily grumpy.

“Sorry ‘bout that. I think it’s menopause.”

Bucky cleared his throat before knocking once again.

The door opened with excessive force and once again, the brawny man appeared. Now that he didn’t slam the door, you were able to see what he really looked like.

What your supposedly temporary sanctuary looked like.

What he looked like.

When Bucky Barnes showed you what his best friend looked like, you thought that he seemed like an old-fashioned yet friendly man. From what Bucky told you, Steve used to be a captain in the military, until he quitted. The man just one day decided to retire because, and you quoted Bucky, ‘the man was simply fed up with people’s bullshit’.

You thought he looked handsome in his military uniform.

The hulking man in front of Bucky looked like the man in the photograph, yet at the same time so different. The Steve standing tall in front of you had beard on his face. In comparison to the photo, he now sported a longer hair that framed his manly face. You noted that his locks looked darker now. He was even bulkier now, too. The man on the photo looked like a hero. The one in front of you looked like an anti-hero.

“Heeeey,” Bucky grinned at Steve before slapping his arm in a friendly gesture. “I was just talking about you! So this is-“

“We’re the same age,” Steve cut Bucky off, glaring at him with his intense eyes before stepping closer to the equally huge man. You almost wondered how Bucky did not look intimidated at all when you remembered that underneath Bucky’s friendly persona was a man as deadly as him.

Steve never once looked at your direction as if you were inconsequential to him. Well, you thought, of course you were. To him, you were a nuisance. Bucky was not the one assigned to your case, yet you were immensely grateful that he stepped in once he noticed how the other man was bungling your case and almost caused your demise. That was to say it kindly when in truth, you walked out of their office one day after meeting with the other sergeant to go over your case. He assured you that the case was simple and that your life was not in grave danger. One moment you were crossing the road and was about to enter your car, and the next thing you knew a car was driving alarmingly fast to where you were standing. Your fight and flight instinct seemed to fail you as you did nothing but looked at the car with wide eyes and stuck limbs.

You should have been dead.

You would have been dead if it weren’t for Bucky’s quick reflexes and impeccable speed. And well, his metal arm. You felt a powerful arm tugged you behind a car, shielding you with his body and metal arm as the assailant pointed a gun at you and began shooting. The loud bangs from the weapons felt like it went on forever. Bucky had his other arm wrapped around you and he felt your uncontrollable trembles. He looked down and noticed how pale you were.

And he hated it.

He loathed seeing someone took advantage of helpless people.

Perhaps, that was what made him snapped. With practiced precision, Bucky pointed his gun and with a singular shot, he managed to hit one of the wheels. The car crashed to the post with deafening sound of collision. A moment passed before the forces were able to cautiously walked to the car, their guns pointed at the injured assaulters.

Bucky thought they were all useless.

After he made sure that you were indeed unharmed, Bucky gently dragged you back to the headquarters and berated the sergeant in charged of your case. He called the man, and you quoted: ‘a simpering buffoon’, ‘an intolerable fuck waffle’, ‘a spam email’, and lastly, he likened the sergeant to a wet sock. By the time he was done verbally kicking the man, the sergeant looked like he was one insult away from crying. Bucky thought that he deserved it. One mistake could cost someone’s life, and it almost costed yours.

Had the man simply looked deeper into the case, had he just noticed the familiar patterns of the crime, then he would know that the man you unknowingly outed was none other than the villain they had tried so hard to capture. He could not simply hand this case to another person. No, he knew what needed to be done, what level of protection you needed in order to get out of this disaster alive, and who could protect you as he resolved the case.

Which brought the two of you in front of his old friend’s cabin in the middle of nowhere. Okay, that might have been a tad bit exaggerated. Technically, Steve had neighbors in this mountains…just not near him…for miles..

Bucky cocked his head to the side, clearly confused as to what Steve said. “What?”

“We’re the same age. Therefore, If I am experiencing menopause, shouldn’t you be too?” Steve answered scathingly, clearly taking offense on Bucky’s senseless quip. He squinted his eyes at the equally tall man. Bucky’s jaw dropped dramatically, his hand covering his mouth.

“What?” He gasped theatrically. “Meaning to say you can still procreate?”

Steve clearly wasn’t amused. He stepped closer and to your astonishment, Bucky ran behind you. He humorously cowered on your back, using you as a human shield between him and the slighted former captain.

And that was the first time Steve Rogers laid his eyes on you.

To an untrained eye, no one could see him paused. But Bucky saw it. It was as though someone knocked the air out of his friend’s lungs. It was as though you were an occurrence that he never saw coming.

As the case may be, Steve led the two of you in his cozy cabin. The fire from the chimney made the place considerably warmer. Steve wordlessly placed a steaming cup of tea in front of you. Before you could even express your gratitude, he was already turning his back on you and sat on the chair in front of you and Bucky.

“Where’s my tea?” Bucky asked, looking longingly at the cup in your hands.

Steve merely spread his legs further, getting comfortable as he leveled his glare at his best friend. “She’s a guest.”

“I’m you guest, too!”

Steve shook his head slowly, “No, you’re not. You’re an unwanted nuisance, my acquaintance at best.”

Bucky could only blinked owlishly at his best friend. How could he categorized him as an acquaintance as if he didn’t grow up with him? The audacity. The nerve. But then he remembered, he must be kinder to Steve because he was the one needing a favor from him.

After Bucky went to the kitchen and served himself a tea all while mumbling under his breath how hospitable and recluse his friend had become, he went straight to business.

He laid out the facts, and Steve in turn listened intently. Bucky could see that he was just an inch closer to agreeing, and he needed just a push.

“She knows how to cook! She wouldn’t be a bother to you, right Y/N? You know how to cook?” Bucky exclaimed, his expression hopeful as he looked at you.

You shook your head slowly and you could see him visibly deflate.

“She knows how to do the laundry. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger while she’s here-“

You tapped his broad arm, before scooting closer to him. You whispered sheepishly to him, “I don’t know how to do that, too.”

“What?” he whispered back in astonishment and utter confusion.

Steve watched the two of you with a bored expression. His arms were crossed in front of him as he assessed the situation. This was not the first time Bucky used his space as a safe house. Usually, they only stay for a couple of weeks because that was how quick Bucky moved. When his best friend was intrigued with a case, he became so hyper focused that he only breathed for the case. In addition, the last time Bucky brought someone, he promised that it would be the last one.

And yet, here you were.

He could already feel the headache coming.

“Maybe you two want to talk it out first?” He asked when few minutes passed and you two were still conversing under your breaths.

Bucky offered him a sincere smile. “Come on, punk. For the spirit of Christmas, do it for me.”

He looked at him with deadpanned expression, “It’s October.”

He did not know how, but you and him watched as Bucky drove out of the property with a victorious smile on his face. How he was able to convince him was lost on Steve.

The first week went by quickly. You were somehow starting to be familiar with Steve’s routine. You noticed that early in the morning and before he locked the doors in the evening, he did parameter check. No matter how cold it was outside, he would do it without fail. You would admit that it made you feel safer. For the first time in months, you felt as though you were out of harm’s way. And in turn, you attempted to cook him meals. But that ended up a peril to the both of you…and his house.

You tried your very best to do his laundry, even his underwear. You were confused at first why you were having a hard time removing the stains form them. The look of horror in Steve’s face when he saw you hand washing his delicates was priceless. He was a man of great stature and nothing and no one managed to faze him. Until you.

He was so focused on your hands holding his underwear that he failed to notice how you were able to turn his white shirts into red.

He was still blushing and was unable to look in your eyes when that night, you gently place a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He nodded his gratitude to you before engulfing the cup with his massive hand. He took on sip before he started coughing uncontrollably. In your panicked state, you went to him and touch him for the first time. You rubbed his muscular back, looking at his reddened face.

“What is this?” He asked between coughs. Only when he looked like he was near dying did he look at you.

“A coffee,” you answered.

“With salt?!”

A look of confusion passed your face before you realization dawned on you. Hurriedly, you went to him to take his sorry excuse for a coffee away from him. You were pouring it on the sink when you heard his concerned voice near you. In fact, you failed to notice him move and stand beside you because of your embarrassment.

“What happened?”

You contemplated whether you should tell him, but for his safety (and the safety of his food) you told him. With a deep breath, you turned to look at the tall man beside you.

“I lost my sense of taste.”

“Why?”

“Traumatic brain injury,” you admitted as though this was not a big deal, as though you didn’t almost die that night.

He didn’t need to know how- he had an inclination. Your enemy was powerful. Remarkably powerful that Bucky had asked for his help when he promised never to again. You were in danger.

You thought Steve would attempt to say something comforting like other people. Yet, all he did was to look at you intensely and nod his head as if in acknowledgement of your pain.

The next morning, you woke up to find all the ingredients in the kitchen with label, his beautiful handwriting on each of the container.

It was a cold night in November when Steve and your dynamic changed. You couldn’t sleep that night, your thoughts and anxiety about your future was getting ahead of you. It was as if you no longer had something to look forward to, as if it was solitary or death. You tried everything- from counting sheep, to reciting the alphabet backwards. And yet, you still couldn’t sleep. And so, you decided to warm a glass of milk when you heard it.

A sound of pain.

Fearing that something had happened to Steve, you ran to the side of the house you had never been in. You were thankful that the door was not locked when you barged in. The only weapon in your hand was a wooden spoon you would have used to stir your milk. Your eyes swept over the darkened place to fight the danger off and found none. The danger was in Steve’s mind. He was groaning in his sleep, his brows furrowed, showing his distressed. The sheet was entangled in his muscular limbs, sweat was rolling down his forehead.

He looked like he was in pain.

And you knew what it was, you had experienced what it was. It was something you wanted to run away from, and yet, you couldn’t. You were trapped in your own mind. And tonight, Steve was trapped in his own personal nightmare.

Softly, you brushed your hand on his hair, trying to soothe him. You called his name to wake him up, running your other hand up and down his arm in a pacifying manner.

“Steve, come on. Wake up,” you whispered when he started struggling, his muscles rippling from the intense emotions and anxiety rolling off of him.

“I’m here. No one’s gonna hurt you,” you buried your face on his chest. You had read somewhere that pressure was a good thing when someone was experiencing this to keep them grounded. You had desperately prayed that someone would be there for you when you felt like dying.

“I’m here for you..”

You repeated saying that until you felt him move. And only when his breathing turned normal did you look up at his confused and frightened eyes. Seeing as he was now awake, you attempted to move only for him to shackle you to his front with his muscular arms. He looked at you as if he couldn’t believe you were there with him, as if you were an angel that saved him the moment he thought he would perish.

“Stay,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. You were wary at that point. You felt as though you were crossing a line- something that you could never go back to. With his face so close to yours, you could feel something you never should have felt for this was only a temporary dwelling, your resting place.

This had a deadline.

You had gotten good at ignoring how handsome he was, how strong he was, how gentle he was to you… and how patient he was to all your shenanigans.

Most importantly, you were almost successful at ignoring how protective he was of you that he did not even let you cook. Or how he always had his hand on the small of your back when you two were walking outside. Or how he always checked on you each night and bid you good night. Or how he said without words how no harm would come upon you.

Or how feminine he made you feel.

It was so unlike how other men you had dated treated you. No, they didn’t treat you wrong… they just didn’t treat you the way he was treating you. Or look at you the way he was looking at you right now.

“Please,” he whispered.

And stay, you did.

It was before sunset when you opened your eyes. A heavy arm was thrown on your stomach, you back so close to his front that you could feel his warmth and a hardness you knew what it was. You felt a tinge of heat on your core. It had been too long… You could smell Steve this close. And by heavens, he smelled like home.

He smelled like yours.

But you knew you shouldn’t get attached. This would only bring chaos to his peaceful life. You weren’t ignorant to assume that his life in the military was peaceful. He wouldn’t be like how he was last night if not for the terrors he faced during his service.

And falling for him would only bring terror in his life. You could not bring yourself to ruin the peaceful and idle life he made for himself in this mountain.

With a firm decision, you left his bed.

Steve couldn’t remember sleeping as peacefully as he did…or waking up as late as he did that morning. Yet, all the calmness he felt vanished when he woke up without you. He knew he did not dreamed you. You were there. He felt you there. He held you in his arms. You soothed the demons living in his mind.

But where were you now?

His movements were abrupt as he scanned his room. He hastily moved out of his room, sweeping a look at every room he passed. He placated himself by thinking that you might have moved back to your room to sleep only to be disappointed. Your room looked cold. You weren’t there. He felt his heart beating, the sound drumming out of his ribcage that it hurt. He felt as though he could not breathe. With a poorly constrained terror, he started calling out your name loudly as he moved to every room of his house.

And still, you weren’t there.

You left, he was convinced.

And he felt betrayed.

How could you leave just like that when you brought color to his bleak life? When for the first time in years he felt that he wasn’t alone? How could you leave like that when you were able to silence the demons he tried so hard to kill?

He was hunched over the kitchen counter when he heard a door open. Unknowing that you left a bomb to explode by stepping outside, you flashed Steve a small smile. In your hand was a bunch of flowers you had plucked from around the area. Your smile froze when he walked to you like a bull ready to eviscerate his opponent. Barely stepping back, you were unprepared when you felt his powerful arms around you, his body trembling with anger and anxiety.

