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oliviajdjarin · 1 year

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Din Djarin: Bright and Shiny

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader (she/her)

Excerpt: “Do you like It?” he whispered, and you swore you were dreaming. You had pictured him like this so many times—so many times—but it was real. This was fucking real and you were fucking on fire.”

“Yes,” you said, breathily. “I do.”

You were locked on his helmet so badly that you didn’t see his right hand creeping up to frame your face with it. Holding your cheeks between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, forcing you to focus on his face.

“What do you like about it?”

Warnings: smut smut smut and more smut (me writing a dom man?), with softness at the end. The Crest is aliveee. Grogu isn’t here yet.

A/N: Happy Dincember everyone, aka my absolute favorite tumblr tradition. To all the authors updating prompts every day…are you Gods?

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be very appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

There was no bigger hypocrite in the galaxy than the infamous Mandalorian.

Blood-crusted beskar coated the majority of his body every time he placed his feet on solid ground—every time— in addition to the metaphorical armor that was his demeanor. Solid, unbreakable, stern, terrifying.

It was not until you had spent a few months as his “partner” at the Guild, thus living together on his quickly crumbling Razor Crest, that you were met with his true doctrine of hypocrisy.

It was as if every time he elected to remove a piece of his armor for you, he knocked down one of his walls. First was the night he removed the small shoulder and shin pieces, the same night he elected to crack his first joke. Next was the dark-browned chest, sharing with you that he was a foundling in his Covert. Then the belt, covered in more weapons and weight than you had ever seen, and he told the story of his first kill. Then the wrists, along with the story of his toughest kill. The one that haunted him as he attempted to fall asleep at night. Then his gloves, with the story of the first woman he had ever fell in love with.

“You remind me of her,” he had said to you, “except you have actually stayed.” He had said the last part quickly before immediately exiting the pit to hide in his “room” for a few hours.

You remained in your copilot seat, staring off into the stars of hyperspace, unable to think at all.

Slowly—very slowly— the Mandalorian had revealed more and more of his true self to you. The one who would sneakily hum around the Crest, make sure to turn your heated blanket on early on cold nights, and always—always—avoid spiced food like the plague.

“It upsets my stomach,” he had defended, and you scoffed in return.

After such long travel-times on jobs, you would get so used to the softness of his true personality that when he would have to put his armor back on—literally and figuratively— you almost felt like you were looking and speaking to a different person.

The heat in your lower stomach felt that way too.

It flared when he was soft, but the switch from the man you knew to the Mandalorian always reminded you both of when you first met him and what he was truly capable of.

Plus, seeing the width of his shoulders accentuated by the most expensive and impenetrable metal known to man was not bad either.

You had been sitting at the usual meeting spot with Greef, ready to discuss the dozen pucks already sitting in front of you. You were still due for a new job after the boat-load of beskar given to you for the little green baby— which definitely was not still on your conscious— and Mando was running a bit late due to the crafting of his new armor. You waited anxiously to see the results.

“I have never held this much in my own hands before,” he had said to you, and you beamed up at him as he spoke. “This will likely be enough for an entirely new set.”

You had no idea how right he was.

You sat at the booth with Greef, making pleasant enough conversation, but mostly daydreaming of what Mando was seeing, feeling, touching. The pleasure to watch his own armor be crafted by hand, you could not even imagine what that would be like.

You took a sip of your drink—one that Greef had been so gracious to buy for you—and let it burn as you set it down on the sticky wooden table. As soon as the glass touched the wood, the entire cantina silenced, and all eyes went to the entrance. Your eyes followed the crowd’s, unable to see for certain what everyone was looking at.

It only took a few seconds for you to realize that the “what” was actually a “who,” and that “who” was the kindest man you had ever known wrapped in wealth, power, and impenetrability.

It was a good thing you had set your drink down, because it would have dropped to the floor, shattering into millions of pieces, because he was the sexist thing you had ever laid your eyes on.

This was the Mandalorian.

You thought his previous armor was intimidating—small shoulder pieces, a wide chest piece, and even wider thigh pieces. He was both a distraction to you and a threat to everyone else in that armor.

But now, now he fully covered, head to toe, in shimmering silver. His waist the tiniest you had seen it, with his shoulders as wide as they had ever looked. Almost the entirety of his legs were covered now, and even his helmet gleamed and glistened in the light. He walked straighter, stood taller, and stepped slower. Like he was enjoying this.

He had never looked more lethal, and with all of the eyes on him, his own were on you.

You stared back at him as he made his way, mouth slightly parted, and legs squeezing tighter and tighter together with each step he took. The typical slight steam in your stomach at the sight of him was now boiling hot, running through the blood in your body faster than you could process. The lack of blood flow to your brain caused it to wipe itself clean and focus solely on the warrior in front of you. Your hands began to shake and your mouth parched.

You were speechless. A deadly bounty hunter stunned speechless.

He said nothing as he scooched his way into the booth, and you remained looking at him even when his body was turned towards Greef.

“I want my next job,” he said.

Greef said something, something witty, but you didn’t hear it. Couldn’t hear it.

“I want my next job,” Mando repeated. Amban rifle in his lap, leaning slightly forward.

Holy fuck the heat in you.

He grabbed a puck and began walking out, turning back to signal you to follow. You stood slowly, thanked Greef, and exited the Cantina, eyes locked on the expanse of his back the entire walk to the Crest.

~*~

It wasn’t two seconds after Mando put the security lock on the Crest that he had you cornered with his words.

“Is something the matter?” he asked, taking a step closer to you. You were both in the cock pit, ready to take off, and you were standing in front of the controls.

“No,” you said, meeting his gaze as fiercely as you could. Your hands were glued to your sides and your fists squeezed so hard they stung.

“Okay,” he said, so fucking softly it hurt you. He was still making his way closer to you, forcing you to look up.

“Okay,” you responded, and you thought that was it. He would back off.

But your fucking eyes betrayed you, darting down to the expanse of his body, and he laughed.

“Do you like It?” he whispered, and you swore you were dreaming. You had pictured him like this so many times—so many times—but it was real. This was fucking real and you were fucking on fire.

“Yes,” you said, breathily. “I do.”

“What do you like about it?”

You could barely breathe enough to respond. Your throat instantly dried, and every word of any language was lifted from you.

“I—I like—” you started, swallowing “—I like the chest.”

“The chest,” he said, bringing your hand up to the cold metal. “What about it?”

You traced your fingers down it, still forced to look up at him by his leather glove. “I like how wide it makes you. How powerful.”

He stood there in silence before asking, “what else?”

“The legs,” you whispered. “I really like the legs.”

He nearly growled. “Why Y/N? Tell me.”

Your name on his lips at this stage of the game was too much.

“It makes them look big. Strong,” you said, heart in your throat. “I like that.”

He softened his grip on your face and moved his hand to the back of your neck. “I know you do.” He then tapped twice on his helmet. “Heat signature.”

Your face fell and paled.

How long had he—

“I’ve known since the first day I met you,” he said, massaging your neck. “Just never knew how to bring it up.”

“Why now?” you whispered, voice deep from the pleasure of his fingers.

“Because this is the strongest it’s ever been for you,” he replied. “And for me. Seeing you watching me like that…”

He brought his hand back to frame your face.

“…I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than you in that moment.”

He started pulling you forward by your face.

“And now i have you, don’t I?”

Yes he did, so much of you, parts of you you didn’t even know about before him.

“Yes.”

He let go of you and sat in the pilot’s seat, spreading his legs.

“So ruin me, Y/N. Ruin this bright and shiny armor.”

You practically jumped on him.

You immediately mounted him, wrapping your hands around his shoulders, and felt all around the metal. Your breaths fogged up his helmet as you did, practically moaning at the chance to finally feel the expanse of his body. He kept his hands firmly on your hips, watching your face as you panted and whined in his.

After a few moments he picked you up and sat you on his right thigh.

“Go on.”

You immediately rolled your hips, fully moaning at the feeling, and rolled them faster and faster and deeper and deeper.

Your head began tipping back as the metal ground against your clit perfectly, but Mando pulled your face forward to rest your forehead on his.

“Mando—”

“It’s Din,” he said firmly, squeezing your hips enough to bruise. “Say it.”

You rolled your hips over and over, desperation dripping off your voice. “Din.”

It was then that he released a moan, ripped your pants and underwear off of you, and took control of your hips on his thigh. He placed you down just right and tears coated your eyes, sweat poured from your pours, and with one inch of incline from his leg, you shattered.

Your forehead fell against his, panting and whining “Din” over and over again as he kept you moving on him through your orgasm. You felt yourself drip down onto the floor and run down his legs, and your eyes rolled at the thought.

You held onto the fabric around his neck for dear life, gathering as much breath as you could, and Din just let you.

It was then that he started to feel you up.

He moved from your hips to your bare thighs, back up to your clothed breasts, then to your face to brush back your hair, and finally back down to your thighs. He gathered your drip from his thigh onto his leather glove. He brought it underneath his helmet, and your mouth dropped open.

He sucked it slowly, not making any noise except a slight groan. “I knew I was right.”

You swallowed, still panting in both exhaustion and shock. “Right?”

“I knew every part of you was perfect.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, and you smiled nice and wide. You had a feeling he was smiling too.

It was this sense of elation and euphoria that gave you the freedom not to think before sliding your hand over his hardened bulge and raising your eyebrows in question.

He chuckled, which somehow melted you more than anything he had done previously.

“Not right now,” he said sweetly, and pulled you into his chest. You cozied up into him before he slowly lifted you, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist. “I don’t think I’d last two seconds.”

You smiled, humming. “Okay Din.”

His body tensed a bit when you said that, and you wondered if you crossed some sort of boundary, but he continued on his way to his bed. He set you in It, wrapping you in his sheets, and grabbing a towel to clean you off. You got a good show of yourself stained and running all over his thigh and nearly jumped on him again.

“Like I said,” he countered, likely picking up on the change in your temperature, “I wouldn’t last two seconds.”

You nodded with a smile and he took the towel to the laundry room before returning to you, sitting on the side of the bed.

“Get some rest,” he said. “We have a job to do in the morning.”

He stood, making his way back to the cockpit, but you called out to him.

“Mando, wait,” you said, and he froze before slowly turning back around. “Are we okay? Was that…okay?”

He paused, leaning himself into the doorway, sighing as always, and said, “Y/N, I wouldn’t trade the world for the last hour I’ve had with you.”

You enjoyed this forward, talkative Din much more than you anticipated to.

“And call me Din,” he said. “Please.”

He then left you, starting up the Crest to make its way to hyperspace, and you drifted slowly into sleep, still on a high. You finally fell asleep to the feeling of a warm body wrapping itself around you, and a deep voice whispering in your ear, “We’re okay, Y/N. We’re okay.”

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 7 months

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Frev Friendships — Saint-Just and Robespierre

You who supports the tottering fatherland against the torrent of despotism and intrigue, you whom I only know, like God, through his miracles; I speak to you, monsieur, to ask you to unite with me in order to save my sad fatherland. The city of Gouci has relocated (this rumour goes around here) the free markets from the town of Blérancourt. Why do the cities devour the privileges of the countryside? Will there remain no more of them to the latter than size and taxes? Support, please, with all your talent, an address that I make for the same letter, in which I request the reunion of my heritage with the national areas of the canton, so that one lets to my country a privilege without which it has to die of hunger. I do not know you, but you are a great man. You are not only the deputy of a province, you are one of humanity and of the Republic. Please, make it that my request be not despised. I have the honour to be, monsieur, your most humble, most obedient servant. Saint-Just, constituent of the department of Aisne. To Monsieur de Robespierre in the National Assembly in Paris. Blérancourt, near Noyon, August 19, 1790. Saint-Just’s first letter ever written to Robespierre, dated August 19 1790

Citizens, you are aware that, to dispel the errors with which Roland has covered the entire Republic, the Society has decided that it will have Robespierre's speech printed and distributed. We viewed it as an eternal lesson for the French people, as a sure way of unmasking the Brissotin faction and of opening the eyes of the French to the virtues too long unknown of the minority that sits with the Mountain. I remind you that a subscription office is open at the secretariat. It is enough for me to point it out to you to excite your patriotic zeal, and, by imitating the patriots who each deposited fifty écus to have Robespierre's excellent speech printed, you will have done well for the fatherland. Saint-Just at the Jacobins, January 1 1793

Patriots with more or less talent […] Jacquier, Saint-Just’s brother-in-law. Robespierre in a private list, written sometime during his time on the Committee of Public Safety

Saint-Just doesn’t have time to write to you. He gives you his compliments. Lebas in a letter to Robespierre October 25 1793

Trust no longer has a price when we share it with corrupt men, then we do our duty out of love for our fatherland alone, and this feeling is purer. I embrace you, my friend. Saint-Just. To Robespierre the older. Saint-Just in a post-scriptum note added to a letter written by Lebas to Robespierre, November 5 1793. Saint-Just uses tutoiement with Robespierre here, while Lebas used vouvoiement.

We have made too many laws and too few examples: you punish but the salient crimes, the hypocritical crimes go unpunished. Punish a slight abuse in each part, it is the way to frighten the wicked, and to make them see that the government has its eye on everything. No sooner do we turn our backs than the aristocracy rises in the tone of the day, and commits evils under the colors of liberty. Engage the committee to give much pomp to the punishment of all faults in government. Before a month has passed you will have illuminated this maze in which counter-revolution and revolution march haphazardly. Call, my friend, the attention of the Jacobin Club to the strong maxims of the public good; let it concern itself with the great means of governing a free state. I invite you to take measures to find out if all the manufactures and factories of France are in activity, and to favor them, because our troops would within a year find themselves without clothes; manufacturers are not patriots, they do not want to work, they must be forced to do so, and not let down any useful establishment. We will do our best here. I embrace you and our mutual friends. Saint-Just To Robespierre the older. Saint-Just in a letter to Robespierre, December 14 1793

Paris, 9 nivôse, year 2 of the Republic. Friends. I feared, in the midst of our successes, and on the eve of a decisive victory, the disastrous consequences of a misunderstanding or of a ridiculous intrigue. Your principles and your virtues reassured me. I have supported them as much as I could. The letter that the Committee of Public Safety sent you at the same time as mine will tell you the rest. I embrace you with all my soul. Robespierre. Robespierre in a letter to Saint-Just and Lebas, December 29 1793

Why should I not say that this (the dantonist purge) was a meditated assassination, prepared for a long time, when two days after this session where the crime was taking place, the representative Vadier told me that Saint-Just, through his stubbornness, had almost caused the downfall of the members of the two committees, because he had wanted that the accused to be present when he read the report at the National Convention; and such was his obstinacy that, seeing our formal opposition, he threw his hat into the fire in rage, and left us there. Robespierre was also of this opinion; he believed that by having these deputies arrested beforehand, this approach would sooner or later be reprehensible; but, as fear was an irresistible argument with him, I used this weapon to fight him: You can take the chance of being guillotined, if that is what you want; For my part, I want to avoid this danger by having them arrested immediately, because we must not have any illusions about the course we must take; everything is reduced to these bits: If we do not have them guillotined, we will be that ourselves. À Maximilien Robespierre aux enfers (1794) by Taschereau de Fargues and Paul-Auguste-Jacques. Robespierre and Saint-Just had also worked out the dantonists’ indictment together.

