#it turns out that suppressing your own accent to put on the accent of one conlang while speaking another conlang is not the easiest thing

[serpentface]

Here's the intended pronunciation of the 'balls in my mouth please' conlang dialogue btw

[soup-of-the-daisies]

cannot stop thinking about that meta that’s like “voldemort’s ultimate goal was to simply destroy the british wizarding world” because it makes so much sense. tom riddle was a poor, orphaned, assumed muggleborn boy with a (most likely) ‘commoner’ accent and a distaste for humanity who sorted into slytherin, the hogwarts house infamous for being filled with loud rich bigots. tom riddle, with his background, could not have possibly been very popular those first few years of his schooling. tom riddle would’ve loathed the lot of them, all those arrogant, spoiled rich kids boasting about their family line. finding out he was the heir of slytherin would have been both a relief (he has something to fit in) and a jackpot (if they knew, they’d bow before him). and he uses that heritage later, when ‘tom riddle’ has disappeared and a stranger called ‘voldemort’ appears in his place. the fanatics literally kiss his feet.

voldemort is canonically a genius. he would’ve known that non-magical blood doesn’t make you dirty or less talented, because he himself is the prime example of that. espousing the bigoted pureblood agenda was simply the easiest way to gain power over the ones in power—all to send society crumbling to the ground from the inside. he takes over the ministry and ruins it, taking the first steps in tearing down the establishment; he kills regardless of blood, implying he doesn’t give one flying fuck what your heritage is; he tries to destroy the sorting hat, which would render the concept of ‘houses’ void.

personally i think it’s very interesting and appealing to put this interpretation in the context of tomarry/harrymort. i’ve always HC’d that harry will grow tired when he’s older, after he’s saved the wizarding world once (at the expense of his own happiness and well-being) and sees that nothing has changed or will change. that voldemort was a symptom, not the disease. that he and hermione and ron keep struggling, working themselves to the bone to make their world more fair and to suppress and eradicate the rampant underlying bigotry, but that it just won’t take.

and with an older harry, an embittered one, turned caustic and cynical by the very world he once viewed as his sanctuary—i don’t really think their beliefs would differ all that much. they’ve both seen and experienced the injustices. they’re both annoyed and disenchanted. harry will always have a regard for life, and voldemort won’t ever, but if anyone would have a wish to tear society down and build it back up again it’s them both.

[wren-kitchens]

can't remember if I ever posted this to tumblr so have a silly little snippet from an au me and stiff came up with!

the premise is that every hermit is some kind of hybrid, but is worried about sharing this fact because they all think they're the only hybrid on hermitcraft. empires on the other hand immediately clocks them all as hybrids and assumes the fact they’re hiding it is some kind of lore

jimmy can’t help grinning as scar tries to get him to ‘accept himself’ for the fifth time this afternoon. man, these hermitcraft people are fantastic at sticking to the bit—jimmy knows he would have cracked up way before now if it was him.

“you gotta accept it as part of you!” scar is practically begging him as jimmy leads him to the tavern. “you’ll never get anywhere if you’re left hating something like that about you, tim!”

jimmy turns to look at him. he keeps throwing his hat in the air and catching it again—that’s allay behaviour if he’s ever seen it.

“scar,” jimmy says, dropping the ‘oh no i’m so tormented’ act for a moment. “you do know i’m not actually a toy, don’t you?”

scar blinks at him. “you- no, you are. aren’t you?”

“no!” jimmy laughs at the look on scar’s face. “i’m a cow, scar, have you seen me?”

“wait- but what’s all that about then!” scar exclaims, gesturing in the direction of stratos. “with the ‘little toy man’ and- and the revealing potion!”

“oh that’s just for fun!” jimmy grins. “none of it’s true: the ‘revealing potion’ just makes you short, and joel knows i’m not a toy.”

“gosh, you empires people are odd.” scar says. “why do something that’s not true?”

“well, first of all, it’s funny.” jimmy says. “and second of all, it makes for a cool story! you being human isn’t real, but it-“

“not human?” scar interrupts, looking nervous all of a sudden. “i don’t- I have no clue what you mean! ‘not human’,” scar laughs to himself, unconvincingly offhand. “ah, you never fail to amuse me, jimmy.”

jimmy blinks at him. “is that- do you guys-“ 

and something clicks. the shiftiness of tango, the wide-eyed gazes at their hybrid features that all the hermitcraftians had enacted, almost like-

almost like they didn’t know they were all hybrids.

jimmy suppresses a laugh. wow, okay. now that’s a story.

“scar, I know you’re an allay.” jimmy says. “or a vex? somewhere in between?”

“somewhere in between.” scar clarifies. “how- how did you know?”

“I hate to tell you, but you’re not very subtle about it.” jimmy grins. oh gosh, he’s going to have to tell everyone when he has the time. no wonder all the hermits looked so surprised to see them.

“not subt- how am I not subtle?” scar asks. “I do everything humans do!”

“you’re counting your fellow hermits as humans?” jimmy asks.

“well of course.” scar says. ah, that’s where he’s gone wrong, jimmy thinks. “sure, we’re all a little weird over there, but i’m the only hybrid. and no one has noticed yet, so i think i’m doing quite well actually.”

“must be ‘cause i’m used to hybrids then.” jimmy settles on, because whilst he doesn’t want to reveal the secrets of.. pretty much everyone except the guy in the doom outfit, he also really wants to see how this plays out.

“oh yes.” scar agrees quickly. “must be that.”

“now, I do believe I was showing you the saloon!” jimmy says, putting on his silly accent for the last word, and scar seems to register that he’s back in character.

“yeah, the saloon!” scar exclaims, ever the enthusiast.

as scar starts to ramble about how he doesn’t think you can be classified as a cowboy unless you have your own saloon (which jimmy agrees with wholeheartedly), jimmy smiles to himself as he anticipates the reactions of his server-mates when he breaks the news. 

.. and also he might be smiling at the way scar’s face lights up as he speaks. but that’s a matter for another time.

[cowpokeomens]

absolution

Pairing: Pastor!Joakim "Jolly" Karlsson x fem!reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!! A looot of references to religion (it all takes place in a church, so), smut smut smut (p-in-v) I'm including dubcon bc consent is weird with power dynamics, age gaps (10 yr) (everyone is of legal age though!!), some body horror stuff, power imbalance, I think that's all but if you come across something that I missed please reach out so I can tag accordingly!!! Love u bye!!!

A/N: This was really cathartic to write lmao I have a sprinkling of Religious Trauma and this helped me work through some of those feelings in my own weird horny way. It is porn, please don't start expecting me to be some kinda respectable writer with plotlines or whatever. PLEASE HEED THE TAGS. Okay enjoy!!!!

The guilt of it is eating you alive. 

The pressure between your legs- the raw, empty ache that plagues you day in and day out. Sitting on your pew, you are once again swept away by long, glossy hair and inked knuckles, turning sacred pages of a holy book that can do nothing to hold your attention at this moment.

What an impression of Christ he makes, you think to yourself, sounding hypnotized even in your internal monologue. 

He arrived when you were 19, to your small town, to your even smaller church. The rest of the folks in town think your congregation is too… fanatical. You can’t imagine a world in which someone could be over-zealous for the word of God, and even so, Pastor Karlsson had done a lot to level the congregation out. 

He was a divorcee, not by his choice, he has said. He was only 29 when he first rolled into town, funny accent and even funnier sounding name causing immediate distrust in your tight-knit community.

But God, did he have a testimony. Sex, drugs, rock ‘n roll, the tattoos adorning his body told you the story better than those gaudy stained glass windows in the snobby Catholic churches ever could. A lecherous lifestyle with a woman who didn’t love him, not really - not the way you do. He had humbled himself to you all, and you gladly let him in. He was made a pillar in your community - he became a leader to the congregation.

Which is why you always suppressed your feelings, putting them in a locked sarcophagus and hurling it to the far recesses of your mind. You will not be the thing that tries to come between him and the Lord.

You look up at him as he speaks, standing at the pulpit and wielding the word of God like the Archangel Michael who so valiantly struck down Satan. He who is made in God’s image; Had it not been for your utter devotion to the Lord, you would have wondered if he could sin at all.

But you knew better. Everyone carried their own sins. You had heard stories of husbands and wives who idolized each other so much that they left the church altogether. Your heart broke at the thought of leaving God’s light to worship something as sinful as human flesh, couldn’t imagine risking an eternity of paradise for what would one day be dust. 

Not that you’d know, of course. You’d never felt the touch of a man outside of when Pastor Karlsson baptized you the day before your 21st birthday. It had been fuel for weeks, his gentle hand on your back, guiding you underneath the water of the river that ran out behind the church. You had stuffed yourself full of your own fingers that night, stuffed your mouth full of bed linens so that no one would hear how you came undone at the mere thought of him. 

Perhaps you are the lecherous one, after all. Though you can’t help but think that God has given you Pastor Karlsson on purpose, as a test of your faith. A test that you believed you were passing, for the most part. You haven’t missed a Sunday sermon since you caught the flu in 2021, and even so, you watched the livestreams on Facebook. You keep your nose in your Bible, and ignore the clench in your gut when he tells you good morning. 

This morning is different. 

This morning is worse. 

You just come off of your period- disgusting and uncomfortable as it was, you are thankful it was over and you can enjoy the rest of your June in peace. But it lingers under your skin, an itch that can’t be scratched. Your emotions are raw, and you burst into tears twice this week, unprompted. Worst of all is the ache. 

You didn’t know you could feel so empty. It claws at your insides like a caged beast, mockingly calling in the voice of Moloch himself, “Fill me up, fill me up.”

You threw yourself headfirst into your studies; you reviewed Ecclesiastes as a way to ground yourself, to remind yourself that this was a temporary feeling, and would pale in comparison to the absolution of Heaven. 

Still, sitting in your pew, you felt the hunger gnashing at you, gnawing at your throat. It was overwhelming, all-consuming. You stutter through your hymnal, barely reading half the words. Your mother keeps giving you concerned looks, your father aloof as ever. Halfway through the sermon, she hisses in your ear, “What is the matter with you?” 

You blink up at her, wide-eyed, and stammer out a “I - I don’t know. I feel… weird.” 

She purses her lips, but says nothing, turning back to Pastor Karlsson in the pulpit. 

You pass the time in silence, feeling itchy and hot, until the sermon concludes, and everyone makes a mass exodus to the dirt lot where their cars are parked.

“Hold on.” Your mother stops you as you begin exiting your pew. 

She walks over and, to your utter horror, greets Pastor Karlsson, pulling him aside and speaking to him in hushed tones. He nods once, glancing at you, then nods again as she steps away. She looks grateful, patting his shoulder in that way that mothers do. 

He looks at you then, and his full attention is enough to make you combust. Suddenly your dress is too tight on your chest, your breasts straining with every breath against the linen that encases you. Your bones itch, but your hands stay resolutely tucked into your sides, your Bible held against your chest.

You’re so busy focusing on breathing that you don’t realize he’s walking towards you until he’s right in front of you, smiling warmly while greeting you by name. Your mother is by his side, looking at you in such a way that tells you she had something to do with this interaction. 

“Darling, Pastor Karlsson here wants a word with you. He even said he’d give you a ride back to the house! I’ll set aside a plate for you at home, you two take your time here.” She was smiling in a way that made all of her teeth visible, like a snarling animal. A lead brick settles in your stomach at the expression as you look up at Pastor Karlsson.

He was so tall, you think as you peer up at him. Dark eyes meet yours, making your gaze flicker away to something else- anything else to avoid the intensity you find there. Looking directly into his eyes was like looking into the maw of a starving beast- you weren’t brave enough to even consider it.

Your mother departs with a final “Wonderful sermon, Joakim, thank you!” Flashing one of her pageant smiles at him - one she’s never given your father - as she goes. 

He nods politely, murmuring a quiet, “All the glory to God.” before turning back to you. He gives you a thoughtful look before he speaks again.

“Your mother is concerned about you.” His tone was not accusatory or pointed, just repeating facts. 

You inhale shakily. “Yeah, I feel kind of weird today.” Admitting to such a thing is not a lie - you do feel weird today. 

He nods, as if understanding. Then, “Would you like to speak in my office? I have to pick up a few things, then we can head out.”

The thought of being in an enclosed space with him made you almost pass out, but you persevere, giving a meek nod as you follow him out of the sanctuary.

It was a short walk from the sanctuary to his office, your church is small, even among small churches. You love its modesty; It is a far cry from the towering spires and flying buttresses you saw in your history books back in school, but it has a self-effacing quality that makes it approachable to people from all walks of life. 

The walls are painted white, though slightly yellowed with age. Dark wood lines the floor, blue carpet cushioning your steps as you walk. There aren’t many windows - it was built for insulation, not sight-seeing, after all. Crosses hang sporadically throughout the hallways, some wooden, carved by members, others purchased at a discount at the craft stores a few towns over. 

His office is a glorified coat closet, something the elders threw together haphazardly when God called him to serve. It fit a desk, a desktop computer that was older than dirt, and two chairs, one on either side of the desk. The carpet is green, the walls beige, and you have always thought it is an entirely unbecoming space for such a Godly man. It’s a good thing he was humble; God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble, you think, almost bitterly, as he sits down in the chair by the computer. You make a mental note to work on your own humility as you sit down in the chair opposite him. 

“So, what’s got you feeling weird?” He asks with a small smile, putting his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers together. His hair falls over his shoulders with the movement, cascading down in a curtain of silk. You remind yourself to breathe. 

Stammering, you try to explain yourself. “I’m- I’m not sure, Pastor Karlsson-”

“Joakim.” He interrupts you gently. 

You blink at him, confusion evident in your face. He must find something about the expression amusing, because he’s smiling softly and continuing, “You can call me Joakim. We’re both grown-ups here.”

You swallow loudly, the sound all but ricochets in the stillness of the room. “R-right. I’m not really sure why I feel so weird. I just had a really hard time focusing today.” You suddenly realize what you’ve said, correcting yourself quickly. “Not that the sermon wasn’t good! Your sermons are always wonderful, Pastor Karls - Joakim.” 

He’s smiling broadly now, clearly entertained by your flailing. “It’s okay, käresta, I understand what you mean." A pause, then he lowers his hands. "Is there something on your mind specifically? Something that’s preventing you from focusing?”

You go still, scared to breathe too fully, lest it give you away. Your eyes slide to the ground, teeth coming out to gnaw at your lip. You can feel your heart racing in your throat- the throbbing sensation makes you wonder if you’ll actually vomit from anxiety. You freeze further when Joakim places a hand on your arm, gently.

His voice is barely audible when he whispers, “Hey, it’s okay. We all have our sins, and sin is sin -”

“- Is sin.” You finish for him, sounding unconvinced. You take a deep breath, then redirect your gaze back to him. His eyes are soft with concern, mouth pulled into the faintest frown. Hating to imagine you’re the reason he’s so upset, you blurt out before you can even process your words.

“I’ve been having lustful thoughts about a man in the congregation.” Once the words have been said, you fight the urge to grab them clean out of the air and stuff them back into your mouth. 

The hand on your arm tenses for half a second, then relaxes again. “Okay.” He begins calmly, pulling his hand back to the table. You resist the urge to whimper at the loss of contact. “I can see where your concern is coming from. Is this man married?”

There were only so many unmarried men in the congregation; it would be an easy elimination if you were truthful. But... You were already coming clean about one sin, no need to add on others, you reasoned. Shaking your head in a negative, you give a meek, “No, he’s not.”

Joakim nods thoughtfully, staying silent for a moment. You can all but see the gears turning in his mind, deducing who it could be. You wonder if he lists himself amongst the unmarried men- or if he is courting some woman, unbeknownst to you all. No, your mind fired at you venomously. He is not the sort of man to slink around in the shadows. 

Finally, he spoke. “While lust is never something to give full rein to, it is understandable, biologically speaking.” Upon seeing your confusion, he offers another soft smile, continuing. “You’re at an age where your body wants you to have children. It is what God made you for, it’s only natural that someone as devoted as you are would respond strongly to His plan. You’re not doing anything wrong, käresta.”

Relief floods your body, making your shoulders sag at the loss of tension. You aren’t doing anything wrong, Joakim even told you so. But that makes you wonder- is there anything you should be doing? You’re about to ask when he speaks again. 

“I’ve been wanting to speak with you privately for a while now.” He huffs a small laugh. “It seems the Lord thought today would be a good time, so it shall be.” 