“S-Steve?”

If he heard you, he didn’t give an ounce of indication. His hold on you tightened, his face buried on your dainty shoulder. It went for so long that you started feeling uncomfortable. Your mind was set from your morning walk that you would go back to treating him like a friend. You were attempting to get out of his hold when he finally did speak.

“Do you even have an ounce of idea what I would do if you end up getting hurt?” His voice was cold when he spoke. He let you go to look at you. His anger was palpable. The calm and quiet Steve you knew was gone.

“I just went out to-“

“And you didn’t think of the danger?” He asked in indignation. The way he was looking at you made you feel like a petulant child, as though you did a terrible mistake. “You didn’t think that Bucky placed you in my care only for you to get hurt because what? You wanted to pick up flowers? Are you that thoughtless-“ He finally trailed off when he saw tears threatening to fall. Your lips were quivering from hurt. Steve suddenly felt at loss. He went too far, he was afraid to admit.

Without meeting his eyes, you stepped out of his hold, placed the flowers on the counter, and went up to your room.

It was hours later when a knock disrupted you from your hateful thoughts toward him and pitying thoughts for your situation. You were pouting when the door opened, revealing the person who vexed you today. You didn’t say anything, merely threw daggers his way. Steve didn’t know how to deal with someone like you, yet he knew he was in the wrong. He let his emotions get the best of him.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he said, watching your expressionless face. You hated how he talked to you. There was already someone bungling your life and making it miserable and making you feel like you were so small that he could step on you. You didn’t need another man to do that.

Coldly, you replied, “I only accept apologies in cash.”

And that was how you found yourself in town. Steve was on guard as he walked with you, his towering height made it possible to see everyone. He was serious while you were jumping up and down from excitement. It had been close to half a year since you were out in the public, and this felt like a treat to you. You were so used to living and providing for yourself that when shit happened, it was a big adjustment for you. Yet now, you had no qualm spending his money. It was reparation for damages that he did to you, you thought.

You smiled evilly as he paid for the camera that you bought.

It was not the fanciest, you were not that evil. But it was so long since you last held a camera. You were a photographer, one of the best actually. You were winning contests left and right. One day, you were innocently taking a photo of a landscape, admiring the nature and the vast land before you. Your focus was on the deers wandering aimlessly. You went home that day like any other work day. It was the next day when you were reviewing your photos that you noticed that just behind the deers, almost hidden behind the trees, were three men. One man looked like he was running, the other two was laughing with guns in their hands. It turned out you were a witness to a crime. Not long after, the body was found.

And that was how you got entangled in this whole fiasco.

It was almost December, and the market was already decorated with Christmas lights and in the middle of it all was the huge tree. You pulled Steve in front of it, lifted the camera, and took a picture of the two of you. You were looking at the camera, and he was looking down at you with a small smile in his face.

December came. It was the day before Christmas when Steve found you in the kitchen, attempting once again to cook properly. Regardless of the taste, Steve always ate your food without any reluctance. Yet, what you were cooking looked festive that it confused him.

“Is there an occasion?” He asked as he sipped his coffee, thankfully no longer salty.

“I’m one year closer to death.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s my birthday.”

You faced him with a smile. Steve walked to you, before embracing you in his arms. “I am so happy you’re alive, angel. Happy birthday,” he whispered in your ears. He wanted to say how happy he was you were here, too. Yet, he didn’t.

That night, he laid out the table so beautifully. Candles were lit in the middle. Steve cooked for the two of you, and he took out wine from his cellar. You and him were sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace with wine glass in your hand.

“You never asked me why I had a nightmare,” Steve stated, he was swirling the wine as he looked at you. You could feel his body warmth this close. The wine, the candle, and the way he looked at you felt like this was something intimate.

“I figured if you wanted me to know, you would.”

“You weren’t curious.”

“We all have demons to live with. That’s what I thought. And I hope you defeat your demons,” you admitted before sipping from your glass.

What you didn’t know was his demons were becoming less and less strong the longer you stayed with him, he thought. You could silence them.

“Did you enjoy your birthday, angel?”

“I did. Also, why are you calling me an angel?”

“Because I feel safe with you.”

“What?” You sputtered. If anything, he should be the angel with the way he took you in when he didn’t have to. “If that’s the case, you’re the angel, Steve. You make me feel safe,” you stated with sincerity in your voice.

“I know I’m an imposition to you. I’m thankful that you took me in. Bucky mentioned that he’s almost sure that this will end soon. Thank you for letting me stay here, Steve. Soon, you can have this haven all to yourself. I will never forget your kindness. You’re my angel.”

When you finally looked up, you noticed how serious he was looking at you. His eyes drifted to your lips. Unconsciously, you licked your lips. Suddenly you felt as though you were parched. Steve hated the thought of him living in this mountain without you. You had been here for only close to three months and yet, you changed him. His house no longer felt cold. His house no longer felt empty. He hated the thought of losing you.

He thought that you were meant to be here.

Steve lowered his face to you, inch by inch. Until you felt his lips on you. He kissed you slowly at first, so softly that your eyes fluttered close. It was only when you opened your lips did he kiss you with such intensity that it made your breathless. His hand was on the back of your head, pulling you closer to him. His tongue demanded entrance, and you were too willing to give in. The taste of mint and wine on his lips made you kissed him deeper. With his strength, he pulled you on top of him. You were straddling him, and his hands were discovering your curves. The hard evidence of his pleasure was pressed on your core.

You were humping him, all rational thoughts flew out of your brain the moment his lips touched yours. From this angle, you could feel how big he was. You were moaning when his lips skimmed to your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses. Your pulse was erratic, he noted. You were as affected as he was. With barely restrained impatience, Steve placed you on the carpeted floor, his body closely following as he topped you. He caressed your soft thigh, your dress falling to your waist which gave him access to your core. As if to tease you, Steve ran his hand from your neck to your chest, down to your stomach, and finally to your thong.

“Naughty girl,” he whispered in your ear. “I bet you’re dripping wet for me.” Without any warning, he tore your thong away from you. He was in the middle of your parted legs, his look dark as he focused on your core. His finger traced your slit, making you moan as he smirked at how wet you were for him. “Fuck, you’re so wet. Your cunt is so wet for me.”

He slid down. Steve opened your pussy wider with his fingers and with his tongue, he tasted you. You were shocked at how much pleasure he was giving you that when he dove in and ate you like a man starved, you felt yourself go. Yet, he didn’t stop. A finger eased in you as he sucked your clit, moaning with gusto. You were so tight that he wondered how he would fit in you. He was thinking you were his, only his after this.

You were on your second orgasm, your legs shivering when he finally lifted his face. His beard was drenched with your essence, his hair falling on his forehead as he looked at you with heat in his eyes. Your dress was the next to go.

You were too in hazed from your orgasms, and his mouth sucking ferociously on your breast that you didn’t know how he got you and him naked. Yet, the next thing you knew, he was pressing his hard cock against your pussy. He kept pressing the head against you.

“You want me,” he said darkly. It wasn’t lost on you that it was not a question. Yet, you nodded your head. Because at that moment, you did want him more than anything else.

Steve rub his cock on your swollen clit before sliding it down on your tight hole. And then he shoved it inside you, pushing you to the edge once again.

He was only too glad you were too into it that you didn’t notice he had no protection. Or that he came inside you.

He was only too glad to taste you when you were awake. He had craved hearing your moans.

He was only too glad that you were a heavy sleeper some nights that he was able to spread your legs and taste you. He even marked your pussy with his cum on some nights. Of course, you would never know that. It was his secret.

Your talk about how this would all end, how he was going to be alone soon made him crazy. You didn’t know, but you unknowingly traded a dangerous man to another devil. He’d have a talk with Bucky, of course. Bucky would understand that he had to keep you. You’d go nowhere. You were his. He had been good all his life. Didn’t he deserve a Christmas gift, too? You and a baby soon, perhaps?

He smiled at your sleeping form. He couldn’t stop himself from hugging you closer. The snow was falling beautifully outside, the fire had long simmered. The sun was starting to rise. This was what Christmas truly felt like, Steve thought.

When you finally stirred, he whispered, “Merry Christmas, my angel.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #nomad steve rogers #steve rogers smut #dark steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #soft!dark steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers fanfic

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forest-falcon · 3 months ago

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Not written anything in ages. Just scribbled this down while making dinner. Gonna continue to scribble this evening and hope for the best!

Scott whump plus tinies being tinies.

💙🧡💚💛❤️

The Butterfly Effect

Chptr 1

It was nothing.

Scott's head throbbed in retaliation at the thought, and the pilot suddenly regretted the English breakfast he'd savoured just a few short hours ago.

Tentative fingers explored the swelling at the back of his head.

He inhaled a hiss as the injury bit back, and the eldest Tracy found himself nose-breathing to abate his rising nausea.

Ok, so it was something...but it had to be nothing.

Nothing until he was home, dry and safe - then he could rest...sleep it off - ice it, if needs be.

Nope.

Scott lost the bile battle and found himself filling a in-flight bag he usually reserved for passengers.

Goddamn it.

He closed his eyes, tilting his head back, willing the universe to equip him with a functional brain - one that could last out the two-hour flight back to Tracy Island. He just needed to plot a course, then One could bring him home.

Then, and only then, could it be something.

One hovered patiently, her hum soothing and familiar in the absence of family.

"Thunderbird One?"

Fuck. He had to get going now before younger brothers grounded his clumsy ass. Scott summoned his best game face and ignored the sensation that his hair was gelled wrong.

"John? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He'd confess his stupidity once home. Suffer the wrath of the Virgil-brows, and worse - Grandma, if he could just skip out on a hospital stay.

"Thunderbird One, you've not moved from your current location for some time. Is everything okay?"

"Sorry John, just had some stuff on my mind. Will fill you in later. I'm setting off now."

Scott allowed his fingers to dance over the controls, trusting muscle-memory over conscious thought. Thinking seemed to be a prelude to filling further bags - a desire he had no wish to to kindle.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yes. FAB. M'good."

One's boosters fired and Scott swiped the hologram of his brother away.

Thunderbird One began her journey back across the South Pacific Ocean.

* * *

Scott's line went quiet.

"M'good."

John chewed on a pen-cap as he turned the phrase over in his head.

"Is everything okay, John?"

EOS hovered just at the edge of his peripheral vision.

"I think so."

"Penny for your thoughts."

John chuckled. Pennies hadn't been used for decades.

"Did Scott seem... different at all to you?"

"Not noticeably."

"Can I have a reading on Scott's vitals please? I'm sure everything's fine..."

"Blood pressure is slightly low, and heart rate raised, but all within normal parameters given recent exertion on mission."

"Good."

"My records show that Scott has been working longer hours than usual. He perhaps sounded a little tired, especially given his choice of words."

"I thought so too. I'll get Virgil to check in on him when he's home. If something's bothering Scott, I'm sure Virg can work his magic with a tête-à-tête."

"Failing that, a stay on Thunderbird Five should help to take the weight off, once I've removed the artificial gravity."

John threw his pencap at the AI.

"Thunderbird Four?"

"Present and correct!"

Gordon's voice sounded like a double espresso in comparison to Scott's.

"Mission status, if you please."

"All crew have been safely extracted."

"And the vessel?"

"Four's never better."

John rolled his eyes and looked to EOS for strength.

"The ship, Gordon."

"You're gonna have to be a little more specific than that, Thunderbird Five. The sea is full of ships," Alan's voice chirped in.

John glared at the comms line. He could hear their smug, stupid smiles. He was being set up. May as well get it over with.

"What is the status of Shippy. Shippy. Bang. Bang."

"Ooooh, that ship. I mean, she's not really a ship, more of an S.S.O, strictly speaking," Gordon sniggered.

S.S.O, was nearly as bad as Brain's R.A.D, in John's book. Gordon had coined the phrase Ship Shaped Object, to define any ocean vessel not fit for purpose.

"Yeah she's toast. S.S.O Rust-Bucket's embarking on her final voyage to the ocean floor." Alan supplied.

Our amateur angler friends are back on dry land, so we'll be heading back. Clean up will have to wait until the storm has passed."

"FAB."

#thunderbirds are go #thunderfam #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderwhump #scott tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #virgil tracy #the butterfly effect

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bigbluemangroupie · 12 days ago

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Jinbe Smut Alphabet

Explicit Content MDNI 18+

Word Count: 4,264

Synopsis: Title is pretty self explanatory. I saw a few of these and thought it’d be a fun way to hash out some of my horny Fish Daddy headcannons.

Written with a cis AFAB reader and established relationship in mind.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Soon as he recovers, he always cums last, he’s quick to get off you and apologizes over and over for squishing you if he was on top. (But he has nothing to be sorry about, it’s a good kind of being squished. He’s never so out of control that he would put his full weight on you.)

Jinbe will painstakingly run his big hands all over your body checking for anything out of sorts. He hasn’t ever had the luxury of many personal possessions, from growing up in an orphanage, to living in soldiers’ barracks and then on pirate ships. His brand of affection involves what he can do with his own body. He’ll massage away any knots and aches you have with impossible dexterity, the entire time cooing about how lucky he is to have you.