…As far from the insensibility of your Saint-Just as from his base jealousies, [Camille] recoiled in front if the idea of accusing a college comrade, a companion in arms. […] Robespierre, can you really complete the fatal projects which the vile souls that surround you no doubt have inspired you to? […] Had I been Saint-Just’s wife I would tell him this: the sake of Camille is yours, it’s the sake of all the friends of Robespierre! Lucile Desmoulins in an unsent letter to Robespierre, written somewhere between March 31 and April 4 1794. Lucile seems to have believed it was Saint-Just’s ”bad influence” in particular that got Robespierre to abandon Camille.

In the beginning of floréal (somewhere between April 20 and 30) during an evening session (at the Committee of Public Safety), a brusque fight erupted between Saint-Just and Carnot, on the subject of the administration of portable weapons, of which it wasn’t Carnot, but Prieur de la Côte-d’Or, who was in charge. Saint-Just put big interest in the brother-in-law of Sijas, Luxembourg workshop accounting officer, that one thought had been oppressed and threatened with arbitrary arrest, because he had experienced some difficulties for the purpose of his service with the weapon administration. In this quarrel caused unexpectedly by Saint-Just, one saw clearly his goal, which was to attack the members of the committee who occupied themselves with arms, and to lose their cooperateurs. He also tried to include our collegue Prieur in the inculpation, by accusing him of wanting to lose and imprison this agent. But Prieur denied these malicious claims so well, that Saint-Just didn’t dare to insist on it more. Instead, he turned again towards Carnot, whom he attacked with cruelty; several members of the Committee of General Security assisted. Niou was present for this scandalous scene: dismayed, he retired and feared to accept a pouder mission, a mission that could become, he said, a subject of accusation, since the patriots were busy destroying themselves in this way. We undoubtedly complained about this indecent attack, but was it necessary, at a time when there was not a grain of powder manufactured in Paris, to proclaim a division within the Committee of Public Safety, rather than to make known this fatal secret? In the midst of the most vague indictments and the most atrocious expressions uttered by Saint-Just, Carnot was obliged to repel them by treating him and his friends as aspiring to dictatorship and successively attacking all patriots to remain alone and gain supreme power with his supporters. It was then that Saint-Just showed an excessive fury; he cried out that the Republic was lost if the men in charge of defending it were treated like dictators; that yesterday he saw the project to attack him but that he defended himself. ”It’s you,” he added, ”who is allied with the enemies of the patriots. And understand that I only need a few lines to write for an act of accusation and have you guillotined in two days.” ”I invite you, said Carnot with the firmness that only appartient to virtue: I provoke all your severity against me, I do not fear you, you are ridiculous dictators.” The other members of the Committee insisted in vain several times to extinguish this ferment of disorder in the committee, to remind Saint-Just of the fairer ideas of his colleague and of more decency in the committee; they wanted to call people back to public affairs, but everything was useless: Saint-Just went out as if enraged, flying into a rage and threatening his colleagues. Saint-Just probably had nothing more urgent than to go and warn Robespierre the next day of the scene that had just happened, because we saw them return together the next day to the committee, around one o'clock: barely had they entered when Saint-Just, taking Robespierre by the hand, addressed Carnot saying: ”Well, here you have my friends, here are the ones you attacked yesterday!” Robespierre tried to speak of the respective wrongs with a very hypocritical tone: Saint-Just wanted to speak again and excite his colleagues to take his side. The coldness which reigned in this session, disheartened them, and they left the committee very early and in a good mood. Réponse des membres des deux anciens Comités de salut public et de sûreté générale (Barère, Collot, Billaud, Vadier), aux imputations renouvellées contre eux, par Laurent Lecointre et declarées calomnieuses par décret du 13 fructidor dernier; à la Convention Nationale (1795), page 103-105

My friends, the committee has taken all the measures within its control at this time to support your zeal. It has asked me to write to you to explain the reasons for some of its provisions. It believed that the main cause of the last failure was the shortage of skilled generals, it will send you all the patriotic and educated soldiers that can be found. It thought it necessary at this time to re-use Stetenhofen, whom it is sending to you, because he has military merit, and because the objections made against him seem at least to be balanced by proofs of loyalty. He also relies on your wisdom and your energy. Salut et amitié. Paris, 15 floréal, year 2 of the Republic. Robespierre. Robespierre to Saint-Just and Lebas, May 4 1793

Dear collegue, Liberty is exposed to new dangers; the factions arise with a character more alarming than ever. The lines to get butter are more numerous and more turbulent than ever when they have the least pretexts, an insurrection in the prisons which was to break out yesterday and the intrigues which manifested themselves in the time of Hébert are combined with assassination attemps on several occasions against members of the Committee of Public Safety; the remnants of the factions, or rather the factions still alive, are redoubled in audacity and perfidy. There is fear of an aristocratic uprising, fatal to liberty. The greatest peril that threatens it is in Paris. The Committee needs to bring together the lights and energy of all its members. Calculate whether the army of the North, which you have powerfully contributed to putting on the path to victory, can do without your presence for a few days. We will replace you, until you return, with a patriotic representative. The members composing the Committee of Public Safety. Robespierre, Prieur, Carnot, Billaud-Varennes, Barère. Letter to Saint-Just from the CPS, May 25 1794, written by Robespierre. It was penned down just two days after the alleged attempt on Robespierre’s life by Cécile Renault.

Robespierre returned to the Committee a few days later to denounce new conspiracies in the Convention, saying that, within a short time, these conspirators who had lined up and frequently dined together would succeed in destroying public liberty, if their maneuvers were allowed to continue unpunished. The committee refused to take any further measures, citing the necessity of not weakening and attacking the Convention, which was the target of all the enemies of the Republic. Robespierre did not lose sight of his project: he only saw conspiracies and plots: he asked that Saint-Just returned from the Army of the North and that one write to him so that he may come and strengthen the committee. Having arrived, Saint-Just asked Robespierre one day the purpose of his return in the presence of the other members of the Committee; Robespierre told him that he was to make a report on the new factions which threatened to destroy the National Convention; Robespierre was the only speaker during this session. He was met by the deepest silence from the Committee, and he leaves with horrible anger. Soon after, Saint-Just returned to the Army of the North, since called Sambre-et-Mouse. Some time passes; Robespierre calls for Saint-Just to return in vain: finally, he returns, no doubt after his instigations; he returned at the moment when he was most needed by the army and when he was least expected: he returned the day after the battle of Fleurus. From that moment, it was no longer possible to get him to leave, although Gillet, representative of the people to the army, continued to ask for him. Réponse de Barère, Billaud-Varennes, Collot d’Herbois et Vadier aux imputations de Laurent Lecointre (1795)

On 10 messidor (June 28) I was at the Committee of Public Safety. There, I witnessed those who one accuses today (Billaud-Varenne, Barère, Collot-d'Herbois, Vadier, Vouland, Amar and David) treat Robespierre like a dictator. Robespierre flew into an incredible fury. The other members of the Committee looked on with contempt. Saint-Just went out with him. Levasseur at the Convention, August 30 1794. If this scene actually took place, it must have done so one day later, 11 messidor (June 29), considering Saint-Just was still away on a mission on the tenth.

Isn’t it around the same time (a few days before thermidor) that Saint-Just and Lebas would dine at your father’s house with Robespierre? Lebas often dined there, having married one of my sisters. Saint-Just rarely there, but he frequently went to Robespierre’s and climbed the stairs to his office without speaking to anyone. During the dinner which I’m talking about, did you hear Saint-Just propose to Robespierre to reconcile with some members of the Convention and Committees who appeared to be opposed to him? No. I only know that they appeared to be very devided. Do you have any ideas what these divisions were about? I only learned about it through the discussions which took place on this subject at the Jacobins and through the altercation which was said to have taken place at the Committee of Public Safety between Robespierre older and Carnot. Robespierre’s host’s son Jacques-Maurice Duplay in an interrogation held January 1 1795

Saint-Just then fell back on his report, and said that he would join the committee the next day (9 thermidor) and that if it did not approve it, he would not read it. Collot continued to unmask Saint-Just; but as he focused more on depicting the dangers praying on the fatherland than on attacking the perfesy of Saint-Just and his accomplices, he gradually reassured himself of his confusion; he listened with composure, returning to his honeyed and hypocritical tone. Some time later, he told Collot d'Herbois that he could be reproached for having made some remarks against Robespierre in a café, and establishing this assertion as a positive fact, he admitted that he had made it the basis of an indictment against Collot, in the speech he had prepared. Réponse des membres des deux anciens Comités de salut public et de sûrété générale… (1795) page 107.

I attest that Robespierre declared himself a firm supporter of the Convention and never spoke but gently in the Committee so as not to undermine any of its members. […] Billaud-Varenne said to Robespierre, “We are your friends, we have always walked together.” This dishonesty made my heart shudder. The next day, he called him Peisistratos and had written his act of accusation. […] If you reflect carefully on what happened during your last session, you will find the application of everything I said: a man alienated from the Committee due to the bitterest treatments, when this Committee was, in fact, no longer made up of more than the two or three members present, justified himself before you; he did not explain himself clearly enough, to tell the truth, but his alienation and the bitterness in his soul can excuse him somewhat: he does not know why he is being persecuted, he knows nothing except his misfortune. He has been called a tyrant of opinion: here I must explain myself and shine light on a sophism that tends to proscribe merit. And what exclusive right do you have to opinion, you who find that it is a crime to touch souls? Do you find it wrong that a man should be tenderhearted? Are you thus from the court of Philip, you who make war on eloquence? A tyrant of opinion? Who is stopping you from competing for the esteem of the fatherland, you who find it so wrong that someone should captivate it? There is no despot in the world, save Richelieu, who would be insulted by the fame of a writer. Is it a more disinterested triumph? Cato is said to have chased from Rome the bad citizen who had called eloquence at the tribune of harangues, the tyrant of opinion. No one has the right to claim that; it gives itself to reason and its empire is not the in the power of governments. […] The member who spoke for a long time yesterday at this tribune did not seem to have distinguished clearly enough who he was accusing. He had no complaints and has not complained either about the Committees; because the Committees still seem to me to be dignified of your estime, and the misfortunes that I have spoken to you of were born of isolation and the extreme authority of several members left alone. Saint-Just defending Robespierre in his last, undelivered speech, July 27 1794

One brings St. Just, Dumas and Payan, all of them shackled, they are escorted by policemen. They stay a good quarter of an hour standing in front of the door of the Committee’s room; one makes them sit down onto a windowsill; they have still not uttered a single word, pleasant people make the persons who surround these three men step aside, and say move back, let these gentlemen see their King sleep on a table, just like a man. Saint-Just moves his head in order to see Robespierre. Saint-Just’s figure appeared dejected and humiliated, his swollen eyes expressed chagrin. Faits recueillis aux derniers instants de Robespierre et de sa saction, du 9 au 10 thermidor (1794) by anonymous.

The Committee of General Security was being spied on by Héron, D…, Lebas: Robespierre knew, through them, word for word, everything that was happening at said committee. This espionage gave rise to more intimate connections between Couthon, Saint-Just and Robespierre. The fierce and ambitious character of the latter gave him the idea of establishing the general police bureau, which, barely conceived, was immediately decreed. Révélations puisées dans les cartons des comités de Salut public et de Sûreté générale ou mémoires (inédits) (1824) by Gabriel Jérôme Sénart.

Intimately linked with Robespierre, [Saint-Just] had become necessary to him, and he had made himself feared perhaps even more than he had desired to be loved. One never saw them divided in opinion, and if the personal ideas of one had to bow to those of the other, it is certain that Saint-Just never gave in. Robespierre had a bit of that vanity which comes from selfishness; Saint-Just was full of the pride that springs from well-established beliefs; without physical courage, and weak in body, to the point of fearing the whistling of bullets, he had the courage of reflection which makes one wait for certain death, so as not to sacrifice an idea. Memoirs of René Levasseur (1829) volume 2, page 324-325.

Often [Robespierre] said to me that Camille was perhaps the one among all the key revolutionaries whom he liked best, after our younger brother and Saint-Just. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834) page 139.

After the month of March, 1794, Robespierre's conduct appeared to me to change. Saint-Just was to a great degree the cause of this, and this leader was too youthful ; he urged him into the vain and dangerous path of dictatorship which he haughtily proclaimed. From that time all confidences in the two committees were at an end, and the misfortunes that followed the division in the government became inevitable. […] We did not hide from [Robespierre] that Saint-Just, who was formed of more dictatorial stuff, would have ended by overturning him and occupying his place ; we knew too that he would have us guillotined because of our opposition to his plans; so we overthrew him. Memoirs of Bertrand Barère (1896), volume 1, page 103-104.

About this time Robespierre felt his ambition growing, and he thought that the moment had come to employ his influence and take part in the government. He took steps with certain members of the committee and the Convention, asking them to show a desire that he, Robespierre, should become a member of the Committee of Public Safety. He told the Jacobins it would be useful to observe the work and conduct of the members of the committee, and he told the members of the Convention that there would be more harmony between the Convention and the committee if he entered it. Several deputies spoke to me about it, and the proposal was made to the committee by Couthon and Saint-Just. To ask was to obtain, for a refusal would have been a sort of accusation, and it was necessary to avoid any split during that winter which was inaugurated in such a sinister manner. The committee agreed to his admission, and Robespierre was proposed. Ibid, volume 2, page 96-97

The continued victories of our fourteen armies were as a cloud of glory over our frontiers, hiding from allied Europe our internecine struggles, and that unhappy side of our national character which acts and reacts so deplorably as much on the whole population as on our nghts and our manners. The enthusiasm with which I announced these victories from the tnbune was so easily seen that Saint- Just and Robespierre, being in the committee at three in the morning, and learning of the taking of Namur and some other Belgian towns, insisted for the future that the letters alone of the generals should be read, without any comments which might exaggerate their contents. I saw at once at whom this reproach was directed, and I took up the gauntlet with the deasion of a man willing to once more merit the hatred of the enemies of our national glory, and the bravery of our armies. Then Samt-Just cried, “ I beg to move that Barère be no longer allowed to add froth to our victories.” […] While Saint-Just was reproving me, Robespierre supported the longsightedness of his friend… […] The next day my report on the taking of Namur was somewhat more carefully drawn up, and I alluded to the observation of my critics, who were envious of the power of public opinion in favour of our troops, then busied in saving the country. This phrase in my report was much commented on, although its meaning was only clear to those who had heard the debate in the committee on the previous evening “Sad are the tunes, sad is the period, when the recital of the triumphs and glories of the armies of the Repubhc is coldly hastened to in this place! Henceforth liberty will be no longer defended by the country, it will be handed over to its enemies!”This pronouncement was not of a nature to be forgiven by Saint-Just and Robespierre, so they determined to supplant me with regard to these reports. They forced that idiot Couthon to attend the Committee of Public Safety at eleven in the morning, before I got there Couthon asked for the letters of the generals that had come in during the night, and took his usual seat at the back of the hall, waiting until the assembly was sufficiently full for him to announce the victones. About one, Couthon, being paralysed and unable to stand up in the tribune, coldly read the news from the armies from his place. This time, no effect was produced in the Assembly, or upon the public. This attempt, authorised by Robespierre and Saint-Just, having missed fire completely, the committee signified its dissatisfaction at the innovation. Ibid, volume 2, page 123-125