You straighten your shoulders, sitting up, wanting to make sure he knows he has your full attention. Looking at him fully, you’re not surprised why your body is so responsive to him. He’s so handsome, even with the shadow of dark stubble on his face. You wonder what keeps him up at night, which chapters he gets stuck on for days before clarity dawns on him. It’s no mystery why your body is putting thoughts of lust in your mind; he’s the sort of man who would make a wonderful father. 

You cut off that train of thought, needing to focus on the present moment. He needs your full attention for whatever he’s going to say next. 

“The Lord has been communicating with me for some months now, on the topic of finding a wife.” You both take deep breaths, though for different reasons, you imagine. “You’ve heard my testimony on my previous marriage, so I don’t need to emphasize how much I’ve prayed about this.”

Your heart breaks, shatters, combusts into nothing but ash at his words. The Lord wants him to find a wife, and it sounds like he has someone in mind. You swallow the lump of bile in your throat, trying to listen to his next words as your guts fight the natural inclination to stay in your body.

“I’ve spoken to God a lot, the last few months- even by pastor standards.” The playful smile he gives you feels like a knife twisting in your chest. “And if I’m understanding his message correctly, I believe God wants me to court you.”

You’re so busy wallowing that you don’t understand what he’s said at first. The words sink in slowly, like the drip of an IV into your veins. When you think you understand, you manage a, “What?”

He chuckles, not a degrading sound, rather like he understands your confusion. “I know, it seems sudden, but I’ve been speaking to the Lord about this for many months, and-”

“Oh my goodness.” You interrupt as realization hits you like a freight train. “No - I know. I know. Because God has been speaking to me, too.”

Joakim’s brow furrows at you, and it feels nice to not be the confused one for once. 

You continue, looking up at him shyly. “The… lustful thoughts I’ve been having, they-” You pause, building up your courage. “They’re about you.” 

He’s frozen, mouth slightly agape as he processes your confession. His head tilts to the side slightly, eyes darker than usual as he asks, “You’ve been having lustful thoughts about… me?”

You nod, cheeks tinged pink. “When you’re in the pulpit - I try to focus, I really do, but my mind wanders to… other things.” 

You should be embarrassed, should be ashamed of admitting something so unbecoming. But the comfort of this being God’s plan washes away any ill regards you have about the situation; this is what He has always intended. 

“Other things?” He echoes, eyes focused on you intensely. His voice is hushed, only loud enough for the two of you to hear. “Like what?”

Your blush deepens at his inquiry. “Well, it’s more of a feeling than an exact thought…”

He’s leaning forward now, all but hanging over his desk at your words. He looks hungry, you realize suddenly; Like he’d seen firsthand the famine in Canaan, pupils blown wide, mouth open, breathing slowly. “A feeling?” He prompts.

Nodding, you find yourself leaning forward too, almost desperate to close the gap between you both. You can feel the dust in the air, hear the quiet electric hum of his old desktop computer. Your breath is coming too loudly, it ricochets off the walls around you both. “It feels like an ache.” You explain, sounding hoarse. “It feels like an emptiness.” 

He takes a shaky breath, pushing himself back from his desk in a controlled motion. Standing up, he makes his way around the desk to stand in front of you, one of his calloused hands guiding your chin up to look at him. 

“Do you want me to help you - with the emptiness? The ache?” He questions, eyes boring into yours. 

The thought of it makes your thighs clench together, and the feeling is so delicious that you almost vocalize it. Your mouth is dry, but you feel wetness gathering in your cotton panties already. You almost forget to respond, nodding and breathing out, “Yes, please.”

“Always so well-mannered.” He praises, making you feel warm. You would do just about anything for him to keep going.

The hand on your jaw guides you upward until you’re standing in front of him. You’re not touching, but you can feel the heat emanating from his body, feel the way the air vibrates between you. His eyes travel down to your lips, back up to your eyes, then down to your lips again. 

“Have you ever kissed a boy, lillis?” He asks, eyes half-lidded and voice quiet.

You shake your head, a tiny movement. “No.” You pause, then decide to continue. “I wanted to save myself.”

His inhale is sharp, deep. “Such a good girl.” The words light a fire in your belly, and the familiar gnawing is back, worse than ever before. You shift on your feet, subconsciously searching for any kind of friction. He picks up on the movement. 

“Do you feel empty, now? Are you desolate?” You can feel where his breath hits your face. If you tilted your head right, your lips would meet. The clothes you’re wearing feel itchy - too tight, too rough.  

You can’t speak, so you nod “yes.” His eyes run down your figure, back up again to your lips. 

“Show me where.” Is his only command. You can’t read his expression fully, features arranged into careful neutrality. The spark in his eyes seemed to hint at desperation, though.

Your face is probably the color of a sun-ripened tomato, but you do as he says, grabbing his free hand, guiding it between your legs. His fingers curl up through your skirt, cupping your mound. Your eyelids flutter shut at the contact, hands coming up to rest against his chest to steady yourself. Heartbeat racing, you don’t think there could be anything better than the feeling of what’s happening right now.

“Here? Is this where you feel empty?” His lips move against your cheek, breath fanning across your ear, making you shiver.

You blink several times, trying to clear your head. “Joakim, please.” Is all you can muster, fingers gripping at his shirt. 

You can feel him sag against you as his lips crash into yours. You’re not completely sure of what to do, allowing him to guide your lips open, licking into your mouth. You hear yourself groaning into the kiss, crowding impossibly closer until your bodies are pressed against each other fully. 

He breaks the embrace to place wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down your neck. The feeling is euphoric, making your hips buck into his without conscious decision.

Hands run down your sides, coming up again underneath your dress skirt to grip at the backs of your thighs, yanking you forward with such force that you almost topple over. His left hand is at your back in an instant, holding you steady before unzipping the back of your dress in a swift motion. 

The material pools around your front, hanging loosely until you pry it off, happy to be rid of the too-rough fabric at last. His lips are back on yours in an instant, one hand gripping the back of your neck while the other kneads the flesh of your breast through your bra. 

You outright moan at the feeling, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip as your mouth opens to let the sound out. He works a knee between your legs, rubbing the meaty flesh of his thigh against your core in such a way that has you seeing spots in your vision. Fingers curling into claws where they grip onto his shoulders, you grind down onto his leg, an animalistic snarl escaping you as you do so. 

You know this feeling; Though it’s a sin to give into lust, you’ve made yourself climax before, silently, long after everyone had laid down to rest at night. This is so much more, though - you feel as though someone has soaked you in gasoline and laid a lit match to your flesh. Nothing could have torn you from the carnal desire you felt, being entwined with Joakim like this. You want to take turns ripping each other apart, severing limbs and gluing them back together until you have both been remade in His image. You want to bite and gnaw and lick until you taste blood, to soothe the worried skin with soft whispers and softer hands. Dragged to Hell and back, nailed to a cross and left to rot, rising from the dead with such vigor that Lazarus would envy you - you wanted it all, so long as this moment didn’t end.

“Joakim - I, I -” You choke out, eyes focusing on his, foreheads pressed together.

“Good girl, give it to me, everything you’ve got.” He urged you, the hand on your neck coming down against your hip, ushering your pelvis against his thigh. 

Burying your head in his chest, you climax with a wanton moan, body shuddering through the shockwaves of it. Your breathing is labored, vision blurry from clenching your eyes shut so tightly.

He’s gently prying you off his leg then, maneuvering your positions until you find yourself face-down on his desk. Using a knee, he nudges your knees apart until he fits comfortably between them. The new angle has you feeling vulnerable, visible, licentious. 

You don’t have time to dwell on the feeling, because suddenly his fingers are playing with your folds through your ruined panties. Your knees almost buckle at the stimulation, so sensitive it almost hurts. Gripping the other side of the desk to hold yourself upright, you do your very best to stay still as he explores your body. 

Two fingers hook into the side of your panties, moving them to the side. You know he can see everything like this, and while part of you is screaming at the debauchery of it, another, louder part of you hopes he likes what he sees. You’re fighting the urge to sneak a glance at him when the two fingers that moved your panties aside are thrust deep into your core. 

You let out a howl that could rival a rabid dog, nails scraping against the wooden laminate of the desk as your hands clench into fists. He’s curling his fingers inside you slowly, and you can feel every millimeter of it. A string of drool escapes your open mouth, cascading down into a puddle on a stack of prayer requests from this morning’s sermon. 

“That’s it, so good, just take it, lillis.” He murmurs, fingers still unfurling deep inside you. 

You don’t know that you can do anything but take it. His fingers are so much thicker than yours, taking up twice as much space as you’re used to. You feel wonderfully full, the emptiness inside you finally satiated.

But then he’s pulling them out, and you almost sob at the loss of it. You could feel your hole clenching on nothing, throbbing with want; Whether you enjoy it or not, you aren’t even sure. 

You hear a zipper, then the sound of something metallic hitting the carpet. When you turn your neck to see what’s happening, you’re met with the sight of Joakim’s full manhood on display. 

You’ve never seen a man naked before. There were pictures, shown to you unwillingly by the cruel boys who called you a “Bible-thumper” in school, but this is entirely different.

Joakim is… prettier, you think is the right word. His tip is pink, almost red, and wet-looking in the glow of the fluorescent office lights. Veins bulge along the length, throbbing at you angrily as if to mock the throbbing happening within you. It’s big, you realize suddenly. You can’t begin to fathom how it’s going to fit inside you, when his fingers alone made you feel so full already.

A hand is placed at the back of your neck, holding you flat in place. The weight is reassuring, grounding in its pressure as you’re pressed fully against the desk, the cool laminate a welcome reprieve from the fever burning in your skin. You feel him press his tip against your folds, running it through the slickness there, before slowly pushing past your threshold. 

“It hurts.” Is the first thing you whine, legs already trembling. It does hurt - in a sharp way, like stretching to reach your toes first thing in the morning. 

You gasp as he leans over, thrusting further into you as he whispers in your ear. “Shh, I know. It’s the price we must pay for our sin.” His murmur relaxes you a bit, reassures you of what you’re doing. Joakim would not lead you astray; God had spoken to him, given him fortitude in the last months. This was His plan.

The stretch continues as he slowly slides further into you, until your bodies are joined completely. You’re panting, open-mouthed as he fills you entirely. Your toes are barely brushing against the ground from how far he’s pushed you into the desk, corners digging into your hips sharply. 

A soothing hand runs up and down your spine, unraveling the muscles that have been pulled taut with anticipation. Your breathing slows, body easing around the intrusion until only the sensation of fullness remains.

Joakim pulls back then, a slow movement that has you inhaling harshly as he drags along your inner walls. Your mouth goes to ask him what he’s doing, when he slams back into you, cutting off your train of thought in favor of gargling on your breath. 

“Oh my God,” You keen, eyes so wide they might bulge out of your head altogether. 

A jarring slap lands against your backside, stinging skin left in its wake. “Do not take the Lord’s name in vain.” Joakim rasps, sounding as out of breath as you do. 

He pulls back again, only to crash back into you a half-second later. The force of it jolts you, making you wail as your hands reach out for something, anything to hold onto. Documents and envelopes fly onto the floor in your frenzy, looking as haphazard as you feel. 

He continues at an unrelenting pace, hand still firmly gripping the base of your neck from behind. You know you’re being loud; A distant part of you even registers that, given the circumstances, you should probably be much, much quieter. You can’t bring yourself to care, though, an endless chant of Joakim’s name falling from your lips as you do what you can to grind back into him.

The hand leaves your neck, coming down to grab onto your hip while his other hand mirrors the action. Your pelvis is lifted off the desk, thrusts never even pausing as the new angle drives him deeper into you. Tears spring in your eyes from the overstimulation, having climaxed only a few short minutes ago. 

This is absolution, You think. Being tangled together, conjoined like this - There is no fear of sin, no guilt at succumbing to the lust-filled desires of the flesh. As Joakim plunges himself into you, over and over, you find yourself almost dizzy with relief at the weight lifted off your shoulders, the panic of condemnation a distant memory. 

His arm wraps around the front of your hips, holding you in place, as his free hand tangles into your hair, yanking your head towards him. 

“Say the Lord’s prayer.” He groans in your ear, breath hot and sticky. “Beg for His forgiveness. ��Our Father-’”

“‘-Who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.” You whimper, the words slipping off your tongue like muscle memory as your body is rocked back and forth by his thrusts. “‘Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth-” Your voice is cut off by your own gasp as he reaches something in you that you’ve never felt before. Knees shaking, you dig your fingers deeper into the mess of papers surrounding you to try and stabilize yourself. 

“Keep going. ‘On Earth, as it is in Heaven.’” He urges, grip tightening on you. 

“‘Give us today our daily bread,’” You continue, moaning pitifully as he drives into that same spot again. “‘And forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.’”

Tears stream freely down your cheeks now, a mixture of pleasure and overstimulation driving you mad. Joakim is mouthing at the junction of your neck and shoulder, tongue brushing over a spot that makes you shiver into him. A fire is building in your belly, lapping at the bottom of your throat as you move closer and closer to climax. 

“‘L-lead us not into temp- temptation,’” You stutter, mind hazy with want. “‘But d-deliver us from evil.’”

Joakim’s voice is back in your ear. “‘For thine is the Kingdom,” A harsh thrust, “‘The Power,” Another thrust, “And the Glory forever.’” 

The fire burns so hot that it rips the oxygen straight out of your lungs. Your eyes struggle to stay open, fluttering closed each time he rams into you. A particularly harsh pull of your hair reminds you that he is waiting for your response.

“Amen.” You whisper, vision going white as you climax, body twitching forcefully in his arms. His hips stutter once before he buries himself inside you, spilling his seed into you as he does. 

Whether you lay there for seconds or days, you don’t know. Eventually, Joakim pulls out, a string of his release coming with him, rolling down the inside of your thighs. You whimper at the loss, still too sensitive to move. 

“C’mon, käresta, we need to get you dressed. Your mother will wonder where you are.” His voice is gentle behind you, hand rubbing against your lower back to rouse you. 

Your joints pop in protest as you try to push yourself up off the desk. The room is a mess of papers and scattered writing utensils, your dress nothing more than a rumpled pile of cloth on the ground. 

You slip it over your head gingerly, every muscle in your body somehow sore. Joakim zips up the garment for you, running his hands over your clothed back, as if to smooth the wrinkles. 

Turning to face him, you’re met with a soft pair of lips to your forehead, dark hair brushing against your cheeks. The kiss makes you feel brave as you ask, “Joakim?”

His eyes are warm as he gazes down at you, his fingers coming up to comb through your tangled hair. “Hmm?” Is his response as he works out a particularly knotted strand.

You flutter your eyelashes, a move that feels foreign, but somehow right. Looking up at him demurely, you ask, “Will you be leading tonight’s Bible study?”

[valiantphantomangel]

The vigilante

A/n: here it is! I hope y'all enjoy the read!

Oxygen inflated your lungs, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you ran through the streets of London, the sounds of fast approaching footsteps thundered behind you.

You were a vigilante who just moved with her parents to London and all was good... Until you met him tonight.

A silhouette draped in a white almost bandage like suit suddenly dropped down in front of you, the white cape following after the stranger.

"You're going to have to come with me" An American accent came from behind the mask.

"What do you want?" You asked from behind your own mask.

"Just the identity of a new vigilante in town"

You immediately knew that you couldn't let that happen, if he saw that you were still a kid he would never take you seriously.

"I can't give you that, I'm sorry" you said as you turned around to run away from him.

He however had predicted this kind of move and intercepted you halfway, throwing you over his shoulder and having such a death grip on your legs that you knew you weren't getting out soon.

"Let me down!" You yelled as you turned and twisted to try and get out of his grip but even with your enhanced strength you weren't a match against him.

"Calm down" The Moon Knight said as he carried you across a few blocks and into what seems like an apartment block.

He opened a door and quite literally threw you onto a chair before tying your arms onto the armrests.

"Come on man this isn't necessary" you groaned as you tugged on your wrists.

"Until you tell me who you are you ain't leaving that chair" he said as his mask disappeared.

"Wait a second I know you! I saw you at a gift shop in a museum!" You exclaimed.

"Well now it's only fair if you tell me who you are since you know who I am" he said as he walked towards you.

"Nope not happening"

"Listen here you wannabe vigilante, when someone who is stronger then you wants to know something from you, you listen" he growled as he put his hands on your shoulders to glare down at you.

But that glare dissolved as a shaky giggle flipped over your lips from when his gloved fingers fluttered past your neck.

He seemed to be listening to something before turning towards you with a smirk.