Privacy is paramount to Jinbe, if he’s absolutely sure the coast is clear he’ll take you for a cuddle in the bath, but normally he’ll settle for bringing some warm towels to wipe you down with. You’ll need it, big boy cums in volume. In true dad fashion, Jinbe falls asleep instantly when his head hits the pillow, so don’t expect pillow talk once you’re both settled under the covers.

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B = Body part (favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jinbe’s Body- His hands. Jinbe is a textbook soft dom. He doesn’t enjoy actual sadism, but baby he loves to be in control. Manhandling you and holding you down are enormous turn ons in and out of the bedroom. He becomes transfixed by the way he can cover entire parts of your body with one hand, even larger humans are so small in comparison to him. If you’ve been together for a while and he’s comfortable enough, he may even show you a few non combat uses for Fish Man Jujutsu.

Your Body- Thighs, breasts and ass. It’s more about having something substantial to grab onto and manipulate you with than the body part itself. After all, you’re his pearl, his sweet little lover, every part of you is a treasure. Jinbe likes to watch his fingertips sink into your flesh when he holds on. Leaving little marks (bruises and indents, he doesn’t like to draw blood) on those places after holding you down with his hands or teeth turn him on more than he’ll ever admit; if they are still visible the next day you might catch him staring with a blush on his face.

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C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jinbe’s sexual stamina has increased to ridiculous levels in his middle age. He does have a longer refractory period than a younger man which he more than makes up for in endurance. Once, when you were the only two left on the ship overnight, he managed to fuck you for nearly two hours straight until the chafing got to be too much. His physical release is just as impressive. You now know to keep plenty of towels in your cabin, if it’s been awhile for him the aftermath looks like someone has dumped a bucket of cloudy salt water.

Jinbe gets most of his pleasure from pleasuring you. He’s steadily getting more comfortable receiving pleasure and praise, but he really thrives when dishing it out. He adores sitting you on his face while he holds you still so you have no other option than to submit to coming over and over on his tongue. The feeling of your body clamping down desperately on his cocks during your orgasm might be his absolute favorite part of sex.

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D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Jinbe loves having his prostate milked. He’s not too keen on being outright pegged, although he’ll give it a go if you say please, but he’s an outright whore when your fingers are curling inside him (if you tell him this you’ll never be able to do it again). It took a lot of nagging to finally get him to admit it, and even more to let you finger him. He will only let you finger him from behind with his face buried in a pillow; he’s way too embarrassed to let you see him groaning and gasping.

Once he let you role play as a nurse giving him a prostate exam. While he came harder than you’d ever seen before, don’t expect to get to do it again anytime soon. You couldn’t get him to make eye contact for nearly two days after and he frantically changes the subject whenever you bring it up. Poor sweet thing takes himself way too seriously.

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E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Jinbe had a few short-lived romances in his late teens and early to mid twenties. As a member and then captain of the Sun Pirates he didn’t feel like he had the time to give a romantic partner the attention they deserved and shut that part of himself down tight. He did have the occasional one off but it always left him feeling awful. Jinbe needs a long term emotional connection to properly enjoy himself.

However, don’t think for a second he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Taking care and control are what he does best in all aspects of life, and you’ve been thoroughly satisfied since the first time you made love.

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F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

In the beginning it was definitely anything with you on top facing him, lotus positions were the most common. Being a normal sized person it’s to find enough purchase to properly ride him, but Jinbe is more than willing to lift you up and down himself. And let’s be honest, he wants to do the work.

Now that you’ve convinced him he won’t snap you in half, he’s much more amiable to (gingerly) climbing on top of you. You both enjoy tilted guard; you can trap one cock between your thighs and against your clit while the other fucks your pussy.

When you’re in the mood for some double penetration, Jinbe likes to have you in a standing full Nelson. There are two main reasons for this, firstly he has total control on how deep he can thrust into you so as not to hurt you. He’s very concerned that you’ll push yourself too far trying to please him. Secondly, you’re the first partner he’s had that has even attempted to take both of his claspers at once. The intense grip on his cocks coupled with the blissful expression on your face would have him cumming far too soon and he takes pride in his self restraint. Not that you’re complaining, holes stuffed full, unable to say anything other than his name.

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G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

Jinbe has a thing for brat taming. Every snarky or childish remark from you is met with playful chiding. When he really gets going he’ll tease you right back, sometimes with a little smack on your ass. Outside the bedroom he’s known to throw smaller crewmates around playfully, that behavior for sure extends to other kinds of intimacy. Calling him “old man” during sex always leads to him pinning you down while you both laugh.

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H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Jinbe has very little body hair. The hair he does have (armpits and groin) is surprisingly thick and curly but always very clean. He takes great pride in his appearance, in a traditionally masculine way, from his meticulously maintained clothing to his smooth short clipped nails. This attention to detail most likely is a result of being the top Fishman Karate master of his generation.

The hair on his head is no exception, but he has left a lot of its care to you since becoming a couple. The entire world falls away when your hands are in his hair, brushing, washing or just simply carding through it while you murmur sweet nothings to each other in the privacy of your cabin. It’s a rare indulgence for him, letting someone else take care of him for a change, but he wouldn’t give it up for anything.

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I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Flowers and chocolates are absolutely not a Jinbe thing; you don’t need or want those cliches anyway. What he does give you is so much sweeter. Long talks in the moonlight where he gradually opens up about his childhood, amused sideways glances when your younger crewmates misbehave, a firm hand on your shoulder when you need grounding. A best friend, a doting partner, and a fierce protector are the gifts Jinbe gives you.

He won’t kiss you or explicitly flirt in public, those things are just for the two of you, but if you’re close enough he’ll be touching you in some way. As you organically let your crewmates discover your relationship the small touches turn into spending most of your downtime laying on his stomach while he basks in the sun or sitting on one of his shoulders looking out at the horizon. It feels like you’re on top of the world.

You have the same feeling looking up into his eyes as he bounces you on his cocks. He’ll tell you how much he adores you over and over again while you make love and after, but he doesn’t need to. You know. And you adore him too.

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J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Masturbation is not something Jinbe does a lot. Even as a very young man he didn’t indulge as often as most. He understands the importance of knowing your own body and would never judge someone else for partaking (as long as they are exceedingly discrete).

However, you may be able to convince him in some long distance fun through a den den mushi. It helps if you’ve been apart for a while. Complete privacy on both ends is an absolute must. If all these stars align, buckle up, he’s gonna talk you through at least two orgasms before he even takes out his cocks.

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K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

A lot of what Jinbe likes during sex is just an extension of what he does outside of it. Even in platonic relationships he’s a service dom Daddy. His thing for prostate milking is more about the sensation than the kink of it (excluding the nurse role play incident you are not going to bring up again).

If anything could be considered a kink, it would probably be fucking both of your holes at once. You learn early on in your relationship that with claspers, only one needs to be stimulated to induce orgasm. (Who doesn’t love a biology lesson while getting railed.) Both at once is an insane amount of sensation, edging on pain. It’s something saved for special occasions, but baby, he makes it special.

Earlier in the day he’ll request that you really clean yourself well, the first time he had to spell it out for you in frantic embarrassment when you took offense. When it’s finally showtime, he’ll plop you down on his face, sucking an orgasm or two out of your clit, moving down to tongue fuck your relaxed cunt. Finally he licks down to your puckered little asshole, rubbing circles around the entrance before plunging his tongue in and taking his sweet time to stretch it out. He’ll rub your swollen clit with his thumb as he curls and thrusts his tongue, and you’re coming again, losing the ability to hold yourself up, finally relaxed enough for the main event. He’ll either stand or kneel, holding you against him, bent in half, back against his chest, feet by your shoulders. A healthy amount of lube coats his cocks and your holes helping him glide into you, stopping as soon as he feels resistance. Jinbe snaps into you relentlessly, amazingly never going too deep. When he comes it’s like a tidal wave, gushing out of your body around his cocks. After he slips out he’ll spend a few seconds admiring his seed oozing out of your reddened, twitching holes.

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L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Privacy is so, so, so crucial for Jinbe. The beginning of your physical relationship was tough, there are very few opportunities to be alone on the Sunny. Most of your dalliances were in the aquarium bar or bathroom when you were the only two abroad. Calling it frustrating wouldn’t do the situation justice.

Franky, thanks to Robin, is one of the first to notice your relationship. He very sweetly remodeled a section of the bar into a small third cabin, finally giving you two a place to be consistently alone. (It took so long for Luffy and Zoro to understand you were together even after you became “roommates”.) Your shared bed is Jinbe’s favorite place onboard, just very slightly ahead of the helm, he almost never wants to fuck anywhere else.

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M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Jinbe loves when you laugh. You are his treasure, seeing and hearing that you are happy fills his whole body with that loving feeling. When you’re close, and crane your neck up to smile just for him, it sets him on fire.

Jinbe has a preference for people who identify as female but is also most likely demisexual. He certainly will notice how objectively attractive you are when you meet, but that’s not of much consequence. It will be noticing how witty you can be in conversation that first piques his interest. When he gradually learns how kind, brave and honest you are, that’s when he’s set on making you his.

As your relationship progresses he starts to get aroused by the sight of your body more and more. Overtly sexy things are fine, but the unintentional flash of cleavage, peek at the small of your back, or outline of your ass in tight bottoms, those things really get him going.

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N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything dealing with humiliation or the possibility of it is a big no from the big guy. No degradation, no spitting, no water sports. Cumming on your face seems disrespectful (not to mention that it would be like blasting you point blank with a garden hose). Having you ask him politely to do things is a turn on, but he won’t make you beg.

Exhibtionism is a no go. He’s not such a prude he won’t bathe with the crew in an onsen, you’ve even gone skinny dipping together at twilight, but a peck on the lips and a chaste cuddle are about as amorous as he gets in front of others.

It almost goes without saying, but he absolutely will not do anything that causes you physical harm beyond a light spank or love bite. While he loves holding you in place, most forms of bondage are pretty off putting, especially after his time at Impel Down.

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O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving- Jinbe isn’t the boss of cunnilingus, he’s the CEO, CFO and Chairman of the Board. Sensitive and observant, he’ll know just how much time to spend warming you up. That man drives you wild with long, leisurely licks across your entire vulva with his rough, flattened tongue. Jinbe sucks on your labia and massages the entrance of your hole until your slick is oozing freely and your pretty clit is swollen and throbbing. The look on his face whenever he pulls back to admire your cunt has you feeling so completely adored you nearly cry. When he deems you ready he’ll kiss your clit, murmur something about having the prettiest pearl, and dive in. It takes no time at all for him to suss out how you like it, and he’s capable of repeating any particular motion you need indefinitely. Jinbe’s been around the block long enough to know it’s not about flashy tricks; real pleasure is about patience and endurance, repeating the right movement for however long your partner needs to find their high. Calloused fingers find their way to your chest, toying with your nipples, and before you know it you’re careening into ecstasy. You’ve lost count on how many times in a row he’s been able to make you cum on his tongue this way.

Receiving- Jinbe has a hard time letting you fellate him for more than a few minutes. At first he was concerned you weren’t getting anything out of it, but he respects you enough to believe it when you tell him how much his huge, throbbing cocks get you going. Finding your cunt drenched and twitching after the act helps drive the point home. It’s all he can do not to unravel when you kneel between his thighs. He’s cracked the headboard in his grip several times when you lick and suck up and down his shafts. The image of you with his cocks between your breasts, small mouth stretched around the tips nearly sent him to an early grave. He can’t help but pull you up to ravish you. Well, he could, but where’s the fun in that?

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P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Making love is what you do with Jinbe, no matter the position or sex act. Sometimes it will be faster or harder than other times. Jinbe doesn’t need fast or hard. He’s learning to be selfish, in the way romantic love is selfish. Jinbe’s selfishness takes form in the way he savors your love making like fine wine. Perhaps if you’d met sooner, before his forties, it would have been shorter, rougher, more frequent sex. At the age he is now, his libido is still going strong, but cumming isn’t as much a daily necessity as it is a form of expressing his love for you. Not unlike an artist at his craft, he takes his time and pays attention to the details. Every single one of your tender, quivering details.

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Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are for boys, and Jinbe is a (fish)man. When he has an inconvenient urge he’s easily able to store the thought for later. Then, when the time is right, he’ll huskily whisper his lustful thoughts into your ear as he fingers you open. It’s absolutely worth the wait.

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R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Experimenting is a slow process. Jinbe can go from completely in control during the act, to polite and bashful outside of it. Never one to deny you, you still may need to warm him up to the idea of anything remotely kinky. Letting you finger him was a very big deal, but after that success you found he was a little more keen to try new things.

The riskiest thing you ever did was after very, very carefully making sure no one would ever be able to see you, go for a late night skinny dip that led to you being eaten out, legs over Jinbe’s shoulders under the water, back pressed against the hull of the Sunny. Only your head and shoulders out of the water in the cloudy pitch black night, Jinbe felt it was just barely private enough. While it was hot as fuck, the memory replays in your head frequently, Jinbe’s anxiety before and after sours you both on doing it again. You’ll have to think of a more private way to capitalize on your lover’s ability to breathe underwater.

