#Replaces a dead audio

[tfc2211]

T-Bone Walker / Joe Turner / Otis Spann – Super Black Blues (1969)

[copia]

delighted though i am for ghost's growing success i'm keeping my fingers crossed for an obviously low-budget ghovie like the chapters before it. because the papa nihil darth vader breathing and seestor's car crash montage and the shitty nihil ghost effects and copia living in the hall outside a bathroom with no door etc all add a certain je ne sais quoi

[bookshelfdreams]

the euphoria of correctly predicting a plottwist is only surpassed by the sheer delight of said plottwist being done in the dumbest possible way

[hypnobyl]

the only thing i could think while watching this in theaters.

[renthewerecatboi]

apparently sfm has decided fuck me, i am not allowed to move anything anymore

[jane-the-good]

CALEB: deceptive solitude

WORD COUNT: 3.5K

SUMMARY: Caleb comes home from a mission and is not very happy that you would accept anyone else’s help besides his

NOTE: I hope this card is Caleb’s equivalent to the scratch off event secret times audios bc those were such a treat and I love them dearly and need Caleb’s more than I need water ♡

WARNING: smut, unprotected sex, oral sex, angst, Caleb is wildly over protective, panty sniffer allegations are true

AO3 caleb masterlist

The sound of the front door creaks open, and a wave of anticipation surges through you. Caleb is home.

The thought alone floods your chest with warmth, it shifts in your ribs, so soft and certain. You listen as he moves through the entryway, the drop of his bag hitting the floor with practiced ease, a sound so familiar it should be comforting. Should feel like the final piece slipping into place. But something feels...off.

Seven days without him. The house has been too still in his absence, the silence stretching wide in all the spaces where he should be. Before he left, there was a rhythm—his assuring presence, his steady hands, the way he always seemed to know exactly what you needed before you could even ask. Now, the absence of his touch, his voice, has hollowed something out inside you.

You smile to yourself, already picturing him stepping into the room, that half-smirk tugging at his lips, the one that always makes your breath hitch. He’ll be tired, sure, but he’ll be here. He’ll fold you into his arms, press his lips to your hair, let you trace the shape of his face like you’re learning him all over again.

The sound of shower door closing resonates through the bathroom. The quiet, deliberate click of the lock sliding into place.

You hesitate. A frown tugs at your brow. He hasn’t even come to see you.

Slowly, you rise, something uneasy curling in your blood as you step toward the bathroom. The door is cracked just enough for the light to spill through, soft and golden against the dark. You push it open.

Caleb stands at the mirror, steam curling around him, a towel slung low on his hips. His hair is damp, drops of water trailing down his spine, but his gaze isn’t on his reflection. It’s on the gun in his hands.

He cleans it with careful, methodical precision, each movement slow, deliberate—more ritual than necessity. The Caleb you know, the one who meets you with warmth even when he’s exhausted, is absent. In his place is something quieter, heavier. The usual light in his violet eyes has dulled, replaced by something distant, something unreadable.

And that’s when you feel it—the sinking, the knowing, the truth pressing in like a storm on the horizon.

Something happened. And whatever it is, it followed him home.

Your eyes meet in the mirror—just for a second. But there’s no relief, no warmth in his gaze. Just a flicker, a glance over your form, and then he looks away. Back down to the gun. His hands move with practiced efficiency, steady, detached, as if you’re not even standing there. Why could he possibly need to clean it right now?

"Caleb?" Your voice is quiet. There is a distance that wasn’t there before.

He doesn’t answer right away. The rhythmic slide of metal, the soft click of a piece locking into place—those are his only responses.

You step forward, bridging the gap just slightly. "Hey," you try again, softer now. "Are you tired?"

"Not really." Flat. Short. The words drop heavy with stones, meant to sink you down rather than reel you in.

Your frown deepens. That unshakable gravity that always pulls him toward you—it’s missing. And you don’t understand why.

"Did something happen?" The concern in your voice sharpens, threading through the air. "Something on the mission?"

He shakes his head, eyes still fixed on his hands. Still moving. Still working. “Not with the mission.” The words are clipped, cool. A dead end.

But you don’t stop. You step closer, your pulse picking up, something uneasy curling in your chest. "Oh? I—You seemed excited to come home before you left. And now… now you— What changed?"

Silence stretches. The air feels heavier now, spreading too wide in your lungs.

"You don’t have any clue?"

His voice is low and quiet, but laced with something sharp. Accusatory. Like you should already know.

Your stomach tightens. "Caleb…"

You step closer, close enough to touch him now, but he doesn’t move. His hands are still, finally, but his posture remains stiff, guarded.

"What’s wrong?" Your voice barely makes it past your lips, soft and uncertain.

His eyes cold, unreadable. His jaw clenches, and there’s a flicker of something darker, behind those purple eyes. You’ve seen that look before, but it’s always been reserved for moments of danger, not moments like this—and especially not at you.

He sighs, his fingers tightening on the counter. “Did someone help you while I was gone?” His voice is tight, like he’s barely holding himself together.

Your heart stops for a moment, your eyes widening in shock. “What?” you ask, confused. “What do you mean?”

Caleb’s gaze hardens, his expression shifting. “You know exactly what I mean. Did someone step in for me while I was gone?”

The question hits you like a sudden punch to the gut. How does he know? And it wasn’t something you even asked for. You were being followed, or at least felt like it. He- whoever he was, stepped in to walk with you to and you didn’t want to be alone. You were pretty sure he was a hunter, he looked familiar at least. That was it though? You even stopped a few blocks from the house so he wouldn’t know where you live. It was a weird situation yeah, but you didn’t ask for any of it, you did the best that you could on your own.

You stammer for words. “I… How did you—?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cuts you off, his tone sharp, as if brushing it aside. “It’s taken care of.”

You freeze, something in his words sending a shiver down your spine. Taken care of? Was that his way of saying he’d done something to them? You back away a step, the weight of uncertainty making you dizzy. You can’t tell if you’re scared because of the vague threat in his tone, or if you’re terrified of the possibility that he has hurt someone.

You take another step back, your heart hammering in your chest. You can’t breathe, the anxiety swelling, and before you even realize what’s happening, you’ve backed out of the bathroom entirely. You feel the suffocating nature of cool air on your skin.

The dull clink of the gun as it hits the bathroom counter rings in your ears, but you can't bring yourself to look. You keep your gaze fixed on the tiles. Your pulse hammers in your throat, too loud to ignore, too frantic to quiet. What did he do to that person? What has he been doing, all this time?

“Wait,” Caleb’s voice, softer now, cuts through your panic. “Wait, look at me.”

You hesitate but eventually turn, too shaken to stay in place. Caleb is standing a few feet infront you, a calculating look on his face.

He walks toward you, his eyes softened now, his posture less rigid. The tension in his body is still there, but now it’s buried beneath something gentler, almost apologetic.

“Come here,” he urges, his voice low, as he gently guides you to the bench in front of the bed.

You hesitate for a moment before sitting down, your mind still caught in a whirlwind of confusion and fear. You don’t want to be scared of him, but the way he’s reacted—it doesn’t feel like the Caleb you know. You’re not sure who you’re facing now.

Caleb kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees as he searches your face, his eyes searching for something. His gaze softens even more, and you can see the weight of something in his expression. He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his movements slow and deliberate.

You flinch instinctively, pulling away from his touch. His eyes flicker with what almost looks like regret.

“You look so scared” he murmurs, his voice low.

"I... I just didn’t want to be alone," you admit quietly. "It was dark, and I was nervous... he walked me home.” You swallow hard, your pulse racing. “Caleb, what did you mean when you said it was ‘taken care of’? Did you—” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, the fear still clawing at your throat.

He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a slow breath before speaking. “I didn’t hurt anyone.” He shakes his head, his voice rougher now. “I’m pissed that someone thought they could take advantage of you.”

You feel a flicker of relief, though your heart still feels uneasy, heavy with the words you want to say. “But—”

He cuts you off, his hands cupping your face, the gesture so gentle it makes your breath catch. His thumbs trace your cheekbones, the touch meant to calm—but there’s something about it, something too careful, like he’s afraid of breaking you. Like he’s afraid of losing you.

"I understand. But it kills me that you had to be in that position in the first place, especially when I’m not around. I hate that I have to expose you to that." His eyes darken, the guilt thick in his gaze. "It feels like it’s my fault."

A strange warmth spreads through your chest, but it’s tangled with something else. A thread of unease you can’t untangle. This should feel like comfort. But instead, it feels like a weight pressing down, shifting the shape of your thoughts before you can even hold onto them.

"But you…" You hesitate, searching his face for something solid, something familiar. "You’re so different right now, Caleb."

His sigh is long, weary, as if your words ache in his chest. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours, and the world narrows. "My emotions go a little haywire when I think about you," he admits, his voice barely above a breath. "It’s hard to control them sometimes."

You sink to the floor with him, your knees pressing into the carpet as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. His body is warm against yours, his scent—faint traces of soap and something uniquely him—filling your senses. You straddle his torso, feeling the solid rise and fall of his chest beneath you.

“You didn’t really seem like you missed me,” there’s an ache beneath your words that makes his heart clench.

He exhales, brushing his fingers through your hair. “I’m sorry, Pip. I wasn’t thinkin straight.”

Caleb tilts his head, his dark eyes searching yours. He looks so tired—his lashes heavy, his body worn—but still, he watches you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“I think you’re exhausted,” you say softly, letting your forehead rest against his.

“Yeah,” he admits, his fingers grazing the small of your back, grounding you. “To say the least.”

His heart pounds beneath your fingertips, a steady, rhythmic drum against your palm as you trail your hand through his hair.