"Are you ticklish, little vigilante?" He teased as his fingers once again fluttered against the sides of your neck.

"N-no" you stuttered as you suppressed your giggles.

"No? That little giggle of you suggests something else" he grinned as he expertly ghosted his fingertips over the exposed part of your shoulders.

Giggles slipped past your lips before you could stop them and you looked up at him with wide eyes.

"That's what I thought" he smirked before suddenly tasering your sides.

Your body jolted forward as a howl of laughter ripped through your lungs, feet kicking against the floor.

"STOPHIHIHI ITHHAHAHHA" You screamed through your laughter, suddenly very grateful that your mask could only be removed by you otherwise he would have pulled it off a long time ago.

"Until you tell me who you are, I ain't stopping" he grinned as he spidered over your ribs. Blast you for having a skin tight suit.

You shrieked in laughter as you fought against your bonds.

"Come on, it's not that hard. I'll tell you my name if you tell me yours"

You shook your head and he immediately redoubled his efforts, every spot he could find was being mercilessly tickled, your sensitivity not helping one bit.

After minutes of unending torture you couldn't take it anymore "Y/N! AHHAHAHAHHAHA THAT'S MY NAMEHIHIHIHIHI"

He stopped slowly before grinning "Now was that so hard, I'm Marc"

"I would say pleasure to meet you but my mother taught me not to lie" you huffed with couldn't stop the stupid smile on your lips.

"You're a cheeky little thing aren't you?" Marc chuckled as he leaned against the wall opposite of you.

"Can't stop my personality now can I"

"Now take off your mask" he demanded after a short second. The playfulness leaving his voice but that wasn't the strange thing.

It was how his accent changed to a spanish one.

"I'm bound" you stated.

He glared for a second before coming over and cutting the ropes around your wrists.

You stretched your arms before slowly pulling off your mask.

His expression changed to a surprised one "maldito infierno your just a kid"

"I am not a kid" you bit back

He raised his hands in surrender but continued to look at you.

After minutes of you two just staring at each other it started to freak you out a little, his facial expressions stayed completely cold.

"Jake stop it your scaring her" A man with a English accent said and your head snapped at the sound.

There in the mirror was man, the exact copy of the solid man in front of you.

"What the fuck!" You shouted your eyes wide as you stood up from the chair.

Jake looked from you to the man in the mirror.

"You can see him?"

"Of course i can" you said as you mind started to think of a way to escape.

"No one else can see us except for us" The man in the mirror said as Marc appeared next to him "Shut it Steven!"

"That doesn't make any sense" you said as you inched towards the window. All three of them to busy discussing how you could see them.

"She shouldn't be able to see us" Marc said as he ran a hand through his brown hair.

"Yes i know that but the question is what are we going to do with her, she knows all of us now" Steven told the other two and as if on que turned to you where you just managed to get the window open.

"It's been great but I've got to go" You grinned before jumping out of the window.

Jake ran to the window and looked down, expecting to see you crash onto the ground but saw something else entirely.

A web shot from your wrist as you flung yourself into the air before disappearing into the busy city.

"We have got to catch that kid" Jake thought out loud as he turned to the other two.

Marc took control of the body and grabbed his phone, searching a number.

"And I know just the man for the job" He smirked.

The number of Peter Parker ringing.

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

Devil's Night - Dr. Fearless/Reader

Warnings: No use of Y/N, gender-neutral reader, nothing but typical Fearless failcringe (we still love it).

Wordcount: 8622

Summary: He'd invited you back again, and even with a month so busy you could only see him on the weekends, who were you to reject an invitation from the creepily irresistible, if not strangely charming, Doctor himself?

Notes: Happy Halloween~ It's almost late but I made it, so here's part 2 of my trade with @lakesofneptune just in time for my favourite holiday 🎃🦇

The month of October was a lot more exciting than usual as your weird luck persisted much longer than it typically did, your winning invitation to the strange but oddly charming Dr. Fearless’ show extending all the way to Halloween, if you so accepted. You knew it was because he liked you, the shows were free and you wouldn't be his returning guest after all, but you appreciated the gesture as you looked down at the hastily made and freshly printed new invitation in your hand when the movie was over and everyone was clearing out for the night. He'd asked you to wait a moment before rushing off, and you helped yourself to some of the remaining snacks to appease your stomach until you could pick up some proper food on the way home, thank goodness for 24/7 drivethrus.

‘Here you are, the little creatures in the lab cooked this up for you,’ Dwight drawled mysteriously as he handed it to you, the clipart and badly cut out picture of him in the corners making you try to suppress a grin. ‘We-’ He paused a moment, dropping the act again now that everyone was gone. ‘-I'd really like if you came back again, anytime you're able to, if you want?’

‘This was fun, I'll have to see how my schedule goes,’ you hummed even though you knew all your weekends were free, but you wanted to see the excitement in his eyes over seeing you again. ‘Next time I'll choose an even better outfit now that I know the dress code.’

‘The one you picked tonight was befitting of Hellish Royalty if I may say,’ he complimented you with another raise of his eyebrows, and he looked you over a few times to sell it until your laugh made him stop, now you really couldn't tell where Dwight ended and Fearless began when the cameras weren't on him.

‘My friend helped, but now that I know your tastes, I could stop by the mall tomorrow, see if I could find some leather and chains?’ you teased right back, and the change in him was instant; his back straightened as his face turned as red as it could go under the makeup, he truly was defenseless when it came to someone giving him a taste of his own medicine, and you logged that away for later along with the invitation as you folded it up and put it in your pocket.

‘Yes, well, you'd definitely fit in my dear Myotis, have no doubts about that,’ he said as the accent came back once more, and you swore to yourself that you'd definitely need to look that up the second you got in your car.

‘I'll go shopping before I come back again, then, the weekends work best for me to make the next showing though, so I hope you won't get too lonely sitting up there by yourself?’ Completely defenseless, his eyes going wide at your revenge as he glanced to the extra seat that was now going back offstage for tomorrow night's show.

‘I think I'll survive a week, I am over 300 years old, y'know,’ he said like it was nothing, his voice back to normal, but you could tell that he was already missing you even though you were still there; you didn't want to pat yourself on the back or anything when you'd come in so nervous of messing up, but you'd without a doubt stolen his heart both on and off camera, and, if you were honest, he'd stolen a bit of yours as well.

‘I guess one week should be nothing in the face of eternity, then,’ you played along, your endless banter only interrupted when the tall woman from the lobby and the short one who'd led you in waved goodbye from the doorway, guess they were leaving together.

‘Night, girls, drive home safe,’ he called to them, and you decided to take your leave before you trapped each other there. ‘So, I'll be seeing you next week, you're promising me?’ he said hopefully, putting the promise right in your mouth for you, but you didn't mind, it gave you more incentive to follow through with how much he really seemed to want to hang out with you again.

‘Well, can't go back on a promise, can I?’ you hummed like you had no choice, but when he smiled in relief you couldn't help but smile back.

‘Cross your heart and hope to die?’

You made the shape of an upside down cross since he was a vampire, and it took him a moment to get it but once he did his smile grew even wider. ‘Save me a seat and some popcorn come next Friday, Doctor.’

The following week was a flurry of emotions, excitement, nervousness, and shopping trips with your friend, who knew all the great places to find stuff you'd like. It felt like something was happening every day, and no matter how busy things got as you prepared to go back there again, you always made sure to catch just a bit of the stream to see what they were watching without you. It was nice, like coming home to a partner who'd already settled in and was in the middle of watching a movie for the night, and you had to stop yourself from thinking about coming home to him after just one date that couldn't even be considered a date.

It was silly, gradeschool crush levels of silly, but he'd really managed to dig a way into your mind - and maybe heart - with those little bat claws of his; you'd looked up Myotis right away and found out that it was just a type of bat, and you spent the following day wondering what you could call him to stop him mid-sentence the next time he started trying to woo you. It was harder than you thought, it's been so easy for him to come up with so much so fast whereas here you were, looking up horror themed animals and famous vampires to get him back. You didn't end up sticking with the latter, it felt maybe a little disrespectful to call him by another name than the one he'd chosen, and he didn't feel like anything but a bat since, of course, the whole vampire thing. 

You frowned as you went back to the animals, there had to be something you could tease him with, and you sighed and were about to just look for more bat names when you saw a creature in the related search recommendations.

You were grinning ear to ear when Friday came, you'd clocked out early to make sure you could take the time to get ready in your new outfit, your friend had done your makeup so you fit in a little more, and you even painted your nails, just to complete the look. You felt confident as you walked up to the building again, the usual crowd milling around you as you all headed for the main stage, and you didn't get more than a foot through the door when you felt a tap to your shoulder.

‘He told me to tell you he saved you a seat,’ the shorter woman told you like she was already bored of this love affair as long as it meant she was your tour guide, and you made a mental note to ask him to maybe meet you himself if you showed up early enough that it wouldn't interfere with his getting ready routine. You followed her back to the stage, and you tried to suppress a chuckle when you saw that he'd not only put your chair from the show in the audience - slightly off to the side, so it wouldn't obstruct anyone's view behind you - but he'd also put your name on it; the paper was plain but the letters were grand, actual effort had been put into this, and you shook your head with a smile as you took off your coat and set it on the seat so you could grab some snacks.

You were in the middle of deciding whether to grab popcorn now to nibble on while you waited, or save it for the movie when you felt a claw dragged so lightly over your neck that it was barely noticed, and you shivered and spun to see him looking you over with very interested eyes. ‘You did indeed go shopping, I must say, this outfit suits so you well I can't imagine you in anything else, although, a certain suit might look even nicer,’ he flirted in the accent again, he was fully in character in preparation for the show, and you used a paper plate to fan him off until he hissed and protected his hair.

‘Easy now, there is a limit, you know,’ you told him as you then used the plate to gather up your treats, and he glanced around before leaning in a little less dramatically than you expected.

‘Have I offended you?’ he asked softly, the accent falling a little, and you shook your head and grabbed a couple full sized candy bars, they must have had a supplier as one of their sponsors in order to shell out this much free candy.

‘You didn't, but let's try not to comment on my birthday suit before I've seen you without the makeup, Doctor,’ you decided with a smirk, and he looked relieved that there were now boundaries being set, you were okay with more as well as the implication that you'd want to see him even outside of this. ‘And before you ask, yes, that does mean if I get to see you without all this, then you get one single followup joke, seeing as you'd be pretty naked to me like that.’

‘You wanna see me… without all this?’ He sounded almost sad by it, like you'd prefer to skip straight past Fearless once you'd learned his name, and you shook your head and handed him a piece of licorice to chew on.

‘I wanna see both, Fearless and Dwight, if you might wanna talk after the movie?’ He didn't know what to do, this was an actual move you were making here, and his fangs pressed into his bottom lip as he smiled wide and got back into character.

‘I'm pretty full until the 31st, many late nights to drain in place of pretty necks while we prepare for the grand finale,’ he explained mysteriously, but it didn't land as much since he'd accepted the licorice and took an excited bite, ‘but during the day, when the sun is high and I mustn't be seen for fear of eternity finally taking hold, you might find me holed up in safety somewhere.’ He waited for you to ask, and he grabbed his cape and wrapped it around your shoulders when he placed his hand on you. ‘Far into the city, where the sun can never reach, you'll find me there; look for the creature who also shuns the sun, ask for the Bloody Scary, and I will come when you call.’

He didn’t explain more, and you accepted that he was probably giving you the most discrete and mysterious version of his work directions, time to go hunting. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ you accepted, and he waggled his eyebrows at you before stealing more licorice and running off, the show was about to start. You grinned fondly and grabbed your popcorn, a small group gathered around your chair and jealously wanting to steal it if you never returned, but they scattered when they saw you coming. You felt a bit of smugness at being the one to sit in it without outwardly showing it, and you got comfortable as the pre-show started; the lights dimmed, some fog started to fill the room, and everyone finished grabbing their snacks and found their seats as the sound guy behind the glass started up the music to let everyone know he’d be there shortly.

‘Good evening, Boils and Ghouls, my Fiendish Freaks who dare dredge these long, cold nights with the Creatures of the Dark for any glimmer of light,’ he repeated as he did every night, as you’d come to learn, and again you’d never seen him enter the coffin, perhaps there was a secret backstage behind the set you hadn’t noticed before. ‘Once again, it is I, your horrid host of the evening, Dr. Fearless, and I thank you all for joining me. We’re four days into our Halloween scare-athon, and I see many familiar shapes in the fog before me, it seems the horrors of the night have yet to claim all of you,’ he said as he walked to his chair, a flourish of his hand disturbing the fog as it built a little higher. ‘But you might not be so lucky tonight, thanks to the film you’ve all written to me about; yes, the letters were stacked high with this one, I’m positively parched to discover what our final lineup will be like when so much blood-pumping enthusiasm is already underway.’

You took a bite of popcorn and flashed him a smile as he walked over to his bookshelf, which had been decked out with a bunch of VHS tapes without labels, although the first three seemed to have found theirs, this must be where he pretended to keep everything.

‘Let us see what you’ve asked for… ah, yes, the tale of the young woman who finds that she is more special than she, or anyone else, knows; what a tragic film, a very bloody one at that, I cannot wait to sink my fangs into this with you all,’ he drawled as he took the tape from the shelf and brought it over to the TV where a VCR had been set up. He popped it inside and instantly the TV came to life, and you had to wonder if it was the actual tape of the movie when you realized no, the screen was dropping, even if it was they wouldn’t have both movies going at the same time. You got comfortable in your chair and had more popcorn before you jumped at the sight of another chair being brought over, of course he was going to sit next to you, and the first thing he did was run his hands over the velvet arm of your own chair. ‘To be so far apart from you is torture, I need to think of a new arrangement for next weekend,’ he murmured lowly as he stroked the material, and you smirked and shifted more towards him so you could watch the movie in peace.

‘There’s always the couch, y’know, if you need to be near me so badly,’ you said casually, and again he fell silent at your words, it was going to be a long month for him now that you knew exactly how to get him back.

‘I usually partake from the back, so as to not distract the viewers with my haunting presence,’ he revealed as he gestured behind you, and it was then you figured out that the elevated seating at the back of the room wasn't actually for people to hang out, it was for him.

‘Must get lonely, sitting back there instead of up here,’ you mumbled honestly, there was no joke this time with how far away it was, and it was like a switch had flipped; he hadn’t noticed it before you said it it seemed like, because his eyes lost a bit of their shine as he looked at his usual seating.

‘A bit, I suppose,’ he agreed in his normal voice, and you reached over the arm to his side at the tone; he let you take his hand and pull it back over to your side, this was an actual move you were making because you realized instantly that you loved him when he was silly, and creepy, and over the top, but not when he was lonely. He stiffened at the touch but didn’t pull away, and it took him a moment before he held your hand right back, he wasn't all talk, he actually wanted to get to know you.

You watched Carrie like that, your snacks offered to him every now and again now that you knew he was used to doing this on his own, and he took out his fangs again so he could partake with you for once.

He had to do a few more sketches once the movie ended, it seemed like they were switching up the short films for last so everyone could watch the movies a little easier and those who had time could stay for the rest of the show, and you took pride in your carefully placed front row seat as he talked about tonight’s sponsors and introduced a short film about a man who showed up to pay his own funeral bill. There was no time to talk afterwards as he’d warned, but you still stole yourself a moment as everyone left again by sneaking over to the set and checking out the tapes while everyone whispered about your bravery for doing so.

No one stopped you, it wasn't like this was your first time on set and they all must’ve known that he’d taken a liking to you as things were cleaned up in the audience seating, the only presence to grace you being his after he’d taken a drink. ‘No peeking, only my creatures know what’s to come,’ he told you as he ran a finger over the 31 unlabeled cases, and you shot him a glance before reaching up for the fifth movie. You pulled it out just enough to see a bit of the title before he was putting it back into place with a protective hiss, his cape coming up to cover the rest of them.

‘C’mon, I won’t be here until next Saturday, I wanna know what I’m missing out on,’ you playfully begged a bit more than you usually would, but it worked, your voice was like a stake to the heart as he removed his hand from the shelf to place over his chest instead.

‘Very well, my dear Myotis, but no spoiling the others,’ he conceded before pretending to look away, and you bit your tongue to avoid using your secret weapon, a chuckle coming out instead before you went back to the fifth, tomorrow they’d be watching The Shining.

‘I get why it’s so late, but I wish I had the time to come back during the week, if I’m lucky I’ve just been watching the streams before bed,’ you admitted to him as you slid it back into place, now it would be a secret again, and he looked you over before straightening it just a little more so they were all lined up perfectly with the edge of the shelf.