After his return from Fleurus, Saint-Just remained some time in Paris, although his mission as representative to the armies of the Sambre and Meuse and the Rhine and Moselle was unfinished. The campaign was only beginning, but he had several projects in hand, and he stayed in committee, or rather his office, where he was always absorbed and thoughtful. Robespierre, in speaking of him at the committee, said familiarly, as if speaking of an intimate friend: ”Saint-Just is silent and observant, but I have noticed, in his personality, he has a great likeness to Charles IX.” This did not flatter Saint-Just, who was a deeper and cleverer revolutionist than Robespierre. One day, when the former was angry about several legislative propositions or decrees that did not please him, Saint-Just said to him, “Be calm, it is the phlegmatic who govern.” Ibid, volume 2, page 139

This tyrannical law was the work of Saint-Just Consult the Momteuv of the 22nd of Germinal, where it is reported with the explanation of his motives, and you will see that, if there had been no committee, SamtJust would have used his power with as much dictatorial fanaticism as did Manus, that great enemy of the Roman anstocracy. Robespierre’s fnend never forgave me for having dimmished the force of this blow. Whilst I was at the tnbune of the Convention, he came, with someone unknown, and perused my register of requisitions. He took down certain names, and some days after, towards midnight, Robespierre and Saint-Just entered the committee, where they did not usually come (for they worked in a private office, under pretext that their duties were completely private) A few moments after their entry Saint-Just complained of the abuse I had made of the requisitions, which had been granted, said he, in such profusion that the law of the 21st of Germinal had become null and void. Ibid, volume 2, page 146

Robespierre, Saint-Just and Couthon were inseparable. The first two had a dark and duplicitous character; they pushed away with a kind of disdainful pride any familiarity or affectionate relationship with their colleagues. The third, a legless man with a pale appearance, affected good-nature, but was no less perfidious than the other two. All three of them had a cold heart, without pity, they interacted only with each other, holding mysterious meetings outside, having a large number of protégés and agents, impenetrable in their designs. Révélations sur le Comité de salut public by Prieur-Duvernois

Robespierre, who had great confidence in Le Bas because he knew his wise and prudent character well, had chosen him to accompany Saint-Just, whose burning love of the fatherland sometimes led to too much severity, and who had a tendency to get carried away. […] [Saint-Just] also had friendship for me and came often enough to our house. […] Finally our providence, our good friend Robespierre, spoke to Saint-Just to engage him to let me depart with them, along with my sister-in-law Henriette. He consented, but with some conditions. Memoirs of Élisabeth Lebas (1901)

Volume 8 — page 153. ”Saint-Just, his (Robespierre’s) only confident.” His only confident? Élisabeth Lebas corrects a passage in Alphonse de Lamartine’s Histoire des Girondins (1847)

The Lamenths and Péthion in the early days, quite rarely Legendre, Merlin de Thionville and Fouché, often Taschereau, Desmoulins and Teault, always Lebas, Saint-Just, David, Couthon and Buonarotti. Élisabeth Lebas regarding visitors to the Duplay’s during the revolution

—

When arriving in Paris in September 1792, Saint-Just first lived on No. 7 rue de Gaillon up until March 1794, and then on No. 3 rue de Caumartin (today’s No. 5) up until his death. Both those places were within a ten minute walking distance from Robespierre’s home on 398 Rue Saint-Honoré.

Saint-Just was away from Paris (and therefore Robespierre) on missions between March 9 to March 31, October 17 to December 4, December 10 to December 30, January 22 to February 13, April 30 to May 31 and June 10 to June 29.

#sj and max holding hands 🤗💓#robespierre #saint-just #maximilien robespierre #louis antoine de saint just #barère #élisabeth lebas #philippe lebas #frev #frev friendships #long post #saintspierre

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 6 months

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Totally not Jealous

So, I haven't fully thought out the idea I had but I just got this image in my head where Eddie and bestfriend Reader are kind of yelling at each other where she's like "you're always talking shit about conforming and society but you always drool over the cheerleaders, you never even glance at someone else, you are just as bad!"

And Eddie being like "What am I supposed to do then? Stare at you the whole time, like I want and pretend I'm not dying inside because you're not my girl, you just want to be friends?"

"I never said I just wanted to be friends"

"Oh yeah? And I've never said I wanted a cheerleader!"

"Well, good!"

"Good! Why are we still yelling?"

Story inspo by @somethingvicked

Warnings: Angst to fluff. Mutual pining, idiots in love, jealous Eddie.

Don't copy, reuse or repost my work.

❤️

Eddie wasn't happy. He sits at the head of the Hellfire table watching Dean Jackson flirting with you.

The rest of Hellfire exchange worried looks as Eddie continues to grow more irate by the second.

He can't stop fidgeting, he's restless and wants nothing more to barge over to you and Dean and see what the fuck this asshole was playing at.

And how could you flirt with Dean when he was from the dark side? One of Carver's friends. Where was your loyalty?

No way in hell was he going to admit that he was jealous

He wasn't jealous... It wasn't like he's been in love with you for a very long time or anything... Fuck.

Mike moves forward, maybe to ask a question or some shit, Eddie doesn't know. Doesn't get a chance to find out as he sends a death glare to Mike that has him rushing back to his seat.

Not the time Wheeler.

"Why don't you just go over if you're so bothered?" Mike whines and Eddie grins in an almost maniacal way that sends worry into the hearts of the Hellfire members.

"You know you're absolutely right Wheeler" and with that he walks over to you and Dean intent on chaos and showing you the truth about this douchebag.

♥️

Dean is cute, a little boring but he's absolutely crucial to your current mission of getting over your major crush on Eddie.

Things were a no go where Eddie was concerned considering he spent most of his time mooning over cheerleaders.

The possibility of him ever noticing you was zero.

So it comes to your suprise when Eddie is suddenly at your side with a wide cheesy smile on his face.

Oh god he was going to go into one of his tangents wasn't he? Normally you adored them but you had a funny feeling Dean himself would be part of his ranting.

"What are you doing Eddie?" you whisper and Eddie turns to Dean, his big brown eyes flash with fury and a little bit of excitement. Shit... This wasn't going to end well was it?

"Dean, what a suprise. You know you were just the subject of a rather interesting conversation between Sally Ann and Violet. They came to me for some weed and were positively furious with you"

Confused you look to Eddie then to Dean who's going redder by the minute.

"That was nothing. Just a mix up you know" he shrugs of Eddie who raises his eyebrow in disbelief.

"You slept with the two of them in the same week and that was a mix up? After you began dating Sally Ann, sure dude. Whatever you say"

You gape as you turn around to Dean who is looking anywhere but you and pretty much hightails it out of the cafeteria.

"Dickhead" Eddie mutters and then his gaze turns to you and he looks betrayed and extremely pissed off. "Flirting with Dean really? He's a member of the dark side sweetheart. Jason's right hand man"

Eddie's words sink in and it lights a fury inside of you. He was one to talk when he spent half his time drooling over cheerleaders! They were popular, part of Jason's clique and he didn't mind looking at them or his attempts at flirting.

"You're such a hypocrite" you hiss at him and he has the gall to look offended, jaw tensing up and his body stiffens.

"How the fuck did you figure that one out huh? I guess it doesn't matter if Dean is a dickhead to you as long as he's hot right. We all remember your crush on Harrington"

Granted Steve was a cool dude now but back in his King Steve days? Running around wit Carol and Tommy, the dude was a prick.

You're crush on Steve back then pissed off Eddie and he wasn't even in love with you at that point, he just got grumpy Steve had your attention and not him.

Wow. You're shocked at how much of an asshole Eddie is being.

"You're always talking shit about conforming and society but you always drool over the cheerleaders, you never even glance at someone else, you are just as bad!" you exclaim heart hurting as the two of you fight.

Fuck, didn't he get it? You wanted Eddie but he was always so busy looking at cheerleaders that you felt hopeless, knew he could never look at you like that.

So yeah you flirted with Dean a little. Why would you waste your life pining over someone who obviously doesn't want you.

Who thought of you as just a friend.

Meanwhile your words piss Eddie off because yeah maybe he would look at cheerleaders every so often but they aren't who he wants.

The only girl he's ever wanted (as in fallen head over heels in love with) is you. He wants more than friendship, wants to hold your hand, kiss you, show you how much he adores you.

"What am I supposed to do then? Stare at you the whole time, like I want and pretend I'm not dying inside because you're not my girl, you just want to be friends?" Eddie snaps as his emotions, his longing for you boils to the surface.

He's tried to hide how in love with you he is for so long, suppressing every urge to tell you how he feels. It was inevitable that he would tell you someday.

You freeze as what Eddie said sinks in. He loves you... A feeling of euphoria overwhelms you, after all this time he's felt the same as you.

"I never said I just wanted to be friends! " you yell back. Eddie folds his arms across his chest trying not to get his hopes up at what you're saying, trying to protect himself if this goes south.

"Oh yeah? And I've never said I wanted a cheerleader!" he replies. I want you he yells in his head frustrated.

"Well, good!" you feel elated at this and the feelings of anger begin to fade away. There's a hopefulness building inside of you at the fact he loves you.

"Good! Why are we still yelling?" He's softened too, expression gentle as he looks at you.

You shrugs helplessly at his question.

"I don't know Eddie, at this moment I just want you to be kissing me" a blush creeps up his cheeks and he moves closer to you almost tripping over you in his haste to be near you.

That was Eddie fast, restless, always on the go, loud and dramatic... But god you loved him.

"I love you" You whisper in his ear and he grins at you scooping you up in his arms and twirling you around the room.

"I love you princess"

You're a little embarrassed that everyone must have seen this but when you look at the crowd in the cafeteria they are all gone except the Hellfire boys.

When did that happen? The whole place must have cleared out as you were fighting.

Dustins voice rings out in relief breaking the silence.

"About fucking time. Pay up Jeff" Eddie's eyes widen and he glares at the boys.

"Hey, you buttheads. You bet on us?" Dustin looks around for help from the others but they are suddenly quiet again.

"Alright everyone for themselves" he yells and the next second the boys are out of their seats and speeding past you in Eddie.

Overcome with giggles you sober up at the thunderous look on Eddie's face and kiss him gently. A blissful expression appears on his face and the storm was evaded. For now at least.

❤️

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #jealous eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fluff

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grape-eating-vampire · 1 month

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I'm (very slowly) advancing through Red Dead Redemption 2, and by God do I have feelings about it

what the hell is the deal with Dutch? I don't know any backstory and haven't played the first game, so he just seems like a semi-charismatic hypocrite who everyone trusts with their life? why?

I'd kill for Javier and Charles, most precious bastards in America

when Kieran takes you to the O'Driscoll hideout and talks about how Dutch's gang and Colm's gang aren't all that different... had to think on that

couldn't keep myself from making a Malevolent reference, and since there's already a guy called John, my horse's name is now Yellow

fuck you Micah Bell and fuck everything you stand for (he's silly)

also love how fake Arthur's bad-guy reputation is, that man saw a woman searching for dinosaur bones on the side of the road and enthusiastically agreed to keep an eye out for them, despite not even knowing that dinosaurs were real before

additionally:

Arthur: *threatens to kill a man if he ever spoke out about seeing him*

that exact man: Thank You Arthur Morgan You Are Such A Good Man

Arthur: >:(

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #dutch van der linde #javier escuella #charles smith #kieran duffy #colm o'driscoll #malevolent #vague #arthur morgan #micah bell

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artiststarme · 1 year

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Ex-fucking-cuse you

Thank you to @carlyv for the title idea! I don’t know if I really like whatever this is but other people seem to so I’ll leave it be. Let me know what you guys are thinking in the comments!

~*~*~*~

Whenever he had shared his feelings in the past, he’d had them stomped on. From crushes to life goals, anyone he’d ever confided in had laughed in his face. The first memorable time had been when he told Tommy about his crush on Heath Sellers at recess in fourth grade. Tommy H. told him that he wouldn’t be friends with a fag and if he ever mentioned liking a dude again, he’d kick his ass. That circumstance really showed Steve that he couldn’t trust anyone. If he couldn’t share what he was thinking with his best friend, who else could he tell?

The second time was with Nancy Wheeler. Steve told her he loved her even though he knew it was too early into their relationship and he knew she was still grieving Barb. But he still told her and all she did for the first few times was call him an idiot afterwards. Steve loved too much and too hard. Sure, after a few weeks she said it back but Steve could tell it wasn’t genuine and was most likely said out of pity.

The fact that she called him bullshit just two weeks later kind of cemented that fact in his mind.

It made him feel sort of hypocritical. He told the kids to be open and honest, prided them on their communication. And then he neglected to do the same. He hid his nightmares and semi-suicidal thoughts behind an impenetrable wall that no one in the Party could breach.

Until Eddie.

For months, Steve hated Eddie because it felt like he was stealing the kids away from him. He was jealous that they shared a common interest that he couldn’t understand and was gearing up for the kids to leave him behind. But then, Eddie told him that the kids worshiped him and he’d been jealous too. Jealous of the cool babysitter that influenced their actions in DnD and could do no wrong.

Steve felt like Eddie could truly see him, could understand Steve, and liked what he saw. He could tell that Eddie was going to be a great friend of his, or more. He liked more.

But when he ran back to the trailer park after flambéing Vecna, he saw a blood soaked Eddie being cradled by Dustin. His slow paced jog turned into a full blown sprint. Steve yanked Eddie out of Dustin’s arms and made a mad dash towards the portal in his trailer. He wasn’t going to lose the one guy that made him feel more understood than anyone else had ever made him feel.

The girls and Dustin tearfully followed them but Steve couldn’t spare them any attention. He was solely focused on the sluggish bleeding of Eddie’s wounds.

“Ow, Harrington. Calm the fuck down.”

“Eddie?!” The metalhead’s eyes were blurry but somewhat focused on Steve’s face. “Hey man, you have to stay awake. When we get out of here, you can teach me all about your shitty yelling music and nerd game, okay?”

The blurriness lifted slightly as pure offense filled his face, “ex-fucking-cuse you. That “shitty yelling” is true music unlike your Tears for Fears garbage or whatever the hell else you listen to. I have taste. And yeah, Harrington. I will be teaching you Dungeons & Dragons when we get out of here. Lugging my body out of here when I was trying to make a noble sacrifice is disgraceful.”

“You’re not allowed to die, Eddie.” Steve said, panting with exertion and stress.

“That’s not up to you,” and then he passed out.

“Fuck!” Steve screamed. That fucking dramatic shit, if those were his last words, Steve would bring him back just to kill him again.

Steve’s feelings were threatening to overcome him as his hands shook while he put Eddie into the car. Nancy held one of them and gave him a look of meaning. “I’ll drive.”

“Um, yeah, yeah. Okay, thanks. Henderson! Keep pressure on his wounds. We need to stop the bleeding.” He desperately put pressure on the worst of the wounds on his torso and prayed to a god he no longer believed in.

And then they sped towards the hospital.

Steve was there when Eddie woke up, just as he had been in the four days he’d been unconscious while recovering from shock. He was trying to read the dancing letters in The Hobbit but when he looked up and met Eddie’s eyes, the book dropped from his hands.

“Didn’t take you for a fantasy nerd, Harrington.” Eddie mumbled, his voice hoarse but unwavering.

“We need to talk about your theatrics, man. You almost gave me a heart attack, Eddie.”

“Oh, we’re on a first-name basis now? If I’d known all I had to do was risk my life to be in King Steve’s court, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” Eddie smirked at him.