“Let me take care of you,” you whisper, leaning down to capture his lips with yours.

A shudder rolls through him, his hands tightening around your waist as he kisses you back, the hunger in his touch pulling a gasp from your lungs. His lips are warm, insistent, an intensity in every movement—reverent, desperate, all at once.

“Fuck, you’re so good to me,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and thick with desire, but there’s something else too—something deeper, a yearning that stays unspoken but presses heavy along you both.

The heat builds, an undercurrent of something hidden deep within. His voice, soft but full of something raw, and the warmth in your chest blooms. You press closer, every movement feeling like an answer to a question neither of you have dared to ask aloud. Your bodies align, fitting together with an ease that only comes from a connection that runs deeper than touch.

His hands, gentle but insistent, trace the curve of your back, as though memorizing the feel of you, each brush of his fingers igniting something inside you that feels both familiar and new. The weight of him beneath you, the way he hardens at your touch, sends a pulse of heat through you, and you can’t help but roll your hips toward him.

He groans—low, guttural, a sound that twists your stomach. You break the kiss, trailing your lips along the column of his neck, feeling the frantic beat of his pulse under your mouth. It’s a rhythm that matches your own, frantic and yearning. The air around you feels charged, shrinking until there’s nothing left but the electricity of your touch.

You tug at the towel that separates you, the tension thick as you reach for him, the feel of him so hard in your hand sending shivers down your spine. His breath hitches, eyes closing in the quiet surrender to the moment. You watch him—his jaw slack, eyes fluttering closed—aware of how every breath he takes seems to echo through you. You move slowly, savoring the intimacy, your own breath ragged, unsteady.

“God,” he groans, head tipping back as you lower yourself, your lips replacing your hand.

His fingers thread through your hair as you take him in, his grip tightening when you hollow your cheeks, drawing him deeper. The sounds he makes—the soft curses, the way he moans your name—make your skin flush with heat.

“darling” His voice is dripping slow and warm with honey “please”

You hum your approval and his hips jolt in response at the vibration.

Slowing your pace, you let your lips linger as they trail back up his stomach, the heat of his skin beneath your mouth causing your chest to tighten with something more than desire— with a tenderness you were so ready for.

His fingers twitch against your back as you take your time, pressing soft kisses along his ribs, over the curve of his collarbone. His heartbeat is steady beneath your lips, grounding you, pulling you in deeper.

You pause at his chest, resting your cheek against him, just listening to his heart beat so quickly—feeling. His hands find your waist, his touch reverent, but he doesn’t rush you. He just holds you, letting you take what you need.

The moment you notice his heart beat start to slow, you straddle him once more, your hands bracketing his face as you meet his gaze. His dark eyes are heavy with something tender and raw. it makes you exhale a trembling breath.

“I missed you,” you whisper, brushing your thumb along his jaw.

Caleb swallows hard, his hands sliding up your thighs, slow and deliberate. “I can tell,” he teases

And when you kiss him this time, it’s not hurried—it’s devotional.

“Did you sleep in my shirts every night?” he asks, his voice thick, his fingers playing with the hem of your tee.

You nod, letting him pull it over your head. “And I wore your hoodie when it got cold one day.”

Caleb groans, his hands skimming up your bare sides. “I’m so jealous they got to touch you.”

A laugh bubbles past your lips. “Now you’re jealous of fabric?”

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and tossing them onto his nightstand—where they’ll probably never be found again. His eyes flicker up to yours, so possessive and aching.

“Incredibly jealous of fabric,” his hands gripping your hips as you reach down between you, guiding him to your entrance.

The moment you sink down onto him, a soft, trembling gasp escapes your lips, your body stretching to take him in, molding around him in a way that feels both overwhelming and deeply right—like returning home from an exhausting work trip.

Caleb exhales a shuddering groan, his head tipping back as his fingers tighten on your hips, anchoring you to him. “Fuck, you’re a dream,” you breathe, voice thick with emotion, with relief. His hands slide up your back, tracing the curve of your spine.

You brace your palms against his chest, feeling the steady, rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Slowly, you start to move, grinding down against him as he meets you with deep, unhurried thrusts—each one deliberate, savoring, worshiping. The way he fills you, the way his body moves against yours, it steals the breath from your lungs, sends warmth unfurling through every nerve in your body.

“Say it again,” he rasps, his voice a desperate plea, his hands guiding your hips as he thrusts up with more pressure, his need for you tangible in every movement.

You lean down, pressing your forehead against his, letting him feel your breath, your presence. “I missed you, Caleb,” you whisper against his lips, your nails digging into his skin as you let yourself fall completely into him.

His eyes darken, but it’s not just desire—it’s raw and aching. There’s desperation in the way he looks at you, like he needs to feel you, to prove that you’re here, real and his.

He sits up suddenly, capturing your lips in a kiss that steals your breath, that makes your heart stutter. His hand cradles the back of your head, holding you close as if letting go would mean losing you all over again. Then, with a quiet, reverent sigh, he rolls you beneath him, his body covering yours, pressing into you with a warmth that feels all-consuming.

His movements are slow but purposeful now, every thrust measured, intentional— he’s savoring every inch of you, making up for the time apart in the only way he can in this moment. You cling to him, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer, desperate to keep him there, to make this moment stretch forever. The friction, the heat, the way he fits against you—it’s dizzying, overwhelming, and it pulls a trembling cry from your lips.

His forehead presses to yours, his breath fanning across your skin. “You know you’re mine,” his voice a rough whisper, but there’s no demand in it—only longing, only a plea wrapped in certainty.

You hum softly, a sound of agreement, of surrender, your body trembling beneath him.

His hand slides in your hair, but there’s nothing forceful in the touch—only need. “Tell me you understand,” he’s barely holding together.

You open your eyes, meeting his, letting him see everything you feel. “I understand.” you breathe, and the way he exhales—like you just gave him the one thing he needed most—makes your chest tighten with something impossibly tender.

His lips brush against your temple. “Thank you, love.”

The room is warm with the scent of sweat and lingering traces of his shower. You can feel a bead of moisture slide down your chin—his, yours, both of yours together—as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

Each thrust sends you spiraling closer, your fingers clawing at his back as your body tightens around him. The pleasure builds, hot and all-consuming, and then—blinding, shattering—you break into millions of pieces and float through space.

Caleb follows, his grip on you tightening almost desperately, the pressure of his hands grounding you as his body shudders with the force of his release. A strangled groan slips from his lips, raw and heavy, the sound carrying a mix of pleasure and something deeper—something more vulnerable. The way his chest rises and falls, the way his breath catches, it’s not just the culmination of desire, but the release of a weight that’s been pressing on him for far longer than either of you had realized.

For a long moment, neither of you move. There’s only the sound of your breathing, your bodies pressed together, hearts hammering in sync. His weight settles against you, grounding you both in the reality of this moment—of each other.

He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he stays there, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your lips. His fingers, which had held you so firmly before, now trace slow, absentminded patterns along your ribs.

“I should have come to you first,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. “Instead of being angry. I—” He exhales shakily, his thumb brushing against your skin. “You make me feel better. I should have just gone to you.”

You reach up, threading your fingers through his damp hair, brushing a strand from his forehead. His eyes flutter shut at your touch, like he’s savoring it, like it soothes something deep inside him. A warmth spreads through you, wrapping around your heart. You tilt his chin up slightly, guiding his gaze to yours, wanting him to see what he means to you.

“I’m so thankful to have you back.” and you truly mean it.

Caleb’s mind churns with thoughts he can’t voice. The truth sits heavy on his chest, yet he can't bring himself to share it. The fear of you hating him, of you seeing him for what he truly is, gnaws at him. You don't deserve the darkness he carries, especially when it's something he's supposed to shield you from. It’s his way of protecting you, even if you can’t see the lengths he goes to, how far he’s willing to stretch himself just to make sure you never feel the cold of it.

He will always do whatever it takes, to keep you safe and by his side.

[audliminal]

It's just a game, right? Pt 2

Masterpost

"It's like. Crazy, y'know?" Bernard's voice echoes in Tim's ears as he fiddles with his mask. "Like, when they started posting, I was kinda meh about it? I mean the first few videos they posted were just like. Basic shitty, scrambled audio, and the first clues were just like, real simple. Basic word replacement stuff; mostly vigenères, right? But now it's- they're using everything! The current drop is. It's layers, man. And I think it's intentional."

"Isn't it supposed to be intentional? I thought that was like, the whole point of an ARG."

"No I mean, like yeah obviously the clues are intentional, but like. The way the difficulty curve is just increasing. When this started it was so easy, but I don't think it was because they like, didn't know what they were doing or anything. Which, cool yeah that makes sense, you want people to buy in before it gets super hard or whatever, but there are, like all these threads that never went anywhere. And everybody kind of wrote them off as red herrings because they didn't seem to fit into the narrative that we had so far, but I can't stop thinking about them, you know?"

"I mean, they could still be red herrings, couldn't they?"

"Well, technically, yeah, but like. Why? It's one thing to have a dead end that maybe calls back to a previous clue or, like, reaffirms some detail from before but having something completely unconnected seems like a weird choice. Especially when the creator keeps telling us to dig deeper."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Tim asks with a laugh.

"No that's the thing!" Bernard's voice goes intense, and Tim momentarily stops putting his mask back together. "Literally every fucking drop those exact words are hidden somewhere in the mess of encryptions, and as things get more complicated, it's showing up more not less. And that together with all the fucking loose details that don't seem to fit in anywhere? I'm literally on the verge of going back to the beginning of the whole thing and solving it from scratch, bc I think we're missing a lot." Tim kind of forgets, sometimes, how similar he and Bernard are, but the in his boyfriend's voice is one he's intimately familiar with. That combination of obsession and frustration - and obviously it's not really serious because like, it's an internet game, but it doesn't matter what the stakes are, being stuck on a puzzle fucking sucks, and he can't exactly patrol what with his broken ankle, so maybe a fun, no-stakes challenge would be good for him.