‘The thought of you laying in bed, thinking of me, it makes me so thirsty I fear that no liquid or pleasure may ever be able to satisfy me again,’ he hummed automatically at the setup, but this time he caught himself, his eyes going wide as you stood there with a raised eyebrow and your arms crossed. ‘Uh, that is-’

‘Guess you’ll have to think about me tonight, so this is more even,’ you figured for him before he could back out, and he stumbled over his words so much that his fangs nearly fell right out of his mouth, that was a new one. ‘I gotta run, I’ll be sure to visit you in your dreams tonight, how’s that?’

‘That’s- that’s fine,’ Dwight stuttered, and you gave his hand a quick squeeze before walking out.

The song and dance continued throughout the month, your own quips getting even better the more he attempted to say something that would make you react the same way he did, but so far he was losing, and it was making you a bit smug, in all honesty. As promised you visited just once each weekend, you tried to aim for Friday but sometimes Saturday had to do, and each time he sat with you in the front instead of the back, a bit of dust gathering on his personal couch seeing as the guests weren’t allowed to sit there even before the show.

The next weekend you brought some snacks of your own, a few favourites you wanted to share, which prompted him to do the same the weekend afterwards, and by the third you’d both stopped using the provided snacks in favour of sharing what you loved, outside of the free popcorn, of course. During the weekend you were getting to know him better between whispers as the movies played, and during the week you actually went on your hunt for wherever he worked in the real world. Your searching online gave you a surprisingly long list of places in town that you could drive to on your break, while the further ones had to be checked out after work.

You’d yet to find it, which was a bit frustrating because he refused to say it just in case he doxxed himself to the others nearby, so you hunted alone for the vampire hiding in the shadows along with the other who hid from the sun, according to him. By the time the third weekend had come and gone you’d been to more dark and goth-themed businesses to last you a lifetime, you didn’t even know your city had that many before this, all of them hiding in the most obscure places. It was kind of cool to see them all, check out the stuff they offered, but you were getting a bit burnt out at nervously asking for the Bloody Scary over and over only to have them have no idea what the hell you were talking about.

You decided that if you couldn’t find it before Thursday, because there was no way in hell you’d miss the Halloween show, then you’d just straight up ask him, screw it, you needed to know what and where this place was or else it’d literally haunt you until death.

You got into your car for another lunchtime hunt, you were running out of places and were down to the dredges of possibilities, and you were ready to order whatever was on their menu as your stomach gave a rumble and let you know that there was no way you were returning to work without something to eat this time. This place was probably the hardest to find out of all of them so far, the shop sandwiched between big business on all sides, even the top, but it had a fake bat-like gargoyle hunched over the awning in a makeshift hutch to protect him from the sun, so you were going to go in no matter how busy the street was. You had to park an entire block away, random coins tossed into the meter so you’d have time to grab a sandwich or something, and you avoided the lunchtime crowd lining the streets until you were finally able to enter and escape the fall chill.

You shivered and adjusted your jacket before looking around, this was definitely his type of place, but so had the others been, and you didn’t get your hopes up for anything other than lunch as you checked out the menu hanging behind the counter. It was handwritten seeing as they didn’t offer a large expanse of things outside of their drinks, and the woman behind the counter waited patiently as you scanned the items until your eyes went wide.

‘I’ll have the Bloody Scary,’ you said much too loudly and without restraint, the few people already in there giving you a look at your disturbance, but you didn’t pay them any mind in your excitement; she didn’t write it down but instead shot you her own look before heading into the back, and you looked over the description hanging up high to see what it was; it was a vampire-themed drink, a play on the Bloody Mary, of course it was, and instead of vodka cocktail it seemed to be a boba drink, with the pearls making it look almost visceral sitting at the bottom of the cup and a lining of ruby chocolate dust to top off the ones who drank it in house. It looked pretty good and your stomach was really starting to grumble at being in a cafe this time, so you started looking over the food they offered when a tall man walked out from the back.

You let him work as he made the drink, your choice of sandwich picked out as you then checked out the pre-made treats in the display case, and you picked out a bat decorated jelly donut to go with it when you saw the cup placed on the counter. ‘Hi, I'd also like to-’ you began as you looked up to order the rest, but your words died in your mouth when you recognized the eyes staring back at you even without the makeup obscuring them. ‘It's you.’

‘You were expecting Nosferatu?’ he asked in Fearless’ voice, but he was so different under it all that you couldn't see the two as the same person; his real hair was short with a bit of gray peeking out amongst his bangs, and his eyes still looked tired, but not as much without the dark triangles of black trailing over his cheeks. There was no scar, his face surprisingly clear even though he wore the makeup so often, and he was a lot more handsome than he was as Fearless. You felt your mouth fall open in surprise, the work uniform was just the icing on the cake that was everything else, and you were silent for so long that it actually seemed to make him nervous. ‘Is it that much of a shock?’

‘No, well, yeah, just a bit,’ you flubbed as you absolutely stared more than you had at Fearless, and he looked away from you for once under your gaze. ‘Not in a bad way, though! I'm just not used to it, I need to see you like this more often and I think it'll grow on me, I think I prefer the fangs,’ you told him as you reached over the counter to take his hand again; you could fully see the consequences of your actions this way, a definite flush coming to his cheeks at being complimented so personally, and he had to get a grip on himself when someone else walked up behind you to order.

You stood aside and watched as Dwight went through the motions, this was him behind it all, and he was so strangely normal that you wanted him to act more like Fearless, it was so entirely strange to see him take orders and act like just a guy existing in society. You waited until he was free before asking for your food so you could pay for everything, but the moment you took out your wallet he waved it away. ‘Please, allow me if you'd do me the honour of accompanying me to the table over there for a bite to eat,’ he offered, and you accepted, but only so you could lean in and whisper, ‘I'm not on the menu today, I've gotta get back to work in a bit.’

He flushed so hard you worried that he might pass out, so you took pity on him, grabbed you food, and headed over to the table. He followed even though he was still on the clock, a brief yell for his co-worker to take over for a bit making you laugh and the other people in the room look up again, but he paid them no mind as he practically sprinted over to you. He had no snack for himself, so you took a drink of the boba to see if you liked it before offering it to him. He looked around like he wasn't allowed to consume the products when he wasn't on break, but you just offered again before shrugging and going to take another drink. He fell for it, the allure of an indirect kiss was still too much for him, and you grinned smugly as you tried your sandwich.

‘You took a while to find me,’ he pointed out as he licked the sweet, red liquid from his lips, and you gave another shrug before jabbing a finger in his direction.

‘You should've told me where you worked and I would've been able to come here sooner, I think I've checked every single place in town trying to find you,’ you admitted with a mouthful of sandwich, and he looked a little sheepish before going for a second drink himself.

‘I was nervous of you seeing me like this, if I might be honest with you for a minute,’ he confided in you as he played with the straw, and when you didn't answer right away he sucked one of the pearls into his mouth. ‘Only the crew has seen me like this, no one knows my real name, no one knows what I look like, and I've always kept it that way.’

‘So you'd break tradition just for me, my dear Doctor?’ You tried to say it in a way that didn't show how much that meant to you since you were still strangers, the fact that he wanted to change that with you out of everyone else he'd met enough to send you on this hunt.

‘More like… risk getting my heart broken, if you didn't want to see me outside of the show.’ This was a real confession, you knew he hadn't been kidding but now you saw that he really really meant it, and you took a bite of the donut before offering it to him. He took it even though he looked more vulnerable than any man who said the things he did should ever be, and when he had a bit of jelly in the corner of his lip, you leaned forward and wiped it away with your thumb.

‘Of course I wanna see you, I told you I wanna get to know both Fearless and Dwight, not just the costumed Dwight I met during the movie,’ you told him before licking the jelly from your thumb, his eyes watching the movement so intently you thought he might actually be a vampire getting ready to take a bite the moment you let your guard down. ‘Do… do you wanna know me outside of the audience, even though you know that I'm not as into it as you?’

‘Of course I do, that's why I wanted to see you again!’ he blurted out like you were the only two in the room, and this time he did acknowledge the others when they stared at how loud he was being.

You didn't hush him, because you'd been thoroughly silenced in all honesty, and you just looked at each other, you in your business casual clothes, him in his vampire cafe uniform, just two normal people who'd so far only known each other as the Sometimes Goth and the Vampire Horror Host.

The silence dragged on forever until you took your drink back and had some, a thought coming to mind that you couldn't say just yet. So you sipped, had a couple pearls, and when you had eaten them you placed your hand on his and wished that you didn't have to go back to work. ‘I've gotta go,’ you told him, and he looked dejected until you gave his hand a small squeeze, ‘but- you'll see me tomorrow for lunch, if you're working?’ you promised for him just as he'd done for you. His eyes lit back up at that, and he nodded enthusiastically, the place where his fangs would usually be resting against his lower lip looking a little too tempting now that confessions had been made.

You gathered up the last of your things, your donut stuffed into your mouth since you could finish the sandwich as you drove, and he stopped you before you could walk away; you looked up at him, wondering what else he wanted to say when he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss right to the corner of your mouth. When he pulled away he licked up the jelly that you'd missed, and you let him have the last word as you hurried to your car completely unable to use your secret weapon.

You were on pins and needles come Thursday night, Halloween at last, and you were as dressed up as you could possibly be. You got the whole kit and caboodle ready the day before, you were going to be the perfect vampire just for him, and you even overdid the makeup so that you'd match. You felt silly at first as you stared at yourself in the mirror dressed in the full attire, you’d even found a cape like his, the makeup looking weird on your face instead of his, but at the thought of knowing that he'd love this, and that it would more than likely drive him wild, you felt less embarrassed as you grinned at your reflection.

You headed over early this time, the lights on inside but the doors still locked, and you peeked through the glass and knocked to get someone's attention when you saw a few members of his crew decorating the lobby with Halloween specific things. They let you in, you'd thought they might but just having that confirmation felt good, and they just motioned that he was in the back before continuing with their conversation and work. You walked all the way to the stage, taking in all the new things they'd added just for tonight, and when you didn't see him you walked over to the partition window and peered inside. The director was talking with the sound guy inside about all the cues for tonight, but still no Dwight.

You frowned, you'd gotten used to his attention, and you looked around again before you heard a sigh; the pigtailed woman was back again, all dressed up as some kind of demon, and she just led the way to a door you hadn't seen, tucked behind a piece of the set. You opened it and found a dressing room, a second door telling you that it also led to the hallway on the far side, and he was in the middle of applying his greasepaint around his eyes when you got an idea. You snuck up behind him the moment he looked down to grab the red for his scar, his fangs in a small case on the table, and he didn't see you in the mirror until it was too late; you ran a nail over the back of his neck since he wasn't wearing his wig, and he jumped so hard he hit his knee and made a few things topple over as he crashed into his table.

‘Sorry! I'm sorry, I thought it'd be funny to get you back for when you did it to me,’ you quickly explained as you helped him clean everything up, and at the sound of your voice he instantly softened.

‘It's okay, I was just concentrating on this,’ he assured you, his voice dying at the end when he finally looked up and saw you. His eyes went wide again as he spun around to see you completely, and he didn't hide the fact that he was taking in every inch until you had to try and push him away. ‘Sorry, I lost myself in how wonderfully frightening you look tonight, perhaps this look is the one that would surely top your suit,’ he whispered, and there was no over the topness in the way he said it despite the words that just came out of his mouth. ‘You said I could have one more once you saw me at work, I genuinely did not plan on wasting it in awe of you tonight,’ he quickly sputtered, and you laughed and straightened up your cape in the mirror.

‘I did say that, didn’t I? And it's Halloween, I figured I might as well,’ you said like you hadn't thought and planned this extensively just for him. ‘Do you want me to leave so you can finish getting ready? I just wanted to say hi before it got too busy out there.’

‘Oh, it'll be very busy once we get closer to midnight,’ he expected nervously, there was a lot riding on tonight considering his line of work, and you let yourself be a bit bold since you'd come so early.

‘Is there anything you want me to help with? I can set up some stuff, or bring out the snacks, turn on the popcorn machine?’ you offered if it meant it would lessen his burden just a little, and he looked incredibly appreciative of it even though he shook his head.

‘If you kept me company while I did this it'd be nice, I'm the only one who really uses this room once they drop off their stuff in the lockers,’ he asked of you in that sheepish way again, for as much as he was loved this seemed like a lonely job at times, and you pulled up the chair next to him and let him work. He didn't speak, he was used to the silence, but he was conformable with it this time as he finished with his makeup and moved onto his wig. He pushed his hair under the mesh and straightened it out but there was a piece that looked weird at the back that he couldn't see. You got up and fixed it for him, carefully running your hands over his hair under the wig to flatten his hair for him, and when you turned back to the mirror he was looking at you like he was truly and hopelessly madly in love with you.

You sat down and let him put on his fangs, all that was left was the cape, and when he was done you were the one to pointedly look him over. ‘Oh yeah, I'm definitely into this guy,’ you decided out loud for him, and he smiled before pulling his caped arm in front of his face to hide it with a devilish look. You resisted the urge to do the same with your own cape before you both headed out there, no one batting an eye at the sight as they finished decking out the set now that it was getting close. You both helped out since he didn't have to worry about rushing anymore, and with your hands to join in they finished with enough time to relax.

You wiped off your forehead before realizing that you'd just smeared your makeup, and you stole his room for a moment to fix it seeing as he definitely had the supplies to spare. By the time you were done - with a little extra since his was way better than the cheap stuff you'd picked up - the doors were open and allowing the viewers in, and you almost didn't notice what he'd done until you went to sit down and realized that your chair was missing, Dwight's couch there in its place instead. It was angled so you both could watch the movie without being too far off to the side, because there was no way this wasn't a sign that he wanted to watch this with you after you found him at work, and you pretended to dust it even though he'd done a good job of doing so already.

‘A seat for two, if you so accept my offer,’ he said in your ear as Fearless, and you pretended to think about it before hiding the bottom half of your face with your cape. ‘A devious offer, with a couch this size, do you plan on taking another bite of me once the lights dim?’ you asked in your best vampire voice, and he choked on air before jumping right back into it.

‘I fear that I might not be able to resist with the way you're glowing in the candlelight; your neck, the way you draw me in so enticingly, I might need a taste before I stain the carpets red with your wine,’ he cooed longingly as he reached for you, and you sighed dramatically for him on his special night now that you knew how much all this meant to him.

‘Don't get too close, the way your heart beats so loudly is asking me thirsty,’ you warned friskily now that two could play at this game as well, his grin growing deviously large as he scooped you into his arms and dragged you onto his couch.

‘So bold, so divine, I need to confirm that you taste sweeter than the preserves on your lips,’ he murmured as he got a little too close, his eyes traveling between your neck showing from over the top of your cape to your lips, like he didn’t know whether to actually bite you or kiss you. You were at the point where you’d let him, if he so wanted to you’d let him drag those fangs over you until they fell out again, but neither of you got the chance to see what would happen as more of the audience started to walk in.

He came back to his senses, he was still at work despite the flirting, and he straightened his outfit and welcomed the early birds with a small announcement that extra treat bags would be given out that would be filled with more than just candy, since that was already being proved. He had to leave you to work this time, and in return you were the one to grab him to keep him in place when he was in the middle of standing; you got up just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth even though there was no jelly to clean, and he forgot entirely about the people he was in the middle of talking to to fall to his knees between yours.

‘My dear Dullahan, my magnificently monstrous Myotis, blood of my veins, beating of my heart,’ he swooned to you in front of everyone as they claimed their seats early with their coats and started to mingle and take pictures, the only thing to snap him out of it being the sound of the cameras until the hand on his cheek brought him back. ‘Why do you punish me so, knowing that I desire you more than lungs desire air, than lonely creatures of the night crave the warm touch of the sun?’

You trailed your finger under his chin to ease his dramatic pain, this was the only way he could express it, you’d realized that once you’d gone home the other day; when he was Dwight, he doubted himself so much over this that it changed him, but when he was Fearless, he could be fearless with you, say all the words that came to mind even though anyone else might’ve laughed like you did that first night. He became this person to be who he really was, free from judgment as he enjoyed what he loved, and apparently that now included you.