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S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Numerous rounds are not a thing Jinbe does often in middle age, but every so often he can go twice in the same night. Don’t fret, his infamous stamina extends to the bedroom. He’s willing to hold out however long it takes to completely satisfy you, often you have to ask him nicely to fill you up with his seed before he’s willing to let go. You deserve every single orgasm he can give you, and he’ll be damned if his own release gets in the way. Unfortunately chafing is a real hazard and the fun does have to end.

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T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He’s not crazy about toys, although that’s something he would possibly warm up to. Toys haven’t been a practicality in the past. If you’re into toys and initiate the idea, he absolutely would hold a wand to your clit or slide a pretty butt plug into you.

Again it would never be his idea, but Jinbe would let you use simple toys on him. A cock sleeve on one clasper while you lick and suck its twin has him praising your creativity. If he’s really, really in the mood you might even slide a prostate toy into that tight blue hole so it can rock against his sweet spot while he fucks you.

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U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

What Jinbe does is barely enough to be considered teasing. He likes to play a game where he’ll hover over wherever you want him and make you ask him to touch or fuck you. You know to say please. Something about you politely asking for exactly what you want gets him diamond hard. If you do ask in a sassy way, call him Daddy or Boss, or (worst of all) Old Man, you can be sure you’ll be pinned down by a laughing behemoth and in for a very thorough fuck.

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V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jinbe tries to keep his voice low, limited to sweet nothings and praise. The next tier is groaning, head nodding back but still in control of his volume. But the biggest treat is when he completely loses it, barely breathing, and lets loose a husky, barely audible “fuck”.

He loves to make you sing for him. Ever considerate of your crewmates and your honor, he’ll slide his thumb into your mouth to quiet you. The sensations of your moans, gently scraping teeth and wandering tongue send shockwaves down his body. Possibly earning you that delicious little “fuck” in return.

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W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Jinbe adores the way you smell. Not so much an armpit guy, although that doesn’t bother him a bit unless you’ve been forced to go without bathing for an extended amount of time. What he does love is the smell of your sweaty breasts and pussy. When he gets the pleasure of undressing you he’ll always bring your bra and panties to his face for a quick sniff before tossing them aside.

Once, when you were apart for a few weeks, you snuck a couple pairs of dirty panties into his bag. The night after he found them, you had a very exciting conversation via den den mushi. The grand finale was Jinbe coming with one pair of panties entangled in his claspers while the other was pressed firmly against his nose, thanking you profusely.

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X = X-Ray (what are they packing)

Jinbe will absolutely try his best to explain to you what he’s got going on before you see it, but words cannot do it justice. You’re ready for two of them, that part is easy enough to understand. And you think you’re ready for the size, you get he’s going to be big at 9’10”. The reality is so much better, and more intimidating, than you could ever imagine. Almost perfectly straight when aroused, the right one is over a foot long, the left an inch or two shorter. He has no external gonads, just a very small pair of fins where they would be. There’s almost no distinction between the heads and shafts, aside from little pearl like bumps under the skin around the tips. Only during orgasm do the heads swell to lock him into his partner. The skin is just blue enough not to be white and incredibly smooth. Thankfully they are individually little more narrow than a human cock would be at that ridiculous length, giving you a little hope that you might be able to take both at once, if you’re feeling adventurous.

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Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

The more you cement your emotional connection with Jinbe, the higher his sex drive. However, he is long past the need for nightly gratification, and honestly he has shit to do as the helmsman and acting father of the Strawhats. He would never, ever let you go needy, but chances are if you’re with Jinbe you’re also the kind of person that has shit to do and pirates to wrangle. You may still have a slightly higher need than his, but he has no problem rising to the occasion a few times a week.

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Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep)

Jinbe is (figuratively) a father, a dad, and a Daddy. These things all conspire together to make Jinbe prone to passing out the exact moment he lies on his back. You can trust him not to leave you dripping with the remnants of his love making, but the very nanosecond you are clean, rubbed down and happy, that man is out like a light. It’s kind of amazing, you’ve spent more than one restless night wishing he could teach you how to do it.

#reader x Jinbe #reader x Jimbei #reader x Jimbe #reader x Jinbei #smut #18+ mdni #mdni #romantic monsterfucking #smut alphabet #afab reader #established relationship #no beta we die like men #one piece x reader #jinbe #jimbe #jimbei

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jozor-johai · 4 months ago

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So do you think Dany and Jon are just two Heads of the Dragon? and if so, who do you think is the third? my money's on Bran as like, the Ice Representative to balance out Dany's fire and Jon's Ice/Fire dealies.

Thank you for this ask, sorry it took ages to respond.

Say that we know (or we think we know) that two "heads" of "the dragon" are Jon and Dany—insofar as we even think we understand what that phrase is supposed to mean (an assumption that I think is worth questioning as well, but that's not a task for now).

Here's what I love about this question—the issue of "who/what is the 'third head'" comes up as a literal question in a religious sense when Arya is talking to the Sailor's Wife in Braavos. There's a statue to the god Trios, and the Sailor's Wife can't tell us the purpose of one of the heads:

Three-headed Trios has that tower with three turrets. The first head devours the dying, and the reborn emerge from the third. I don't know what the middle head's supposed to do.

GRRM is definitely referencing the concept of the "three headed (dragon)" when he invented Trios; the imagery is too central and too specific for that not to be the case. What's fun, of course, is that we're all asking ourselves the same thing—what (or who) is that middle head?

I like your suggestion about Bran. It's a pretty unorthodox idea, because most people assume/expect that the three heads of the "dragon" must be Targaryen or at least Valyrian... but I don't think one needs Valyrian blood to ride a dragon, so as far as I'm concerned Bran is an option. He's a cool idea, too, because of his attachment to the North, the far North, and maybe even the "Ice" concept, like you say. Bran's also a powerful skinchanger—or, in training to be one—and there's not a doubt in my mind we're going to see some dragons get skinchanged. GRRM has been asked about that idea before and he's gleefully dodged answering it.

That would also be interesting because it's worth remembering that Jon is technically not canonically a Targaryen (yet), or even a contender to be a "head of the dragon" (yet). We think we've figured it out (and we probably have) but it's still technically a mystery. In that sense, then, if I was going to lean on the comparison with Trios, I would say: perhaps by now we should have met the first "head" —the "death" head—and we should have met the last head— "rebirth" head—so we should be missing this middle head whose purpose we don't know. However, we think we've figured out that Jon is the marriage of Ice and Fire, so maybe he's the "unknown" middle head—and then Dany is, on one side, the "rebirth" head (of fire?), and we should have met the "death" head (of ice?) already, but we don't know who it might be. Perhaps it's Bran!

If I'm being honest, I personally haven't thought too much about solving the third head of the dragon issue. It's clear to me that some key piece of the puzzle is being intentionally obscured from our view, so it feels like a fool's errand to be confident in solving it at this point. I realize that's a lame answer, but it's the truth—I try to approach these things beginning with how they work in the story and how they work with the symbolism at play, so without being sure how the "three heads" are even supposed to work I haven't tried to solve this mystery.

If there are truly three people who are going to be the "three heads of the dragon," I think the rules of good storytelling limit our options to characters that were introduced in AGOT. If we limit that to POVs—which is not necessarily a valid assumption, but I think is likely—then that's only Tyrion, Bran, Arya, or Sansa. I'm torn on the common "Tyrion Targaryen" theory... I don't really like it, but it would explain why he's included as a POV in AGOT and why he makes the shortlist for possibilities here (among other things). Bran would be a much more interesting option, though.

The thing is, I'm ultimately not convinced the "three heads" are going to work like we expect. Yes, it's said that Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya were the "three heads," but who knows if the common understanding of that is true? Plus, the person who presents the idea to Dany of the need for "three heads" to ride the three dragons is Jorah... who I don't think knows shit about dragons. So my mind is wide open when it comes to possible interpretations of the "three heads of the dragon."

#ask the red temple #jozor thoughts #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #daenerys targaryen #bran stark #jon snow

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gardenofnoah · 6 months ago

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that’s the home of my love//she’s dancing in the sky

my submission for my beloved @threadbaresweater ‘s milestone event, inspired by one of the most beautiful songs I’ve ever heard (Caroline by Colter Wall). sorry to make him a little sad for the summer collab

tags: Nanami Kento x reader, aging, sudden death, grieving (it’s not that sad I don’t think), drabble, smut (loosely)

He never had enough time. That’s the root of his regret—you were there waiting, and then you were gone and suddenly he had too much time and the loneliness stretched on as far as he could see. Kento almost comes out of retirement for this reason—needing something to keep his mind off of the aching void you left. Even if it is the very thing that kept him away from you in the first place. The thing that took up his space in your bed, when all you really needed was the steady rise and fall of his chest at your back and his arm slung around your rib cage. He gets that now.

He doesn’t go back to work, though. He finds that, in the crest of his 60s, his mind and his memories have not left him yet, and to picture you keeps him just this side of content. The closest he’s gotten since you’ve been gone—he’ll take it.

He remembers being 30, and meeting you like it was normal. There was no curse to exorcise from you, no snapping mouth to pull you from—you in the park on his day off, interrupting his reading to ask him to share the bench. He’d said no, and you’d sat down anyway. You never did let him forget that.

Being 32, and having your first significant fight. He can’t remember what it was about, but the only thing that really mattered was the way the hurt cracked through your own belligerence, just for a moment. He’d never felt a self-loathing of that magnitude—so sudden and swelling and suffocating him. He’d just pulled you to him and you fought him until the tears came. If he thinks hard enough, he can still feel your fingertips dig into his waist. He’d told you he loved you.

Being 36 and seeing what all the fuss over marriage was about. He closes his eyes and feels the corners of his mouth tug up, picturing you in that dress you’d pulled out of one of your grandmother’s old trunks. The way you’d lost your bravery by the time you reached him at the altar, your trembling only quelled when you tucked yourself into his chest and didn’t let go until it was over. He’d felt like the luckiest man in the world. He remembers the heat of the summer, and how it paled in comparison the fire that radiated off of you.

That same night, relearning your body as if he’d not touched it for years. The give of your soft skin under his rough hands—the way you shivered and pulled him closer, as if he was not already as close as your skin would physically allow. He thinks of the blinding pleasure behind his eyes when he’d sunk into you slowly, and even now, feels the familiar swirl of blood, albeit flowing slower now. His hand finds himself in the dark, half hard on the memory alone, and he knows that the squeeze of his own hand could never replicate the feeling of you, but it’s all he has.

He finds, at this age, there’s no real urgency. He’s content to think of the way your mouth would part on a moan and let the sound swirl in his gut, fading as quickly as it came. The desire swells and recedes, and it’s not so much the longing to be touched as it is a yearning to be touched by you. But you’re not coming back, and he’s trying to make his peace with that.

Kento remembers how his 40s came and went with little fanfare and more neglect than he’d intended. You’d asked him to slow down, to be there on slow mornings and stormy Sunday nights—and he wasn’t. It never seemed urgent, because he’d promised you forever and couldn’t be bothered to worry about the quality of those days that stretched on before you—only the sheer quantity of what you’d vowed to each other. He’d thought that counted for something.

And then you’d turned 50, but had not made it to 51. As sudden as a light switch, your lungs inflated once, and then never again.

The memory of the 15-odd years between then and now runs together. The pain distorts the passage of time in his mind. He can only recall one long day of grieving that hasn’t ended yet.

But even in his mourning, he finds himself back in that park. He takes up the whole bench now, laying down across it and ignoring the stares of younger passerby, hoping to feel the weight of you press down on his chest. Kento watches the sky—which has seemed far too blue since you died, as if he was expecting everything else to dull when he did. But cicadas still chirp and children still stomp about in the grass. Wisps of cloud swirl and float on, and he wonders where you are. If you have a hand in what he sees—if there’s a record playing to guide the movement of your hips and the direction of the warm, summer breeze. He extends an arm out— straight up, as if you could reach down and touch him again.

There is no grave to visit. Your name is here—on a little gold plaque, fastened to the top of the bench—and on the tip of his tongue, always. His great love in the sky.

#I’ve been waiting for the inspiration for this to come for months #and I just wrote it all in 40 minutes #I swear I love him. I just like to make him sad #nanami Kento x reader #Nanami x you #Nanamin #nanami drabble #jjk drabble #jjk x reader #jjk fic

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kaga-ribi-612 · 27 days ago

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Oh… you seem very… very… interesting…♪

Full name: Jördis Kagari

Nickname: Courtney*

Age: 37

Birthday: 6th of December

* The nickname Courtney was given to her by some members of Team Magma, the motives behind that nicknaming are unknown

I like to… observe… and analyse. And… of course… be helpful to leader Marc and Lis…

I’ve seen… the other me‘s… you are interesting… ♪

OOC & Lore/Infodump down below (I may add stuff in the future)

//OOC - About this Courtney:

Hi, I’m @starlightcosmos04245 and I’m playing this Courtney as well as her universes Maxie (@matsubusa-m) and my OC Lizzy (@ematsubusa).