“I’m not a king anymore.” Steve said and shook his head. It’d been a long time since anyone had called him that and he didn’t like the way it sounded on Eddie’s lips either.

“My apologies, Steve. You’re not a king, you’re a paladin. And that’s better than any noble.” Eddie said wisely.

Steve had no idea what the fuck any of that meant or what a pal-man was but he could listen to Eddie rant at him for hours as long as he kept looking at him like that. His face was fond and his lips, though scarred with a vicious bite marring their softness, smiled softly at Steve.

He coughed a bit to clear his throat and tore his eyes from Eddie’s lips to his amused eyes. “Um, do you said you were going to explain your screamy metal shit?”

That got Steve his desired reaction and Eddie squawked. “You motherfucker-”

As Steve listened to his enraged ranting, he made himself a promise. He was going to be more like Eddie. He was going to be more free with his feelings and he would find a way to talk to his friends about them. But for now, he’d listen to Eddie’s virtriolic soliloquy about the merits of metal artists and the importance on nonconformist music in “this sweaty armpit of a state”. And Steve couldn’t be happier.

@doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @carlyv

#not as angsty as I anticipated #no tissues needed for once!#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fanfic

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goatlottin · 7 months

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protective boyfriend headcanons

Literally never leaves your side

Always wondering where you are, and tries not to, but is always checking your location

Usually checks up on you to make sure you’re actually eating, being productive

Like, would literally leave you a cup of water by the bed

N would ask for pictures if YOU ACTUALLY DRANK IT

Asks you to go out with him, just because he’s scared he’ll miss you too much and wanna come back early

Whenever you’re at his matches, he’s just constantly eyeing you

That is when he’s not on the ball…

After a big win or after he’s scored, he’ll wait for you on the pitch

Literally grabs you into his arms

As if his name is not tattooed to his back, he doesn’t care.

Gets soooo angry when he sees a teammate even look in your direction

Basically suffocates you into him

A show off

At restaurants, he will never ever let you even bring your wallet

Just thinks you deserve the option to not worry about money when you’re with him

Will typically order for you as well, knowing you get shy

Also if the waiter starts to piss him off

By piss him off, I mean offers you a refill of water

He will defend your name at all costs

No matter it’s a family member with a sly comment about your background

Or a teammate mocking your lack of punctuality

He won’t have any of it, really

“Don’t speak about her like that”

Why can I imagine him roaring that literally (sorry)

Would never let you walk home alone

f he knew you had classes late or had to stop by a store, he would come running

You knew he was tired, and you would feel so terrible about it

The one time he would have to put your feelings aside for this

“Ky, I really could've called an uber."

"An uber? You know they just let anyone be qualified ‘drivers'"

He would be such a hypocrite btw

Will become the most irritated man on the planet if a man were to even compliment your shoes

Huffing and puffing the whole way back home

Until a girl compliments him and you even give a slight look

He’s all over you😭😭

“Is my baby jealous?”

you would ignore him but he would be smirking and just going “hmm, hmm?” for the next 10 minutes

Same man who gets pissed when you’re holding his nephew’s hand

He just finds it hysterical that you think he would even think about other women

Would pull you into a hug as he smiled into the top of your hair

You would let him win this time

OH MY GOD when he’s out and buys you a little gift you know you said you wanted because he wanted to be the one to do it for you

“You could’ve got me this for my birthday, you know”

“I have other ideas for you too baby,”

#kylianmbappe #kylian mbappe fluff #kylian x reader #mbappe x reader #football fluff #football #mbappe headcanon #psg #mbappe one shot #mbappe imagine #mbappe psg #kylian x you

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shameless-slit · 8 months

Text

Boobas

Summary: Your tits hurt and your boyfriend Jonathan helps you with it.

Word count: 3.7k Tags: domestic fluff, boyfriend jonathan (pre collider), fem!reader (short and kinda chubby coded), teasing, sexual content but not technically smut(?)

A/N: Absolutely unedited self indulgence, I was on my periods and my nipples hurt and it was 6am so yeah. Yes it’s 3k words of horniness, no they neither fuck not come. Sorry I was horny but lazy.

Your tits hurt.

Well, for once it’s more precisely your nipples hurting, seemingly chafing against any bit of fabric, no matter how soft it is. Thankfully for you it’s a Sunday, so you’re splayed on the couch in front of the small tv displaying a fiercely competitive cooking show (it’s the fourth episode and you just want to see that hypocrite Delilah leave before the semi finals). Your crop top is pulled up above your chest, fingers carefully applying lotion against the sensitive nib, hoping the cold will help with the burning sensation. So far you’re only granted momentary relief, and a well hydrated skin you suppose.

A constant shuffling of slippers and papers tells you your boyfriend is pacing around the flat, nervously pacing from one room to another as he double and triple and quadruple checks his notes for tomorrow. Ever since he’s started working with Dr. Octavius, he’s seen a spike in his anxiety, unable to relax even on Sundays, especially when there’s a meeting with their most influential invested the day after. That’s why you’re not so surprised when he pops in front of Delilah’s little spiel about cutlery, shifting your gaze up to see him holding a messy bundle of papers, by now creased between his nervous hands.

“Babe, do you remember where I put the folder with the thing— the sheet with the stuff and all-“

He however almost jumps as he finally looks back at you, face flushing red, his nose even redder, hands clamping down on the papers as if he’d been electrocuted.

“Oh god sorry sorry sorry, I uhhhhhh… b-bad time?”

You can’t help but chuckle at his reaction— it’s not like he’s never seen your breasts, you usually hang around the bed naked when it’s late at night and you can’t be bothered to move, let alone put some clothes on. Still, you figure it must’ve been a whiplash from his thoughts about colliders and unpleasant social interactions. That and he might have thought you were touching yourself— you are, just not in that way— and you appreciate his concern for privacy.

“You’re good Johnny, no problems here. Well, my tits hurt so that’s a problem, but don’t worry I’ll be fine”

You try to turn your amused grin into a reassuring smile, noticing the embarrassment still painted on his face. His eyes dart around the room before settling on your breasts as you say the word ‘tits’, then on your eyes for a moment, before going back at your chest.

Avoiding eye contact by looking at your tits? Good, he’s comfortable again.

“Oh right okay…” He gives you an empathetic hum, trying to shake off the blush in his cheeks. “Periods?”

You shrug. “Probably? It’s not the usual pain but you know. It does that sometimes.”

“Aw man, bummer. I’ll make you some tea?”

For some reason this makes you blush. Why? Who knows! But you’re partner is offering you tea and he looks so sweet saying it and you just want to extend your arms long enough to grab him and kiss him.

“Oh that’s so nice I’d like that!”

His face lightens up as your face lightens up, and then you remember why he’s in front of the TV screen.

“But take your time with your prep,” you add, “I’m not in a hurry. Have you checked the box under the bed? There’s a bunch of outdated papers there, your folder must be somewhere there.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You sure? It wouldn’t take long—“

“I’m not moving anywhere Johnny.” You don’t think you even can, the way your limbs are spread on the couch is so comfortable you don’t want to break the spell. “They’re not going anywhere either”, you add, pointing at your chest with a cheeky smile.

“O-Oh right.” You see his cheeks redden slightly under the edges of his beard creeping up, and he looks back at his papers in order to break your flirtatious eye contact. “Good luck with, uh, your boobs.”

You cackle a bit and a proud smile creeps up on his face as he leaves the TV screen, letting you see that Matthew is the one expelled this episode: miraculously, Delilah is making it to the semifinals.

Behind you, Jonathan is already making his way to the bedroom, absentmindedly fidgeting with the now thoroughly crinkled sheets in his hands. As awkward as he made it, the interaction with you was a nice break from the last two panic filled hours he spent scouting the house to make sure he had everything gathering neatly— by scientists standards, even then it was stretch— to take the next morning for the meeting. A grand gathering of all the sides of the operation, a demonstration of the prototype for the collider (his prototype, that’s why he had to be there, also because Octavia seemed to love tormenting him) and hopefully a sign off on one of the most ambitious projects of mankind. His magnum opus.

And he is thinking about your boobs.

He sees his crinkled bundle on his desk, along side other semi-organized stacks of papers waiting to be put in their proper folders. As he makes his way to the bedroom, the image of your chest seems ingrained behind his eyes like he’s stared at the sun for too long. He crouches down to try to locate the box you were talking about, and he can just see the way your breasts rose and fell with your breathing, the way one was glistening slightly from the lotion while the other had your two fingers pressed on the nipple, interrupted in their soothing. He extends a long arm under the bed, getting a hold of the box at pulling it to him, and his other hand twitches as he replaces your fingers with his in his mind. His other hand cups your other breasts and you let out a moan as he presses against the nipple there too, and his mouth moves to replace his fingers as he takes the soft flesh of your breasts in, rolling the nipple around his tongue, kisses you just to feel the vibrations of your moans on his mouth as he paws at the soft flesh of your breasts and—

He blinks. Was he not blinking this whole time?

He looks down at the box in front of him, of which he’s started looking through a few folders without really looking. He lets out a sigh as reality pulls him back in. He could just get lost in that pleasant fantasy again, maybe just for a second he thinks, another break from not-working-but-worrying-over-it. He’s stuck between his anxiety and desire, but anxiety sure can throw some hands because there’s no way he can think of you without the looming threat of tomorrow, unless he convinces himself the looming threat of tomorrow is already a solved problem. So he goes back to the first few folders and skims through them, ignoring how tight his pants have been and are feeling.

You’ve been stuck in a doom scrolling spiral of numbness and the occasional laugh for quite a while, before the sound of a hissy kettle startles you out of it. You unfortunately have had to move of your comfortable position on the couch in the hour and a half that has past, quickly settling on a new one, though not nearly as comfortable as the previous one. You snap your head to look behind the couch, as you see Jonathan exiting the kitchen with a mug in each hand.

“Oh you’re done!” you say as you sit back in the couch. “You even brought the tea!”

He nods, and you’re almost more excited than him. As much as you empathize with his urge to check everything is right at the last moment, you can’t help but worry when he seems to spiral for so long in his mind.

“Sure did, I said I’d make you some after all!”

He’s got that giddy smile at seeing your excitement as he sets the cups down on the small table between couch and TV.

“Mint tea with lots of sugar, for the special lady.”

You chuckle, and make some space for him as he sits down, taking a mug in your hands and a small burning sip of the tea.

“You’re all ready for tomorrow?” You ask, taking another sip before deciding the tea is very good and your tongue is very burned, setting the mug back on the table.

He shrugs, looking away at the question. “Not exactly. There’s still a bunch of folders to check if I haven’t forgotten anything… not to mention I just remembered Octavia wanted my original plans to show, so I had to go over them…”

You put a hand on his shoulder, and he stops himself, letting out a sigh as he mulls over everything he still has to do. Now that’s a problem, and it breaks your heart to see him spiraling so much and so quickly. As much as you’d want to help, you know he wouldn’t let you, not on this. He refuses to let you in on any actual work he does for Alchemax, for better or for worst. It may be for safety reasons to him, but to you, it just makes it harder to comfort him like right now.

Before you can add anything though, he breaks the silence you hadn’t realized had settled by turning to you and asking:

“How’s the tits?”

Maybe you were the one spiraling, because that makes a good job of snapping you out of it.

“You know, I kinda forgot about them after a while.”

You shrug, and your crop top, which you had pulled down at some point, brushes against your nipples in the worst possible way, sending a shudder through your body.

“Fucking shit,” you hiss through your teeth, “nevermind, they just needed to be reminded. They hurt like a bitch.”

“I could help with that.”

You pause and he pauses. You both look at each other for a second, before you can feel yourself start smiling uncontrollably. Your smirk only grows mor mischievous as you see the red creep up his cheeks.

“Johnny did you—“

“No! I mean, yes? I-I just want to help you in anyway I can so I, uh, was simply… offering support?”

You have to say, you’re surprised by Johnny’s forwardness, and if your nipples weren’t already hard from the incredibly unpleasant friction, they sure are now.

You’re usually the one to make advances, and as much as it’s fun seeing the man crumble on himself at the slightest innuendo, you can’t help but feel excited about a change of pace. He may think he’s horrible at flirting— well, he is most of the time yes— but you’d chalk it up to insecurity, the few times you saw him with confidence confirming your doubts.

You force yourself to stop smiling so wide, though keeping a small smirk on your face as you lean towards him, both to alleviate the friction on your nipples and to look at him teasingly.

“Well I’m interested now. How would you support me in these times of need?”

It’s almost cartoonish the way he gulps down his embarrassment, his fingers fidgeting with the top of his shirt, undoing and redoing the second button.

“I just thought… I-I could massage them if you want? I sad you had some lotion earlier too…”

“That’s so nice of you” you nod, giving him a reassuring smile to encourage him.

You begin lifting up your crop top, and Jonathan passes it over your head, and you can’t help but notice the nervous pace of his movements. Almost impatient.

His large hand cups your left boob. If your breasts were already rather small to your taste, they seem even smaller in his hand. He doesn’t seem to mind though, judging by the look on his face as he gives it a small squeeze, which shots tingles in your stomach. His thumb brushes over your nipple, and you immediately cringe at the sensation, hunching over yourself with a hiss.

“Shit shit I’m sorry!” He quickly removes his hand, both of them frozen in the air in panic. “I’m so sorry, that was stupid, I should’ve known your nipple was the part that hurt…”

You can’t blame him, you didn’t tell him— to be honest with yourself, you were too focused on yearning for his hands on you, you kinda forgot to. You let out a small laugh, a reflex to distract yourself from the sensation and to reassure him.

“You’re fine babe, I swear. Just so you know, yeah, they hurt at everything touching the nipple. I usually put on lotion, it helps a bit, better than water because water dries if and you do NOT want it to dry off when it’s like this.”

He nods, as if taking mental notes.

“Does it help to have something cold on it?” he asks.

You raise an eyebrow. He really is taking notes.

“Kinda? It’s better to have something cold than something warm against it, but keeping it somewhere warm helps the nipple… relax.”

You don’t know how to tell him, but now that you think of it, there actually is a way he can help you with it. You don’t know if it’ll actually work, but by now you’ve tried everything you could try by yourself, and god would it feel good to have that hit stop hurting for a second.

Without thinking, like most things that come out of your mouth do, you blurt out:

“You could use your mouth?”

You immediately cringe as you say this, because you hate asking for things, especially when it’s vulnerable, especially when it’s something you want, especially when you’re gonna have to explain yourself and your only explanation is “I want my tits in your mouth Johnny”—

“Can I?”

Now that’s a surprise anew. Once again, he pulls you out of your spiraling train of thought. You take a second to process, and when you do, you feel heat rise in you as you look back at him and see his eyes looking at your body so intensely. Hungry.

“Y-yeah”, you nod sheepishly. “I would like to… try this.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, he shifts in his seat, turning enough to face you. You straighten your back in an attempt to make it easier for him as he leans his head down to your chest.

His lips latch onto your breast, taking as much as he can in his mouth. You feel the flat of his tongue press against your nipple, and for the first time today, it’s a pleasant sensation. The wet, warm texture of the tongue applying pressure almost feels like a massage for your hardened nip, and a small moan escapes the back of your throat.