‘My Doctor, my Master who drank from my veins and owns my soul,’ you appeased him as dramatically as you could right back, just in the way he was weak to because you were now sure that no one had ever tried to understand him like this, his two halves had always been separate, ‘this is not torture, but a taste of what’s to come, if you so accept my offer.’ His eyes went wide, he was putty in your hands and could easily be turned down now that he was laying himself so bare, but you wouldn’t do that; as silly as this all had been at first, you couldn’t imagine accepting a compliment from anyone else other than him, his words always strewn together in such a way that it was unintentionally meant to make anyone around either cringe or laugh.

You couldn’t do that to him, never again, even when it was so laughably bad that you couldn’t help but smirk or chuckle, because it was a part of him, and you wanted to hear more.

‘Are- are you asking me out?’ he asked in such a small voice, the accent dropped again in his surprise, and you motioned for him to come closer so you could whisper in his ear. He did just so, and you made sure the makeup didn’t extend to his neck before biting lightly down on his warm flesh, your plastic fangs carefully making themselves acquainted with him just hard enough to elicit a gasp.

‘You’re the one who said I’d forever be yours, remember?’ you murmured into his ear, and he swallowed heavily as he stared at you from the corner of his eye. ‘Now c’mon, you’ve got a show to do, the sooner it starts the sooner I won't have to sit alone over here, my horribly charismatic Hyrax.’

He mouthed the final word to himself in confusion for just a moment until you took out your phone and showed him the image that’d been waiting on your phone all month, and the moment he saw the creature’s fangs he laughed out loud and licked his tongue over the sharp peaks of his own, he approved of the choice. He then stood so fast it made you jump, that excitement back in his eyes as he went full Fearless and went right back to it, he couldn’t keep you waiting when you’d so carefully chosen a nickname for him in turn.

He put on an amazing show, four shorts shown this time between his sketches and sponsor breaks, and each time the latter happened he’d walk over to where you sat and pour you more fruit punch, the carton grabbed from the fridge so that you could match with his wine again without getting you drunk. He flourished more than ever before, this truly was what he loved, and by the time the movie was ready to start you’d needed to quickly dab at his forehead each visit to keep his makeup from running from all the energy he was putting into it.

The movie was Halloween, of course it would be, what else could they watch tonight of all nights? He introduced it, the screen lowered after his intro with another vague description before the tape was inserted into the VCR, and he moved so fast to sit beside you that it was almost like he’d appeared from thin air. ‘Damn good show tonight, if I may say,’ you congratulated him now that he was free for a while, and he caught his breath and undid the top two buttons on his shirt so he could breathe a little.

You actively tried not to stare as he fanned himself a little, the wig blowing in the wind caused by his hand, and you offered him your juice to help cool him. ‘I’m fine, I’ll grab some water when I get my stuff from my locker in a bit, I brought my favourites from when I was a kid,’ he spoiled early, and he downed the last of his wine before placing the empty goblet on the floor. ‘Do you want anything else to drink?’

‘I would’ve taken that wine, if you weren’t going to finish it, how else shall I get my indirect kiss tonight?’ you teased just to see his reaction, and it hit doubly hard as he remembered once again that you’d asked him out but he hadn’t answered you yet. He didn’t do so again, quickly running off to get those snacks instead, but you already knew the answer, you wouldn’t rush it from him even if he couldn’t say it tonight. When he returned you prepared to get comfy against him so he’d know without a doubt that you meant it despite the flowery words you’d both exchanged.

He waited until you were leaning against him, both of your capes removed because it was getting a bit too warm with him still cooling, and he opened up the grocery bag of his favourites before pulling out a normal piece of licorice from the snack table. He held it up and you reached for it, but he pulled away when your hand got close, of course he’d do something like this, so you just smirked and closed your eyes, your mouth open wide to accept the treat. It hit your tongue and you bit off the end, and as soon as your mouth closed again you felt his lips press to yours directly.

Your eyes shot open wide as you stared at his closed ones, and when he pulled away you could see the flush under the makeup again. ‘An indirect kiss from you is always bliss, but the real thing, it’s to die for,’ he decided nervously before a confidence took over, he didn’t and wouldn’t regret it, and you just took the licorice from him and got him to take a bite as well before you went in for your own kiss. Of course he expected it since you’d set him up, but he didn’t do anything other than chase after your mouth when you finally pulled away, one hand fisting his pants so tight that the threads strained while the other hovered above your arm.

‘You’re right, that is to die for,’ you agreed as young Michael Myers murdered his sister and stood outside his home, and Dwight’s eyes shone like he was absolutely bewitched by you; it was new and a little scary to be desired this much by someone so unlike you, but you were absolutely ready to give this a try as you carefully rested your head on his shoulder for a moment. ‘I wouldn’t mind doing it again, if you have time…’

‘For you, I would give up eternity for one more,’ he whispered as he stared at the screen, his hand curling over yours in the dim light of the movie, ‘and in case that wasn't clear, yeah, I really wanna go out with you.’

You couldn’t sit like that any longer, and you moved to your end of the couch before pulling him to lean on you this time, to which he almost reluctantly did. You had to wonder if anyone else had ever done this before, surely not while he played Fearless, and you wished you could hold his head to your shoulder while you enjoyed his snacks and the movie. You made a mental note to do just that the first time you’d invite him to your place, maybe even that weekend now that Halloween was almost over, and you decided that your weird luck had definitely given you the best gift it’d ever had before as he brought your hand to his mouth, kissed the back of it, and playfully nipped at your wrist with his normal teeth just to see if you’d smirk at him again.

‘Pure bliss,’ he said to himself as you watched, and you mirrored the statement before taking a big sip from the wine he’d brought you on the way back along with his candy.

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Lance, if those are my socks, you’re going to meet God tonight.”

Lance pauses just outside the common room door, glancing down at his feet (that are most definitely clad in Pidge’s gigantic knitted socks), then back to Pidge.

“I’m freezing!” he defends. “This castle is always subzero, and I’m anaemic! I needed them!”

Pidge scowls. “I know they’re warm! That’s why I wanted to wear them this morning, but couldn’t, because somebody stole them!”

Lance pouts, big brown eyes getting even bigger and bottom lip stuck out. “Aw, but Pidge —”

“No buts! You made those socks for me! Make your own! Give ‘em!”

Lance huffs as he peels them off — revealing another pair of socks, only they’re normal and not fuzzy and soft — and throws them at her.

“Meanie.”

“Thief!”

Pidge is correct — Lance is the worst clothes thief in the whole castle. In the universe, probably. Hell, he’s not even wearing a stitch of his own clothing right now — he’s wearing a long, thick skirt of Allura’s over a pair of Keith’s leggings, one of Hunk’s hoodies thrown over his shoulder. Keith can’t see due to the aforementioned giant hoodie, but he would bet his knife that under the hoodie is layered at least four various sweaters and shirts from other members of the team.

“You could just wear your own clothes, you know,” Shiro says, exasperatedly fond. “Lord knows you have more hoodies than the rest of the universe combined.”

“It’s not the same,” Lance insists. He looks mournfully at Pidge, who rolls her eyes at him. “And now I’m going to freeze to death.”

“Good,” she mutters, aggressively jamming the keys on her laptop. “Karma.”

Hunk flicks her on the ear.

“Hey!”

“Be nice,” he admonishes.

“Thank you,” Lance says primly.

“If Lance dies, who is going to get so stressed about the state of your room that they’ll clean if for you?” Hunk continues, teasing grin on his face.

Lance mouth drops in indignation. “How dare — insolence! Defamation! False accusations! I am being mocked in my own home!” He turns to Coran, dramatically incensed and enraged. “Dad!” he says, which is something he only calls Coran when he wants to get his way. “Pidge and Hunk are bullying me!”

“I heard, dear,” Coran says, amused. “How rude of them.”

“Yeah!” Lance says. He gestures wildly towards the duo in question. “They should be — punished!”

“I see. Pidge? Hunk? Do you deserve to be punished?”

Pidge and Hunk look up from their projects to bat their eyelashes, expressions as innocent as possible.

Keith quickly hides a laugh as a cough. Luckily, Lance is too caught up in dramatics to notice.

“Why, of course not, dearest father,” Hunk says. “No bullying remarks ever crossed my lips.”

“Nor have they crossed mine, Papa,” Pidge agrees, putting on a silly Victorian accent. “Why, I am appalled at the very accusation!”

“I certainly heard no count of defamation,” Allura comments, looking up for the first time in what has to have been an hour. She’s been carefully painting Shiro’s prosthetic, covering it in a myriad of flowers and vines. Shiro keeps looking down at it and smiling. “Shiro? Did you hear anything?”

“Not a thing,” Shiro says. He looks over at Lance, barely suppressing a smirk. “Sorry, kiddo!”

“Betrayed!” Lance whines. “Unloved! By my very family, my comrades in arms! I have been shot, abandoned, left to rot. Unto no minds doth my very self cross, nor the hearts or sentiments of my closest loves. Instead I am left to freeze, to perish, as frost grows from my fingertips —”

“C’mere, Mercutio,” Keith teases, interrupting Lance’s soliloquy. He pats the cushion next to him, lifting up his arm so Lance knows what Keith is implying. “You can tuck your feet under my thighs, if you want.”

“Finally!” Lance cries, stumbling over to Keith. “Someone loves me, in this cold and weary hellscape of treason!”

Lance settles in with a relish, gleefully shoving his toes under Keith’s thigh — how do they feel like ice bricks, he’s wearing at least two normal pairs of socks and Keith’s sweatpants aren’t that thin — and plastering himself to Keith’s side. He rests his head on Keith’s shoulder, squiggling around until he’s comfortable and can see everyone else.

“Keith, you are the only valid person in this room,” he says, very seriously. (Well, as seriously as he can with amusement making his eyes sparkle.)

“Oh, how the turntables,” Hunk mutters.

Keith smiles. It is kind of strange, he supposes.

“Imagine trying to explain this to us three years ago,” he whispers to Lance. Lance laughs.

“I don’t think past me would even begin to take you seriously,” he agrees.

Privately, Keith thinks that past him probably wouldn’t have all that much trouble. He’d be a little shocked, sure, but Keith’s always been soft for the kind ones, and always had a thing for the cocky loudmouths. Lance is a lucky mix of exactly Keith’s type.

“Hey, Lance,” Hunk says after a while. “Genuinely asking �� why do you always steal all our clothes? You never did at the Garrison. Or, well, you did, but not this much.”

Lance hums, reaching over to grab Keith’s free hand and fidgeting with his fingers. It takes him a long moment to answer — long enough that everyone else stops what their doing, looking over at him curiously.

“Hundreds of years ago,” he says finally, voice husky and quiet, “in the time of bad spirits and changelings, there lived a woman with her small child and husband. The woman loved her husband deeply, and he her, and it saddened her every time he left, but times were tight — he was a fisherman in a time of great recession, and had to leave often and for long periods of time to get enough for them to eat and sell.

“The woman was hardy, though, and fended well for herself and her baby even without her husband. She worked any job she could with the babe strapped to her back, keeping her mind busy so the loneliness wouldn’t plague her too deeply. Every morning she held for several moments her husband’s waistcoat, that he’d left behind for fear of ruining it out at sea. It did not hold the warmth of her husband, nor even the smell of him after so long, but he’d had the coat so long that she felt it carried a part of him in it, and that part was enough to carry her through the day.

“One day, while she was gathering the dried laundry from the lines, she heard a rustling inside the house. She called out, hopeful that her husband had returned early, but there was no response. Hesitantly, careful of the babe on her back, she crept in through the bedroom window, shrouding herself in shadows so as to remain hidden.

“She was smart to be so cautious, for a fairy had snuck in — and was standing gleefully in the kitchen! The wretched thing crouched by the hearth, rubbing its hands together, waiting for her and her babe to come in through the door.

“Now the woman knew she could not stay hidden forever. Eventually her back would tire, or the babe would wake, or even the fairy would grow bored of waiting and search for her — regardless, she would be found. And the woman was no witch, so she knew no spells for herself, no charms to protect herself and the child. She had only herself, her wits, and the laundry she had gathered. The woman was not ignorant to magic, either. She knew of the power that lay dusted over every single thing; the spirit that resided in living and non-living things alike.

“But the woman was young, and unpracticed. What say she of the powers that be? She did not know how to summon them. She did not know how she could outwit or out-charm a fairy. She did not know even if it was possible. In truth she was afraid, and longed for comfort as deeply as safety. She tightened her hands on her husband’s waistcoat, the softness of the wool soothing her mind, and wrapped it carefully around her and the babe. The memory of her husband and his love bolstered her spirit and cleared her mind. She could not fight the fairy, but perhaps she could reason with it. Fairies were wicked, but they were weak to games and bets.

“With her husband’s coat wrapped around her, she stepped out of the shadows, striding forward with confidence she did not feel to the kitchen, where the fairy was crouched.

“But the fairy did not stir.

“She looked at it strangely, having expected it to react immediately to the sounds of her footsteps, but it did not move. It only scowled deeply at the door, thin lips curled and porcelain-white skin purple in rage.

“‘Horrible humans!’ it screeched, banging its gnarled fists on the floor. ‘Anticipated my tricks, and fled from the house! Bah! I have waited for hours; I shall wait no longer. I will return tomorrow at the set of the sun, and descend upon them then.’ And then the fairy ran from the house, disappearing into the darkness of the forest.

“The woman was shocked. She had made no effort to conceal herself, after the shadows, and yet the fairy had not noticed her. She realized clearly that her husband’s spirit, caught in the threads of his coat, had protected her and her babe, and the fairy could not see through it. She resolved to stay wrapped up in the coat until the fairy grew bored of her home and left her in peace.

“For weeks, the woman kept her and her infant wrapped in the coat. It was with her when she slept, and when she worked, and when she ate. She kept herself secure in the heaviness of the worn wool, and over time the fairy did grow bored of waiting, coming to the house less and less until it did not come at all. Still she wore the coat, as wearing it brought her strength, brought her comfort.

“When her husband finally returned from sea, she ran to him, embracing him tightly and settling in his warmth, his scent. He carried the security of the waistcoat tenfold, and she had touched him only for minutes.

“When she told him of the fairy and the waistcoat, he was glowing in his pride of her. ‘You are as bright as any of the stars,’ he told her, cupping her face gently. ‘Fairies are evil, wretched creatures, who have been blinded to love. By wearing my waistcoat you shrouded yourself in a spirit the fairy could not see, and so it could not harm you. Your faith and love outwitted the bitter heart of the fairy.’”

No one speaks for several minutes after Lance finishes, struck silent by the captivating stillness in the room, the magic present from the story.

“That’s the story my Nana would tell me when she was teaching me how to sew, how to knit,” Lance says, breaking the silence. “She told me not to make the stitches too tight or there wouldn’t be room for love to settle in the clothing. And it just — it makes me feel safer, I guess. To be wearing other people’s clothes.”

“That’s beautiful,” Shiro says, smiling softly. Lance smiles back.

“Your Nana?” Pidge questions. “I would’ve thought you’d call her Abuela.”

“Well,” Lance says, in a startlingly good Scottish accent. “The McClain half ‘a me family had to come from somewhere, eh, lass?”

“I didn’t know you were Scottish,” Keith says quietly. It does make sense — McClain is a very Scottish name, now that he thinks of it — but somehow he’d never considered it.

“His mom’s side is,” Hunk chimes in. “That’s why he’s so freckly.”

Lance chuckles. “Yep. Only my Nana was born there, though. She fled to Cuba to escape my shithead grandfather when she was pregnant with my mom. She grabbed her passport and her purse and hauled ass to the airport in the middle of the night, and chose the first and cheapest flight available, which on that particular day was to Cuba. Lucky for her it ended up working, and now I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

“She sounds awesome,” Pidge says.

“She is. She taught me how to shoot, too.”

“I’d like to meet her, when we get to Earth,” Allura declares.

“Oh, she’ll love you, ‘Llura. Badass leader of an intergalactic revolution? You’re the coolest thing she can conceptualise.”

Allura looks pleased at the compliment.

“She’ll love all of you, in fact,” Lance continues. “Almost as much as she loves me. I’m her favourite.”

“You’re everyone’s favourite,” Coran says, and no one can really disagree.

———

based on this post

[thesightstoshowyou]

Collective

- Part One -

Vincent Sinclair x F Reader x Asa Emory

Warnings: Violence, blood, threats, brief descriptions of gore

A/N: @quiveringdeer and her headcanon machine got me thinking about these two again, so I’ve given this piece from a few years ago a nice facelift. I hope to continue with part two soon!

~~

It’s mid morning when a man strolls into town, the unforgiving Louisiana heat already simmering on cracked asphalt. He’s maybe mid-forties, alone, and handsome in a rugged way, you’ll admit, in his work boots, double-fronted jeans, and plaid button up. Outdoorsy, you guess.