This Courtney, her name is Jördis (from the personification of earth in Norse mythology, Jörð), is from the same universe as my Maxie (aka Marc) and therefore from many years into the future. She still works for the reformed Team Magma. She’s a researcher and very observant. In comparison to other Courtneys in the multiverse, though, Jördis is a lot calmer. Although she can always explode if provoked. Aside from that, she loves to share pictures of Marc and his family. She’s a little leaker, when it comes to that point. To some members of Team Magma of this universe, she’s like a strange older sister.

She is bisexual and currently in a romantic relationship with Team Aqua’s biggest puppy - Matt.

♪

//OOC - About this blogs boundaries:

I, personally, am usually very open about everything. Though I have to admit I’m very shy and get nervous easily… so sorry for that. I’m happy though to be included in everything happening ^^

(I maybe disappear sometimes for some time due to mental health reasons or just stuff in my life happening. We all need breaks sometimes ^^; )

I’m okay with ic anon hate, poke fun at Jördis. Tease her, or just joke with her. She will be responding accordingly. Also, feel free to ask her any questions. If they’re too extreme, though, I’ll ignore them (fyi). I also won’t condone any ooc hate. It’s inappropriate. This is a RP-Blog, after all. We’re all here to have some fun :)

♪

Heads up, there will be my headcanons and lore for her following! ^^

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

HEADCANONS / LORE

Like I already mentioned, Jördis and the others live in a future many years after the events of ORAS.

After Team Aqua and Team Magma made peace, the teams started to hang out together more. That’s when she started to actually notice Matt. His puppy-like energy and his whole personality overall scratched her curious brain just right… so she put herself together and became friends with him. After some time, they started dating and eventually had a son shortly after Marc and Lis had their fraternal twin sons.

(Sorry, I’ve been a sucker for Betaadminshipping ever since I saw Chip‘s Fanart for them σ^_^; )

Speaking of relationships, she is on very good terms with Lizzy, Marc’s wife. They are as close as sisters, often hanging out, going out to the arcades together, etc.

Marc is her mentor, her role model, and kind of like a father to her after she ran away from home.

Her parents were abusive of her, so she ran away at 11 years old and found shelter at the newly formed Team Magma. Marc saw her potential and decided to take care of her until she can care for herself (which is also why she seems a little obsessive about Marc sometimes. She feels grateful towards him and it’s her way of showing). Thus, she brought her bright, clever mind into his plans and quickly climbed up the ranks. She was there before Homura (aka Tabitha), wo joined shortly after her.

Homura is her best friend and somewhat of an older brother-figure. She knows she’s not good with people, so he takes care of most of the people-oriented things within Team Magma for her.

Jördis likes to take pictures. Not just of Marc and his family, but also of landscapes, Pokémon… basically anything. She likes to collect as many memories as possible like this.

She also likes to play video games. She’s a regular customer of the arcade in Mauville. The owner of the arcade is afraid of her. Not only because of her somewhat unnerving stare but also because she’s impudently talented at the claw-machines. Her room is filled with Pokémon plushies she won there.

Jördis is half icelandic half japanese. Her mother is from Sinnoh, her father from the Pokémon-worlds equivalent to Iceland (if someone has a fan region based on iceland, please tell me). She was born and raised in Sinnoh until she ran away from home.

She likes Vocaloid music. A singing computer program… that scratches her brain just right and intrigues her. Her favourite Vocaloid is Megpoid Gumi.

Aside from that, she also often listens to J-Pop, J-Rock or the things Marc likes.

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

If you read through all this, again, thank you very much! I hope you have fun with her ^^

#pokeblog intro #rotomblr #pkmn irl #cw: abuse #//OOC: say hi to my Courtney! ^^#//I delivered as promised (UwU)

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forsakenwitchery · 24 days ago

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Finished Veilguard the other day and I need you to see my Rook. xD idk I tried to create something similar to my face, but then it hit me I had Tallis on my hands. 😂

In case someone's interested in my thoughts (no spoilers): it was kind of a mixed bag experience for me. I couldn't agree more with the sentiment that the game's too sanitized, but I did have some fun with it and I did grow to like the companions after all. ALSO MANFRED NEEDS TO BE PROTECTED AT ALL COSTS! And Lucanis reminds me of Gale so much, guess that's my new type. xD Men cooking is the hottest trait ever, legit a dealbreaker no griffon or sentient skeleton can beat.

More rambling under the cut & adding all the critical tags I could think of.

I do think they sort of shot themselves in the foot by calling it Dragon Age, because I kept thinking it reminds me of Guardians of the Galaxy A LOT which was a good & imho underrated game!!! but it's not the best comparison for a DA game. I didn't like Bellara at first, but then it hit me she reminds me of Mantis. SO. MUCH. And I loved Mantis! So Bellara just felt so out of place in DA. I have a lot of thoughts, yet my main takeaway is that it should have been a new IP. Literally had it been called anything else 70% of my beef with this game wouldn't exist, and I think it's true for most people who are critical about it. Like, I played as a Crow, and literally all the Crows in the game are good(TM). My Rook told Harding she did some bad things, but nothing too bad! Literally no Crow in this game is willing to kill anyone. The banter about Grey Warden contracts... Was wild. What's the point of even having assassins who are so uwu goody two-shoes. :( Legit had they made a game in the vein of DA, but not DA, with new not preestablished factions, I wouldn't have this critique. And you can't say or do anything too bad in this game which is wild for DA. I think I was only allowed to be mean about Solas, but even tho I always chose the dialogs akin to 'he can go F himself', the game kept telling me 'he's just a poor sad little meow meow' by legit every character around me. WHICH GIVEN THE FINAL TWIST OF WHAT HE DID. FUCKING FUCK. There are not nearly enough mean things this game lets you say about him, and it's mind-blowing why half the characters would toot his horn so much. Sorry, I hate Solas' guts, I didn't think it was possible to hate him even more, but holy shit was I not prepared...

But like, had it been a new IP, my only critique would be all the handholding, especially the constant 'pointing out the obvious' at the start of the game. The first hours were driving me insane with it. Like guys, I'm not stupid, I don't need to be told the same thing 3 or 4 times. Or how to proceed in a linear location if I stop for one second. Yeah, it gets better with the obvious part, but not with repeating the same info, which made me wonder what age were they targeting with it. Because I don't think kids like to be talked down to, either.

BUT I expected way worse. It was overall not a bad game. Not a super great 10/10 one, but it had its moments. For me, it was a solid 6/10, maybe even a 7 in some parts. idk why, but I especially loved Evka and Antoine. And the cooking party banters. Super pretty, too, once I got used to the style.

Oh, and I also called my Rook Anthea, and since the Crows had a character called Teia, I got an added bonus of Lucanis actually saying that name a few times. xD

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #da: the veilguard #veilguard critical #solas critical #datv critical

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filthforfriends · 2 years ago

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Glass Houses

Read parts 1 - 4 of DILFiano on my Masterlist

CW: Morally grey age gap and power dynamics.

Word count: 4.9k

Three hours: barely a respectable amount of time to party hop with your friends before asking to go home. It’s not like you didn’t have a good excuse: they wanted to drive over an hour to some bougie party in the hills. Icarus liked to use her dad's name to get into events every now and then, just for the thrill of it. Most of you were leaving for college on Monday anyway. This was one last hoorah.

“I just feel super nauseous.” The statement was an excellent way to get home because no one wanted you in their car.

“You better not puke, or I swear to god…” Icarus threatened

“It’s just nerves about the move. I’m struggling to remember why I wanted to attend college on the other side of the country.”

“You had like two sips of punch, anyways,” slurs Elliot.

“Fuck you,” playfully shout towards the backseat. “Someone needs to take care of your ass when you have alcohol poisoning!”

“Hey, I’m on your side!” protests Moxy.

“Oh, I’m sorry, love!” You blow kisses in her direction, both tacky and affectionate.

“Is it okay to just drop you off at mine? Or do you need me to take you home?” Your heart jumps at the prospect of spending time in the David’s home. Pretending you were on this little adventure for Icarus was morally exhausting. It’s not that you didn’t care about your friend, but because the globe had shifted its axis. Your world now revolves around Damia. Ingesting various substances, dancing until you broke a heel, and stumbling back to your car at dawn was totally ineffectual in comparison to him.

“You can drop me at yours, I don’t want to deal with getting my car tomorrow morning. Ugh! I’m just fucking tired for some reason.” You were wide awake and so impatient you couldn’t even disguise it. Luckily everyone’s attention was on Google Maps.

“Just crash at mine like we were going to do anyway,” Icarus offers. “And we’ll be home…” She looks back at Elliot, who’s scanning the directions on his phone.

“It’s an hour and 23 minutes away,” he supplies.

“Okay we’ll probably just sleep there then.”

“Sick! I’ve always wanted to spend the night in the hills!” Moxy is excited to cross something off her stereotypically L.A. bucket list. You try to be happy with her, but internally you’re counting the trees as they pass. While your physical form is trying to plaster a smile on her face in the passenger seat of Icarus’ G-Wagon, your mind is already at the David’s house. Biding your time on the ride was unbearable. You wanted to crawl out of your skin or just feel the dry desert air on your face as the wind rushed by.

The sound of the tires changed as Icarus turned from asphalt, to her smoothly paved driveway. You wanted to jump out of the car and sprint while the SUV rolled forward.

“Wait, what is the turn off again?” She whipped around, coordinating with Elliot.

“Uh, shit, let me check. I screen shot the directions in case my battery gets low.”

“You can just charge it.”

“I forgot my phone charger,” he groans, and Moxy rolls her eyes.

“I literally texted you –”

“Okay, okay!” He holds up his hands defensively. Elliot had smoked too much random weed at the second party and was jumpy as a result. It was a risky move, just taking whatever was offered with no questions. Sometimes you’d be fine and others you’d want to rip your eyebrows off.

“Are you playing nice back there?” Icarus called.

“Can I get out?” Keeping the urgency out of your voice was impossible.

“Huh, what?”

“The car is still moving,” you snap.

“Oh shit,” she puts it in park. A good person would make sure Icarus was absolutely fine to drive. A good person would make sure all their dumbass friends ended the night safely. A good person would put aside their own personal needs for the sake of others, but that had been your entire life. Tonight you weren’t going to be a good person, you were going to seduce your friend’s dad.

Hopping out of the car, you exchange various expletive ridden farewells. The wave of relief at watching your friends drive off was like fully exhaling for the first time tonight. How freeing it was to be in the company of someone you didn’t have to take care of.

Damia had the house to himself, now. Alexander stayed at his mothers apartment so his older sister could have a going away party. You wanted to know how exactly Damia came to chaperone. Did he volunteer? Were you on his mind every waking moment too?

After your meeting a week and a half ago, Damia hadn’t called or texted. You waited in rapture for the first four days, then gave up hope. A grown man isn’t going to chase after you like a teenage boy would. You’d have to earn that reverence. Holding it against him wouldn’t be fair, anyways. Chiara would probably use your relationship against Damia in court, trying to win sole custody of Alexander. She seemed like the type to play dirty, and with a heart as pure as Damia’s, that was reprehensible.

The house was dark, so you kicked your shoes off on the welcome mat instead of the tile, that way your arrival didn’t echo through the silent house. It felt early to you, but the kitchen clock read 12:07am. He must be asleep. You go to the trouble of depositing your belongings in Icarus’ room for appearances sake, before tip-toeing to the otherside of the house. Damia’s bedroom door didn't squeak when you opened it, the whole home was well-oiled and in perfect working order.

However, you could sense that Chiara’s presence here was waning. All of Damiano’s eclectic art she’d managed to arrange in an orderly fashion stood on its own. No longer balanced between a neutral-toned painting and a perfectly proportionate end table, the heavy colors of a disfigured facade leered at you from across the hall. Up until today, you’d thought the bust was of a humanoid face. Now it was so clearly a mask, crazed eyes boring through wind-warped wood from the other side of some secret.

Another painting had been moved from Damia’s office to the living room. The piece was both gory and abstract, radiating deviant energy. There were no mangled figures, but the blood red paint had been applied to look like straining muscular ligature. In fact, all the paintings that had newly achieved pride of place were disconcerting, which you realized, was the point. In an effort to find himself, Damia must first be uncomfortable in the world around him. He was too beloved for anyone to do that to Damiano except himself.

Walking into his bedroom, you found the space above the headboard surprisingly baren. At 15 years old, you'd snuck a peek during a dinner party. There was nothing remarkable about it. The David’s had an under-stated European style. Given how Damia had centered his sexual charisma as a musician, you’d expected plenty of nude imagery ranging from sensual to erotic. Hell, maybe even attachments for restraints on the bed. However none of this was true, and you’d shut the door, fearful of getting caught. All you could recall was the absence of things, but had no memory of what the master bedroom looked like.

In a room lit only by artificial light sleeping through the window, it was hard to decisively observe anything. After closing the door, you became distracted by the books. First and second editions of Maya Angelou, Willian Carlos Williams, Walt Whitman, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, Allen Ginsberg, and others whose names you didn’t recognize. There's a sensuality in your fingers running down every spine, as if caressing their drug addled ramblings.

