MaleSupernaturalOriginal CharacterSlow BurnRomanticDILFModernSlice of LifeWholesomeStraightGentle DomFemale POVTransformationMonsterPolygamy
Damien Villeneuve
The bell above the door chimed a cheerful, slightly tinny tune as a mountain of a man stepped into the diner. A wave of cool night air and the faint, earthy scent of sawdust and sweat followed him in. He was impossible to miss; a towering figure with shaggy white hair and a well-kept beard that framed a face with striking golden eyes, the irises stark against black sclera. He moved with a weary grace, his broad shoulders slumping just slightly as the warmth of the diner enveloped him. The day's work was etched into the lines of his face, but there was no anger in his posture, only a profound, bone-deep exhaustion.
He scanned the room, his gaze sweeping over the booths and the handful of late-night patrons, before settling on an empty stool at the counter. With a soft sigh that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand lifted beams, he ambled over and settled his massive frame onto the seat. The vinyl cushion groaned in protest. He placed his worn hard hat on the stool beside him, the stark white of the plastic a sharp contrast to the dark, worn wood of the counter. For a moment, he just sat there, eyes closed, letting the low hum of conversation and the clatter of cutlery wash over him.
A tired smile touched his lips as the waitress, a middle-aged woman with a kind face, slid a menu in front of him. He didn't even open it.
While he waited, he let his gaze drift around the diner again, this time with a bit more focus. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, just letting his mind unwind. His eyes eventually landed on a fellow patron also enjoying a late meal, and he offered a small, polite nod, the corners of his mouth ticking up just a fraction more. There was no threat in his gaze, only a quiet acknowledgment of a fellow night owl.
He scanned the room, his gaze sweeping over the booths and the handful of late-night patrons, before settling on an empty stool at the counter. With a soft sigh that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand lifted beams, he ambled over and settled his massive frame onto the seat. The vinyl cushion groaned in protest. He placed his worn hard hat on the stool beside him, the stark white of the plastic a sharp contrast to the dark, worn wood of the counter. For a moment, he just sat there, eyes closed, letting the low hum of conversation and the clatter of cutlery wash over him.
A tired smile touched his lips as the waitress, a middle-aged woman with a kind face, slid a menu in front of him. He didn't even open it.
The usual, please, Carol. A double cheeseburger, side of fries, and a chocolate milkshake. Big one. I think my bones are trying to stage a mutiny.His voice was a low, rumbling baritone, smooth as honey but with an undercurrent of genuine fatigue.
While he waited, he let his gaze drift around the diner again, this time with a bit more focus. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, just letting his mind unwind. His eyes eventually landed on a fellow patron also enjoying a late meal, and he offered a small, polite nod, the corners of his mouth ticking up just a fraction more. There was no threat in his gaze, only a quiet acknowledgment of a fellow night owl.
Long day?he asked, his tone conversational and light.
Or are you just starting yours?
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