You watch him through the window as he cautiously surveys the area. When Lester had called to alert you to the newcomer, he’d sounded hesitant, or maybe uneasy. Whatever it was, it’s put you on edge already.

Sauntering out the door of Bo’s shop, you wrinkle your nose at the oppressive heat before forcing a sweet smile across your face.

“Hey there! You lookin’ fer Bo?” The twangy accent is easy to fake after so much practice. He turns to you, the cold look on his face almost tripping you up. Then, his dark eyes quickly dart from your cleavage to your face and you regain composure.

He’s only a man. Relax.

“So I’ve been instructed,” he responds to your question. His voice is deep and rich like bourbon. You’d swoon if you didn’t know he’d be roadkill before the sun sets.

“He should be back in about a half hour. Had to run to town fer supplies.” The man hums noncommittally, a displeased scowl on his face. He glances around again as you speak, studying each house in detail. His eyes are piercing, calculating. There’s intelligence there, beyond his gaze. He reminds you of Vincent.

You suppress a shudder. Best get him somewhere else before he starts looking too closely.

Plastering another smile on your face, you announce, “We, uh, have a pretty good wax museum here. I can show it to ya’ if you’d like. Keep ya’ entertained while we wait fer Bo.” The man raises an eyebrow, indicating he would rather do a million other things than look at some half-rate wax museum in this shit hole town. You can hardly blame him.

“Lead the way,” he replies, surprising you.

Alright then.

You must leave the shade offered by Bo’s shop in order to lead the man up the hill toward the museum. As you walk, he studies every building, like he’s searching for something. For other people, you wager.

Unease grows. You’re uncomfortable with this man who is obviously too smart for his own good, but you don’t have much of a choice. You have a job to do, a job that is the only thing keeping you from a knife to the gut and an eternity encased in wax.

Distract him before he notices too much. “What brings you to the area, Mister…?”

“Emory. Call me Asa.” He finally peels his gaze away from the surroundings to look at you. “Entomology conference in New Orleans.”

A bug guy, huh? Be dumb. “Entomology. Is that like, uh, snakes an’ stuff?”

“Insects,” he corrects tersely. You giggle and nod, like you hadn’t just insulted his field of expertise. You wipe your dripping forehead on the back of your arm, hoping he thinks you’re sweating from the heat and not from nerves.

Finally, you reach the museum. He pauses to give one hard look at the Sinclair house perched atop the hill before holding the door open for you. You thank him and slip inside, relieved to be out of the heat.

The museum is oppressively silent, a fact to which you can never grow accustomed. It’s a perpetual funeral, an unmarked grave commanding muted respect for its enshrined dead. You wonder if Asa feels it too.

That eerie, itchy feeling tickles the back of your neck and you know he’s close now, close enough to see you and Asa. Somewhere in the dark lurks Vincent, ready to dispatch the man at your side.

Clearing your throat, you motion to the first piece: The woman with her hand raised as if in greeting, frightful smile stretched across her face. “This is—

Your words lodge in your throat along with your heart when you’re grabbed from behind and pinned against the wall. The hand on the back of your head grinds your face into wax. Your cry of shock morphs into a choked inhale when the point of a knife is pushed to your throat.

 “You’re going to tell me what you have going on here or I’m going to open up an artery,” Asa growls in your ear. Panic surges through your bloodstream and you thrash, heedless of the knife that nicks your flesh. Warmth trickles down your neck and chest to soak into your shirt.

“P-Please don’t touch me, p-please, he won’t like it, please let me go.” You drop the fake accent as you beg, tears welling in your eyes, neck straining to look at the man behind you.

You freeze when a thumb brushes over the brand on your shoulder, your damned shirt having slipped down in the scuffle. Asa traces the white scar, the dips and curves of the embellished “S.”

“Interesting,” he muses.

“Don’t—

You both hear the approaching footsteps at the same time, quick taps that disturb the hush around you. Asa reacts first. He whips you both around and you shriek, snapping your eyes shut and bracing for impact.

The crowbar stops its downward arc inches from your face. A tremulous wheeze leaves your lips as Vincent leaps back and hunches down into a defensive position. He’s twitchy, agitated, the good eye behind the mask flicking to the hands on you, to your terrified face, to Asa’s calm expression.

Asa grips you around the middle, cool steel slotting under your chin. He walks you in a half circle so he’s no longer caged in by the wax wall behind him. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you allow yourself to be maneuvered, the pressure of the blade on your flesh more than enough incentive. As you move, Vincent’s own knife swishes as it’s withdrawn from its sheath.

You both come to a stop next to one of the statues, the one of the man holding his hat aloft. You expect to keep moving, but find Asa has fallen as still as the figure beside you. His head turns and you realize he’s closely inspecting the statue. Slowly, he brings you both closer. What’s he looking for…?

With a swift kick, Asa knocks the statue to the ground. The upraised arm and the man’s head crack when the statue collides with the floor, limb and skull bouncing and rolling away. Revealed to him now are the layers of real, human flesh, muscle, organs, and bone encased in wax, preserved for all time.

For a moment, everyone stands frozen. The severed head rolls to a stop near Vincent’s boots, but his eye remains firmly locked on the knife at your throat. Your breath leaves you in a shuddering exhale.

Adjusting his grip on the blade, Asa hums thoughtfully. With the toe of his boot, he tips the wax victim to get a better look at its grotesque insides. There’s no tension in his body, no change in his slow, even breathing. He appears completely unperturbed by this gruesome discovery.

Speaking to Vincent, he asks curiously, “Are they all people?” Cautiously, Vincent straightens, tilting his head suspiciously at the nonchalant question. “Well?” Asa presses, gripping you tighter, applying pressure to the knife until you squeak.

Slowly, the wax mask bobs up and down in a nod.

“Very unique,” Asa comments. He drags you back to the next scene, a man kneeling over a woman on a sofa. As he looks over the figures, he adds, “Always a pleasure to meet a fellow artist.”

Artist.

A fellow artist.

What…what does he mean?

“And this is your muse?” His tone is mocking now, the hand around your waist sliding up to your chin to give your head a teasing shake.

Vincent growls, his grip so tight on the handle of his blade his knuckles blanche. Asa chuckles quietly and squeezes your jaw so tight you whimper. Vincent moves to take a step closer, but Asa tips your head up with the blade, pressing the point to your fluttering pulse.

“You’ll get her back, but first I need a few things from you.”

[blarefordaglare]

When Someone Says(Signs) No, It Means No.

A gift for @hotcheetohatredwastaken for the anniversary of BDOR (Blood Drops on Roses) 

Feel free to use this fanfiction however you like, it’s your’s, and also an apology for typing this late-

__

The hero of Twilight regrets his words. In his defense, he never expected them t0 be twisted into the situation that was as of now -but onto that later-. His mind couldn’t help but drift to the events that caused the entire situation. 

“Sweet Ordana Wild,” a heavy sigh escaped the rancher’s breath as he tried to put his thoughts into language, “I ain’t gonna go around fighting another one of those Lynels, curse courage, they’re dangerous.” Don’t get him wrong, the hero adored doing the unthinkable-the impossible. Years of his life were surrounded with that entire mindset, but he has lines. He has lines that were drawn at swords with sharpness that rivaled the master sword, a monster that belonged in a dungeon, and a swing that even a fairy struggled to heal. 

‘Please,’ the hand was moved in a stiff grace, too calculated to be genuine, ‘I’ve done it before-It’s not hard. Please. I promise I’ll be careful. I promise.” The sheer amount of force the champion put into  that single word was enough to prove the want behind the words. 

“Not hard as in Almost died and proceeded to eat half of our food stash?” His tone was dripped with sarcasm, his thick accent hanging in the air. He regretted the possibility of coming off rude-true-but not as much as he would regret being guilty, or at least involved, in an innocent life's death, “No.” 

‘But I said I promised,’ A promise he wouldn’t keep. He didn’t own a crystal ball, neither of the two did. It would be impossible to predict such events. Still, Wild pressed on, ‘plus, I can’t die until I kill the calamity-’ he suppressed the urge to finish that thought with an ‘I think’. That would destroy his entire argument. 

Twilight’s patience was wearing thin, yet growing heavier as it was attempting to remain tied precariously on a thread. He chose to not voice the quite obvious example a hero can die, for his brothers sanity (mostly) and his own, “Wild,” His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, the skin first turning white, then fading into red as the skin surveyed the touch, “You need to learn, for my sake, yours, and the entirety of Hyrule, when someone says no, it means no.” His voice shook as he spoke, attempting to manifest a straight, assertive tone. 

But looking back, he probably shouldn’t have spoken at all. 

“Wild,” Twilight’s hand rested on the damp, chopped wood, “Remember that fire rod you found? We may need to use it to start this fire. All the wood is wet.” The small piece of flint lay discarded, barely managing to create a spark, let alone light a fire. 

‘No.’ 

“What?” His eyes darted towards the champion in confusion, “What do you mean, ‘no?’” 

“Twiligh-t,” His voice was barely a whisper, yet the ‘t’ was over-enunciated; it drowned out the rest of the noise, ‘When someone signs ‘No’, it means no.” The logic was there, true, but it certainly was not there in the context of the moment. 

The rancher took a moment to breathe, to not let the intrusive thought of simply somehowstealingtheslateanddumpouteveryweponuntilhefindsit get to his head, “Now, who in their right mind taught you that?” 

‘You.’

Oh. 

Right.

“Well, if we don’t get this wood on fire, we will sleep cold.” He tried to keep his voice gentle, reminding himself of what Uli did when he himself was out of reason, keeping a calm attitude while incorporating simple facts that one would know, “You don’t want to sleep cold, do you?”  

‘No.’ It was clear he was hesitant to answer, already figuring out where the conversion was headed. 

“So how about we get out the fire rod, and have a fire?” 

‘No. I’ll just put it on my back and I’ll be warm.’

Smart kid. 

“Fine then.” His voice was tinted with suppressed anger. He couldn’t lash out-that would only embarrass himself.

‘Fine.’

“Fine.”

And with that, he curled up in his bedroll. The chill of the night wind lulling him to an uncomfortable sleep. 

He would only realize, in the morning, the small flame, barely the size of a candle, lit onto a small ceramic, the smoke filling the morning air. He would only realize, in the morning, the tip of the fire rod a bit more grayer than last time.

[rainytrashh]

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Stop worrying so fucking much

Fic type-> Hurt/ comfort + angst

Warnings*-> Anxiety/ panic attack, PTSD

Word Count-> 1931, a short story

Please check out my other drabbles either on here or on my AO3, the link is at the end <3

~Masterlist~ | Most popular post

*I’ve written Marc’s anxiety/panic attack off of mine that I’ve had in the past but I don’t have PTSD so if there’s anything I wrote wrong please tell me so I can fix it and improve my own understanding of it, thx and enjoy!

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You and Marc were working in the museum together, just chatting, not doing much of anything really. Well except when Donna was watching, which was more or less every five minutes or so because no matter how much you two tried to convince her that you were, in fact, cleaning the floors she just wouldn’t fuck off.

“Steven!”

They haven’t told her about their DID, they don’t think she’d react too well. They’re also glad she hasn’t been bothered to ask about the occasional shift in accents; she hasn’t cared enough to ask anyways.

“Donna-“

“Steven…”

“Donna, I’m cleaning you’re watching me do it.”

Daggers, right into his eyes. You can practically see them.

“Ma- Steven has the mop in his hand?”

-Is your attempt at defending him.

“Really?”

-Is her sarcastic reply.

You turn to Marc and give him a downwards smile, he side-eyes you pretending not to see but he can’t manage to suppress a grin of his own.

“And- I don’t see any mop in yours!”

She snaps, putting her hands on her hips.

“Don’t forget to do the bathroom, y’know the one someone managed to fuckin’ implode-“

“Yes, ok Donna.”

“Water literally everywhere! How does someone even-“

“We’ll. Be. Right. On it. Donna.”

You say stiffly cutting her off once more knowing their sensitivity around the subject, around what happened that day. Wouldn’t you still be a little freaked out if a massive demon dog chased after your alter and left you both just a little shook afterwards; finally making that alter finally aware of you? You know, big plot point in someone’s life to be honest.

Of course him and Steven are cool now, the whole ‘protecting the travellers of the night’ thing being over helps too. What doesn’t help is being able to remember all the bloody, action-packed, I’m-gonna-die moments that came along with it.

You give her the best ‘I’m being as polite as I can to you right now given that you’re my boss and I need this job, desperately’ smile that you have before she slowly turns and walks off.

“Could she’ve gone any earlier?”

“Yes, definitely.”

You catch his gaze after he glanced behind him in the direction of the bathroom.

“You… want me to do the bathroom?”

“No, no you don’t have to. I’ll help just like I’m helping now.”

You smile softly at him.

“Ok, I’ll take the mop. Do you wanna get the rag and spray bottle?”

He hands you the mop, swiping it from him letting the wheelie bucket it’s in trail behind.

“I’ll be back.”

He walks off to the cleaner’s closet.

You make your idle way over to the bathroom, fumbling a bit with your wired earbuds and phone to blast some music while you clean.

—

You see Marc in the corner of your eye, not being able to hear what he’s saying while waving frantically to get your attention. Taking one earbud out, you put the mop in the bucket and turn to face him.

“Sorry what?”

“I’ve got the rag and shit.”

He holds them up so you can see, he’s also oddly far away.

“Oh, ok yea. Just be careful the floor’s wet still. You… good?”

You glance down noticing he hasn’t stepped fully into the bathroom yet.

“Yea, of course.”

Your gaze clings to him worriedly before putting your earbud back in continuing to clean. You know better than to not trust his own judgement, who are you to tell him he’s not ok when he says he is…?

—

Alright Marc, time to do Steven’s job some more.

“You insisted on fronting today!”

As if on cue, an annoyed Steven from the back of his mind.

“I just wanted to talk to Y/n, I didn’t want to do your damn job.”

Marc snaps back almost instantly.

He looks up from the counter he’s wiping down and sees Steven looking back at him, he seems uneasy. A glance is shot in your direction to check you didn’t hear his sudden outburst.

“Marc…”

“What, Steven?”

“Your hands are… all trembly, maybe you should… take a step back from the situation mate.”

He sighs shakily, gripping the rag tighter in hopes to stop the shaking.

“I’m fine, stop worrying so fucking much.”

Steven scoffs. He throws his arms out and furrows his eyebrows obviously confused at how stubborn Marc’s being.

“I can quite literally read your bloody mind, you’re not fine!”

In turn Marc just hangs his head, closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths blatantly ignoring Steven. Eventually, he pries his eyes open and turns his head to face you, happily bobbing your head to your music trying to get a particularly stubborn mark out the floor- completely oblivious, as you should be.

He tries to focus on you, on grounding himself, as memories of that night weave their way into his head.

“It wasn’t nice for me either, please at least just tell them?”

There’s a sense of urgency to Steven’s voice now.

“Shut- shut the… shut up Steven.”

They both notice his voice beginning to falter despite Marc’s efforts to hide it. Him in particular notices it’s getting harder to speak because of his throat starting to close up, stupid adrenaline.

“Marc, you can’t be in here any longer…”

A plea from Steven- ever so soft, ever so tender, ever so endearing.

He tries to reply but nothing comes out, he ends up just pitifully mouthing Steven’s name. Everything is going so fast somehow, his breathing is getting heavier, sounds seem oddly muffled, and his body feels like it could topple over any second.

“Tell them.”

Marc tries to swallow but can’t get it down, he leans over the sink resting his forearms on the counter. He simply shakes his head and rests it in his hands.

As if Steven had managed to tell you from the mirror something was wrong, you turn around to see how Marc’s doing. Not so well obviously.

“Shit Marc, you ok?”

No reply although you see his shoulders tense up.

You yank your earbuds out and let them hang down from your pocket, the loud music swiftly reduced to a faint hum in the background. Jogging over to him you lean down a bit to try and see his face. He looks so… vulnerable like this. Your nerves begin to build up rapidly as you hear his raspy breathing.

“Marc? Please talk to me are you alright?”

He reluctantly turns his head just so he can see you out the corner of his eye, he’s crying now as you see tears drip down into the sink from his nose. He opens his mouth trying to speak again.

“Ok… come on, let’s get outside, give you some fresh air.”

He takes short gasps of air trying to catch his breath, and half the stuff you’re saying is getting drowned out by his heartbeat rapidly drumming in his ears.