Of course your eyes then fall to Damia. No one is more angelic when they slumber or more evocative of sin when they wake. The dark washes us clean. Maybe you and Damia could stay up all night together.

“Hey,” you whisper. He doesn’t stir and after a moment you're glad you haven’t woken him up. He lays on his side and you lift the covers, scooting in behind him. It wasn’t an unfamiliar position. You always rose first at sleepovers, even in elementary school. The boredom of waiting was hellish, but not now. Nothing could hold your attention more completely than the even rise and fall of Damiano’s ribcage as he breathed peacefully. In such close proximity, you could see he was shirtless and propped yourself up on one hand to admire him. The muscles of his pecs were relaxed as were his biceps. All this beautiful body resting easily, folded in on itself.

You lay back down before the urge to run your hands on his warm, freckled skin becomes overwhelming. Testing the limits, heart racing, you put the pad of a single finger on Damiano’s back and hold your breath. As far as you can tell he’s still sleeping. You scoot closer so certain places are just barely brushing against his body: knee, forehead, stomach, the back of your left hand. You imagine Damiano had invited you into bed with him, that you’d fallen asleep together like this, maybe after a night of love making. You press your lips to his spine, then can’t bring yourself to pull away.

Damia startles and flips over suddenly. The glass house you’ve built in your mind is shattered.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me!” he heaves, hand to his chest. The mortification sets in. This wasn’t the slow, sensual wake up call you’d be hoping for, with kisses and gentle touches. Of course it wasn’t, because you were an 18 year old girl and a near stranger in his bed.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” Damiano reaches over you for his phone and for a moment he’s held above you so intimately it makes your cunt throb. After a few taps his sighs and lays back on his bed, disposition changed.

“I take it Icarus is with her phone?”

“Yeah, of course! I wouldn’t – fucks sake I wouldn’t do this if there was any risk of be found.” It's then that the reason for Damiano startling occurs to you. “Oh shit, you thought I was Chiara for a sec.” You sit up, weight resting on your hip and left hand. Looking down at him felt so casual, a snapshot into a fantasy life.

“No, no. We haven't shared a bed in almost a year. This bed,” he pats the mattress on either side of him, “is brand new. I’d like to sell the house, but…it’s not the priority right now.”

“Alexander.” Damiano was trying to give some consistency to his son. He nods and puts his arm behind his head. His tattoos stretch across his skin. The claw of a sprawling dragon pierces the head of a sphinx because Damia hadn’t coordinated between tattoo artists. He says he prefers it this way.

“You’re a good father.” Damia snorts and you realize immediately why that might not have been the best comment.

“Oh am I?” God he’s gorgeous. His happy trail is dense because Damia’s body hair spans his lower stomach. It also partially conceals the coiled serpent on his sternum, and reaches across his pecs. You’d never slept with a man who had adult body hair. It must tickle. Everywhere.

“You could move to a different room? That should be a manageable amount of change.”

“The guest bedroom is right next to the kitchen, though,” he wrinkles his nose. Moving Icarus’ bedroom likely wasn’t on the table either.

“What about an add-on to the studio? Expand the bathroom, add a bedroom, and make all the Swedish producers sleep in here?”

“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea.”

“Sleep in the guest bedroom when Alexander has friends over.”

“So I can hear all the nefarious activities happening in my house,” he chuckles, nodding. “You're full of good ideas.” He extends a hand to your knee, face thoughtful. “You know what the issue here is though? You’re better at these conversations than my peers.” His words are the sweetest, most delicious, most unbearable torture.

“Damia, you can trust my discretion.”

“I trust you as much as I can possibly trust an 18 year old, since I’ve been one.” You don’t like this answer and he can see it. “Where is Icarus tonight?”

“Getting drunk an hour and a half away in the Hollywood Hills and spending the night. Probably will be too hung over to get home before 4pm.” Damia is bargaining with himself and visibly gives in.

“You can’t spend the night in my bed, but we can cuddle for a bit.” Is cuddling what he called tucking Icarus into bed? Or did he say something else like snuggle? Is cuddling what he called his caresses with Chiara? Which role are you: daughter or wife? You are neither.

“Also please don’t tell my daughter that I have a tracker on her phone. It’s for her own safety, but –”

“I understand.”

“Of course you do. This’ll be our secret too.” There was no earthly thrill like keeping a secret with Damia, because it created an intimacy that couldn’t be denied. Even if neither of you named it, that tether was made stronger. You wanted thousands of secrets with him, to drown in all the promises you made and kept like your life’s purpose.

You scoot closer, putting off the moment where this touch could feel parental rather than romantic. It was far worse: contrived. As you lay down on his chest, Damiano’s smell was everywhere: his bedsheets, his pillows, his skin. It was the perfect encapsulation of his sex appeal: mature, masculine, refined. His arm wrapped around your back, fingertips dragging up and down your side. The sensation made every hair stand on end and you shivered. Damia chuckled which broke the awkwardness.

Feeling a little shy now, you turn your face against his skin and get a whiff of body odor. For some reason you want to hide how hard your nipples are, like there was any point in decency now. The hand strewn across his chest comes alive, holding onto Damia’s ribcage. The deep breaths aren’t really enough. Some part of you wants to bite into the muscle of his pec to feel it in your mouth, dig our fingernails into his skin and drag him across the bed. Consume him whole. It’s so carnal that you don’t recognize yourself.

“Pheromones. The smell thing it's…you’ll grow out of it, I think.” Having your mind read by Damia evokes that forbidden, cherished memory under a vibrant sky. For the first time ever, you weren’t thinking of the kiss already. Damia falters in stroking your arm, eyes turned to the ceiling in thought as well.

“Then why is it so hard for you to hold back?” The outer corners of his eyes crinkle as Damia lets out a short laugh. He shakes his head, not at you, but at himself. He should have known you’d be capricious.

“You call this holding back? Hmm.” Damia brings you closer and presses his face to your scalp, breathing in deep. Mothers say the heads of their newborns smell sweet when making the same gesture. If not sweetness, then how did you smell to him?

“I’d say we’re doing a terrible job,” Damia whispers. Upon being released, you finally feel confident enough to give into the craving that nags you, throbs between your legs. Nuzzling his arm out of the way, you press your face into his exposed armpit.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize for your depravity, then take deep gasping breaths of Damia’s body odor. “Sorry,” you mewl, trying to scoot closer. His hair tickles your nose, lips, and cheeks. Damia lifts his arm, permitting easier access. You pet his armpit hair with trembling fingers and your knees bump his flank. Testing the limits, you open your legs and try to nudge his thigh in between. Only when he abides, do you realize why you want Damia positioned that way, why you want his thigh wedged as high up as you could get it.

“I’m sorry.” He shushes you soothingly.

“Sweetheart, stop apologizing.” You stick the tip of your tongue into the hollow of his armpit and taste the salty skin, then lick upwards. Thankfully, he’s not ticklish, but your rapid breaths against his wet skin makes Damia shiver.

“I want you so bad,” you whimper. “And if you’d just – I’d be happy just to give you a blowjob or handy or anything. If you wanted I’d eat you out. God, I’d lick you clean after a run. I don’t even need you to touch me, because just knowing that I got to touch you…I’d be so thankful and I’d never ask for anything again. I’d take it to my grave, I promise.” This had devolved from propositioning into pathetic begging, but you really were that desperate. Damia looks pained when you want him aroused.

“Sweetheart, if this situation were different –”

“But it’s not. This is the situation.” There's a flicker, a candle fighting the wind. Deep down, a fraction of a fraction of Damiano is considering it. Maybe pity wasn’t the way to go. He was so confident, he probably was attracted to confidence in return.

“Sorry that was rabid, um...” You have to instigate because Damia can’t. But push a little too far, he’d shut down completely and ask you to leave out of guilt. You commit to a course of action, rolling over to the side of the bed and peeling off your tights. Damia’s eyes go wide in alarm. Instead of taking the rest off too, you kneel in front of him, wearing just panties and a skirt.

“I want you to feel how wet you make me.”

“We can’t –”

“And I’m not asking you to do anything! I just want you to feel, just once. You don’t have to get me off, but I want you to know.” There's that flicker, no longer just one candle fighting the wind.

“This is a horrible idea,” Damiano responds, propping himself up on an elbow. “I can’t believe I’m…” He extends his hand and you shift position, parting your legs to make room. You pull his wrist under the skirt and his fingertips bump right above the waistline of your panties. Before you can control the reaction, everything tenses in excitement, pussy pleading for you to give it something to squeeze down on.

Damia’s gaze is knowing, but he doesn't break the asphyxiating sexual tension with a witty remark. He’s not going to invalidate this moment for either of you. Trying to read into that, you lower his hand a centimeter to your panties. Damia’s short fingernails catch on the elastic, but his eyes never leave your face. Rather than blush and turn away, you stare right back, pushing his fingertips past the waistband.

Of his own volition, Damia slides his hand between your legs. His mouth falls agape, because you’re so wet he has to focus on not accidently slipping inside.

“Tesorina, I –” he touches you at a loss for words. Damia sighs in admiration at how warm and silky your pussy feels. Out of habit, he goes to apply pressure just outside your vulva with his pinky and pointer, while his middle and ring finger play with your pussy. He has to stop himself. You almost wish Damia was wearing a wedding ring so your body’s lubrication could loosen it.

“You feel lovely,” he purrs, pulling his hand back. You close your legs around his touch, clutching it between your thighs. It fits there so perfectly that you can’t help but rock against his palm. Both hands wrap around his wrist. A shameless part of you uses the grip to work back and forth against him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but mm please – don’t –” Damia wedges his upturned hand firmly against your vulva. “Oh my god,” you mewl, careening forward. You get fistfuls of the quilt and cry out, pelvis naturally finding a rhythm to rock against Damia’s hand.

“Ah mm, I’m sorry.”

“Shh, stop apologizing,” he insists in a whisper. Damia isn’t even concealing the relief in his expression at you making this decision on his behalf. Testing the boundaries, you sit back on your heels and give Damia’s hand your weight. He applies firm upward pressure to counteract and your source of friction ends up being even more snug against your pussy.

“Fucking, fuck. Thank you,” you moan, grinding your clit against the heel of his hand.

“Right now, it's okay to listen to your body, tesorina.” Experimentally, Damia’s finger slides into the divot of your vaginal opening. He strokes your hymen in circular motions. Without using any pressure, Damia allows just the tip of his middle finger to slip inside. A car drives by and the headlights momentarily illuminate half of Dami’s face. You can’t tell if it's the half he shows the world, or the half he’s failing to hide from you.

Captivated but conflicted, Damia drags the arousal up to your clit, middle finger dipping out of your hymen. Immediately you're grieving the lack of intrusion with a whine. Upon reaching the crest of your labia, he brushes back and forth in progressively smaller strokes. Damia uses a massaging motion around and on your clit. Rather than blindly picking a spot to rub, he allows the messy slickness of your pre-cum to inform his movements.

At first you're in awe of his presion while so deep in thought. Until you realize that subconsciously, your hips were shifting to bring his touch to the best spot. Under all that focus, he was listening to your body’s minute signals. When Damia does find your clit, he puts it directly under his thumb and your hips buck violently.

“Are you sure?” Something changes in the way he’s positioned. One of his fingers is extended and you falter as he presses it inside. It’s all you can do to nod. Head hung, your expression is corrugated by pleasure. He curls the digit against your g-spot and now your hands are pushing the blanket away, back arching, mouth falling open as your moan.

“Hey, look at me,” Damia prompts “Are you really, really sure?” It’s absurd for him to expect an answer while he finally pleasures you. Maybe this isn’t an overwhelming amount of stimulation for some women, but you’re on the verge of full body trembles. Damia holds your clitorous between his fingers internally and externally and stays consistent, titrating the pressure up and down, trying to find that sweet spot for you. One hand tightens its grip on Damiano’s wrist as insurance. The other is planted in front of you, bringing your face closer to his.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes.” Your intrepid confidence issues a scorching challenge. If this interaction ceases out of someone’s fear, it wasn’t mine. Because I am sure. You hold eye contact, gaze completely level. Equal. No longer a little girl in need of a replacement father figure. Damia returns your gaze, alarmed at your power, but also something like impressed. His pupils flit down to your lips. Eyes. Lips. Ridiculing himself. Lips, again.

“If you have the slightest doubt, tell me.” There's a sinking sensation in your stomach, not out of regret, but out of the knowledge of how wrong this was. It just made the whole thing more enticing; a door into the world of depravity that you coveted. People expected you’d spend your life as a righteous woman. Instead you wore a lacy thong under your skirt to seduce your best friend’s father when she was driving on the 405 tipsy.

“If holding on to me feels good, that's fine, but I won’t pull away if you let go. I’m not cruel.” Damiano visibly makes the same kind of enduring moral concession. During which, his hand had stilled in the last few moments, but you didn’t have the decency to stop using it as a source of stimulation. It was an inexcusably filthy thing to do, hump Damia’s hand with so much vigor it made you sweat. It was fucked up. While Damia couldn’t bring himself to verbally encourage it, his eyes begged you not to stop.