"We were planning on hanging out on Friday, so what if you walked me through it from the start, and maybe together we can come up with some answers?"

"Seriously? Dude that would be so awesome! I will teach you everything I know about code breaking!"

"I mean, I do know some things, you know. You think I didn't have a spy phase as a teenager?" Tim smiles at Bernard's responding laughter. It'll be nice, he thinks, to mess with a puzzle where nobody's life is at stake.

[houseofanticipation]

It's impossible to count the number of times you've imagined this moment. Late at night, under the covers; in the bathtub, and the shower; on slow days at the bookstore, the summer before senior year; during Mr. Madrigal's long, droning lectures. You fantasized so vividly you could see each scene on the back of your eyelids, hear each sound between breaths. Many a time your hand migrated southward, almost of its own volition. If you were in public, you'd hold it against your crotch, pressing it into yourself with the force of your clenched thighs. In private, you'd be far less subtle.

In all those fantasies, you never imagined it would look quite like this.

The hallway smells like cigarettes and industrial cleaner. The haphazardly patterned carpet is coming up at the edges. The yellow tube light overhead might be attempting morse code, the way it flickers. Paint peels from the door in front of you, and one of the metal digits in the room number has been replaced with one that doesn't quite match: room 233. You raise your hand, your knuckles inches from the door, and then you pause. You're not sure if you can go through with this.

Before you can decide, the door opens anyway.

You started posting pictures in your first year of college. It was just your tits at first. You'd been quietly following those subreddits and tumblr blogs for a while, and you thought it would be a bit of fun, a little thrill. You didn't expect the response you got: dozens of people telling you how much they'd enjoyed it, asking for more. So you posted more, and the people asked for different things. Post your ass. Post your cunt. Post your fingers in your cunt. Post audio of you moaning as you came. The more you revealed of yourself, the more attention you got, and the more attention you got, the more you wanted to show. People wanted to send you tips, so you set up a Cash App address. You never got much, a few dollars here and there, but it was nice to get a free coffee now and then.

And somewhere along the way, apparently, you let slip that you were a virgin.

The message came late last semester, from a Cash App user whose name was just a string of numbers. It read, "I will buy your virginity for $100,000. So you know I'm serious, here is $7000 for you to keep, deal or no deal. Let me know if interested."

It was like one of those hypotheticals you talk about with your friends at the dinner table. Would you work nonstop for a year if it meant you never had to work again? Would you cut off your hand if it meant you never had to die? Would you let a stranger from the internet take your virginity for a hundred thousand dollars? You thought about it for weeks. The 7 thousand in itself was a windfall you never could have imagined. It was the new laptop you needed, four times over. It was a large iced coffee ever day for three and a half years. After graduation, if you were smart, it could be your living expenses for the better part of a year. But a hundred thousand might be a house, or a car, or a few years of freedom to pursue your goals. And when you asked how you could trust him to pay when he'd gotten what he wanted, he told you he'd be happy to pay up front.

So here you are, in a dingy hotel, face to face with the broad-shouldered, potbellied older man in front of you. "I saw you through the peephole," he says. There's something impish about him. Maybe it's the toothy grin, or the way his ears stick out from his head, or the obvious glee in his voice as he looks you up and down. "My, you're much better in person. Come in! You got the money then?"

You nod. You didn't leave the Lyft until it was there in your account.

"Good," he says, throwing the dead bolt. "Let's get to it then, shall we?"

"What should...I mean, how do you want to..." you feel yourself talking strangely. Breathing in the wrong places, words tumbling over each other. "Maybe we should...talk first? Get to know each other?"

"No need for that," says the man matter-of-factly, unbuttoning his shirt. His chest is smooth, his skin a mottled pink. He waves a hand at your body. "Go ahead and get those off."

Back in high school, one of your recurring fantasies involved Jason Meier having his way with you in the back of that beat up convertible he used to drive. That old thing used to get you so wet. It was a piece of junk, but something about the exposure of it...In the fantasy, he's driven you out to some secluded spot outside of town. Cicadas drone all around. The night sky shines bright with stars. He cups your face with one hand, strokes your cheek with his thumb, asks you if this is your first time. He kisses the side of your mouth, then your jaw, then below your ear, then down your neck. As his hands undo the top button of your blouse, he tells you he'll be gentle.

The man is watching you expectantly. With his shirt on, he looked like a portly old man. Without it you can see that every inch of that stocky build is hard muscle. That pink skin strains against his mass, muscle rippling beneath it as he moves. "What are you waiting for?"

Your legs tremble. Your knees feel like they're about to buckle. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears. Your body has never done this before. You didn't know you could feel this kind of fear, and yet there's nothing to fight, nowhere to flee. You agreed to this. You decided this was what you wanted. Slowly, you pull your shirt over head.

He groans in the back of his throat, a long, growly sound. His face is a mask of focus, the impish joviality gone, his eyes fixated on your breasts. "And the rest."

You kick off your shoes, pull off your socks. An inch at a time, you slide your shorts and panties over your ass, down your legs, past your trembling knees. You step out of them, and now you're completely exposed. You cross your arms over your chest, then lower them when he grunts disapproval. Almost urgently, he unbuttons his pants, pulls out a long, rigid cock, and begins to stroke himself.

You didn't discover internet porn until your senior year, and before then the only penises you'd seen were a few drawings in your health textbook. In the fantasy, you unbutton Jason Meier's pants and fig. 7.5, "The penis becomes engorged when in state of arousal," pops out of his underwear. You take it in your hands, feeling the weight of it, the girth, and look up into those beautiful brown eyes of his.

This cock is much...realer. It has bounce, texture, even a sound as his hand slides up and down its length. It's longer than the one in that old fantasy, too, and it leans slightly to the left. For years you've wondered what it would be like to see a cock in person, and now that you're here it terrifies you.

"Come here," says the man, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Get on your knees."

You falter. "You didn't...I mean, we didn't agree to that."

"I bought your virginity," says the man. "You ever suck cock before?"

You shake your head.

"Then your mouth is just as much a virgin as your cunt. Get down here."

It's almost a relief to get off your legs, the way they've been threatening to give out. Close up, you can see the purples and blues of the veins under his skin. The head of his cock pulses with anticipation as your lips part, your tongue extends...

You don't think you can do this.

Then his hand is on the back of your head.

You always imagined Jason Meier whimpering as you took him into your mouth. You were never quite able to picture what he would feel like between your lips, on your tongue; the movie camera of your imagination always panned up at that point, to focus on his face. He would let his head fall back in pleasure, eyebrows knit with sensation, lips slightly parted. Now, though, there's no camera to pan. You are here. This is real. And his powerful hand is pushing your mouth onto his cock.

A sound you can't control comes out of you. Your back arches, your hands flail, and then by pure instinct they're on his belly, pushing against him, away from him. Spit runs down your chin, and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. "I'm sorry," you say, looking anywhere but at his face. "I'm sorry, I can't, I thought I could do this but I can't."

There's a horrible darkness in his voice. "I already gave you the money."

"I know, I'll give it back, I'm sorry." The words trip over each other on the way out of your mouth. "I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have, I just, I thought I could..."

His hand is on the back of your head again, and this time his fingers are curled tight into your hair. He jerks your head back, forcing you to look at him, and his eyes are cold and predatory. "I'm not interested in returning what's already bought and paid for." He jams himself back into your mouth.

You always imagined yourself savoring it, taking your time to explore every inch of Jason's length with your tongue, but there's no time for that now. The veiny, throbbing thing in your mouth bypasses your tongue entirely, forcing past your uvula. You gag, then gag again. Your stomach churns and you convulse as your body tries to remove the foreign object, but the man just pushes harder. Your eyes water as he slides deeper, deeper, making your throat bulge, your limbs spasm. As his balls touch your chin, you close your eyes and try to relax your throat.

He holds you like that. You gag for a third time, and thick saliva explodes through the gaps around his cock, dripping down your chin and collecting in a long, dangling rope. Tears roll down your cheeks as you try to acclimatize to the feeling, try to convince your body that nothing is wrong. You think you've got it, and then he moves slightly, and you're gagging again. He groans, grips your head tighter, and in the back of your throat you feel his cock swell slightly. He likes it when you gag for him, says a voice in the back of your mind. The motion is pleasurable for him.

You've got another problem rearing its head. You can't breathe. It was fine at first, but the man shows no interest in freeing up your airways, and in all the gagging and crying, you haven't exactly been conserving your oxygen. You pat his leg, trying to signal to him, but all he does is clap you on the side of the head. Your ear rings, you gag again, and his cock throbs. Black walls are closing in on your vision. The effort of struggling against him becomes too much, and your arms fall to your sides. Your eyelids flutter. You're going to pass out. You're going to pass out, and then what will he do to you?

But just before the world fades to black, he pulls your head back again. You feel every inch of his cock as it slides out of your throat. He lifts your face, and your eyes struggle to focus on his as you take lungful after lungful of glorious air. Drool spills across your lips, but you don't care. You're alive.

The man slaps you hard, leaving a stinging impression of his palm on your cheek. You whimper. Two of his fingers are in your mouth, pushing on the back of your tongue. Not knowing exactly why, you close your lips around them and shut your eyes.

"That's better," he says.

The first time you saw a male sex toy in use was in an ad before a porn video you were watching. You were taken aback by the way the performer had pounded it over his cock, barely more than an extension of his hand. You're reminded of that image as he parts your lips again, and the rape of your throat begins in earnest.