“I… thanks you Johnny, it feels really nice…”

You feel his hands, up to now awkwardly hovering around you, come to rest on your waist. Long, careful fingers trace your skin, before he takes the satisfied hums you let out as permission to dig in the soft flesh of your stomach, his fidgety fingers seeming to calm down at the feeling of your rolls underneath his palms. Your own hands find their way to his hair, playing with them while whispering small praises to him.

This boost in confidence is immediately shown through a hand decending between your thighs, enjoying the feeling of the ample flesh caging it while he lets you grind on it for a second, before removing it the time to slip it under the waist band if your sweats. You just have the time to think of how wet you are before his fingers remind you of it, pressing against the fabric of your underwear right underneath your leaking wetness.

He finally pulls his mouth off of your tit, his hand immediately coming to replace it, following your advices and gently massaging it. You meet his eyes, clouded in a desperate, pleading desire.

You’re about to talk when he moves your underwear aside with his fingers, letting them graze around your sex.

“God you’re so wet already”, you hear, and you realize he’s out of breath, “I’m flattered, babe.”

“I don’t want it to go to waste”, he adds.

You look at him, trying to reel yourself back in, the feeling of his fingers against your warm skin making you want him so desperately.

“Can I just show you?” he asks, and you nod so eagerly you could’ve just started begging at that point.

His fingers drag around your wetness, gathering the cum gathered at your bottom. He goes as far as pushing them along your folds, which elicits an embarrassing sound from the back of your throat, but doesn’t enter you.

He drags his fingers, soaked as well, out of your pants, staining them in the process, before moving them up to your left breast, nipple painfully hardened and untouched.

“I’m sorry if it’s a bit gross, I swear I’ll lick it off.”

Before you can ask to clarify your confusion, you feel his wet fingers on your left tit, suddenly understanding his idea. You revel in the sweet sensation of his fingers gently massaging the nib, your cum acting as a much better replacement for lotion than your spit (you tried and it hadn’t worked out but by god did this work well).

With both of your nipples wet enough to let him touch them comfortably, he brings his face back up to yours, still having to hunch as he presses his lips against yours in a hungry kiss. You eagerly accept it, returning it clumsily and parting your lips, his tongue immediately shooting in as you let it. Without breaking the kiss, you take it as an opportunity to climb onto his lap and straddle him, his erection pressing against your sweatpants.

His hands paw at your breasts, still being careful and gentle on your nipples. You can feel the restraint in his hand, the tension in his fingers as wants to squeeze and fondle your breasts and burry his face between them and suck and bite on them. Instead, he takes a nibble of your bottom lip, sparing your sensitive chest, and eliciting a small sound from you that feels like a reward to him.

You eventually break the kiss with a breathless sigh, your hands coming up to brush stray strands of hair from his red and panting face. The way he stares at you is priceless, studying your reddened cheeks, your flared nostrils, your parted, wet, puffy lips he almost immediately leans in for again. You remember why you broke the kiss in the first place, and you whisper right before his lips take yours:

“Fuck you’re amazing Johnny, I don’t know how I managed to land on someone like you.“

He gives you a quick little kiss, pulling back to look at you with eyes sparkling with pride. God does this man seem to gobble compliments right up, it’s like he’s been starved from it for too long.

“Are you kidding?” he chuckles, a low chuckle that makes your stomach churn in a delicious way. “I can’t believe I landed on you, it feels ridiculous you’d ever settle for me—“

“I’m not settling—“ he cuts off your attempt at cutting him off by pressing his lips on yours.

His hands trail down your torso, leaving your tits to go over your stomach. He mutters against your lips “I mean look at you…”

He plays and pinches the soft skin, taking handfuls of the plump flesh in his large hand, the other trailing down to your hips, slipping under your pants to trace the bumps and ripples on your skin.

“How in hell did I get the opportunity to touch that?” He adds, and the adoration in his voice is enough to make you weep, with the way he looks at you in awe and desire.

“Johnny…” you sigh, at a lost for words; words are never your strong suit when it’s to say things you want to say.

He pulls back to look at you, his eyes making their way down your body, taking in every inch with a hungry fascination. His hands slowly come back up to your chest, seeming to examine it.

“Do your nipples feel any better now?”

The bluntness of the question snaps you out of the moment, which makes you realize you haven’t felt any discomfort with your overly sensitive nipples since then.

“They… they feel fine,” you say in pleased surprise.

“What kind of magic did you do?” you add with a cheeky smile.

He smiles as well, a smug proudness creeping in. “Seems like my mouth was the answer after all. Sorry, did that sound wrong?”

“No,” you shake your head with a chuckle, “no not at all. Thanks Johnny, you’re an angel.”

His face grows bright and red as his cheeks darken with blush. He swallows his spit, as if reminding himself to speak. “Do… do you wanna continue with this? We can stop or take a break if you want of course.”

You pause, almost confused, then baffled as you realize: in his effort not to cause you any discomfort, he’s somehow convinced himself that you still weren’t thinking of any of that as sexual.

“Johnny,” you say, not hiding the twinge of amusement in your voice, “you’re not gonna leave me hanging like this, are you?”

His brows furrow in confusion. “What? No I mean—“

“Do you want to take a break?”

He paused as you cut him off, before shaking his head ‘no’.

“Good. Because I do not want to end it here.” You smile, trailing your fingers down his chest, playing with the buttons of his shirt before you start undoing them.

“I was thinking…” You look back at his face, unable to hold back a smile at the wishful realization in his eyes. “You’ve been working so hard all week, all weekend… but I believe you just need to relax. Blow off some steam, you know?”

He nods, his expression almost relieved as he understands you want the same thing as him. He opens his mouth to speak, though you cut him off again.

“Would you like to blow off some steam?”

“Yes,” he immediately answers.

You let out a small giggle, pulling him in for a kiss once more. He whines contently against your lips, his hips bucking in eagerness.

Maybe he really was going to sleep well tonight.

#jonathan ohnn #the spot #the spot x reader #jonathon ohnn x reader #jonathon ohnn #atsv #the spot atsv

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rbinsgf · 1 year

Text

Turn the other cheek, and I take it on the chin /Part 2/

Part 1

The sky was blue, two and two made four and Eddie was a coward.

Those were the irrefutable truth of the world. Eddie used to call his behavior "self-preservation" when he ran away from cops and angry jocks mob, or when he skipped a class he couldn’t understand, or when he ran away after witnessing one of the most traumatizing death in the history of mankind.

But as he saw Robin Buckley angrily stomping down his stairs and into his basement, he couldn’t qualify his next course of actions of anything but cowardice.

He had known day more glorious but as he shielded himself from the furious woman with a, for once, quite Mike Wheeler, he couldn’t care less about his image in front of his club.

Hypocritical right ? Yeah that’s another truth Eddie was very well aware about himself but who would dare look him in the eye and spit that fact in his face ?

Robin Buckley actually, as she did not hesitate to shove Mike out of the way and grab Eddie by the collar of his worn out Hellfire shirt, bringing him dangerously close to her angry red face, and shoving him against the wall.

"You, Edward Theodore Munson, are the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever seen. How dare you force those big monologues on conformity and "Hawkins’ monster" on us on top of those poor cafeteria tables, only to turn around and do exactly what you so loudly claim to be against ?"

Eddie was petrified, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from hers. The basement was as quiet as ever, everyone seemed to hold their breath, too scared they might remind Robin of their presence.

"Steve changed, actually no, he didn’t change. He just had the courage to show his true self, he stripped away from the role that was forced on him by his parents, friends, everyone in this shitty town and by you too. He would and has put his life on the line so many times for every single one of you," She said the last part louder, slightly tilting her head to the side towards a specific side of the table but never moving her rage filled gaze from Eddie’s wide eyes. "He trusted you Eddie, he confided in you and what did you do ? You humiliated him by using his vulnerability against him. I hope you’re happy your pathetic little audience appreciated the spectacle." A protest formed itself on Jeff’s lips but was quickly shut off by a quick glare and an honest to god growl from Robin.

"You know what truly breaks my heart Eddie ? Steve still defended you and he doesn’t even blame you ! Do with that information what you want but I hope it makes you feel so bad you won’t be able to look yourself in any type of reflection for as long as possible."

She slowly stepped away from him, releasing her grip on his shirt and making a show of dusting him off,

"If you want to know what I think of this shit show Eddie. You don’t deserve him." She turned around, facing the kids, "and you guys are a bunch of ungrateful brats who don’t deserve Steve and all that he does for you."

She only looked at the older Hellfire members with disgust before turning back to Eddie. The man in question was looking at the ground, his head hanging guiltily and shoulder hunched.

Robin stepped back into his space, her mouth close to his ear, and let out her final strike in a quite sigh,

"And to think that man saved your life.."

With that, she left as she came, the front door banging loudly behind her.

That last sentence she had whispered in his ear sent a glacial chill down Eddie’s spine. It stabbed through his chest in plain and shameful guilt. Eddie sat heavily on his throne. A throne that Steve had spent two weeks making since the basketball team had burned his old one when he was on the run. He lost himself in a spiral of shame and regrets, cringing at himself as he pictured how it all went down earlier and how, even after noticing Steve leaving, they’d kept that same behavior. Laughing at the expense of the poor man like hyenas. One by one, the older members left quietly. The kids stayed a little longer, sitting in silence before all leaving in a quiet agreement. Eddie only registered Dustin telling him they will be using the phone to call for a drive home. A drive home that, for the first time since the boys had joined Hellfire, wouldn’t be Steve.

Eddie had fucked up, that much was very clear. He also knew why he said all those horrible things, he craved the validation and admiration of his sheepies and hellfire friends.

The only way he had found to maintain those was to do what he had always done.

To the detriment of his friends, Eddie was a hypocrite, selfish and coward man. Eddie saw an opportunity to remind his club of who he was, Eddie "the Freak" Munson, natural nemesis of the jocks.

Robin’s words kept circling in his mind viciously.

The sheer fury that emanated of her trembling frame was enough for Eddie to imagine how bad his words must’ve affected Steve.

He knew those exact words would hurt him and he still said them.

He also knew Steve, through and through now, and with that came the knowledge of what Steve might be thinking about himself right now.

Because his sweet, kind and good Steve, didn’t even blame him one bit. Eddie’s words had definitely hit a very tender spot in Steve’s myriad of insecurities and self doubts.

The man was probably descending full speed through the worst of his self deprecating thoughts right now.

Eddie wished the bats had eaten him alive as the thought of Steve believing Eddie saw him for who he was not.

Eddie would rather Vecna came back as a zombie than Steve Harrington taking his stupid, stupid words at heart and believing them.

If Eddie was going to do one last thing, it was to make sure that Steve knew he wasn’t seen as anything but the painfully good man he truly was.

Resignation filled his mind and he pushed himself up from the throne, walked out of the basement and took the keys of his van before stepping, in the soon to be dark, street.

Eddie was going to see Steve, apologize but most importantly beg the man to not take Eddie’s words for one of the universe’s truth.

It’ll be the last thing he’ll do if Robin Buckley didn’t kill him before for daring to stand in the same vicinity as her friend.

———————————————

Here’s part 2 !! And Eddie’s pov yay !! I’m so grateful for your response to the first part as it’s also a response to me getting back to writing and it motivates me so much guys !!!

Next part will be up in a few days since I’m going back to college full time but I’ll do my best to update this little fic as soon as possible !

I tried to tag everyone who asked for it and hope it all worked ?

Love y’all gang ! 🫶🏼🧡

Tag list : @liketheocean @cameheretoread @doubleb11 @m-owo-n @moonage-daydreaming @shitnshit @throwbackthrowaway @a-huge-nerdy-nerd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @zerokrox-blog @summer1066 @thesuninyaface @i-less-three-than-you @gamerdano @ineffablecolors @warriorwerewolfheart @tinysuits @cr0w-culture @thatonepotatochild @classicwho @lololol-1234 @what-is-life-but-an-empty-void @victor-thee-corvid @little-gae-shit @livelaughlexa @a-little-unsteady @stevie-crow @val-from-lawrence

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #stranger things 4 #steddie #the fruity four #steve x eddie #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #steddie fic #stobin #stobin fic #steve and robin #stobin friendship #platonic soulmates stobin #Steve Harrington x the party

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ddarker-dreams · 3 months

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Lock, what DO you love and like so much about Dostoevsky's work? I don't think you've ever talked about that. Please, I want to know !!!

^o^

(christianity mention jump scare below proceed with caution)

i thought this would be an easy to answer but figuring out how to put my feelings into words proved difficult .

the beginning is always a good place to start, so let's go with that. by chance, i happened upon this video on youtube and gave it a watch. about halfway in i decided i had to read notes from underground for myself. i struggled to understand what the narrator was trying to get across. the unique writing style, where the reader is addressed directly, as if in challenge, helped me preserve.

i think part of what makes his work special to me is his depiction of people. and they really do feel like people more than characters, even if some of their characteristics are unique to the era dostoevsky wrote in. everything else about them transcends time. i can see myself in some of them. whether it be the titular idiot, prince myshkin in his naivety; alyosha, who goes from devout to doubting; and ivan, whose bitterness toward religion masks his disappointment at the state of the world.

that's why the brothers karamazov touched me in particular. for some context, i grew up in a christian household and was heavily involved in the church (american northeast white baptist strand of church). around when i was 11 or so, the introduction of left-wing politics through social media had me undergo a looooong identity crisis. these new ideas felt at odds with what i'd spent my entire life believing. what i grappled with the most relates to ivan's anecdote, the grand inquisitor, where the goodness of god is called into question. the bitterness, the disappointment from crushed expectations, all those sensations resonated strongly with me. reading it as an adult who (supposedly) 'healed' from that time period in my life was like opening pandora's box. i'd never seen my thoughts and struggles so accurately described, or treated with more than a 'his ways are higher than our ways' type platitude. i stuffed these concerns of mine away because they only ever served to make me feel worse.

i won't delve deep into the Depressing Lore. the only reason i mention it is to stress how profound an impact the work had on me. throughout the remainder of TBK (and in most of dostoevsky's discography), the best and worst of humanity is shown. our hypocritical nature, capacity for evil; nothing is shied away from or made more palatable. and yet, throughout it all, our potential for good is shown too. whether it be in the little acts or monumental self-sacrifice. sometimes those acts are honored, or ‘worth it,’ sometimes they aren’t. it’s cheesy but whatever i’ll say it — choosing to love and serve others is my greatest joy. i don’t really need a definitive answer to those problems i struggled with. that’s the takeaway i’ve had from his work. it might not seem like a big deal, but not feeling guilty for having certain doubts or anxious over those doubts never fully being resolved was. very significant for me. and healing (for real this time).

so that’s the sentimental perspective GJSDLKFJS from my writer’s perspective, i can only describe him as brilliant. his grasp on the human psyche is incredible. he can accurately describe so many emotions, worldviews, and give the context necessary for each one to feel organic and real. it’s vivid, too, in a way i can’t properly get across. everyone’s unfiltered and messy. characters contradict themselves in the same sentence. they’ll murmur, go off on tangents, tell stories, misquote the bible (or many other significant works), and just be overall disasters. aka how people actually are.

the man’s also funny as hell. the protagonist from crime and punishment has a mental breakdown spanning multiple pages over a sock. yes, there’s context, but that’s still the gist of things. then there’s the issue of the hedgehog in the idiot. hedgehog drama.

ultimately, his work is so very human. there’s commentary on issues that are prevalent to this day, multiple centuries later. the topics he touches on tend to align with what i care about most. whether i agree or disagree with what i’m reading, there’s always something i glean from it. something meaningful that sits with me long after i close the book. i’ll mull over it and bother people in my vicinity until they mull over it too. no one is safe. whether it be a co-worker or my dad who drives noticeably faster to reach our destination and be free of my many questions.

i could keep going but this ended up being long enough GJSKDF i hope at least something here makes sense?>?? i apologize for the incoherent ramblings. it's what the dude does to me.