It was the briefest glimpse into the version of himself that Damia chained to the back of his mind, because it was a danger to his own reputation. A version of himself that sought out rules so his unquenchable rage had something to pulverize. That version of Damiano was allowed to fixate on the girl who fell to her knees in public and begged to blow him. He was allowed to accept the offer, and drag her back to the backseat of a car and have her ride his thigh. Both over and under the trousers, depending on which she liked better.

“I know you’re desperate just from touching yourself, because sex toys are still embarrassing at your age. I could probably just buy you one, but…” he clicks his tongue at an intrusive thought and shuts his eyes. Jaw set, Damia carefully gets himself under control, but can’t stop the hand against your thigh from shaking.

“I know you’re desperate because you’re so turned on that I can feel your heartbeat.” His fingers slowly curl towards your belly button as his thumb draws a straight line up your vulva. A breath gets caught in your chest, the pressure underneath your sternum threatening to become a scream.

“Please, please, ” you babble, mouth falling open when he finds your clit again. With the plentiful pre-cum, Damia runs his fingers back down your pussy and inside. The reentrance makes a squelching sound from all the wetness and you cringe hard, eyes closed in embarrassment.

“Shh, tesorina. Did you know most people have to use lube to get this wet? Hmm?” You had so much to learn. Why couldn’t he teach you? Damia’s fingering feels amazing, the slightest bit of delicious strain. You realize that he’d been using two. It’s more than you’d attempt so soon, but totally painless. Of course, Damia would know your body better than even you.

“How's that?”

“I didn’t think that I could take...but it feels mm.” You shift your hips side to side, exploring new sensations.

“Of course you can,” he coos. Just as it had reflexively a minute ago, your body bears down out of a desperate craving for internal stimulation. This time you get to squeeze down on two thick fingers and that relief brings you to your forearms.

“Damia, oh my god,” you moan. At this point, you’re just breathing in your own hair where it falls around your face. Damia uses his spare hand to pull it from your mouth and tuck it behind your ear. Somehow, it's the most intimate thing he’s done today.

“Do you want to try three?” No one had ever asked you that. It was counterintuitive to the goal of staying tight. It felt like you could take three. Maybe you’d really enjoy it, even if that was wrong. The stretch of two was deeply satiating.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay if the answer is yes.” He sets his hand on your thigh and rubs up and down slowly.

“Yes,” you blurt, scooting your legs apart to create room. Damia works the third one inside much differently than the second. He starts with his pinky, just pushing the tip past your hymen. That’s easy after a couple passes, so he switches to using the pointer as the third finger. You’re frozen in anticipation for something you’d never allowed yourself to be interested in. When he pushes three inside you adjust your pelvis without thinking about it.

“See how you spread your legs to open your hips? It's totally intuitive. Never let anyone ignore your desires.” Listening attentively, you manage to integrate all three fingers to the last knuckle. It takes a little force from Damia, which just makes the whole thing hotter. The flat of your hand slams against the mattress in stimulation. A whine turns into a throaty moan that wasn’t supposed to escape.

“Mm, see? No one teaches women how good having your pussy stretched feels.” You’re nodding in agreement even though Damia hasn’t asked a question. He thrusts his fingers in and out at a relaxed pace. At some point during this exchange, Damia went from laying under to kneeling on top of the comforter to be closer. The hand stroking your flank was equal parts sexual and reassuring.

“I could fit four fingers if I wanted too, hm? I could fit my whole hand, even. Would you like my whole hand inside you, tesorina?” You think about it, nod, and turn bright red. Even too embarrassed to meet Damia’s eyes, you can feel his smile. He’s thrilled at your honesty in this moment of self-discovery.

“Now I bet you didn’t know that about yourself until I asked. Here's the secret: most women love the way this feels. A woman, when she’s aroused, relaxed, and really wet because someone’s been patient with her, can fit more than just a cock. She can fit a cock and a finger, a cock and a toy. Never let anyone shame you for what it takes to feel full. It's your pleasure.”

Notes: No, that is not the end of the scene, however it is the end of my patience. My blog has been broken for months and it hasn't been fixed. For one, I can't tag people, hence the lack of taglist. PLEASE submit a help to Tumblr on my behalf. Yes, I know you're not supposed to, but I've resorted to annoying them into action. I'll post the rest once people can actually see my writing.

#daminao #damiano david #damiano maneskin #damiano david imagine #damiano david smut #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david x reader #maneskin #måneskin #må #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin imagine #maneskin x reader #maneskin smut #damiano david x you #age gap fanfiction

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aogram · 14 days ago

Text

Friend to All - (Prisoner 004) Danzmyr First Trial Voice Drama

Read under the cut! No TWs apply

The sound of a door creaking open, then heavy footsteps. A chair scrapes across the floor, and someone sits down. The person across from them draws in a sharp breath.

Danzmyr:

It’s about time.

Verus:

Apologies. The woman before you proved… difficult to question. I was taking a little longer than usual to steel myself.

Danzmyr:

Oh. You had trouble with 003? Qibra?

Verus:

Yes. Her.

Danzmyr:

Whatever she said to you, I wouldn’t take it personally, Warden.

Verus:

My name is Verus.

Danzmyr:

Right, Verus… Well, what you need to understand is that we’re all in a very stressful situation right now. Being taken here, being accused of murder, whether we did it or not… It’s a lot, y’know?

Verus:

Are you implying that you don’t believe you killed someone?

Danzmyr:

Oh, no. I know I ended a life. With my own two hands, in fact. But I’m not convinced everyone here has.

Verus:

If they hadn’t, they wouldn’t be here. I didn’t come here to argue. I came here to question you.

Danzmyr:

Right, right. I’m not trying to cause a conflict, Warden. All I’m saying is that I think Qibra is a good woman. Now that I’ve said that, and I really hope you’ll think about it, go ahead and ask away.

Verus:

…Alright. Good. Name, age, and occupation.

Danzmyr:

Danzmyr Maeneld. 267 years old. I’m… an adventurer of sorts. A hero, some would say.

Verus:

A Drow adventurer. Like Dri-

Danzmyr:

No.

Verus:

No?

Danzmyr:

He has his own tales, Warden, and I have mine. I’d like to keep them separate.

Verus:

Sorry. Is that a comparison you got a lot?

Danzmyr:

Yes. I heard it probably hundreds of times, when I was first starting out as an adventurer. It is a comparison that annoys me greatly, and I’m sure would annoy him as well if anyone were to bring it up.

Verus:

Why does it annoy you? Why would it annoy him?

Danzmyr:

Tell me, Warden. Have you ever been unwelcomely compared to some other Aasimar by a person you don’t know?

Verus:

I’ll admit I don’t remember much about my life before this, actually.

Danzmyr:

Do you think it would annoy you if it did happen?

Verus:

Probably.

Danzmyr:

So you understand me, then. We walk different paths. We’ve never even met. Move on to the next question, please.

Verus:

…Well, because you asked respectfully enough. Tell me how you’re adjusting to life here.

Danzmyr:

Life here? Well… I can’t say it’s too bad, I guess. I miss the sun, which is something I never would have thought I’d say, a few centuries ago.

Verus:

Why is that?

Danzmyr:

Sunlight sensitivity. The Drow were cursed, thousands of years ago, to be affected by exposure to the sun. It does a few things. Issues with sight, a slight uncomfortable burning sensation on the skin, although it’s nothing that does lasting damage. Dulled perception. A feeling of disorientation upon first reaching the surface.

Verus:

Then how did you become a hero on the surface world?

Danzmyr:

There are… various ways of dealing with it. Some use spells or magic items. Some are granted boons. Some simply try to stay out of the sun as much as possible. I myself had a minor ritual done, although mostly I just forced myself to become accustomed to it. After a while, the burning started to feel good, almost.

Verus:

The pain felt good?

Danzmyr:

A little, yes.

Verus:

…That can’t be normal. I wonder how Dri-

Danzmyr:

No.

Verus:

Sorry. Continue. What else do you think about being here?

Danzmyr:

Like I said, I miss the sun. But we have everything we need here, and I have people to talk to, at least.

Verus:

How do you feel about the other prisoners?

Danzmyr:

I get along well with most of them. Renata is a sweet person. I enjoy Qibra’s jokes. The druid… he’s… um, well.

Verus:

He’s what?

Danzmyr:

Never mind.

Verus:

Never mind?

Danzmyr:

Never mind! Let me move on to other prisoners!

Verus:

Alright. Tell me more about the others, then.

Danzmyr:

Esvel. He has a… spirit about him.

Verus:

What kind of spirit?

Danzmyr:

Well, it’s certainly… a spirit.

Verus:

I see. Anyone else?

Danzmyr:

It is truly sad that a child like Araglar would have ended up here.

Verus:

Hm. Is there anyone you dislike?

Danzmyr:

I have a… complicated relationship with Aeana.

Verus:

How so?

Danzmyr:

We don’t like each other.

Verus:

That doesn’t sound all that complicated.

Danzmyr:

Yes, but I would hate to call us enemies. I’m sure that given time, we will work out our differences.

Verus:

Really?

Danzmyr:

Yes, of course.

Verus:

Well then. I believe you’re one of the oldest prisoners here. How does that feel?

Danzmyr:

It feels the same as it always has. I’m kind of used to being the oldest person in the room. Not quite as used to being around…kids, though. And especially not teenagers.

Verus:

Teenagers?

Danzmyr:

Samako. She says she was a student at a big famous mage college, admitted two years before the usual admittance age. She’s a smart girl.

Verus:

I hope she’s smart enough to not try to attack me.

Danzmyr (laughing):

Is that what Qibra did?

Verus:

She tried to kick me in the shins.

Danzmyr:

Wow. That’s… I’m sorry, it sounds kind of funny. Especially given the height difference.

Verus:

It was just annoying.

Danzmyr:

Mm, fair enough.

Verus:

Speaking of which, you mentioned earlier that you think Qibra is a good woman. What makes you say that?

Danzmyr:

I’ve been around a long time. I like to think I have a good eye for people. I can’t say I know anything about her situation, but I think there’s a certain strength to her character.

Verus:

A strength? Mind elaborating?

Danzmyr:

She is stubborn and self-reliant. But she cares, too, as much as she would hate to admit it. I doubt she would kill someone, at least not without a very good reason.

Verus:

And how did you know all this?

Danzmyr:

Like I said. I have a good eye for people.

Verus:

Is that a good skill for an adventurer to have? The eye for people?

Danzmyr:

It’s very useful.

Verus:

And what else exactly does being a hero entail?

Danzmyr:

Finding kidnapped children, killing huge monsters, foiling the plans of those looking to bring carnage. Rescuing cats from trees. The like.

Verus:

Killing people?

Danzmyr:

Not usually, no.

Verus:

Interesting. See, I’ve been spending a bit of time in the library. You’re the subject of, or at least mentioned in quite a few books. You’re quite high profile.

Danzmyr:

I believe the total was 24 books, last time I checked.

Verus:

Something stood out to me, when I was reading about your exploits.

Danzmyr:

And that is?

Verus:

The value you’re known for. Mercy. Not one recorded instance of you ending the life of a humanoid. Even in self-defense. How is that even possible?

Danzmyr:

Well, it helps that I don’t usually fight humanoids, and I don’t participate in large-scale battles. I’m more of a “take down one powerful and dangerous enemy” guy than a “plow my way through hordes of men” guy. But to answer your question- through lots of discipline and self-control. Nonlethal attacks and all of that. Knock them out, tie them up, bring them to justice.

Verus:

So are you telling me that there have been no instances where you’ve been forced to end a life? Where it’s been impossible to win a fight without killing someone?

Danzmyr:

I can’t say there’s ever been an instance like that, no. I believe that there is always a way to achieve what you need to while sticking to your principles. It simply requires more resourcefulness than the average person has.

Verus:

And you have that resourcefulness?

Danzmyr:

Yes, I believe I do.

Verus:

So then… how did you find yourself in a place like this? You have to have killed to get here. And you said it yourself-- you even did it with your own two hands.

Danzmyr:

No one can stick to one value forever, hm?

Verus:

Quite right. But it made me wonder, why now? After almost three centuries of life, why now?

Danzmyr:

Hm. That’s a loaded question.

Verus:

Is it? I’d thought it was quite straightforward. Why did you commit your crime?

Danzmyr:

I’m not quite sure.

Verus:

How can you not be sure?

Danzmyr:

In all honesty, not many thoughts were going through my head when I did it. It wasn’t premeditated. It just happened.

Verus:

It just… happened? So you were able to kill just like that?

Danzmyr:

Yes. It wasn’t something that took any thought at all. It was… easy. Surprisingly so.

Verus:

(He found it… easy? So about what 002 said earlier…)

Hm… Mind if I ask you another question?

Danzmyr:

Ask away.

Verus:

One of the other prisoners mentioned something earlier. Do you believe you’re a good man, Prisoner 004?

Danzmyr:

Would you believe me if I said ‘I don’t know’ to that, too?

Verus:

It depends.

Danzmyr:

On what?

Verus:

How you justify not knowing.