You haven't thought about Jason Meier in years, but at this moment he's the only thing keeping you sane. As your face rams up and down, up and down, you retreat to that beat up convertible, and Jason's soft, thoughtful face. As the man tightens his grip, Jason runs his fingers through your hair. As the man grunts and growls with pleasure, Jason coos your name. With each stroke of his cock down your throat, each spasm of your body, you focus on a different part of Jason's body: his large hands, his long fingers, his shoulders, his jawline, his liquid brown eyes. By the time the man finally releases your hair, you can barely feel your body any more. The convertible is far more real than the squeaky motel bed. The hands on your body are Jason's, soft and tender.

He climbs over the center console straddling you. You lock lips, feel your tongues in each other's mouths, kiss so deeply that it feels as though you share the same breath. He pulls the lever to lay your seat back, and then he's over you, on top of you, lifting your skirt, pulling your panties to the side.

This is the part where, in the old days, you would have slipped a finger or two inside yourself. But this time you don't have to. This time you can feel him inside you, really feel him, and he fills you up like your fingers never could. There's some pain—they told you there'd be pain, didn't they, your first time—but it falls away to the thrill, the lust, the pleasure. Jason whimpers as he slides into you, deeper, deeper, and you moan into each other's mouths as his pelvis meets yours. You take a moment to savor it, breathing each other in, and then he begins to thrust.

You feel drunk. It's exactly like you always imagined it, and somehow better than you could ever have expected. Each movement of his hips brings another sensation: a spasm in the arches of your feet, a hitch in your breath, a churning, swirling need in the depths of your abdomen. Deeper you tell him, harder, and he obliges, pulling you into him, and him into you.

You can feel the orgasm building, but it isn't like any you've had before. Every time you've ever cum, you've been in control. This time, Jason is in control. Jason decides when you cum, how you cum. One hand supports his weight as he leans over you, and the other slides up your belly. You used to watch those hands obsessively. The way he held a pencil, the way he bit his knuckles when he was thinking. Now that hand slides up, caresses your breast. Now that thumb brushes your hair out of your face. Now those fingers close around your throat.

You know you're safe with Jason, but the pressure on your throat triggers some animal fear response in you. You try to squirm away, but his arm is strong, and his hand his firm. Your hands go to his wrist. "I don't like that, stop." He just smiles. It isn't his usual sweet smile, either. This one is cruel. Predatory.

Your face feels tight. Your eyes bulge. You're beginning to panic for real now. "Jason, seriously, stop!" You beat at his arm with your fists, but he easily takes both your wrists in one hand and pins them over your head. You try to kick at him, but he's already past your defenses, between your legs, pushing them uselessly apart. His grip tightens, his rhythm increases, his cock swells inside you. He's getting off on this.

All at once you're back in the hotel room. The man's sweaty red face is inches away from your own, and the lust in his eyes is obvious. His cock seems to push deeper with every thrust, and the horrible thing is that the orgasm is still coming. It's close now, you can feel it, and it's like he knows exactly how to bring it out. You feel floaty, tingly, and that awful pleasure is welling up inside you, a pot about to boil over...

"That's right," he says, his eyes locked on yours. "That's what I was waiting for. That perfect mix of...pleasure...and...fear." He punctuates each of these last three words with a long, deep thrust, and it's these that send the orgasm spilling over. A choked moan pushes itself out of you as your back arches, your toes curl, your legs wrap involuntarily around his waist, tears roll down your cheeks. That floaty feeling has combined with the orgasm to create something like how you imagine heroin must feel; a wave of mind numbing, soul deadening ecstasy. Your insides feel hot, and at first you think that must just be what it feels like when you cum from sex, but then you see the look on his face and realize that he's cumming too. His grip relaxes and he pounds away a few more times at your now-limp body. You stare at the ceiling as he moans, buries his face between your tits, pumps round after round of his warm, thick cum into your cunt, your womb. After one final push he collapses onto you, his cock still inside you, his bulk crushing you into the bed. You don't move.

He strokes your cheek. Fondles your nipple. Kisses your neck. Then he kisses your mouth, his tongue pushing your lips open, his breath like damp earth. You barely see him.

It must be almost ten minutes before he finally gets up, his limp cock sliding out of you at last. You can feel his cum dripping from your cunt as he puts on his underwear, then pants, then shirt, then shoes. "The room is paid for the night," he says with his hand on the door handle. "Thank you for struggling. Taking someone's virtue is so much better when you actually get to take it.

You don't respond.

You don't know how long you lie there, motionless, dripping cum. Oddly, the man who just raped you isn't the one burned onto your mind's eye. Try as you might to return to that sweet teenage fantasy, all you can see is Jason Meier as he held his hand to your throat, and that cruel, predatory smile on his face.

[frostedsugarcookiehearts]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ i wanna live inside your mind, next to your favorite songs

୨ৎ

charlie had been streaming for what felt like days. you two had decided to do one of your classic "joint streams", where you two would stream together and swap off who was playing. for the first few hours you played hello kitty island adventure, chatting to charlie's chat while he sat next to you and stared at you dopily like an obedient puppy. then you two swapped to super mario party and charlie got waaay too competitive for a casual game between boyfriend and girlfriend.

"yes! let's fucking go!" he cheered, a victorious grin on his face. you two booted up a round of all-star swingers (which was just baseball) and he absolutely obliterated your character. he even got up and stretched before the round started like the tryhard he was. his character, king boo, cheered as your character, princess peach, cried. the parallel to real life was pretty funny— in game you were devastated, while in real life you just sat there. charlie, feeling bad that he didn't at least give you some mercy (and because chat was grilling him for being a tryhard), he gave you a kiss on the lips. "sorry. i'm a sore winner," he grinned sheepishly.

after around seven rounds of mario party, it was now charlie's turn to take over stream. he started playing "a game about digging a hole" which, no duh, was about digging holes. he started playing animatedly, not even noticing your drooping eyes and the little yawns that escaped your lips.

eventually, he glanced over to his side to see chat blowing up.

k4lenz: omg look at perny !!

slimeypaws: HELP CHARLIE SHE'S DEAD 😭

medlarmeadows: charlie look to your left!

ilov3thestarz: AWW she's so squishable

as per chat's request demand, charlie turned to his side to see you curled up in the gaming chair, resting your head on the armrest and asleep in the fetal position. an amused smile tugged at his lips, a fond expression replacing his competitive one. "aww," he cooed, echoing chat's sentiments.

he turned down his game volume completely and swiveled his chair towards you. "chat," he whispered, voice low. "let's be quiet, okay? don't wanna wake her up."

resting his forearms on his thighs, he scooted a little closer and turned to chat as if they were there. "psst," he leaned closer to the camera. "should i turn on some calming music while she sleeps?"

chat exploded with yes's and omg couple goals! of course, no chat was without its trolls ("play four big guys!"), but overall they were quiet and the TTS decreased significantly, and when someone did, it was mostly nice things, and charlie had turned the audio down to a very quiet volume.

he draped a fuzzy blanket over your frame, gently putting a hand under your head and sliding a pillow under your head smoothly. he also squeezed fufu, your bunny stuffed animal and "co-streamer", into your arms.

the chat exploded with ideas of calming music, but charlie was determined to find great music on his own. so he typed into youtube "music to fall asleep to", like a grandma using the internet for the first time. he clicked on the first result, classical music. however, he played it for a second and the grating music was more likely to wake you up than lull you into deeper sleep. begrudgingly, he took chat's advice. one chatter said:

slimeypaws: just stalk her spotify smh. amateur

"shit." he muttered under his breath. "yeah, that's a good idea." charlie pulled up your spotify, pernylovesuu. the profile picture was you with fufu tucked under your chin, smiling as the sun framed your face perfectly. charlie's face flushed. "she looks cute in that photo," he murmurs, glancing from the screen towards your sleeping frame. "i mean, she always does." he chuckles fondly, shaking his head gently. "it's just a good photo."

clicking onto your playlists, he found sleepytime. perfect! he turned on the first song of the playlist, say yes to heaven.

"guys, this is my version of heaven." a goofy grin crosses his face as he leans over, ruffling your hair gently. charlie glances from the camera to you and whispers, "okay, chat, i'm gonna move her over to the bed." as careful as a mouse, he slips his hands under you and cradles you to his chest.

moving across the room and cringing when the floorboards creak, he places you down on the bed and tugs the blanket up to your chin, adjusting fufu so the bunny was propped up next to you.

"there, baby. cozy in bed." he smiled proudly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before going back to his stream.

of course, this was charlie, so he ended up shrieking and waking you up with a start. to apologize, the next you streamed a glimmering tiffany & co necklace adorned your neck. slimecicloset identified the necklace to be around $1,250.

guilt is expensive.

୨ৎ

divider credits @bernardsbendystraws. inspo for this fic:

(turn up to full volume. hard to hear otherwise b/c charlie's whispering!)

THIS audio i clipped from slimecicle vod's "slimecicle got a new girlfriend" OMG it's literally my favorite slimecicle stream.

aaand my newly implemented taglist!!

@slimeypaws enjoy 😋 !!

[abbyfmc]

Yandere story idea #26:

A sixteen-year-old boy named Daniel (or whatever name he might have) arrives after a desperate call from one of the cleaning staff at the house where he lived. She told him that she found his mother (Y/n) lying on the floor, apparently from the second floor, amidst piles of glass shards, which was dangerous since she was seven months pregnant. Her husband, named David, was dead next to her, who seemed to still be alive.