#dostoevsky fanclub #answered #Anonymous

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dairy-farmer · 28 days

Note

If you like, (as I saw you indeed do, from an ask) De-ageing promts/asks? Consider THIS~!

Everyone always hitting our poor baby boy Tim with that De-Ageing! As though his puss ain't tight and assets perky! Rude! You know who SHOULD be hit?

>:Dc Bruce~

Because him and Ra's are once again going at it. Bruce is not blind and DOES NOT appreciate this man panting after his Son. Is he a hypocrite? Maybe. But he's still gonna punch Ra's about kicking his boy out a window and the various bits of leering.

They do the Traditional by now, Dramatic Heroic/Immortal Sword Fight near the pits.

Ra's makes A Comment(tm). Of what he'll do when Bruce is dead. Since Bruce has failed to join him, Talia failed to give him a Worthy Heir, and Tim proven... Interesting(tm).

Can't do SHIT without limbs, Ra's. Bruce sees red and tries to feed the fucker his own entrails. Very calm. Toooootally thinking clearly.

It was, rather predictably, a trap. But Bruce is a talented man. So now they're BOTH stabbed pretty badly. Very homo-erotic, which is also traditional. Because with Ra's of course it is. Regardless, Ra's has NOT survived this long just to die to Daddy "don't fuck my son".

Into the pits we both go!

Which? Honestly, he's been trying for YEARS to get Bruce to use. So he can see reason. Ra's can admit the irony.

They struggle. Are drowning. Healing. Still impaled. Break free of each other, even as they try to grapple each other into submission. Again, the homo-eroticism is thick enough to choke lesser men. All the while? The pits are healing.

The wounds, yes. But also everything ELSE. They ARE submerged after all. Ra's? Expects this. Bruce? No idea what's coming.

He drags Ra's blade free of his body and breaks surface. Pit furious and seeing green. Damn near baby faced, at JUST under 20.

Turns out taking care of your body means there's less to "Fix". Self destructive Missions come back to bite him once again. But? Shit. Ninjas. Pouring in to help a fresh faced Ra's. Late 20s and in his prime once more. Damn it!

This isn't over, he growls.

Does NOT like the amused way Ra's is smirking.

One fight out and a stolen jet later? Bruce gets to stare in horror at his Twink-ification. Half his sons are physically OLDER then him. There is no way in hell he can hide this with make up. Luckily, it's Gotham.

He stages a kidnapping of himself. "Unknown chemical agent" combined with the INFAMOUS Gotham bay water. Clark, pretending to be him (once he's done laughing) goes in, Twink Bruce comes out.

People believe it.

Brucie Wayne is too dumb to make this up, after all. And stranger things have happened. Once cleared by the hospital? He heads home.

Now what.

He LIKED his Dilf status. His "silver fox in the making". He didn't have to "date". Booze it up or party. He was FREE damn it. He sulks. Jason and Dick are laughing at him.

Tim let's him hide in his office. Starts crafting "new lease on life" PR campaigns. They are, unfortunately, going to have to attend a Fad Pilates-Yoga-Samba Fusion Dance class. He's so sorry.

It's awful.

What's WORSE?

Is he forgot how HORNY he was at this age. It Does. NOT. Stop. Just an endless stream of wanting to thrust and fuck and lick and suck and-. It literally keeps him up at night! Even after patrol! And Selina? She won't touch him with a ten foot pole.

He's "an infant".

Call her when he's fixed.

He ALMOST considers some of the girls in his god awful class. But then they open their mouths and say some of the most soulless, casually cruel, things he's ever heard. And THAT reminds him he has standards.

He manages to find NICE ones, but then THEN start talking? And good lord, they are BABIES. Where are their fathers and why have they failed these wonderful young ladies? Have a college fund. Bruce is your father now.

And STILL horny.

Possibly in hell.

He tells this, even though he probably shouldn't, to Tim. Rants really. Because Tim let him hide again. Brought him coffee and dinner. And? Frankly? TIM is reasonable! Bruce wouldn't BE in this situation if he could find even a SINGLE woman like him!

And Tim watches Bruce pace. Muscles rolling as he walks. Still in work out gear. Young, nearly his age, so hot Tim wants to choke himself on his... Well. Tim COULD point out the obvious. Fleshlights. Modern toys that Bruce could no doubt improve.

OR~ Tim could shoot his shot and go for glory.

......fuck it.

Witness Him.

Tim deliberately splays his legs. Sprawls, open and inviting. And muses, not looking at Bruce of course, if Bruce needs a Woman or just the right hole?

Bruce freezes. Because of course not. He's Bi AF, just REALLY want to fuck a... wait. Wait(tm). Bruce's brain starts punching out Options. Why Would Tim Ask That? He looks at Tim. His body language. Considers if he wants to ignore it or take this clear offer.

He's across the room and plucking the tablet from Tim's hands in a handful of strides. Naked. Now.

Young Bruce is the HORNIEST, NEEDIEST fuck you can imagine. Once you let him in? It's all over. You're gonna wake up to that morning wood pounding your puss. Spend breakfast, being his desert. As he eats you out. Humping your leg like a dog in heat. Gotta go to work? Well not before his good by fuckies! Needs to shoot his load nice and deep, so you know he loves you.

Visit you at the office. Finger fuck you at your desk. Worship your clit like he's trying to win a medal. When you finally can't concentrate any more? Pull you from your office chair and fuck you til you're a sloppy mess on the floor. Don't worry! He brought a plug so you won't mess the change of clothes he brought you! See you at lunch~!

And on and on and on. Because Bruce is physically in the horniest phase of his life, has his FULL Batman stamina, and? Realized almost IMMEDIATELY? Tim cuddles when he's well fucked and exhausted. And Bruce misses him.

So Bruce is gonna take advantage of the situation.

Can't drift away from me and go off to join some random hero team, if I'm the Best Dick Of Your Life. If your body craves me. You get so used to my constant fuckings, your day is incomplete without them~

Use my WORDS? Pshhhhh. No. I'm just going to use a seventy step plan to permanently tie Tim to me for life with my dick! Because I love him! This is a reasonable and well adjusted way for me to act, I'm gonna get such a good grade in Dad. Now if you'll excuse Bruce, he's gonna go fuck his son.

-🐼🐼🐼

!!! oh my god bruce getting deaged would be his worst nightmare ever- having to join 'new age' spritual things like something-yoga or eating some trendy new food because it aligns with his 'brucie' character- add that in to him not being able to fuck within any age group. his new '20 year old peers' are so incredibly immature and he can't fathom breaking his morality enough to fuck them and the older ones wont let him near them because THEY feel like creeps. so tim being the only logical choice left and bruce also being able to kill two birds with one stone by being able to 1. get off and 2. make sure tim stays close to him😭😭😭

#asks #answered asks #anonymous

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dokoni-mo · 1 year

Text

Crave: Part Six || William Afton x GN! Reader

summary: the eye of the storm

mild NSFW

word count: 4404

warnings: age-gap relationship (reader is 20 william is pushing 40), allusions to mental illness, willy is obsessive, possessive too, and a little creepy, and a hypocrite, and narcissistic lol, and a little bit of a yandere, mentions of divorce, dysfunctional parent-child relationships, secret relationships, swearing, gaslighting, manipulation tactics, dom/sub undertones if you squint, willy is VERY egotistical, allusions to corruption kink, sir kink, smoking, sensual touching, dirty fantasies, praise, lying, erections, indirect mentions of stalking, dirty fantasies, kissing

minors dni // please read warnings!!

part one // two // three // four // five

a/n: helloooo everyone!! I am back again with another part!! I've gotten a lot of messages asking where this was and here it is!! It's my spring break now, so i have time to feed all of you guys again!! thank you to everyone who was patient with me in the meantime, it means a lot <3 hopefully the length of this chapter will make up for the wait!! enjoy!!

~~~

Even though it was very much out of the way, Mr. Afton's office was still far too noisy for his liking.

When first establishing the diner, he was well aware that the target audience was children first, and then their parents second. And, having had children of his own, William knew that children were noisy. Very noisy. But surely their parents could control them in public spaces, yes? Other kids want to enjoy the animatronics and the music too. And that's hard to do when brat one and brat two are screaming their heads off. So surely the parents would teach them some manners, right?

No. Of course not. He was being too optimistic.

And, over the years, William found that smoking was the only cure to his headaches. They were frequent while at work, and he took frequent long breaks to cure them. The nicotine was the only remedy.

Aside from his bunny, of course. Though you were far more addicting than the nicotine.

William hadn't heard a word from you ever since the incident with Michael on Monday. It was Wednesday now, and he still missed you just as much as he had prior. You remembered your rules, didn't you? Phone him once a week? Don't tell him you forgot already. Each minute that ticked by he could feel the pull of anticipation coming from whatever phone was nearby. Hell, he had barely slept the last few nights because he wanted to be sure he'd get your call. But the lack of sleep was getting to him. He could feel it in the sting of his eyes every time he blinked.

Damn it, bunny. You need to be more attentive with these things.

Running his hand through his brown-grey hair, he breathed out a heavy sigh as he tamped out his third cigarette of the day. His elbows were situated heavy on his expensive, messy desk, leaned forward in his chair. He needed to get a hold of himself. It had only been a few days. You were a good bunny, and of course you were gonna follow the rules. William shouldn't chastise you too much. You had things to do, most likely. Or just wanted to wait to play it safe. He just missed you a lot more than he expected. Especially after all that with Michael.

The brit felt his jaw clench, reaching in his desk drawer for a fresh pack of cigarettes.

Who the fuck did that boy even think he was? He had no right to disturb William's peace like that, sticking his nose where it didn't belong. Your relationship with the older man was none of his damned business. And who was he to even question it to begin with? Question him? Question you? Poor bunny. You were probably so frightened, weren't you? William hoped you weren't scared off too much, enough to where you didn't want to call. Did you think it was best not to anymore? God damn it. Mr. Afton wished he could communicate with you better.

The brit bent his neck down as he pulled open one of his drawers, searching for his lighter.

Fucking Michael. Always ruining shit. William was getting fucking sick and tired of his bullshit, having to be the ring-leader in the fuckery circus. Michael was a damn brat.

He'd fucking pay for this.

After successfully lighting the cigarette, William heard a knock as he put the lighter away. A brief twinge of hope rushed through him as he looked up at his office door. Could it be you, little bunny? Did you not call because you were planning to visit him this whole time? Sweet little one. Always so considerate.

But, then again...

William's excitement vanished as soon as it came up. He gave you the key to his office, and instructed you to let yourself in. This couldn't be you, no.

Damn. Fucking, damn.

Fuck whoever this was. He could go fuck himself.

Clearing his throat, William put on his rehearsed friendly voice as he called out to the mystery person.

"Come in!"

The door clicking open and shut, William was greeted with a pleasant surprise, but not the one he was hoping for.

Henry.

William felt a little bad for thinking Henry should go fuck himself.

Henry was William's best friend. Hell, in a lot of ways, William's only friend. At least the only person that he considered to be a real friend. Aside from his bunny, Henry was the only person William allowed to be at least somewhat of himself around. Of course, the brit was never fully himself, no. He knew if Henry saw the real him, his American friend would want nothing to do with the brit. No, his true self was only reserved for you, little one. Because he just loved you that much. And you loved him just the same. But still, Henry was a close friend to William. They had known each other since William had first stepped foot in the states, all those years ago. William knew everything about Henry, and Henry knew all he needed to know. It was a nice friendship.

Stepping through the door, William noticed right away that Henry was slightly out of breath, sweaty too. Being a heavier-set man, Henry was prone to sweating every now and again, but the slickness in his fiery reddish-blond hair told William that he'd probably just stepped out of the Fredbear costume. Henry's glasses were fogged, but he seemed more preoccupied with catching his breath to care right now.

"Hey, Bill! Sorry to barge in." Henry chuckled to his friend, leaning against the cool surface of the wooden door, "I just had to get away from those kids out there."

William gave the man the most sympathetic smile he could, taking a puff of his cigarette, "Tough crowd, hm?"

Henry chuckled again, shaking his head, "Nah, just really excited to see Fredbear. They missed ol' Bonnie though, you know."

The brit breathed out a hum, "Well Bonnie had to file his restaurant's taxes this afternoon. And someone has to keep this place afloat, no?"

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks for taking care of that, by the way. I know how much you hate crunching the numbers."

"It's no big deal." William sat back in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk, "I'd argue you got the tougher job today out of anyone."

Henry laughed again, one of his signature belly-laughs, "Yeah, yeah, that's fair. How's it going, Bill? How're you?"

William knew that Henry was going to be keen on talking, so that meant not much time for smoking. The brit took one last puff of nicotine before tamping it out.

"Quite well, actually. You?"

"Oh, you know me! Same old, same old. How're the kids doing? I hear Mikey's getting along well in college these days! That's good for him, though. I remember how much he used to struggle. I told him though, he just needed to find his people, find what he's passionate about, yknow?"

William felt his jaw clench. The only thing his son was passionate about was making a mess of things.

"He's doing fine, yeah." William said, "Though he's hardly ever home long enough for me to ask these days. But, I haven't gotten a letter of expulsion. So I assume all is well, yeah?"

Henry laughed, "Definitely! And how 'bout lil' Evan and Liz? Jee, it's been forever since I've seen them two. They grow like weeds at this age, at least Charlie did. Bet they're huge now!"

William let his smile fall a little, "Actually, I haven't seen them much either."

"Oh? Really?"

"Really." William took his feet off his desk and sat forward in his seat, "Clara seems not quite as willing to let them come over these days, it seems. Something about Evan's nightmares popping up again. The robots seemed to frighten him more than I had realized."

Henry crossed his arms, "Ah, jee, Bill. I'm so sorry. I know you gotta miss 'em."

"I do. I know Clara has her reasons, but... Let's just say the house is a lot more quiet with just me and Mike in there, yeah?"

Henry seemed to finally catch his breath and stop sweating now, taking off his fogged glasses. Glancing between the brit and the lenses, the red-head used the end of his t-shirt to wipe the glass.

"Yknow, Bill," Henry began, "It's been about 8 years since you and Clara split. Maybe it's time to, yknow... get back out there. It's not too late, even for old guys like us. I'm sure the kids would understand, too. At least eventually they would."

William felt another smile threaten to creep up on his face. Oh, Henry. You poor soul. The brit appreciated the sentiment, but there wasn't any need to worry about him. At least, not now. Not anymore. William had his precious, adorable little bunny now. And they were everything the older man needed and more. All he'd ever need ever again.

Fuck.

He missed you. He missed you so fucking much.

Henry seemed genuinely worried for William, too. Not that Henry wasn't ever genuine. Aside from his bunny, Henry was the most genuine person William had ever met. Never had a bad word to say to anyone about anything. It allowed William to put some of his trust in Henry, and make him a friend.

The extent of that trust?

Enough to tell Henry about you. Or, at least, tell him a little bit about you. Henry didn't need to know the whole truth.

Just enough for William to stop missing you so much.

"Actually," William began, his smile finally spilling over onto his handsome features, "I have... met someone, you could say."

Henry looked to the brit with shock and amusement, his smile widening as he put his glasses back on, "No way, really?! Bill, that's great! I mean... wow! I didn't even realize you were looking!"

"Thank you. We only started... seeing each other this past weekend. But, I already like them quite a bit. They are... unlike anyone I've ever met before. We click, yeah?"

The American let out an amused chuckle, "Wow, I mean, that's amazing, man! What's their name? Where're the from?"

William knew that he couldn't give Henry your real name. This town was too small. If Henry didn't already know you, he'd find out who you were one way or another. And he wasn't ready for that yet.

"Their name is... Bunny. From... Vegas."

"Vegas, huh? Interesting! What're they like?"

William let out a hum from the back of his throat, picturing your little face in his head, "Everything I could ever want. Or need."

Henry laughed again, "Wow, sounds like you really like 'em!"

"I do. Though they're a busy person. It's... difficult for us to be together all the time. I miss them terribly."

"I can understand that. It was like that with me and the Mrs. for a while there. Especially when setting up this joint." Henry responded as he patted the doorframe for emphasis, "But! Yknow what really helped us back then?"

"Hm?"

"When the dust settled enough, we took a week away! Just her and I, and left Charlie with the grandparents. It really helped us, like, reassure each other that we were our biggest priorities. It's like we fell in love all over again! We still talk about it to this day!"

William felt his lips part as he listened to his friend. A week away, hm? Now that did sound intriguing. The idea of getting away from this shithole town and whisking you away somewhere private did sound nice. Somewhere nice and secluded, so it could just be you and him. No worries looming over your shoulders of being caught, or leaving some sort of trail behind. Somewhere where you didn't have to look over your shoulder, and fully be in the moment. Together.

The brit shifted his grey eyes over to the calendar at the front of his desk. Your fall break was coming up soon. Next week, to be precise. Would that be enough time to plan all of it out? Money wasn't an issue to William, not at all. But he just wondered if him and you could be away for a whole weekend without raising any eyebrows.

But, then again. College students rarely stayed around town that week. Hell, Michael would probably be even spending it a this mother's. That makes things more convenient. William could just say he needs to travel for business. And he could just get you to say that you were spending it away at distant relative's houses.

Yes, that could work.

But where would he take you? There's that national park upstate not too far away. Tucked away in the few woods that Utah had. William remembered taking his family up there once a long time ago, when Michael was still in high school. The only people there were a few other families, as well as the managers of the hotel site. And they wouldn't give a damn about anything that the two of you could possibly get up to, so long as things stay quiet and the checks cleared.

Though, if William gets you all to himself like that... it might be a bit hard to keep you quiet.

He wanted to hear just how loud his little bunny could get.

But, that could sort itself out later.

Henry was a smart man.

When William got back after next week, he'd have to thank him for the wonderful idea.