Danzmyr:

I have undoubtedly committed more good deeds than bad. But is that how justice works? Is it a balance scale? Would my centuries of heroics cancel out one murder? Or is the fact that I broke my code of mercy enough? Or is it perhaps about intention?

Verus:

Let’s say that for the sake of this argument, we are judging purely based on your crime. No background of heroics in play.

Danzmyr:

Well, then, like I said earlier, there were not many thoughts going through my head at the time. If there were not any thoughts, there was no intention of malice. If there was no intention of malice, does that make me a good man?

Verus:

Did you regret it?

Danzmyr:

Yes.

Verus:

Then that points one way.

Danzmyr:

Yes. But while the absence of thoughts proves there was no intention of malice, it also proves there was no intention at all. If I was able to kill someone without even thinking about it, does that make me a bad man?

Verus:

Then… that points the other way.

Danzmyr:

Exactly. And there are many more questions, just like this, regarding my sin. Many such complicated questions that I have not decided to worry my head with.

Verus:

So you’re saying you don’t know how to feel about it yourself?

Danzmyr:

I don’t. And that’s why I actually am quite excited for the trial to proceed.

Verus:

You’re excited?

Danzmyr:

Yes! I really, genuinely, do not know how to feel about my own sin. And I really cannot wait to see the perspective of an unbiased observer.

The sound of gears grinding as the platform lowers.

Danzmyr:

Oh, there it goes! You know what, Warden? I like you.

Verus:

You… like me?

Danzmyr:

You’re very logical. Way more so than I. Like I said, I’m almost… oddly apathetic about the situation that got me here in the first place. But I know that whatever you see down there, you will come to the right decision.

Verus:

…I see.

Danzmyr:

Thank you. I trust you, Warden. I apologize for wasting your time with my own hypotheticals. I am sure you would have preferred to ask me more things about myself.

Verus:

It’s alright. You were at least not antagonistic.

Danzmyr:

I wouldn’t dream of being that way. I know why I’m here, and I fully accept it. Whatever you see down there… just tell me how I should feel.

Verus:

I’ll be sure to. It’s time to go. Prisoner 004, get ready to sing your sins.

---

Read Danzmyr’s first trial MV Description here

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rinse-and-repeat2 · 6 months ago

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Decided to go through with it and start posting my different AUs, but I'll only do a few per post to keep it short (tried to do all of them in one post but it ended up being so long that it was crazy) so maybe about 3 per post? sure, yeah, and I'll add a small excerpt for each if I've written one for that particular AU. If you don't want to see them just uhh I dunno block the rinse AUs tag or something sure there you go anyway here's to the first group

Sunset Order AU - An AU about Dale, Warren, and their parent’s backstory. This includes something I created called the Sunset Order which is a branch off of the Knights of Dawn for any kind of behind-the-scenes work that would need to be done, including getting hands dirty (which was made while the Sphinx was the head of the Knights). When Dale is forced into the magical world not exactly by choice, he has to quickly adapt and continue to care for Warren after the recent deaths of their parents alongside uncovering secrets from their past. In its entirety, this is self-indulgent and cobbled together by how little we know about their past/the past of Fablehaven. (No excerpt written)

Street Magic AU - Another short idea I had where magic is more widely known, and the preserves instead serve as schools (very, very prestigious schools). This is in a much more modern world, and magic is incredibly complicated to wield. So, it's often not used unless you pay for the education. Much of the population cannot use magic because of this. Kendra, having shown a proficiency in her understanding of magic, is able to get a full-ride scholarship to what would be Fablehaven's school. Meanwhile, Seth (who is not good at typical academics, studying, and the like) finds a typical, yet hidden, magician's shop and begins to learn magic there instead, under many people's noses (as he does). While Kendra begins to learn what secrets Fablehaven was built on, Seth learns magic in its entirety, not the typical watered-down version by society. (No excerpt written)

Viridity - This one is very near and dear to my heart, but it may not be that near and dear to some others because one of the main people it focuses on is Knox and it also has to acknowledge the end of Dragonwatch (whatever that was). This is a character study on Knox, Seth, and the relationship between them, as they're the same age but such different people in such different situations. This deals with reflections, comparisons, and interactions between them in almost one-shot form. This is partially an AU because I change bits and pieces of the end of Dragonwatch as I wish, but I also keep it as a plot in order to sow doubt after the fact. This fanfiction is about masks, late night conversations, sleep deprivation, and the inherent doubt that is included in growing up (Excerpt Incoming).

Silence worked its way around the room again, filling the gaps no longer in a comfortable way, but in a way where it sunk into their bones, sidled up next to them and breathed down their necks. A shiver rattled down Seth’s spine as an undercurrent began to flow of some emotion he couldn’t identify. Breaths were no longer easy to come by as they had been moments before. Now, suddenly, Seth stood in the kitchen with someone else when before, he had been happily existing alone. It felt… off. Wrong. As if Knox’s eyes could somehow pierce through his very being, analyze him… despite knowing Knox couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that. Kendra would, of course, but not Knox. Not… Knox didn’t have the brainpower to do that, probably. Even now, he spun and flicked the milk bottle cap on the table, looking frustrated every time it spun out and fell. Seth would usually laugh at him, say something about the stupid face he made every time he failed, but Seth couldn’t. Tonight, the tension hung heavy in the air like a smog, having followed Seth down ever since his dream—nightmare, not dream, his mind tugged at him—and it wouldn’t go. It wouldn’t leave. “I’m sorry.” The word slipped from his mouth like a whisper, a small wisp that gets caught up in the smog. He didn’t know why the words came from his mouth—whether it stood as a betrayal from his mind or sleep deprivation finally grasping him in its claws. Maybe… maybe Knox hadn’t heard him. Maybe this would blow over and mean nothing. Knox, meanwhile, stared at Seth, eyes wide and bottle cap forgotten, halfway teetering off the edge before it fell, plummeting to the ground with a sharp clatter. “…What?” Well, shit.

(If you have any questions, want to comment, send an ask, anything else, please do! I love these AUs with my whole heart, whether or not they're anywhere close to being done and I'm going to keep sharing them)

#rinse AUs #fablehaven #dragonwatch #seth sorenson #kendra sorenson #dale burgess #warren burgess #knox fhdw

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dilfiam-afton · 2 years ago

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Wily William

wily; skilled at gaining an advantage, especially deceitfully.

William was just as manipulative as he was charming. Naturally, you, his beloved spouse would never grasp how horrid he is, due to being too emotionally dependent thanks to this charming mans skill to woo people.

GENDER NEUTRAL

READER IS OF AGE

Possible TW for non-sexual nudity

Your friends, or well, at least the friends you had left now have been telling you how much of a manipulative sociopath your dear William is. Not once in your life did you seize to give their words second thoughts. Never. Not even when William asked you to cut those off who “badmouth him, trying to make you break up with him just for fun”..Oh how could you not tend to his request of ending multiple friendships when your lover, your beloved, looked at you with a worried expression; eyebrows furrowed, corners of his mouth weighing down heavily, titanium eyes laced with tears and worry that his precious Y/N would possibly consider ever leaving him, just because their friends told them to. “Yes, yes, he might be a little old-fashioned indeed-” you giggled at your friends` comment about your beloved, calling him out for treating you as his spouse like it was still the 1950s “but you do have to consider that William is old. It´s only natural for him to act this way since he was brought up like this! Plus, he´s a good provider and partner.”. Your friend just responded with a short huff, sipping on her coffee. You both perked up in surpsie when you heard a house key jiggle in the lock of the front door. He was back from work early! Your friend quickly thanked you for inviting her over and was swiftly seated in her car whilst you greeted William, who didn´t exactly seem happy about your... hospitality towards your friends.

“Hello, my Darling.” you pecked his cheek and continued asking him about how his day went, whilst hanging his trenchcoat on a coat-hanger, neatly tucking it away in the garderobe and handing him his house slippers, storing his leather loafers in the shoe cabinet “how was your day?” “how was having someone over in my house without asking me first ?” you paused dead in your tracks. “Oh i´m so sorry, I didn´t think I needed your approval to have a friend over!” William quickly made his way to the dining room, where you and your friend have sat, chatting away whilst sipping on some coffee and each enjoying a slice of cake. “And then you even leave me to clean up after you and your silly friends!”. Something weird about William was that you could never exactly put a finger on how/what he was actually feeling, and as of now you were rather uncertain if he was mad or just disappointed. “No, please let me handle this!” you took the plates he had just picked up from his hands, letting your (in comparison to his) small hands and soft skin graze against his larger, calloused ones. In response, William just raised a brow at you, whilst you cleared up the table, loading the dirty dishes into the dish washer. “Why are you home so early today, Darling?” he sighed, a small, soft smile now gracing his sharp, masculine features “I figured, since it´s Friday perhaps I´d come home earlier, spend some quality time by myself for an hour or two, then I´d be free for anything you have on your mind.” good, his mood improved you thought to yourself. You smiled at him brightly “That´s lovely!! How about I run you a bath? So you can wash the stress of the week off you and just relax a little until I finish making dinner.” “Why yes that´d be lovely.”

You quickly ran off, preparing the master bathroom for your partners bath; lovingly laid out his usual “home outfit” which included a plain, black turtleneck, loose fitting black suit slacks and of course, his underwear as well as laying some fresh towels onto the heater so that when he gets out of the tub, they´ll be nice and warm for him as well as letting the tub fill up with water and adding his favorite bath salts. Hygiene was important for William indeed! You were soon caught off guard when you heard the rattle of a belt; William was getting undressed for the tub. That was your que to leave the man by himself: nobody likes being watched while bathing after all. “Thank you, my dear.”, William was never too physically affectionate. You nodded your head, flashing him a warm smile again before taking a quick glance of your partners body “HEY!!” older man giggled, making you squeal with both emberassment and amusement as you hurried out the bathroom giggling.

Whilst William was bathing peacefully, you decided to start dinner and prepare his study; getting ready his cigar-cutter, already putting a whiskey decanter along with a whiskey glass¹ on his table until you hear him call your name. As independent, classy and how much of a loner William might be; sometimes he spends an insane amount of time with you. Like for example calling you into the bathroom while he´s taking a bath (when he´s done with his stuff like washimg himself, shaving etc) just to talk to you whilst he himself was just relaxing in the tub.

“Yes?” you poke your head into the bathroom to not invade his privacy too much “come, sit..please?” so you went and sat on the (obviously closed!) toilet. “why were you so angry with me today?” you asked whilst eyeing your darling lovingly. “Well you see- I find it rather disrespectful to let someone into the home I pay for without consulting me first.” he raised a hand to his face, as if he was face-palming, “but perhaps I´m being too old fashioned, no? I´m sorry, my dear.”. Now your ears were burning up, you didn´t mean to make William think badly of himself after all. “No, it´s fine I was just wondering!” you assured him “when were you planning on getting out, by the way? Your skin is pruning up already, Darling.” you only asked because you wanted to change the subject and you were 100% sure he knew. “Oh? Well then I suppose now” William spoke while pulling the drain plug in the bathtub and making his way out of the tub. Per usual he shamelessly stood there, peacefully drying off in front of you. And per usual you were trying to focus just looking at his face, yet every now and then your gaze drops to scan his full body. William wasn´t exactly muscular, nor was he skinny. His thighs were plush yet still² held a thigh gap, and littered with reddish-brown and grey hairs, his shoulders were broad and well defined, just like his chest, which also held some hair, his arms were rather thick; even to strangers it would be obvious he has to lift heavy parts now his belly was the most adorable thing ever to you; it was slightly pudgy and it held a happy trail.down to his nether regions. William was more than perfect for you! You truly did love him.

After Williams bath, eating dinner together and him enjoying his alone-time (reading a good book whilst having a nice cigar and enjoying some whiskey) you found yourself in bed, next to William. As you snuggled up to him, you decided to make some more conversation with him, he didn´t seem to mind. "Will?" "What is it? What's wrong, my dear?" he gently petted your head while you looked up at him. "Why don't you tell me about your childhood?" and oh boy, he did tell you about his childhood alright. After a while of William going into extreme detail of how his mother used to make all of his clothes by hand because they couldn't afford buying any, you zoned out.

You started to think about the fact that William was indeed still treating you as if it's the 1950s; he wants you to ask permission for many many things like for when you want to get your hair cut or dyed, or perhaps a piercing or tattoo or the way he expects you to cater to his every need as he is the one who brings home the money or how he once even spanked you (not in a sexual) because you disobeyed him. Your mind wandered and wandered, you giggled to yourself when you realized he practically fit into the typical "50s husband scheme" people have nowadays, just that he wasn't really abusive.

You came to the conclusion that your William wasn't manipulative, nor was he possesive nor abusive just old fashioned.

Poor, poor, clueless Y/N.

1. Drinking fancy whiskey and smoking cigars is such a clichè old man thing, and I LOVE it. William is a classy, fancy man in my opinion and so is drinking (good) whiskey and smoking cigars.

2. I basically described squid_nuudel's design of William. (6simp_nuudel9 on instagram)

#fnaf x reader #william afton #william afton x reader #fnaf #fnaf imagines #fnaf fanfic #dilfiam afton

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