Daniel entered shock to see how 911 took their parents. His mother was alive when he arrived at the hospital, while David was taken to the forensic immediately. The maid who had found them contacted the whole family, including Daniel's paternal grandmother, Margaret. That night, Daniel loses his parents and his unborn sister, because of a stranger. Margaret is also destroyed by the death of her son, daughter -in -law and unborn granddaughter; That is why Daniel stays with her. During and after the duel, Daniel does not understand how everything happened and intends to investigate everything thoroughly. This traumatic event left him marked, feeling that until he caught the murderer, he will not feel alive again. His grandmother, who is in charge of him, supports him on his purpose, because he is confident that David was not the culprit of everything and Daniel also trusts his father, since he always treated his mother with enough love and affection.

In his father's autopsy bruises and several serious bullet wounds were found. The footprints in his body were not clear (Y/n), nor of Daniel (obviously, since he was hanging out with his friends) or anyone who was in the house. In his mother's body there were signs of struggle and bruises who were not known or anyone known either. This gave the impression that both were attacked when they were alone, what Daniel scores as the first clue.

Daniel gives the police to the security cameras of his house through his father's laptop, and there he managed to capture himself as days before the catastrophe an unknown man dressed in black was around the house at night, which he reminded him His mother's constant concern after he told his father about having seen that strange subject, also remembering how she mentioned that he was felt persecuted by whom Daniel suspected that he was the same person.

The only one of the recordings Daniel could not bear to see was that of the death of his parents for obvious reasons, but managed to find out thanks to the officers that the first to be attacked was David, trying to defend (Y/n), and then She was the unfortunate that unfortunately was pushed from the stairs. The audio was clear and revealed clues about the identity of this murderer.

Among the discussion that stood out the most from the intruder against his father, was the following: "If it hadn't been for you, (t/n) and I would be very happy! But you got in the middle!".

And when the stranger struggle with his mother and tried to kiss her by force, the most striking phrase was: "If you had loved me, none of this would have happened" and after (Y/n) shout in despair that released her and tried to attack him, he pushed her sharply by the rail of the second floor, which could only break if it was forced by human hand, since it was replaced recently.

In addition to that, fingerprints have also been detected on the stairs of both the unknown person and the married couple. As far as we know, the intruder watched the house for a while, broke in, first attacked David and then tried to wrestle with (Y/n), ending up killing her and her baby in the process.

The police were unable to find the killer, as he fled the scene without leaving anything behind. That didn't stop Daniel from deciding to investigate what could have happened and he already had the first small piece of the story thanks to the key dialogues on the recordings.

1: This killer was already known to his parents, or at least his mother, and it seems that he was a stalker or an ex-boyfriend who hated David.

Daniel asked his grandmother not to bury his mother's body yet, and managed to convince her that it was to investigate more thoroughly what had happened. He even told her what he had discovered about the possible story behind it. This reminds Margaret of how David had told her years ago, during (Y/n)'s first pregnancy, when he worriedly told her how his wife was receiving calls from a certain Alex (that's what Margaret thought his name was) who was tormenting (Y/n).

Daniel convinced his grandmother to pressure the authorities into investigating the origin of the fingerprints, as well as the electronic devices of both parents (and she also convinced them with some money involved). Daniel also tried to remember, but he couldn't remember much more than his mother's mention to his father that the guy hadn't left her alone since he was in college.

Daniel decides to pack up his things and move in with his grandmother. After cleaning up with his grandmother's help, he finds documents from his parents, his personal documents, the will that put the house and the family money under Daniel's name when he came of age, and some torn and crumpled letters with very interesting content. Margaret gave them to the police in case they were evidence.

It turns out that they were letters where the crazy stalker described his hatred for David and his crazy obsession for (Y/n), except for one where he got seriously angry with her after finding out that she was pregnant again. He threatened her to abort the baby and leave David, or he would kill her family and force her to do it and then kidnap her.

From here I can think of several endings:

Case solved: The classic good ending. The police find the killer who turns out to be a yandere who was madly obsessed with (Y/n), to the point of having committed the severe crime. The yandere killer could have put up resistance; tried to flee or could have turned himself in to the police. * I also imagine that (your son/[Y/n]'s son) sold that house as soon as he could. He obviously wouldn't want to return to a house where his mother, father, and unborn sister were brutally murdered. * And if the yandere is sadistic and very vengeful enough to take it out on an innocent person (in this case, your oldest son), to the point of sending him sick letters describing his horrible feelings towards you and what he always wanted to do

Unsolved case: The police get nowhere (either because they are simply lazy or because the yandere killer escaped), which motivates Daniel to become a law enforcement officer (probably with another identity), to the point of becoming part of the FBI (or any institution in your country that resembles it) to investigate that case and bring justice for his parents. *Your son could end the yandere killer's life and use his influence to get his way. *Or your son could simply use his position to catch the yandere killer and watch him rot in prison.

-The End.

For a long time I wanted to explore the idea of ​​a yandere story BUT from a third party's point of view; in this case, darling's son (yours) who slowly finds out about the history between you and the yandere who killed you. He ended up seeing how an unrequited obsessive love (or the end of a relationship if the yandere is an ex) led to the massacre that changed him for life at such a young age.

[tfc2211]

Suzi Quatro – Your Mamma Won't Like Me (1975)

[talekinesis]

Random GF thoughts for today:

In another universe where the Stan Twins were born female, I think they'd be named Taylor and Taylee

I think Stanley has an illegitimate child out there somewhere, so I'm going to be giving him a son who's really into 80s fashion and music, because I said so

"Shanklin was great! He used to play dead all the time, until the day he wasn't playing ☹️" - Stan at one point

(current day) Stan randomly came inside with a possum like "did you know Shanklins are free, and you can just grab them?" And Ford tried to fight him to put it back outside. Stan ended up keeping it. He calls them Shanklins, not possums. Every single one is a Shanklin

Ford thought about adopting a dog for a while, but before he could, a microraptor followed him home from the cave where the dinosaurs were, and he "reluctantly" kept it. It rides around on his shoulder and he named it Tesla, because of course he would

This is a microraptor, they were small carnivorous birds :)

Both Stan Twins were surviving off ramen in their late teens-early 20s. Stan, because it's all he could afford, and Ford because it was convenient and he was a college student

I saw someone else say Ford loves jellybeans, and I have to agree, he just seems like a jellybeans guy

I don't think Ford has all his teeth, I think at least some of them are fake or replaced. We know Stan has dentures, but Ford's been gone for 30 years, and who knows if he had access to a tooth brush, I'm just saying

I think Stan used to enjoy reading as a kid, but it was only books like The Boxcar Children he enjoyed because he'd imagine himself running away from home to live in a boxcar, not fully realizing just how hard that would be, he was like 10

Speaking of reading, I think Stan is dyslexic, and Ford used to read to him when they were kids. Now as adults and having fixed their relationship, I think they still do it. Ford will read aloud whatever book he's on, and Stan will sit quietly and listen while he fishes. I think once Stan learns about audio books and podcasts, he starts getting super into them. He just never liked reading because his dyslexia made him feel 'dumb' because he was raised to believe he was

Bonus:

Ford: You're not dumb, Stanley, you're actually really smart, just not in any way that was on a high school test

Stan: Yeah, sure, that's what Ma used to say

Ford: Right.. So tell me again about that fish you were talking about earlier?

Stan, suddenly excited: Wobbegongs, they're a type of shark belonging to the family Orectolobidae, and the word 'wobbegong' is believed to come from an Australian Aboriginal language, meaning "shaggy beard-"

Ford: *sighs*

[neos-schlond-poofa]

no because. like around 17 times out of 20 loops donna HAS MEMORIES. like they can be clear or they can be fuzzy BUT THEY ARE THERE and she remembers how happy mc was with everyone else. like. she doesnt already have self confidence imagine knowing other people easily replaced you in other timelines SHE IS ANXIOUS 😭

(art by @dead-finch-420)

OKAY FOR SOME ODD REASON THE AUDIO IS DELAYED ON TUMBLR.

[maehemthemisfit]

𝘊𝘈𝘕'𝘛 𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘙 𝘔𝘌 ? 𝘐𝘔 𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘏𝘖𝘔𝘌.

♡𝅼  pairing : wanderer x reader

♡𝅼  content : angst + major character death + poetic format

The wind chimes always sound when he arrives at your door, carrying a gentle breeze that sways the flowers in his hands. Even though he doesn't have to, he still knocks before he enters, slipping off his shoes while announcing that he's home.

His steps are silent on the hard wooden floor as he pads to the table to add the roses to the vase. To the kitchen, he travels, taking two bags of tea, he makes his first and he brews his bitter.

He slides your cup against the counter, sugar and honey at his side. He twirls the spoon before he dips, scoping up grains to sugarcoat lies.

One spoon. Two spoons. Three spoons. Four. He takes a sip and gags at the sweetness. Five spoons. Six spoons. Seven spoons more. He decides to spare his tongue the misery again.

To the table once more he places your cup, filled to the brim with your favorite tea. His sits at the chair across from yours and glides his finger over the rim of porcelain.

"Sumeru roses?" He hears you say, and his eyes shoot up to the sight of you.

"I stumbled upon them on my way, I thought I'd replace the ones that died."

The word of death lays heavy on his tongue, and for a moment you disappear. He shakes his head and sips his cup, and once again your touch is near.

Behind his back you cup his face and place a kiss atop his head. He melts into your touch until your ghost reminds him that you're dead.

And suddenly you disappear, his vision shifts to what is true. Twenty cups across the table, filled with tea he former brewed. The sugar is spilled across the counter and honey soaked the floor. And if a raven comes they'll say his love is nevermore.

The trash is filled with piles of wilted flowers from the past. Tears drip into his bitter tea since...

"Humans never last."