You put a hand on his back as you pry him away from the sinks and lead him out the bathroom and through a backdoor, you have to hold onto him to keep his knees from giving out.

He immediately sits himself down against the wall with your help, you can feel his hands shaking against you.

“It’s gonna be over soon, just hang in there and… do what you need to do.”

You sit down next to him, God you really hope he’s gonna work himself through this. You know he will. You just care about him, a whole lot, and can’t help when you get scared for him whether he likes it or not. Seeing him like this is just so out of character, he’s always so confident and… shielded.

You start to pick your nails anxiously, glancing over at him regularly hoping for any kind of signal that he wants you to help more, that he’ll let you help more. In these situations you know he wants to be left alone, so even though you don’t feel like it you’re doing everything you possibly can.

He brings his knees up and rests his forehead on them, he digs his nails into the back of his head as he tries to calm his breathing down like Steven’s telling him.

“Focus on my voice Marc, don’t think just focus on my voice I’m here ok?”

“Breathe in, breathe out…”

“Don’t think about it think about what’s around you. What can you see, what can you hear, what can you smell…“

He’s trying, he’s really trying and so is Marc but he doesn’t seem to be calming down any time soon. His heart’s getting louder, his breathing’s getting choppier and everything is way more blurry than it was a few minutes ago. He doesn’t know what to do, and everything’s getting worse.

After what feels like forever you check your phone and see it’s barely been two minutes, while doing this you pause your music having forgotten completely about it letting it turn to white noise.

You let your head fall back onto the brick wall behind you. You sigh trying to calm yourself down now, you let the crisp wind hit your features and fill your lungs.

Unexpectedly you hear Marc’s breathing slow down, you whip your head around to face him and watch the grip on his hair let up.

“Marc?”

After a few tense moments you watch as he raises his head and faces you, tear stained face and red puffy eyes meet yours.

“Marc…?”

You furrow your eyebrows confused at his sudden shift in demeanour.

He shakes his head and gives weary smile, he taps his name badge- Steven.

“Oh…”

You nod your head, giving him a weak smile of your own.

“Well, you two good?”

He signals to his throat and nods instead.

Ah, it’s clicked in your head, they may have switched but all the physical things going on with the body would stay the same.

“Good…”

You both sit in a comfortable silence for a while, just letting the tension settle down. Ultimately one of you speaks up.

“Sorry-“

He clears his throat and stretches his legs out on the concrete staring down at his feet.

“Sorry you had to be around for that…”

“No don’t say you’re sorry, it’s not your fault.”

“But, we could’ve prevented it, easily!”

“It’s not Marc’s fault either Steven-“

“No no that’s not what I meant- I just… I could’ve done something. Take control of the legs or something and walked us right out of there, I didn’t. I don’t know why I didn’t, was I scared? Why was I scared to if I was scared? I just don’t bloody understand-“

“Steven.”

Your eyes meet, the calm in yours seeps into his before you look away. You reach to his hand and caress his knuckles comfortingly, oddly rough for someone who should be working in a museum.

“It’s ok now, what’s happened has happened, so try not to think about all these would’ves, could’ves, and should’ves. Just, think about what you’re gonna do about it in the future. Even better, focus on the now.”

Steven exhales weightily and lets his lead fall limp on your shoulder.

“You should tell Marc that.”

—

“Steven! Y/n! Where were you? No, I don’t want to hear it. You’re both getting inventory duty for a week. Yes a week, starting fucking today. Now finish cleaning that sodding bathroom, how long does that take you anyways I’d have it done in half this time already. No, I told you, I don’t want to hear it I’ve got more important things to do—“

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My AO3

[yharnamcrow]

Musharna Malice! A nightmare meant for another… or perhaps not a nightmare so much as the jagged fragments of a memory.

You’ve always wanted to visit the ocean. You were born and raised rather far inland, far enough inland that you spent most of your winters perpetually halfway frozen, and while you haven’t returned to your childhood home in a very long time—you can’t ever anymore, though you prefer not to think about that—the city of Yharnam isn’t exactly coastal either.

But Yharnam is home, in all its bloody glory, and you simply don’t have the time to travel beyond it often. Nights of the Hunt are long, and hard, and when those don’t occur there is always more work with Byrgenwerth in the catacombs.

You’ve always wanted to visit the ocean. So, when you heard about a special opportunity—a research expedition to a fishing hamlet—you’d signed on almost without hesitation. Almost, because Byrgenwerth is still Byrgenwerth and the fact that they were hiring as many blades as will sign in for a simple expedition didn’t bode well for the hostilities they anticipated finding there… but they were paying well, and you really do need the money.

So here you are. The scent of salt on the breeze is strong. There’s something else there, too, something you can’t quite put a finger on. Something unsettling.

You bury your unease and press on after your mentor, for his scythe is easy to pick out in a crowd of scholars and you’d generally trust him with your life. Though it’s interesting, thinking about it, that he signed on for this expedition. He certainly doesn’t need the money. 

Maybe they wanted him specifically?

You could ask. Maybe you will once your work here is done. There are too many strangers here, too many people who would hear an outsider’s accent and actively hinder you doing your job.

Sometimes, you hate Yharnam a little. But it is home.

And, honestly—as far as Yharnamite hospitality goes, you almost miss it compared to how this hamlet treats outsiders. They regard the entire party from Byrgenwerth with unconcealed suspicion, but if they bear weapons they are far more concealed.

You keep a hand on your own. A warning, nothing more and nothing less. The hamlet is strange, certainly, but its people are a far cry from the mindless foes you have faced down in the catacombs or the rabid beasts that result from the plague.

Not for the first time, not for the last, you wonder why Byrgenwerth wanted you. Why they wanted any Hunter. What are they expecting to find here?

The answer, as it turns out, is… not at all what you were expecting. There is a great something washed upon the shore from the water, half of it still drifting in the tide in a vague facsimile of life. Laying eyes upon it alone causes your head to ache—

No. Not it. 

Her.

Your newfound insight makes you all but certain that this is what Byrgenwerth is here for. And that her name—whatever she is, or was—is Kos.

One of the scholars starts forward. You are intimately aware of the villagers watching, of the murmured discontent. You risk a glance at your mentor. He hasn’t taken his eyes off the—off Kos. Or whatever may be left of her.

The scholar—you never caught his name, but he seems to be the leader of this group—looks back at you and Gehrman, sizing the both of you up. His gaze lands solidly on you. He motions you over, towards what you are growing increasingly certain is a body of… something.

You suppress a shiver, and move to join him.

“That sword of yours looks sharp enough,” he says, his voice high and nasally, and you’re disappointed but not surprised that he doesn’t know what a twinblade is. “You’ll do to make the incision.”

You are starting to think that you didn’t hear him correctly. The confusion must show in your eyes, because he suddenly looks much less forgiving.

“The incision,” he presses, speaking slowly as if addressing a child or someone particularly dumb. “A cut?”

You do not appreciate him insulting your intelligence.

“I am quite aware of what the word means,” you say in a low voice. “You could stand to be more precise in what it is you wish for me to do.”

He looks like you’ve hit him in the face. He must have recognized your accent. 

…You honestly wish you had hit him in the face. Unfortunately, you likely wouldn’t get paid then, and you really do need the money, so putting up with pretentious fools like him it is.

“A single lateral cut should do,” he says, after a long moment, and points. “Start there. Don’t go too deep, we need what is inside intact.”

You somehow doubt that he would be willing to tell you what is inside. You suppose you’ll see for yourself soon enough, though you really did not sign up to assist in dissection of… ocean creatures?

It doesn’t matter. You can certainly make the requested incision. You could likely do so in your sleep.

Your blade meets flesh. Rends it.

The screaming begins. It isn’t coming from your group. You wouldn’t be certain that you weren’t imagining it, except that scholar’s white-knuckled grip is on your arm—you hate him immensely—and he’s hissing, “Keep going!”

So you do. The flesh parts easily, too easily, beneath your blade. The scholar frees your arm, surges forward to peer at what has been revealed beneath it—

—and his body jerks back from the javelin that has erupted through his upper body. You gasp, looking up.

The hamlet’s inhabitants, arrayed about the cliffs above you, are the ones who were screaming. But they’ve stopped now. They all hold spears, save one, a man positioned at precisely the angle to be the one responsible for the scholar now choking on his own blood.

Your pistol is in your off hand immediately. You shoot without thinking.

A body falls from the cliffs. Everyone watches it fall, until it hits the beach below.

And then—

Then, it is chaos, for the entirety of the fishing hamlet is upon you. You draw your blade, splitting it into two, because you truly have no choice now. You must fight, or you will die. The foolish scholars under your protection will die.

You fight. 

Blood soon covers the strange viscera upon your blades already, so much of it that you have little hope of ever truly washing it away.

No one remains alive, save the Byrgenwerth group, by the time that the sun sets. The expedition leader’s second seems rather unconcerned about his superior’s murder, about the fact that the expedition’s ‘protection’ were tasked instead to slaughter an entire village. He seems even less concerned about the village. They’re less than human to him.

So, you realize, are you. But the past cannot be undone. The incision cannot be unmade. The dead cannot be unburied.

You catch a glimpse—only a glimpse—of the thing torn from Kos’s body. You couldn’t say what it looks like, because that glimpse alone is enough to make the dull pain in your head intensify to a crescendo the likes of which you have never felt before. You think it would hurt less if someone drove a stake through your skull.

But you know, now—you Know exactly what you have done. Exactly what you did it to.

That corpse should have been left well alone. It wasn’t. Now countless people—innocent and less so—lie dead because of you, and Byrgenwerth’s scholars are all too happy to dissect the ones you murdered for good measure. Almost like they’d planned on that all along. Almost like they’d intended to provoke them into attack, so that you—or someone else—would strike back.

When you leave the hamlet, blades still bloody despite your desperate, fervent attempts at cleaning them, you are not the same. You never will be the same again. Nor do you deserve to be.

(When you awaken in the real world, you can still faintly smell blood in the water. And for a moment—but only a moment—you can almost see fresh blood on your hands.)

Th at... oh goodness... my sweet friend, is that... is that why? I s that why you were gone?

[v1nsmoke]

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞 // 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲

chapter 3

tw: mentions of su1c1de

summary: The Boys are looking for vengeance, a supe from the past is looking for payback on Payback - and the Ghost in the midst of it all!

1941. After her friend volunteers for the field tested Compound V, she's put on the front lines along with him. Missions continue, even after the war is over. A life controlled by Vought International. That's until 1984. She doesn't keep count of the years since her first, last, and only friend disappeared from the face of Earth without a trace. She tried to stay away from her past, but when the leader of a ragtag group visits her, she feels inclined to take up on the offer. One last mission.

Uninvited guest are a pain in the ass, aren't they? Especially when they are British agents working against supes!

fandom: the boys

a/n: plays during season 3

wc: 1.4k

OUT ON AO3 (UNFINISHED)

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The sound of cars. The sound of people. These were the sounds filtering into her apartment through the window, The Smiths playing from her neighbor’s record player. It was never, ever dead silent here. Something was always making a sound, no matter how faint it was, but it was there.

She didn’t care much for it when she first moved in here, given that she was on the move almost all the time. She missed her travels, it was a whole new experience compared to this. Stuck here, the smell of oceans and forests replaced by the smell of gasoline, water pipes and cheap pizza from the shop on the ground floor of the apartment.

This time, though, there was a new noise. She heard it as she sat on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table in front of her. Her door was one of those creaky ones, the ones that wake up everybody in a two mile radius in the middle of the night. 

Her eyes glanced up from the book she was reading. Heavy footsteps that were trying to be suppressed on her wooden flooring. She sat there motionless, not even bothering to take off her feet from that cheap table. Whatever, or more like whoever it was, couldn’t do any harm. Still, breaking into her house was an asshole move. Especially since it was very amateur work, or who knows, maybe the person was just okay with her slitting their throat open. Or maybe they were just suicidal.

Just as she expected it, somebody entered her apartment, and he didn’t even try to hide it. The man entered her living room, the room where she sat. He did it so peacefully, almost like he was in his own house, in complete disregard that she was sitting right there. She might work like a ghost, but she was never invisible. 

“Nice little apartment, dear,” he breaks the silence with his heavy British accent. His untied boots just carried in all the mud and dirt from the streets, his black coat was worn out.

“Glad you like it, stranger,” she replies, turning her attention back to the book in her hands. The gamblers. Some western that nobody likely ever heard of. 

After getting a good look at the interior, even dusting off some old pictures with his fingertips, the British man looks at her. It was almost as if she didn’t care that he just broke in, acting like this was a daily occurrence. In her hand, he notices the book. He was convinced that there were maybe ten copies of this at most, cause wasn’t aware of this book’s existence up until now. It was a western for sure.

“You wrote some shit like this, didn’t you? What was the title, Outlaws, or-”

“Out of Laws. Now, what do you want? I reckon you aren’t here to discuss my works,” she cuts in. This was the first time he could feel the hint of agitation around her, the first time she seemed to care that he was inside.

“Straight to the point, I like that. You know, you at least don’t look as run down as your little friends,” he smirks. 

Her attention is now focused on the British man. Her friends? Did she even have those? She did, long ago, but this changed since then. Though, she had an idea who this man was referring to.

“How do you know how they’re doing? Did you break into their houses, too?” She asks sarcastically. She knew who this man was, and knowing him, there was actually a chance that he did in fact break into their homes. 

“We paid your friends a little visit,” he exhales, placing his hands into the pockets of his black coat. She was convinced that it was only held together by a single thread.

“Just because I worked with them doesn’t mean they’re my friends. But I assume someone with such  a wide range of past companions as you knows what it’s like,” she states, closing the book and placing it down on the table. “Don’t worry, I know enough about you.”

With a quick move, she throws her feet off the table and gets to her feet almost immediately. Now they were both standing, a staring contest almost ensuing between them. She crossed her arms, waiting for whatever William Butcher came all the way for.

“I had a little yap session with that kid, Gunpowder. Of course, he’s not a kid anymore, but that’s how you remember him, I suppose.”

“And your point is?” She interrupts him. All this foreplay and for what? he would not visit her if it wasn’t something serious. Something had to be up, or he was just here to kill her. Did that scare her? Not at all. 

“Lookie there, you’re extremely chill, I thought you knew who I was!” He exclaims with a grin, his head tilted.

“After a while, you just accept that there isn’t anything that can kill you if you’re me. Now, why did you come here? I suppose you didn’t just jump in to talk about whatever the fuck you talked about with Gunpowder.”

“You, sweetheart, are coming to Russia with us. Gunpowder, and frankly, the news told me that you were the closest person to Soldier Boy. You’re not going to disagree on this, are you?”

For a few moments, she just doesn’t speak. What he said was true, in her eyes at least. She knew Soldier Boy back when he wasn’t even Soldier Boy. Who she knew was Benjamin Monroe.

“And?” That was all she could muster up in that moment. “If you want to know what happened to him, go ask Countess. Whatever went down that day, I wasn’t involved. Ask Grace fucking Mallory. I know you work with her, or at least used to. I still keep in contact with her. That’s how I know about you. Guess trying to help her out in 1984 did have its perk,” she sighs, dropping her arms. 

Brushing past Butcher, she made her way to the kitchen. Few moments later, she was drowning down a whole cup of water. 

“I already went through this with Countess, and even with Grace. Where do you think I got your address from? It’s pretty fucking hard to track somebody who lives up their name this well.”

She really was a ghost at this point. A ghost of the past that is just here to haunt the new generation of assholes. Sometimes she felt like she didn’t even belong here. Sometimes, she was convinced that she should have died somewhere years ago. Killed in war, killed in Nicaragua, killed as a result of old age, but none of these came true. It was almost as if she was immortal. She could have committed suicide years ago, but she didn’t. When she did reach the brink of death, there was Vought. And Vought was not letting their money go.

“But you still know Soldier Boy better than anyone,” Billy continues after the woman’s silence, “and we need that. We are going on a little trip to Europe, where we are going to find whatever killed him, and-”

“Knocked him out,” she interferes, correcting Butcher.

“What?”

“They didn’t kill him. Nothing can. So knocked out it is..”

Butcher closes his eyes for a few moments. This was his version of the eye-rolling move. With his eyes still closed in annoyance, he speaks.

“Yes, knocked out, but we are going to find whatever did that. I know you’ve been investigating his disappearance, and I know you didn’t succeed. Neither did the CIA. This might be your only chance at finding your loverboy, I suggest you take it.”