~~~

"A trip? Together? Will, don't you think that's a bit... risky?"

It wasn't until the sun had started to creep down the horizon the next day that you called. Although his talk with Henry had helped, William still missed you deeply during the time in between. His fantasies of you and the jacket that he stole could only keep him company for so long. He was just grateful that he had been home when you called, and that Michael wasn't there to ruin any more shit.

William didn't expect you to be so apprehensive about his little idea. He assumed that if he was the one that brought up something like that, you'd know that it was safe to do so. William is smart, little one. He's already thought every little detail through. Don't you trust him not to put you in any kind of danger?

He told you that you two would leave on Sunday, it being Thursday now. This would give you time to wrap up anything for school that you had outstanding, if any, and give him enough time to sort things out. The hotel reservation. Lying to everyone that he'd be on a business trip. Making sure that idiot Michael was tucked away at his mother's for the week. Plus, enough time for him to think of what the two of you would do up there, tucked away in the little corner of the woods.

Alone.

Without any prying eyes.

Oh bunny. If only you knew what he was capable of. When things were perfect like that. When things were how they should be.

"It's not risky at all, love." He responded to you, holding the phone up with his shoulder as he circled the number of the Hotel on the newspaper, "We'd be far enough away from town to where no one would recognize us. It's just a tourist destination anyway, bit run down, yeah? There'd be no one we'd know, just perhaps a few other passer-bys."

William could hear how you turned over in your bed from the other end of the phone, perhaps to prop yourself up on your elbows, "But what if someone is there? Like, how're we supposed to explain that?"

"Love, there's not going to be anyone there we know."

"Yeah, but... what if there is?"

William chuckled as he set the newspaper down, re-grabbing the phone from off his shoulder, "You worry far too much, bunny."

"Well I don't think you're worried enough, Will. This could be really dangerous for us..."

"But it won't be, (Y/N). I wouldn't have suggested it if I thought it'd be too dangerous. You know that."

You sighed, "I do, it's just..."

The brit shifted the phone to his other ear as he leaned his back against the wall, "What, love? You can tell me."

"It's just I don't wanna be, like... found out this early on. Like, what if someone really is there? And we can't see each other again because of it? And we'd have to go back home and pretend to be strangers again and it all gets, like, ruined and..."

You trailed off towards the end, but William understood what you were trying to say. Oh, sweet bunny. It's so cute you were so worried. But it wasn't anything to worry about in the first place, and perhaps you knew that deep down. You like to worry yourself silly, don't you, little one? Turns out you were far more paranoid than even William himself. Didn't that wear you out?

You need to calm down, bunny. William would never let anything stand between you and him. He loved you, and he'd fight for you until the bitter end.

"Bunny, listen to me, yeah?" The brit hummed, "Nothing is going to happen out there. I'll make sure nothing could possibly go wrong. And even if something did, it won't be anything for you to fret over, love. I'll take care of everything. I promise."

You fell silent for a few moments, but eventually let out a tiny sigh, the ruffling of your bed covers coming from the background again.

"Finneeeee." You breathed out, "But only if you're sure it'll be okay."

William felt his grin stretch across his handsome face, "I'm certain, little one. Just leave it all the me, yeah?"

"Where even is this place again? I've never heard of it before."

"It's only a few hours north of here. Kind of out in the middle of nowhere, but that just means no one will bother us with our... quality time."

The older man heard how you giggled over the phone, imagining the blush that came up on your cheeks, "Where'd you even hear of this place to begin with? You don't seem like the outdoors-y type. No offense."

"Ah, no, love, I'm not, but I used to take my kids up there every now and again. Back when we all still lived together."

"I see... Will, yknow, if you'd rather spend this week with them, I won't be offen-"

William chuckled again, "No, love, it's quite alright. Michael's too old for that sort of thing now, and the ex-wife is already taking the other two up to her mum's. Besides, I'd much rather be with you, anyway. I miss you, bunny."

"I miss you too, Will."

He let out a pleased hum, "Are you excited, love?"

"I am! I'm gonna start packing in the morning after my midterm."

"If you need any help, bunny, just give me a ring, alright?"

"I will, I will. Oh, and after we get back, just tell me how much everything was and I'll give you back half-"

William laughed again, amused by how cute you were, "Darling, please. There'll be none of that. I've got it all covered, sweet thing."

He heard you sit up in your bed, "Oh my god, no! Will, please, I can't ask you to do all that for m-"

"It's not an issue, bunny. Trust me."

"Still! That's a lot of money, and I can't just-"

The brit chuckled, "You can, love. I've got it all taken care of. Having you with me is payback enough, I promise. This isn't putting me out or anything. Just in this phone call I've made enough money to cover it two times over. Just be a good bunny for me, yeah? Let me spoil my sweet rabbit a bit. Think of this as just a little... honeymoon, of sorts. Alright?"

He could practically hear your blush from the other end, "O-Okay... Thank you, Will. Thank you very much, I... no one's ever been this kind to me before. So thank you."

"It's not a problem, little one. There's no need to thank me. This is just what you get when you're good for me, yeah? Do you understand?"

"I do."

"Good bunny. Though, if you really do want to say thank you, how about a nice kiss when I see you on Sunday, hm? Could you do that for me?"

You breathed out a smile, "Yeah, I can. Yes sir."

William let out another pleased hum, his smirk stretching even further, "Good bunny. It's getting late, little one. You should get some rest. We've got a long week ahead of us."

You ruffled around to where you were lying down again, "Yeah, you're right. Just... thank you again, Will. For everything."

"Of course, love. Anytime. Good luck on your exam tomorrow, yeah? I know you'll do fine. I'll see you Sunday, alright?"

"See ya Sunday, Will. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, bunny."

~~~

"Okay, Mike. Next one. The principle of conservation of momentum is a direct consequence of Newton's third law of motion. True or False?"

"Umm... false?"

"Mike! Come on, we learned this in high school!"

Michael groaned at his own cluelessness as you laughed at him for the umpteenth time today. It was Friday morning, much too early and much too cold to be cramming for a physics midterm. Yet, here Michael was.

With you.

The moment he locked eyes with you on campus, Michael had drug you away to your usual shared study-spot. Behind the old welcome center, which gradually had turned into a dumping site for any supplies or equipment the college didn't need anymore, but didn't bother to throw out. The cinder-block building made it much colder than it already was, but it was secluded. It always let the two of you be outside but without anyone threatening the join. You and Michael were a bit awkward. Not much of talkers to outsiders.

You were in your usual spot up on the ledge of the building. It was structured in a way in which part of the corner was cut out from the main walls. Originally intended for some sort of statue or monument, the corner was left empty once people lost interest in any sort of project being placed there. But, it made a nice little human-sized cubby to sit in. Your back was against the cold brick wall, with Michael sitting opposite you with his back on the stone as well. A flurry of old assignments and your books were strewn about in the narrow space between you and him, your legs tangled together in a bit of a mess.

Though you weren't in his physics class, you knew how much Michael struggled with it. Admittedly, he was never much of a math guy. Or any kind of school guy, really. But, you were. Michael knew you were a nerd. Even though you'd never admit it, you were. He'd joke about it to you every now and again, but deep down, admired that about you. You never needed to study much for anything. Or at least, not nearly to the magnitude he needed to.

That's why he didn't feel bad making you help him last-minute cram that morning. He knew you would be fine without studying for your test. Well, it was two birds with one stone, in a way. He both desperately needed the help, and desperately needed to know what was up with you.

He hadn't spoken to you since Monday of that same week, after his father had forced him to call you. Michael felt bad about potentially worrying you then, or even just calling you at such an ungodly hour, but he had decided it was ultimately for the best. He knew his father did some shit to you.

And he had to know what that shit was.

He knew that old man would rather finally croak than spill the beans, so he had to rely on you to give him answers. Seeing as you had most likely lied to him over the phone (not that he blamed you too much, he knew how manipulative the old geezer could be), he'd have to rely on his intuition as best he could. From the cues you gave.

But, that was the problem.

Although you hadn't lied to him before, nor really hid anything from him, turns you were damn good at it.

On Monday, he hadn't been able to pick up anything from you at all. You had greeted him and hung out with him like nothing was wrong. And hell, even now, you still were. You were your same old self. Just perhaps slightly... happier? More energetic?

That should be a good thing. Michael wanted to be happy for you.

But he knew something was up. It wasn't just a coincidence. And he needed to get to the bottom of it.

For you.

"This is all bullshit, anyway!" Michael exclaimed, running his hands though his long, feathered hair, "I didn't care back then about this shit, and I still don't now!"

You dropped the stack of flash-cards down to look at your friend square in his freckled face, "Mike, if you wanna be an engineer, you're gonna have to know Newton's Laws. It's, like, the main thing."

Michael scoffed, but not annoyedly, "Look, all I'm saying is, if they were really that important, I'd already know them."

The young man heard you laugh again, "Maybe if you already knew them you'd not be failing."

"I am not failing! I actually have a C this semester, thank you very much."

"Thaaaaat's nearly failing, Mike."

"Well thank god I've got the best tutor ever then, right?"

Michael felt himself smile to match your own, watching you roll your eyes playfully as you shuffled the flash cards in your hands, "It's just one more test then we're outta here. Then you can diss Newton all you want. But for now, we need to study."

Michael's grey eyes fell to the cards, silence falling over him. Right, fall break. He had forgotten all about it. He was gonna head up to his mom's house, with Liz and Evan.

But, his father...

"Hey," he said, "I never asked you. What're you doing for break?"

You glanced up at your friend at his question, only for your eyes to fall down to your hands again, "Actually, I'm gonna go outta town."

Michael shifted in his seat, "Out of town?"

"Yeah," you responded, "My grandma invited me to her place up state. I'm gonna spend the week with her."

"Where does she live?"

"I don't remember off the top of my head. But somewhere up in the woods."

The woods...

"What're you gonna do?" You asked him, catching the young man a bit off guard.

"Oh," he said, "I'm gonna go spend time with my mum and brother and sister. Probably the whole week."

Michael watched as you smiled at him, searching for any sort of hint behind your eyes, "That sounds fun. Hope you have a good time."

"Yeah... too bad my dad won't be coming."

Michael saw you glance up again at him.

"He won't?"

"Nah. Something about a business trip."

"That's understandable, though. Gotta do what you gotta do. I'm just surprised you'd miss him. It's not like you were ever his biggest fan."

Michael scoffed again, "Yeah. Maybe it's for the best."

"Yeah... maybe."

Silence fell over the two of you again, only broken by the shuffling of paper in your hands and the cool Utah air flooding through the trees in the distance.

Shit. Had Michael fucked it up? Was he being too direct? He never really talked to you too much about his relationship with his dad. At least, not in-depth, and nothing besides the occasional venting session. He'd have to explain every little nuance to you for you to get the whole picture. Of why he felt how he felt abut his old man. And he never wanted to unpack all that onto you. It wasn't fair. It wasn't your job to take care of him.

But, still.

He needed to get to the bottom of this.

"You think so too?" He asked, tearing your gaze away from the flashcards to focus on him.

"I mean," you said, "Things turn out how they do for a reason. Maybe it's just not time for a family reunion yet."

"Yeah, you're right... It's just, I kinda miss how things were before, yknow? When my mum and dad were still together."

"I can understand that. But, ultimately, it happened for a reason. And they probably did it because it just would've been best for you and your siblings. Better than just letting it... sit and brew, right?"

"I guess... So, does your grandma, like, live in a cabin or something? Is she a witch?"

You laughed, "No, no. Not a witch. At least from what I remember. And yeah I think it's a cabin. Or at least kinda like one. She rents it out occasionally, too."

A rentable cabin...

In the woods...

"For, like, tourists?"

"Or just any passers-by."

Michael felt his lips part at your words, a small pit forming in the bottom of his stomach.

The woods. The cabin. Your trip. His dad's trip.

Oh god.

Oh fucking god.

"Umm, Mike?" the young man heard you ask, briefly snapping out of his train of thought, "Are you good?"

Michael looked to you again and threw on his best smile, running a hand through his hair, "Shit, I'm so sorry, (Y/N)! I just remembered I agreed to study with Steven this morning. Sorry, but I gotta run!"

The young man stood up and threw all his things into his backpack quicker than he ever had before. He didn't even care how all his papers were being crumpled, and the bookmarks were flying out of the pages.

You watched him with a somewhat confused expression, "Uhhh, okay? I can come with if you-"

"No, no, it's alright!" Michael exclaimed, almost too quickly, "You've already helped me more than enough, thanks. I just really gotta run."

Once all his stuff was in, Michael threw his bag over his shoulder, not even bothering to zip it up, "I'll see you after break, alright? Have a good week, (Y/N). Enjoy your grandma's."

Michael heard you call out something back to him, but he was already trudged off in the opposite direction. He didn't look back, not even once, his grey eyes fixated to the ground.

They stayed there for a good long while.

Until his legs carried him to the pay phone, his arms searched through his pockets, his fingers put in the quarter, and dialed his mother's number.