He shakes his head then blinks his eyes and mutters in confusion, he remembers he had plans for tea and give in to his delusions. You must be sleep inside your room, of course! he hears you snore. He recalls that you were low on sugar, he decides to fetch some more.

Maybe he should get you flowers, perhaps your favorite kind? He tips his hat and leaves the door, and hears another chime.

listened to an edit audio and immediately had this idea, i have a version for cyno and tighnari in mind too if you guys wanna see ?

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ. ꒱ 𖥔 ° . *

[ingravinoveritas]

Audio of Michael with Kathy Burke on the Where There's A Will There's a Wake podcast being asked who would play Aziraphale if he dies and saying that he'd want David to play both parts. Transcript below (bold emphasis mine):

KB: "What about your colleagues' response? I mean, if you're in the middle of--I mean listen, in Nye, when you're doing theatre work, you do have understudies. But let's say you're were doing a new series of Good Omens with the great David Tennant--" Michael: "Well, I don't know about the great, but okay. With David Tennant, yeah." KB: "Who would replace you? I mean, who would put up with him, do you think?" Michael: "I mean, I'm loath to say it...but really, he should play both parts. Because originally we were--originally I was--Neil Gaiman, who wrote the original book with Terry Pratchett that the series was based on--when I first started talking to Neil about it, when he told me that he was going to do it, originally we talked about me playing the other part, the part David played. And one of the sort of things about us doing it is we'd never really acted opposite each other before because we'd usually be up for the same parts for many, many years. I think it was sort of between me and him for Casanova when he did Casanova. I mean, he's far too egotistical to let me know the parts I got over him--" KB: "--Of course." Michael: "There we are. That shows what the relationship is like. I'm quite happy to say the part that he got over me. But so, the fact that we were together in this was quite unusual, because normally we would be playing the same part. So that's quite good in a way, cause they're both, they're sort of light and shade of the same person in a way. So once I did pop my clogs, maybe he would have to then--you know the way they do it, do you remember that film Dead Ringers where Jeremy Irons played twins? So I'd quite like to see David playing both parts. And it would be his homage to me."

[galeorderbride]

Burn in my Skin

I call this primordial filth.

Honestly idk what this is lol. I was in my feelings and horny for Oathbreaker Knight. No more Dark Souls ambiance for me.

Inspired by a NSFW audio you can listen to here. The audio is NOT about Oathbreaker Knight, just gave me this brainrot. 

Pairing: Oathbreaker Knight x F!Tav

Words: 5.5k

18+ MDNI: shameless smut, dom!oathbreaker/sub!tav, consensual possession, sex via possession, religious imagery, light allusion to war and violence.

*Mind the tags! While this isn't dark enough to be dead dove, this fic involves dark themes.

Full fic under the cut, or you can read it on ao3 here.

Summary: Tav knows the Oathbreaker Knight has been watching her. Tonight, she will find out exactly why.

It started as a mistake. Some complication, perhaps driven by the influence of the tadpole, that summoned the Oathbreaker for Nightwarden Minthara. Unbeknownst to him that she’d been killed at the Grove raid along with the rest of the goblin’s leaders. Tav wondered how such a miscommunication could occur with rulings beyond the physical realm, causing her to lament the true, dangerous power of illithid tadpoles in the hours after the knight departed. There was nothing Tav or any of her companions could do, taking the issue in stride just as they had with everything else. 

This couldn’t be let go, as Tav noticed stirrings in the dark of night two days after the Oathbreaker visited. Brought together by a glow of burning orange, so faint it could only be noticed by one seeking it out. Or one right next to it. 

Fiery light flickered across the canvas of her tent, nights upon nights of the aura’s presence. Tav began to wait up, anticipate the faded torchlight greeting her like a ghost in the corner of a dusty room. Whatever possessed such a glow grew more confident with each, passing evening. Closer, nearer, approaching until a figure could be pieced together through the fabric. Large, ornate armour cut in the intricate carve of an undead warrior. Enflamed iron emanating from his broad silhouette, so still and rigid, Tav wondered if she wasn’t dreaming of a fragmented picture. Nothing more than a memory stuck in time. 

No. He was there. Blurred against the blackened midnight and the thick tent. Tav stayed in her bedroll, lying flat as she watched him outstretch a plated hand, shadows stretching across the sky of illuminated cloth, shading the weak, wooden bearings that held her shelter up. He didn’t touch, just reached toward a pursuance unmet. Her heart froze in her chest, filled to the brim with suspense, unable to beat. Sweat lined her palms, covered by the thin quilt that masked her body from the walled off eye of the Oathbreaker. Had he been watching her this whole time? Did the heat of his immortal fires burn hot enough to radiate into her, or was she simply boiling with uncertainty, roused by confusion and desire. 

Tav became paralyzed, awaiting the next step with baited breath—if there would be one. Would he just sit there like he had for several days? The creeping closer, each night representing a new step towards his curiosity, had to have an end. He had a choice, between remaining walled off, sheltered under the safety of a dividing line where he could not falter. Or, step across the precipice, collapse into the temptation of a mortal sensation he had not felt in lifetimes. Minutes passed, Tav staring at him, wondering if he knew she was awake. In those moments, her stomach burned with a yearning to know. To hear him speak in that gravelly, brimstone voice what he wanted with her. But, she also craved to stay the same, to not break the attractive immersion of being observed. Watched. 

Did he have the power to see through the tent? Even if she couldn’t?

Dark lust began to tickle between her bare legs, peering out from the quilt, bending upward as the fabric fell to her core. Tav stretched her arms above her head, forcing the exhaustion from her body, replacing it with sensual awareness of her own skin. Maybe she should’ve been offended, terrified of his presence scanning her in the dead of night, when the others were too asleep to notice. Afraid of the reality that he could do whatever he wanted, in a tunnel fit for only them. Fear did exist, breathless tension of being at the mercy of someone else, but she embraced it. Enjoyed it. Remembering the strong curvature of preternatural shoulders wrapped in rusted, bloodstained armour. Perilous sword held between gloved hands, ones that commanded competency, obedience, attention. And, of course, the voice. How could a man so faceless become so addicting to look at? 

For the first time in what felt like an hour, Tav released a heavy, wanton breath. Nearly a moan with the whistle of her voice floating along the wave of humid oxygen. If he could see her, she would put on a show for him. Implicitly decipher what exactly it was that he wanted. No paladins needed oath renewing, he had no reason to be present, and yet he was committed to standing by her tent from the moment the moon rose.

Tav pushed the quilt to the side, leaving her slightly cold as her blush pink nightdress did little to warm her. Her legs brushed against each other, motioning across the bedroll in a seductive exploration of limbs. The most intimate parts of her remained hidden, knees locked together in a salacious bend, her torso still flat on the ground. She didn’t wish to move, but she did find her voice. 

“Can you see me from out there, Oathbreaker ?” She asked, letting her voice trail at the end in a lusty sigh. 

Several seconds passed, hesitation becoming a palpable tension between Tav and the shadow behind her tent. So much push and pull, these mortal games were. Constant side stepping around the unsaid fantasy.  There was a frustration to it, but so too was it irresistible. A mockery of the idea that an undead heart could still stir. That the impossibility of his form made room for yearning the physical. For the knight, he’d considered such sentiments a relic of the past, until he saw the fearless, little adventurer, eyes never leaving him even when he’d instilled fear in the rest. And now, she spoke to him, invited him in for the ‘more’ he’d wanted for days. The very force that kept him returning to her pointless, paladin-free camp. 

“I see what I wish to see,” he finally said, each word like an ironclad chain to her wrists. 

“Has watching me from afar been enough?” She asked. 

“Soul and form were vanquished from me long ago. If they were still intact right now, they would be in pitiful agony,” he replied. 

Tav’s eyes followed the glowing form, armour gently clanging with the friction of plate-to-plate. Not too loud, he handled the weight well, as if the steel upon him was forged into his body. Light floated across the fabric, ending in a metallic hand pulling back the tent flap, slowly peeling the entrance to the side. So, painfully, slow. Tav bit her bottom lip, muscles twitching with a newfound impatience. She lifted her body, sitting cross-legged, unable to sit still. Breath hitching with each step he took into her quarters. 

He towered over her, standing in front of the bedroll. Tall, mighty and domineering, the jagged helmet lowered, as if to face Tav from where she sat. Amber flame warmed the vicinity, dancing in the air between stoic and passionate. Two halves, staring at each other, burdened by a polarising force drawing them back and forth, never quite reaching. Fascination embroiled her mind, eyes glazed above, observing the ominous beauty of the Oathbreaker. Something about him was unsettling, deeply threatening to the point of innate fear. An uncanny product of being not-quite-human, but rather the remnant of a man once living. Once committing sin, drawing eager breath in the decision to either rend or caress flesh. 

Tav was nearly a supplicant, moving to her knees but keeping her head raised toward him. “You are war incarnate. Aren’t you?” 

“Do not get up,” he demanded, sinking into her question but disregarding an answer as he revelled in her obedience. Any movement to stand ceased at the husky sound of his voice. 

He had total command, and the unscratchable itch within him grew in voracity. Watching, talking, even tasting and touching would not suffice. As doe-eyed desire pooled from her, ethereal face beckoning him closer, he knew what he wanted. To consume her very being, have her reach the absolute zenith of pleasure-pain, past the mortal threshold. For that, she needed to lend him her soul—just for the night. He’d return it to her…maybe. 

Tav’s breath shook, giving away her vulnerability with the snap of a finger. She said, “What do you want of me, exactly?” 

“It is not what I want of you, but what you want of me,” he said, stalwart in place as if no being existed within the armour. 

He continued, “Ages have come and gone since I’ve had a proper body. Left only with the purpose of guiding oath broken paladins to redemption…or retribution. One, single task given for an eternity as recompense for the deeds I committed in life. Until you peered from the water’s edge of your camp, unafraid of my terror. You watched me, and you could not see it, but I watched you. Abandoned everything to keep watching. Such a debauched distraction, having what I lacked even in mortality. Little temptress, with your supple flesh, beautiful skin, walking like an angel leading me to paradise. Do you like what I’m saying to you?” 

Excitement bubbled between her legs, leaning on her palms as she let her knees spread a little further. A ghostliness permeated his voice, guiding her into a strange, addictive arousal. Dancing on the precipice of unpredictability, unaware of what he wanted to do and how he intended to do it. Rushes of heat, both from his aura and the titillation of is intimate words, infected her veins, burning the underside of her skin. She wished he’d speak to her all night, whisper sinful musings unthinkable to a mortal mind. 

One of her straps fell down her shoulder, bearing more untouched flesh like a blooming flower petal after a storm. A tightening feeling within him, familiar but distant, a fragmented memory of having a body. None such as wondrous as hers, though, even in the long gone prime of his soldierly youth. No bludgeoning hurricane, no lust-laden priestess, no charge to bloody battle ever compared to her. He wanted her confirmation, and then, he wanted her primal nakedness. 

“Yes, please, I like it. Give me even more,” she replied. 

Oathbreaker took two, small steps closer. Enough to bring his armoured hand to her face, cold metal dragging along her skin from jaw to chin, stopping to lift her head even higher to see him. Sharp edges threatened to cut with each stride, sending shivers down her straightened spine. Tav bore down on her knees even more, torso sinking forward as she let the neckline of her dress fell haphazard around her chest. Breathing heavy with desire, the mounds of her breasts tried to escape the confines of fabric, hardening nipples tickling against the cloth. He could see them poking out, rising with the touch of his armoured glove along silken, bare skin. 

“What I have for you goes beyond the simplicity of skin on skin. I do not have a body to match yours, no heartbeat to fall asleep to. Let me take you elsewhere, meld my essence into your flesh. Bring you to the brink of agony and ecstasy. I promise, with every ounce of existence that clings to my broken form, to give you rapture so divine a cock could never compare,” he said, keeping her chin up with his index finger, “Will you give yourself to me, little temptress?” 

Each time he ended a sentence, his voice couldn’t contain that guttural crescendo. Breeding feral lust within her with every tongue clicking consonant. She couldn’t quite tell what he meant by ‘melding essence’, but for the first time since the nautiloid, she didn’t question a thing. Wanting only to see the extent of his capabilities, reach the edge of unreal pleasure. Delving deep into the arcane subconscious of his primordial nature. 

Taking a chance to bring him into the mortal plane one, last time, Tav slid her tongue against the cool surface of his gloved hand. Tasting the forged metal like blood from a sliced lip. The knight wasn’t the type to play games, however, grasping her jaw tighter, jerking her slightly forward. Near enough to his waist to face his codpiece, imagining a thick, throbbing cock aching to be sucked. Not tonight, though, she’d have something more than that. 

“Answer me, sweet girl. I’ve razed entire towns to the ash for a less desired word. Tell me,” he ordered, growling at her in his already gruff voice. Music to Tav’s ears, feeling herself wetter than she ever imagined herself capable. 

“Yes! Yes, I’ll give myself to you. Tell me what to do, I want to know what you feel like inside me,” she said, words soaked in decadent arousal.  

A raspy, subtly maniacal laugh escaped him, a sound that Tav didn’t expect him to ever make. As if she signed her soul over to him. Maybe she did. At his beck and call forever more once she’d agreed, no turning back now. In far too deep to say no, and never wanting to. If he were to become the harbinger of every sensation from torture to euphoria, so be it. Oathbreaker made her spellbound, her fixation over him so quick and obsessive that she wondered if he used some otherworldly magic to lure her into his embrace. 

“Keep your hand in mine, I’m going to take you somewhere. Somewhere private, away from the crowded turmoil of this camp. I’d be very surprised if you weren’t loud,” he said. With his passion came intimidation, a rare forcefulness carried only in the beings beyond the physical world. Transcending boundaries mortals like Tav could never dream to touch. Not without his guidance. 

Holding onto his wrists with both hands, warm wind began to breeze through Tav’s hair, dotting gooseflesh on her bare skin. The environment around her began to dissolve, sparking and burning as if grinding across a searing anvil. A weightlessness captured her body, thrown high speed against the fastest current imaginable, closing her eyes with a calm sense of trust blooming within her. Whatever lie ahead, a careful voice inside her promised exultation, to be unmade and reformed again. 

Soft, cotton sheets met with Tav’s skin as the movement slowed to a halt. Oathbreaker placed her in the middle of a candlelit temple, surrounded by sandstone columns and wrought iron chandeliers. Who the temple belonged to was unknown, as Tav didn’t realise he’d formed the room in an image she’d find beautiful. Summoning a bed in the very centre, draping her in comfort and decadence before he dominated over her entire being. Anticipation broke her patience, what little she had of it, as she practically writhed on the mattress, wishing for his touch so unfairly kept from her. Oathbreaker remained stoic, composure invincible next to the little temptress he’d fallen so heavily for. If anyone would compromise his restraint, it would be her, but not yet. 

“So eager for me, and we haven’t even begun. You are an impatient little temptress. You don’t even know what this will feel like. Radiating lust, oh my beautiful dove, I’ll be savouring this,” He said, pacing around her on the bed, circling her like prey. 

He returned to the foot of the bed, glowing eyes of alien flame gently waving out of the helmet. Transformed from burning orange to an excited, assertive red. Tav examined him at length, no solid mass between the crevices of plate, replaced by the same fire that flowed everywhere else. Without a body, how would he merge the two of them? 

She didn’t have much time to think before he was throwing commands at her again. 

“I want you naked, sweet girl. Then lie on your back, so I can see what will soon be mine,” he said, watching carefully as she began. 

All she had was a nightgown, easily slipped off with one swift gesture. Her naked flesh exposed before him as she slowly rested her back on the downy sheets, comforted by the feather pillow under her. Nervousness dotted her movements, lying with her arms at her head, fingers playing with loose strands of hair. Legs closed, bent upward as she felt her ankles rub together. Cool air soothed the rushed heat within, charged with trepidation over being nude in front of him. How he might feel to see her bare for the first time. 

Little did she know, a part of him reached a boiling point. Something akin to butterflies in the stomach, shocking Oathbreaker with razor thin accuracy, leaving him confused over where such a feeling could take root. A sliver of hope that, perhaps, his heart had not decayed into oblivion. 

“Beautiful. Known to me already since the moment I saw you. I’ve watched you undress, before you noticed me lurking. Seen parts of you in such teasing flashes, but never meant for my gaze. Now, I want to see you open for me , split your legs. Let me see your pretty, little cunt,” he ordered.  

Under the firelight of the chandelier above her, Tav slowly parted her anxious legs. Feeling fatty skin from her thighs separate as a tickling chill kissed the surface of her pussy. Wet, glistening to the point of madness, and swollen beyond belief from such a lack of stimulation. She feared for her own sanity if he didn’t touch her in some way soon. Running her hands across her hips, so tempted to touch herself, yet stopping because he didn’t ask her to. Thinking back to when she licked his finger, the discipline of being pulled forward; she grew hotter thinking about what he’d do if she played with her clit before he could. 

But she’d done something right, as a sharp, predatory growl emanated from the Oathbreaker, a light echo from the armour. Watching as he hooked his armoured hands around the iron posters of the bed, grabbing so tight the metal creaked with a threat to shatter like frosted glass. More flames began to slowly wade out of him, like soothing vapour from an incense burner, bright with supernatural fervency. 

“When are you going to touch me, Oathbreaker? Am I to be sprawled naked for you until the end of time?” She asked. 

“If I want you to, yes. Imagine it, tied to this bed for an eternity, laying blissfully bare. Awaiting my return so I can bask in the beauty of you. My one, little connection to reality. Touched only when I decide to ruin you, piece by piece,” he said, musing as if he was telling himself the story rather than Tav, until he continued: “But I’m merciful, especially with a darling thing like you. Stay very still, and we can begin.” 

Tav breathed out a liberating sigh, letting her muscles relax against the soft fabric, fingers stretching across the silhouette of her naked body. Relieved to finally know what he had in store for her, prepared to beg for his mercy if she had to. 

He just wanted to look at her, flood his senses with the elements of mortality, experiencing all he’d tried to forget. That’s why he spent days observing her, drawn to every part of her as the image of what he remembered existence to be. Many mortals crossed his path, paladins seeking to rebuild their broken oaths, or do away with them entirely. The result mattered little, as did they to him. Simply the conduits for which his eternal purpose sought refuge. She wasn’t even a paladin, no sworn fealty or divine crusade, a mortal more meaningless than the ones he guided. And yet he could not stop. Engrossed in a lecherous bubbling within him, wrapping his enflamed spirit in a sensation so captivating he swore it was human . Making him claw at skin he did not have, scream out the beats of a nonexistent heart. 

And now, she lied before him, naked and eager for him. Him. Everything, everything for him. Arms outstretched above her head, presenting to him the rise and fall of perfect breasts, nipples pointed with excitement. Smooth skin running down the flesh of her thighs and rear, thick and warm blood—alive. Lively whimpers escaping lush lips as her fingers trailed around her aching cunt, the pulsating excitement of her core almost an injustice to him. For the first time in a long, long time, he was infuriated that he couldn’t touch her. Not the way a human could, anyway. What he could do was possess her, entrench himself in her body, pleasure her from soul to bone. 