~~~

When Sunday rolled around, William had spent a fuck ton of time getting ready that morning. A lot longer than he normally did.

The brit had hardly slept the night before. He was just way too excited about what was to come after the sun had risen. An entire week away. With his precious bunny at his side. Away from this fuckhole town. Away from all the idiots that lived here. Away from his business. Away from his lonely home. Away from Michael. Away from any prying eyes that might threaten to take you away from him.

No. Come that morning, he'd be able to get away from it all. And have you close to him. Where you should always be.

He had laid out his best outfit before settling into bed the previous night. The purple sweater-vest he loved so much, with his black tie, slacks, and dress shoes. all tied together with his light-purple dress shirt underneath, accented with his silver watch and class ring from his university. Staring at himself in the mirror for what felt like hours, he had finally gotten his brown-and-grey hair to fall as perfectly as he wanted. As he would expect for himself when seeing you. You were already perfect for him. The least he could do was be the same for you.

Before William marched out the door to his car, he made sure to give himself an extra spritz of his cologne. Just to be sure that you'd be able to memorize his scent over this week. He planned by the end to either give you a piece of the clothes he had packed for you to keep, or spray his own cologne on your clothes. To give you some sort of unconscious reminder of him. For when the week was over. He was leaning towards the latter, however. Easier to slip in, and more long-lasting.

He'd think about it. He had plenty of time to decide.

The older man had already packed everything he needed long before the weekend ever came. He wanted to make sure that he didn't forget anything. This week needed to go by as perfectly as possible. He knew he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he fucked it up somehow. Sure, yes, you were his good bunny. You'd reassure him with your adorable smile that everything was okay. But it wouldn't be, bunny.

There was no room for fuck-ups this week.

None.

Even though, William was pretty sure he was about to fuck-up at any second right then.

You and him had agreed that he would be he one to drive the two of you to the hotel. More like William decided, but you didn't seem to protest too much. At least not that he could pick up on. But, with that, William knew that he'd have to help you carry your luggage. Over the phone, you didn't say as much. Not in any way that might embarrass yourself.

"It might be a little tough for me to haul my shit down the stairs." You told him over the phone, "So just be patient with me, alright?"

William smiled to himself as he recalled your little voice. Oh, bunny. His silly little bunny. There's no shame in asking William to help you, sweet thing. Wouldn't you like to see a display of his strength? See just how much he can lift without any trouble at all? Why'd you want to see that, bunny? To see how well he could throw you around during you and his playtime?

Naughty bunny. Naughty naughty bunny. Who knew your mind was so filthy?

The brit was waiting outside of your door for you to answer, the sound of the wind breaking between the trees and the gentle rumble of his car's engine filling his rosy ears. He had knocked a few minutes ago, and was trying to be as patient as possible for you to answer. William knew you were awake. If he was careful about it, he could hear you scurrying around your house in a mad dash. It was cute. And he was a patient man.

Normally speaking.

William found it hard to resist the urge to just kick down the door and scoop you up into his arms. He had missed you so fucking much in the days leading up to today. His heart ached for you. His body ached for you. Just like before, he could already feel himself starting to harden inside his trousers. Just in the excitement and anticipation of seeing you again. The heat on his cheeks was creeping down his neck, making him shudder in the cold morning air.

Fucking hell. He was glad he picked out black to wear again today. Any other color, and you would've noticed his hard-on. As much as he loved playing with his bunny, he wanted to just be sweet and loving with you today. Hold you close. Kiss those adorable cheeks. Fuck. He just wanted you near him; needed you near him. Your warmth against his was so addicting. He had gone far too long without it. The jacket he stole from you was fine, but it wasn't the same. It couldn't replicate the feeling of your chest against his. The feeling of your plush thighs overtop his own. The way your little fingers ran through his hair, and down his scars... Fuck, bunny. Fucking hell. How we wanted you to touch him again. How we wanted to touch you again. Your skin was so smooth and soft. The way his long, calloused fingers could just slide across your belly and thighs like it was nothing. The dip of your waist own to your hips, and how his hands fit so perfectly there. God fucking damn. And your cute little butt; god above how he loved it. How he could just-

Before William could fantasize any more, the door keeping him from you finally clicked open, ripping his gaze away from the trees in the distance. The older man felt his lips gently part, finally being able to drink in the sight of you again. After so long.

Even though you were awake, it looked like you hadn't been for too long. For one, you were still in your pajamas. And you hadn't even seemed to comb your hair yet. Or, if you had, whatever you were doing made it unkept again. you were smiling at him, but your adorable little eyes were still tired. He could see the faint dark circles that lingered under them, coupled with the sheen of redness from within.

He was really happy he wore black trousers that day.

"Morning, Will!" you said, your sleepiness still in your voice, "Sorry to keep you waiting, just gimme-"

Before you could finish your sentiment, William pushed himself through the door and slammed it shut behind him. You had taken a few steps back from his sudden barging-in, but he was quick to close the distance between the two of you, the surprise of it all lighting up your sleepy eyes. Snaking one of his arms around your middle, his other hand landing on your cheek, William closed the rest of the distance between you and him, capturing your sweet, soft lips into a kiss. You had let out a tiny hum of protest from his sudden movements, but quickly stopped as you eased in, reciprocating the older man's affections. As the kiss deepened, William gently was able to turn the two of you around, backing you up against the door with your shoulder blades flush against the wood.

Your hands eventually found their home on his shoulders, allowing himself to press further against you. He wasn't too sure if you could feel the hardness in his pants against your thigh or not, but he didn't fucking care. All that mattered was that you were here. You were in his arms again, after so fucking long. You hadn't gotten much better at kissing since the last time he saw you, but he didn't fucking care about that either. All that mattered was that they were your kisses. And it was him that got to kiss you.

Did you understand that, bunny?

Only he was allowed to kiss you.

Him.

And only him.

Because you were his sweet, adorable, sexy baby bunny.

You eventually had to pull away for air, but that didn't stop William's barrage of affection onto you. With no more access to your lips, the brit turned his attention to your neck, tilting his head down towards the soft flesh. He could feel how you gripped onto him tighter as he gave you quick, demanding little bites against the side of your windpipe, sucking on the skin every now and again. It wasn't until his hands started to wander under your shirt that you said anything.

"Will!" You exclaimed, a slight giggle in your voice, "Please! I missed you too, but calm down!"

The brit let out a hum against your neck, moving his hand back to your waist as he gave your collarbones a few more kisses, "I'm sorry, bunny. I just missed you... I missed you a lot."

You giggled again at him, "It's okay, I missed you too. I'm just really tired. I didn't sleep too well last night."

Tilting his head back up, William gave you a kiss to your blushy cheek before locking eyes with you again, brushing the hair away from your face.

"No?" He asked, admiring his precious bunny's adorable features. You were even cuter than the last time he saw you.

"Yeah, I was too excited. And I kept feeling like... I dunno. Like I was gonna forget something."

"I understand, love. I was in the same boat myself." He leaned down to you, pressing a quick peck against your lips, "You can sleep on the car ride if you want to, bunny. I won't mind."

"It's alright. I'm used to staying up anyway, but... thanks again, Will. For all of this. I just... No one's ever done something like this for me before. It's a little hard to believe this is, like, real."

The older man chuckled, giving you another quick kiss, "There's really no need to thank me, darling. I've already gotten all the thanks I need."

Breathing out another smile, you stood on your tip-toes to press one last kiss against his lips.

"I hate to ask you this, but..." you said, "I can't lift my suitcase enough to get it downstairs. Can you help me? Please?"

William smiled. You were just too cute.

"Of course, bunny."

"Thank you. Come on, it's upstairs in my room."

Even though he was reluctant to do so, William let you go out of his grasp, immediately feeling a lot colder without you close to him. Following behind you, he could already see how the fresh hickies he had given you were starting to form. Three bright red spots now lined the right side of your neck, marking you as his.

William couldn't help but smirk to himself.

Your house was smaller than William's was, and much more empty too. You had told him before that it was largely only you that lived there now. Your parents lived there too, but only when they were around. Which was next to never, their line of work having them over-seas a majority of the time. Even still, the house was a bit of a mess for only having one person living in it. Granted, it's not like you had to clean up if you didn't want to. You weren't trying to keep a tidy home for everyone else. While William was definitely more of a tidy person, he understood the mess. And, admittedly, found it a little comforting.

It was your mess, after all.

This feeling of comfort only magnified itself the closer you lead him to your room. The mess gradually got messier as he neared the door, and the items strewn about became progressively more personal to you. Papers turned to books. Books turned to albums. Albums turned to clothes. Clothes turned into your more... personal clothes.

Fucking Christ.

William wanted to steal some of those too.

But eventually, all of the different items eventually amalgamated into your room. Both you and him had to step over a few piles of things to get past the door, but he was the first to stop. He was positioned just a foot or so past your bedroom door, while you scurried off more towards the back of it all.

"Sorry about all the mess," you said over your shoulder, "I meant to clean up before you came, but... I slept through my alarm."

William looked down to his feet at your words, kicking over a pile of your clothes gently to investigate its contents, "It's alright, love. I've seen much worse."

"Just wait there for a sec. I need to pack a few more things first."

William took this as a cue to further his investigation into your room. Honestly, it wasn't quite what he expected. Although, he had never really given any thought into how it might've looked. But regardless, he found himself quite fond of it.

Because it was just so... you.

It had all your favorite things in it. The posters on the wall of your favorite bands. The pictures of you and your family. A few art pieces that seemed just a bit aged. All the little trinkets and knick-knacks that lined shelves full of books you liked. The clothes you liked strewn about the ground. Album covers. Old movie ticket stubs. Your schoolwork. Your sheets. Your stuffed animals. Your scent.

It was like William had stepped inside of your mind.

And he fucking loved it.

Why didn't he think of this sooner? Coming into your room? He would've been able to learn so much more about you so much quicker than he had. Instead of pestering his dumbass son, he could've just come here all along. Oh god. Oh fucking god. This was all too much. He was surrounded by you. Everywhere he looked was something to remind him of you, because everything was you. Fucking hell. It smelled just like you too. And your bed. Your fucking bed. Just inches away from him, the place where you slept at night whilst away from him. The very thing that housed all your dreams, your phone calls, your tears, your study sessions, your pleasure. Did you think of him in there, bunny? How many times has his name echoed off of those walls? How many times have you imagined him there with you? Did you picture him slipping on top of you in that bed? Did you fantasize about his hands roaming up and down your body there? Did you? Was it his lips you imagined on your flesh? His voice you wanted to whisper in your ear?

Oh it was bunny. He knew it was. Just like he had done for you, in his own bed.

William was grateful to hear your voice again from the other side of the room. He was worried he might have another accident if he hadn't been stopped.

"Like what you see?" You asked him, shoving a few last-minute things into your suitcase.

The brit cleared his throat before responding to you, "I do actually, yes."

He hard you scoff playfully, "You don't have to humor me, Will. I know you're a neat-freak."

"No, no, I do like it, bunny." He reassured you, "It's very... you."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"A good thing, of course."

You chuckled, "Well I guess it makes sense. I've had the same room since the day I was born."

William felt one of his brows raise, "You've never moved?"

"Nah. This house has been in the family since, like, the 20s or something. I've never been outside of Hurricane, actually."

The older man felt his bewilderment grow, "Never?"

"Never ever. Other than a Disney trip when I was a baby, but I don't remember anything from it so it doesn't count. This trip will be my first time out of the city."

"Is that so... Well, I'm honored to be your first, bunny."

You chuckled again, "You're a lot of my firsts, Will."

William smiled to himself. Indeed he was, little bunny. Just like how it should be. You'd never need another man in your life, anyway. Not anymore, not after being his now. Isn't that all you'd ever want?

This trip was going to be good for you. He knew it would.

"Well I'm honored to be all of them."

~~~

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

"Oh, hey, sugar. What's up?"

"I have an update. On what's going on."

"Already? That's good, I just didn't expect somethin' so soon. Especially with him."

"Yeah, me neither, but... I think it might be worse than we thought."

"Worse how, baby?"

"Do you remember that old hotel place up state? We used to vacation to, like, before?"

"Oh God, don't tell me..."

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure they're heading there this weekend."

"I understand. I can get there before them if I leave tonight. Will you be here by then? To watch the kiddos?"

"Yeah, I will. What do you want me to tell them?"

"Just say I'm visiting their Auntie for a day or two and you're gonna watch them. I'll leave some money out on the counter for pizza, and there'll be some leftovers in the fridge. Just keep an extra eye on your brother, pumpkin. Poor thing's been having bad dreams again."

"Does he know?"

"No, I haven't told either of them. Probably won't, if I'm bein' honest."

"That's probably for the best. Just wait until they're older. I can't imagine trying to explain it to them now."

"They still love him, baby. It's better not to break their little hearts all over again."

"I know, I know, just... I wish they could know the truth. I feel like I'm lying to them."

"You're not, sugar. You're just protectin' them. They're just kids, pumpkin pie. Let 'em believe their daddy is a good man just a little bit longer."

"But he isn't. That's the thing. He's already fucked us up, now he's fucking my best friend up."

"I know, sweetie, I know. But we'll get it all fixed up, I promise you. Save 'em before it's too late 'n all."

"Yeah... yeah, you're right, I just... I'm sorry. I'm just worried."

"I know you are, I am too. But worryin' isn't gonna solve anythin'. Not right now. I'll be up there before sunrise tomorrow. I'll take care of it, sugar. Just try and enjoy your break in the meantime."

"Are you going to need any help? I can bring Liz and Ev up to Grandma's for a little."

"I don't think so. The restrainin' order should scare him off enough, but I'm gonna wait until I can get your little friend alone just to be sure."

"Okay... only if you're sure."

"Positive, baby. Don't you be worryin' about me, now. This ain't my first rodeo with him."

"Heh, yeah... You're right. As usual."

"Should I mention you when the time comes?"

"If you want. (Y/N)'s gonna figure it out quickly, anyway, so..."

"Okay."

"Thank you again. For all of this, I... I don't know what I'd do without you. I can't win against him."

"It's no trouble at all, sugar. Anything to keep it from happenin' again."

"Yeah..."

"Good luck on your test, baby. I gotta go start packin' now, okay? I love you, Mikey. Everything's gonna be fine."

"I love you too, mum. Thanks."

~~~

tags: @guinea-pig16 @the-official-memester @randomwriteralan @mrsrogerwaters @lalyaaftonshit @cherry-slushee @insert-memical-username @mrssafton @horrorking2000 @artist-anon08 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @jamiethenerdymonster @kimyona-san @purplewolfcoffee @violetlmfaoo @reapersimps @wawuwe @lovinglenore @zoey5252

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#william afton x you #william afton smut #william afton x reader #william afton #dave miller x reader #fnaf x y/n #fnaf x you #fnaf x reader #fnaf smut

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