“You are horrible, painful perfection. I am so limited in the ways of showing you how you make me feel. But I am going to consume you, dear. Ripple every, single fibre of myself into your body. Slipping inside from each opening of your purified flesh, until I am within your nerves, your veins, your skin. Taking you as mine, and soon, whatever you feel, will be me. Fear is normal, in fact, encouraged. I will not harm you, but to feel your entire being tightening around me will be nothing short of bliss. Let me warn you, that the start may hurt just a little, much like the first time a cock thrust into you. But this ache will be much shorter, and I will vow to take you into an unmatched rapture,” he explained. 

Tav was resplendent, glimmering with golden desire as her body lay under the warmth of a hundred candles. Oathbreaker moved to the side of the bed, so close she could play with the fabric wrap around his armoured waist, wondering if he felt anything when she ran her hands across the metal between his legs. 

No sound came from him, but little currents of fiery red flowed from his plate, travelling around her body like the tips of delicate thorns on the stem of a rose. Electrified tingles climbed up her skin, light burning heating the surface of her body as more and more enflamed current flowed from the armour. The entire bed was awash in his primordial essence, floating above the fabric as the waves transformed into a calm turquoise, wrapping her in a tidal sea of curious intrigue. They produced a similar sensation to fingertips, brushing across with a gentle caress. Hands were localised, centred around a single area, but not the Oathbreaker, his energy emboldening every part of her, from the nape of her neck, the path from ankle to calf, and the peaks of her hardened nipples. Rapturous moans sang out of her throat, dancing on the precipice between the touch of someone and the ethereal sting of a magical breeze. 

In her ears, she made out the sound of heavy breathing. Not from her, but the weighted, combative sighs of a herculean man; the mortality of the Oathbreaker borne from each doctrinal purr of his voice. Knowing she could hear him as he invaded her body made the experience even better, undone by the feeling that he was both inside her and next to her. 

“Do you feel me on your skin, little temptress? Turning your form into a husk fit just for me,” he said, noise emanating from inside her ears rather than the armour, each word coming from an epicentre within her very being formerly untouched. His voice echoed more, as if he had become a faint dream in the back of her memory. Letting the flames of his essence wrap around her limbs, twisting across arms and legs, swimming across her chest. He was relishing in this, she could sense it, claiming ownership of every inch. 

Oathbreaker continued, unable to ignore the mad pleasure of talking her through the scorching of her earth. “Kiss me, sweet mortal.” 

An azure stream floated up to her chin, dancing around her opening lips in a flirtatious waltz before slowly sinking into her mouth. Tav gasped, wind taken from her very lungs as the warm current tingled like ice and fire, imitating a tongue slipping inside. Crawling from the corners of her lips, all the way to the back of her throat, capturing each pore and sinking in, a faint glow shimmering against her cheeks. Tav couldn’t help but point her toes in ecstasy, an indescribable heaven found in his extraordinary kiss. 

Once the first tide of Oathbreaker’s essence travelled down her mouth, Tav felt the source of that complex weightlessness. All control of her body ceased, muscles no longer her own as his invisible force guided her limbs where he wanted. Her toes loosening as limbs disconnected from brain, her legs lifting up to her stomach, bent and spread. Those preternatural vibrations of aquamarine going right to the destination she’d wanted him for what felt like hours. Circling around her pussy in a hurricane formation, grazing against the sensitive bundle of nerves at the very centre. Energy throbbed around her, creating the sensation of wet friction against her clit, so vivid yet a translucent vision occupying her most vulnerable spot. She could not grind or buck her hips, couldn’t move her fingers to rub alongside the currents, all she had was to bask in the strange pleasure of being brought to climax by a phantasmal vitality. 

“Do you feel that? Using every ounce of my energy to make you cum for me? Yes, pet, that’s me. Although you cannot see, you can hear and you can feel ,” he said, ending the sentence in a primal, mischievous whisper. “Sweet, sweet cunt, I can taste you from the inside. Moving deeper into you. Let go, love, ready your little hole for more of me.” 

Hearing him gave little time to spare before a blooming, unearthly orgasm buzzed through her entire body, pushed forward by the hellfire of the Oathbreaker gloriously warming her insides. Tav cried out during, a strained moan high enough to be a squeak in some parts, so shocked by the incredible sensation of his sex. Sweat beading down her back, arching over the covers in unshakeable pleasure, suspended under his control. The entire time, she could hear him laughing in every corner of her ears, violent clicking in each chuckle like an incubus harnessing his victim. 

Tav yelped out loud when his current of flame sunk inside of her cunt, nothing but ethereal air yet creating a sensation of stretching. Sharp, stinging tingles seared inside her, true to his word when he mentioned there’d be some pain. But the agony melded with the ecstasy, an orgasmic combination that reddened her cheeks over how much she enjoyed the sensations together. Cold ache faded, conquered by the increased formation of flaming waves around her, sculpting into almost a body on top of her. Remnants of shoulders, the large, arched back of a mighty soldier, the thrusting of a burning cock inside of her. The figure ebbing and flowing, never fully materialising before dissolving once again into a burst of ephemeral energy. She craved to reach out, touch the river consuming her body, but still, she was paralyzed by his sensual invasion. Focused on the alluring choir of his fantastical moans in her skull. 

“Oh, I love drowning in you. Taking over every part of you until you scream, scream over and over for mercy that I will not give. No, no, no mercy for you are mine now, pet. I will visit you nightly and take you like this until I find a way to keep you in my realm forever. Would you like that, little temptress? Do you want to be mine?” He mused, the gnarling shift of his voice so deep in her ears that she swore she felt the moistened breath of him dotting her lobe. 

The entire time, rough, passionate stretching vibrated her soaked cunt. A puddle of her wetness pooling onto the blanket, a primordial cock made from hellfire thrusting into her. Real or not, his possession made everything authentic, drenching her in unequivocal magic accessed only by powerful beings such as him. Perhaps she was really lying there like a limp corpse, nothing but stale air existing around her, but in her mind’s eye, she was in paradise. And nothing else in the world could compare to the threading of blood, to bone, to marrow controlled by another. Ready to submit to any carnal desire he craved as the impatient heartbeat of another orgasm began to creep within her nerves. 

He hadn’t taken over her voice on purpose, hell bent on hearing the vocal contract to give herself to him. When she did speak, pride emulsified his death ridden soul, if one was generous enough to call it that. Invited to massacre her love of the living domain and become transfixed with his, for he would make sure she was endlessly addicted. Swear a new oath of fealty to suspending her in a garden of mystical, feverish pleasure. This feeling had so long been absent from him that it became brand new, willing to do the impossible to keep himself tattooed to her form. 

“Oh, Gods above, yes! Make me yours, take me, please! I c-can’t stand it…I’m gonna…” She cried out. 

Oathbreaker’s breath shook, a sharp, rigid inhale like a dry crack of a throat. Animalistic, primitive, containing a bone snapping, beguiling carnage that brought Tav to another explosive climax. Blood curdling from the base of her stomach, rushing up to her mouth to end in a mangling howl. Her muscles thrashed under his hold, trying and failing to break free from his powerful spell, far too embedded within her to be so easily removed. And he was positively ecstatic, driven insane by the flood of ecstasy caused by him inside his little conduit. She was at her most beautiful this way, collapsing upon herself as she twitched from her release. 

“Such a well behaved supplicant,” he said, “I hope that was enough for you, my most enticing mortal. It is my turn, and you are so small, my entire release will flood through the entirety of you. Set you aflame from the very core of your soul, but it will not hurt, I promise. Burn with my seed, little darling, take me in.” 

Hot, infernal heat tore across her body, as if she was reborn in fire. Oathbreaker’s virile, echoing moans rumbled within, each syllable coating her ear in demonic clicks of an invisible tongue. Sweat dripped from the back of her neck, down her arms, even her feet, enduring the heat of ghostly flame annihilate all corporeal essence. But he was right, nothing burned or scarred, caught in the embers of domination, leaving nothing but the aching glee of being totally, completely possessed. No deceptions, no going back on promises, only the solid reality that he wanted her, desired her. 

A divine hush radiated the vicinity, Tav’s body lulled away from the flames and back into the coolness of midnight air. Shivering at the caress of Oathbreaker’s spirit exiting, leaving her a buttery, melted mess on the mattress. Tranquillity enveloped her more than ever before, his flame breaking her to pieces, only to heal her into something more flawless. Never in her life had she felt so…beautiful. Or, perhaps, cohesive. Every mismatched piece of her puzzled together with detailed intricacy. 

Oathbreaker returned to the armour, the currents that once occupied her body brought into the impenetrable iron. Remaining on the side of the bed, he outstretched a gloved hand to move perspired strands of hair away from her forehead. Tender despite the harsh surface of metal against her skin. 

“It took until now to realise I’d not had a reminder of what ecstasy feels like. Not for centuries, maybe even more. How perplexing that a mortal like yourself, not even touched with the divine, can have such an effect. Did I please you? Did I live up to your…expectations?” He said. 

When asking her questions, he never said them as if he was truly uncertain. Rather, the confident drawl of his razor sharp accent didn’t need to validate what he already knew. He had pleased her, because he had been her. Merging his being with hers and feeling every, single sensation needling her body. No, there wasn’t a shred of insecurity. He wanted her to confirm his own open secret. 

Tav could hardly muster words, exhausted and reeling with a futile attempt to understand what kind of magic coursed through her. “It was…amazing.” 

He chuckled again, that same tone of deceptive villainy. Demonstrating a capability to be entirely destructive, yet choosing something else. 

“Good, now sleep. When you wake, you will be back in your tent. Sorry to say that you will likely feel melancholic, as if rising in a world of black and white. But do not worry your pretty head about it, for I will return. Night after night after night, you will see me approaching. Only next time, I will not ask to come in. I simply will.”