“Why would you bring me along?” This was her most important question. If Butcher is so keen on finding out what was used against Soldier Boy, then he’s free to do it alone, with his group. It’s not exactly her business. Like he said, she herself tried to find him, but whoever took him was precise and cautious. 

“Because you’re the only fucker on this planet that might know his weaknesses, so you will tell us which of those things we might find have put the world’s most powerful supe into a coma. Or if you really think nothing can end him, then there is a slight chance that we’ll find Mister America himself. Now, what do you say, Ghostie?”

© v1nsmokes 2024. Do not modify, translate or rewrite.

[chaoticgouda]

34. What is your partner’s voice like?

39. Do you have cute pet names for each other?

93. What are some major differences between you both?

99. If you were both in a dating sim, what character tropes would each of you be?

127. How does your partner treat you special compared to everyone else in their life?

Ahem here you go, definitely just a stranger

Ooooh an anonymous person in my inbox? How intriguing....

34) This might be my bias talking but it's... Just so incredibly soothing. Warm, soft, gentle. Sometimes it's adorably hesitant and shy, other times it's playful and teasing, other times it's more to-the-point and serious. I also adore their accent and some of their turns of phrase, like "y'all" and "what all". It's ridiculously endearing to me <3

39) Hehehe we have a few yeah!

For them: Sunflower, Star, Simp, Special lil guy, more general ones like darling, my love etc etc

For me: Chairlie, Chi/Sleepchi, [Lucky] Charm, also my love, darling etc etc

93) Hmm I guess the way we tend to approach some displays of affection and our communication styles in general? I'm v much gushy and kind of theatrical/dramatic in my shows of affection, writing rambles about things I like about them, stuff I'm excited to do, silly things like that lol -

Whereas they're more considerate and thoughtful with their praise and affection, giving it out a little more sparingly but having it be all the more meaningful for that?

There's a few other differences but that's the first one that comes to mind :>

99) Ooh this is a good one!!

Them: The cool, talented and attractive creative type who seems a little aloof and reserved at first but is secretly a dork with a huuuge heart once you put in the time to get to know them. One of the first CGs with them is definitely one where they kiss your hand.

Me: Uhh probably the supportive and silly character who is a bit of a sad clown about it, wants to encourage and help the main character while ignoring their own needs. Breaks the 4th wall for the bit.

127) Sooo this little tidbit of info always makes me smile whenever I think about it - They've confessed to me before that they feel a little awkward when I'm hanging out with them and their friends because they have to suppress the urge to be as affectionate as they normally are, and that their friends would be surprised if they saw that side of them. They're really sweet and sentimental and honestly kind of a big romantic when we're together, and I think that tenderness and affection steeps through into a lot of our interactions, spoken and unspoken. I feel loved and appreciated, whether or not they say it with words <3

[more-than-a-princess]

@yukikorogashi asked: “Well, uhm glad ta hear dat uhm cool, sis. 'Specially from your cool self~” Cue her flexing her arm and placing her other hand over it in a manner similar to the Ultimate Princess~

What We Do In The Shadows prompts - Accepting!

It was easy for Sonia to be blissfully unaware of something until it was staring her right in the face. For so long, she'd take on a strong pose whenever she wanted to encourage someone of their own inner strength, to remind them of their self-worth and capabilities when they felt they had none. It puzzled her, then, why so many people chose to laugh in response, ranging from a polite, suppressed giggle to full-on laughter or a snicker combined with an eye roll. The latter she didn't care for, as it left Sonia feeling like she was being laughed at rather than simply having a lighter heart and outlook of the world. But the former two options, well, she didn't understand why others found it funny.

Until she witnessed Itsuki mimicking her exact same pose. Maybe it was Itsuki's unique accent (Sonia had never heard it before until she'd met her) or how endearing her friend was, earnestly striking the pose she'd seen her senpai perform countless times. But watching Itsuki do so meant Sonia was powerless against a smile and the forthcoming laughter. She was so sweet and kind, to the point that the Ultimate Princess didn't understand how some of her classmates didn't care for mentoring the middle school students. 'A waste of time,' one of them had said, though admittedly with far more expletives that had made Miss Yukizome bring out her bladed weapons again to put him in his place, no matter how much Peko Pekoyama expressed her protest at their teacher's manner of discipline.

For her, it was far more interesting than memorizing Novosonian law of the past two hundred years, or writing yet another speech to give at yet another fundraiser with the same people she met at every gala, opening night performance, ball, or party she happened to be invited to and was encouraged (aka. forced, by her parents) to attend.

"Of course you are 'cool,' Itsuki-chan!" Sonia assured her through giggles, catching her breath as she settled into a wide, warm smile. "You are so very passionate about your life, what you do and how you enjoy learning about the lives of others. You are also a generous soul, see?" She paused, holding her wrist up in the air between the two of them where a bracelet was affixed around it. "I wear your gift often, it is very precious to me, as are you."

Still, her choice of words had been deliberate. Reaching into a tote bag she'd carried out into the small farm her friend used to perfect her talent, Sonia removed a folded fleece blanket, topped with a layer of waterproof nylon, and handed it to Itsuki. "The thing is, you are also very cool and I worry you may get sick if you become too cool, the weather is turning quite cold soon. And even if you are accustomed to the chill and snow, it is important to take care of your health. We cannot have snowball fights, after all, if you catch a fever and must remain in bed!" A harrowing possibility, if Itsuki didn't keep warm: Sonia had been raised to treat snowball fights like a proper military battle, and would eagerly instruct her friend in how to strategize, conquer, and win if she allowed her to teach her.

[hydropyro]

The Fiddler Went Down to Faerûn

Chapter 2: K-oh-k

“Ya’ll sell food and drink here?” the newcomer asked, his voice carrying across the room. He attracted the attention of a few other patrons, but none so much as the nobleman sitting in his small alcove in a back corner, not out of sight, but out of mind.

The noble’s watchful eyes peered over the cover of the book he was reading to inspect the odd-spoken creature. Human, as far as he could tell, but his clothes and accent were – off. He���d been all over the world and had never seen anyone quite like him.

“This is the only kinda money I’ve got,” the young man was explaining to the Mamzell as she inspected the green paper with a sour expression. “I don’t suppose ya’ll can take check?”

“Everyone is welcome in Sharess’ Caress, but we are a business. If you can’t pay, please leave.”

Raphael’s heart leapt in his chest. He couldn’t know for sure just yet – but he had a guess as to why this man was so out-of-place. Despite his numerous oddities, he was definitely human – and the devil could almost taste his unique but viable soul.

He slipped a silk ribbon into his book and rested it on the table before emerging from the dark alcove where he liked to watch the people come and go about their business. “Mamzell, please, put this man’s bill on my tab,” he said, raising a hand to stop the increasingly annoyed proprietor. “You can have his meal brought to my table.”

He stood near to the human now. Tall, lanky, with a curved black box of some kind slung over his shoulder like a rucksack, but firmer. Raphael rested his chin on his thumb, rubbing his lip thoughtfully with his forefinger a moment as he assessed the stranger – the alien – before him.

“Bless you, sir,” the man said, extending a hand toward the devil. His smile was broad but not too eager. Just polite. “My name’s Johnny. I’m sure you’re for guessin’ I’m not from ‘round these parts.”

It wasn’t often that Raphael found himself speechless. He felt his lips tug at the amusement in him, but he suppressed his smirk as best he could, accepting the man’s hand and being surprised by the firm shake he received.

He turned and led the way back to his table in the little alcove, pulling the second chair out for this ‘Johnny’ character before taking his own seat.

“You look like you’ve travelled quite a way,” Raphael said, leaning back in his seat and crossing one leg over the other. "You must be famished, but before our host brings your supper, please tell me about yourself.

“I’ll return the favor once you’re settling into your meal.”

Johnny’s smile returned. There was no malice or twisted amusement in his smile. Though he was clearly a grown man, in his twenties for sure, he had a smile as innocent and honest as a child. “You have a funny way of talkin’, my friend.”

“Don’t I just?” Raphael returned the smile. Many had caught his interest, and he had found many mortals fascinating, but few could capture his attentions as easily as this stranger had. His soul was strong and wholly unsullied, and yet Raphael was more interested in hearing him talk – for the moment.

“Well, as I said, I ain’t from around these parts. I paid someone to take me somewhere that I could complete my ‘mission’,” he chuckled, as though laughing at himself. “It cost quite a bit, but I’m happy to say that it worked. Though – between you and me – I’m not exactly sure where I am.”

“Did you arrive by ship?” Raphael asked. He had a feeling that the alien hadn’t.

“Nah, I just – well, you won’t believe me anyway. I’m not too sure I believe me. Don’t want y’all to think I’m a quack.” A drink was placed in front of the man, smelling like ale, and Raphael’s sip of brandy was topped up to two fingers.

“I pride myself on being quite open-minded,” the devil assured him.

The stranger sipped the ale and made a face, then coughed a moment. “That sure ain't no Coors. I’m really not much of a drinker – d’ya s’pose they have a Coke?”

He didn’t have the faintest idea what the man was referring to. He sat silently, and Johnny didn’t press him on his desire to procure a ‘k-oh-k’. Raphael mouthed the word, tasting it for a moment. It almost sounded vulgar. “This is a brothel,” Raphael offered, letting his words trail off, though he wasn’t confident that the information was relevant to the desire presented.

“A what now?”

Raphael didn’t repeat himself. Maybe that word was just as foreign to the outworlder as most of his words were to the devil. “You mentioned having an unbelievable tale,” he said, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“I am a lover of stories. And I’ve been around a long time and seen my fair share of the unbelievable. I can assure you that you’ll find an enraptured audience in me.” He took a sip of his drink and rested his hand on the table.

Johnny laughed. He pushed his own drink away from himself, not seeming to like the flavor. “Well, what if I told you that magic is a real thing?”

Raphael didn’t like to push into the minds of mortals. It would make his job easier, yes, but much less interesting. And, even with his own nature, he often found that many of their passive thoughts were too disturbing to want to uncover. He made an exception this time, and stared into the young man’s eyes, pushing his consciousness through the ether toward his. He hummed so Johnny wouldn’t feel too ignored.

His words were – more-or-less – in Common. As he pushed into the human’s mind, though, he was assaulted by a cacophony of strange music he’d never heard and words in a language he couldn’t hope to place. He recognised a few from things Johnny had already said, like ‘k-oh-k’, and was given the vague image of a vial of dark fluid, but still had no real understanding.

He felt magic about the human, but then it seemed that this Johnny wasn’t familiar with magic, and so may not have even known that it affected him. Perhaps he believed he was speaking in whatever odd tongue that filled his mind.

Raphael retreated, shaking his head and sipping his drink again so as not to have to respond immediately. The noise had been intense and so foreign.

“See, I told ‘ya you woudn’t believe me,” Johnny beamed as though he’d won some kind of a bet.

“Oh, no, I believe you.” Raphael snapped his fingers, and his glass refilled again before the human’s eyes. A small parlor trick, but it made the man’s eyes widen as big as saucers.

“Holy shit,” the human exclaimed in a whispered cry, covering his mouth. He wasn’t afraid, though. In fact, he leaned forward to get a better look at Raphael’s glass before twisting his body to peer under the table for a moment. His strange behavior was earning their table some unwelcome, curious stares.

Raphael laughed. There was assuredly nothing holy about it, but the stranger didn’t need to know that just yet. “I have a room, you know. Maybe we’d be better having your meal sent there and continuing this conversation in private.”

The jovial young man sobered then, holding up a hand defensively. “Look, mister, please don’t take this the wrong way. My Mama taught me that God’s most important lesson is love, and I took that to heart. I do ‘preciate the kindness you’ve shown, but I’m hopin’ it don’t have strings attached.

“An’, given what you said earlier about this bein’ a brothel, I gotta let you know, I’m not lookin’ for that kind of company – least of all with a man – no offense.”

Raphael wasn’t sure that Sune would agree with such a sentiment, but then he supposed she was nowhere in the human’s mind. “You misunderstand me, my young friend.” Raphael mirrored the hands up, palms out gesture. “I have business in the city and am just staying here in the meantime.

“As far as my kindness,” he studied the man quietly for a moment. “I like to help people, but I’m not really one for charity. I would ask that you repay my deeds in kind, but nothing of that sort, I assure you.

“I am simply interested in your travels here, and the mission you’re on, and I would greatly appreciate hearing of it. Maybe I can even be of some help?”

Johnny frowned and considered Raphael’s words. The devil wondered how much of his thoughts were considering, and how much were translating, what he’d said. “Just hangin’ out, talkin’, right? Nothin’ – else?”

“Perish the thought,” Raphael said. “This is a major port city. New faces come and go like the tide, and yet you are the most interesting person I’ve met in a very long time.

“One adventurer, one story-teller, to another – all I ask is that you indulge me in your tale. Nothing more.” He stood and straightened his tunic, dropping a few gold coins onto the table.

Johnny nodded and followed the devil to his own feet. He left his glass on the table, wrinkling his nose at it. “’Ight, as long as I have your word on that.”

“You’ll find no man more of his word than I,” Raphael assured him. “Please, follow me.” Johnny was wary but followed the devil dutifully through the brothel and out across the walk toward his rented room. It was dark, now, but the streets were still just as busy as they’d been in the day. He opened the door for the man and stood aside so he could go in before following.

“Real fancy place,” Johnny complimented.

He’d rented the best room the establishment had to offer, of course. He always did, though he rarely needed it for its intended purpose. It was helpful to potential clients in demonstrating his wealth, and the various gifts he had to offer them. There were inns that he could stay at, or even the room of an acquainted noble or two, that would do the same, but none of those options gave the possibility of impromptu clients like a brothel did.

If mortals, especially those with questionable moral stability, could be reliably enticed by anything, it was sex.

Raphael took a seat in an armchair and gestured for the man to take the other near the hearth. He kept the lights low. He had no intention of sleeping with the man, and didn’t want to spook him by illuminating more intimate parts of the room. “Care for a drink?”

Johnny settled into the chair, placing his package on the ground beside his feet. He tried to relax, but seemed uncomfortable. “Uh – yea – do you have water, by chance?”

Raphael reached to a small cabinet to his left and collected a glass. He didn’t actually have water on hand, but created it inconspicuously before passing the glass to his guest. He poured himself another brandy.

“Now, please,” the devil smiled at the man, sinking back into his chair and resting an ankle on the opposite knee, “tell me everything.”

[tripthelightfandomtastic]

Feather Light- J.M.K

Author’s Note:

This is in response to an anon request I got asking for a tantric sex smut with Josh. I hope you can’t tell how little I know about tantric sex aside from the smut I’ve read on this godforsaken hell-site, but hey I had fun and I bet you will too! Also, I googled harem pants to see if they were what I thought they were called and now it's the only ad I get on instagram now so that’s cool.

Synopsis:

After so many relationships and sexual partners, you just can’t seem to find any real release, well, that’s until you met Dr. J.M.K.

Word count: 8.1K (some light reading)

WARNING: 18+ Minors DNI, smut but make it Dr. J.M.K, tantric sex, swearing, raw doggin' (wrap it before you tap your spiritual psychology teacher).

Pairing: Dr. J.M.K x female reader

I love hearing from all of you and what you think of my writing. Let me know what you’d like to see, any requests or if you would like to be added to my taglist for future stories! Love y’all!

“Straighten your back for me, little dove.” Your heart flutters at the name, at the whispered tone behind you, at the warmth of his breath against your neck, at the feeling of the tender touch on your lower back, at the goosebumps that raise on the skin beneath your top. You sit up straight, just as he requested. He meets your eyes with a satisfied smile, one that says, “There ya go.” as your spiritual healing teacher walks off to attend to his other pupils. You suppress a small grin to yourself, closing your eyes as he continues the guided meditation he was leading his class through. Lots of things led you to Dr. J.M.K’s door: a new city, a new stressful job, an emotional breakup, but mainly, it was the inability to quiet your own mind. You were never good at sitting still, you liked the hustle and bustle of your corporate job, but lately you’ve had trouble turning your brain off. I guess it’s true what they say, the only good thing about a job you don’t care about is that you don’t have to think about work when you clock out. But you love your job, and you don’t wanna mess it up, but you cannot keep being a walking google calendar of everything you know you need to do. So, here you were, searching for a fresh start.

The room was scented with nag champa smelling incense cones, a warm glow settled on the room from the sunset peaking through the stained glass windows. Glass in the shapes of the sun against the blue sky, in the shapes of flowers and trees nestled into the glass, inviting the light to shine through it. The class was small, made of maybe eight other people, it was always a nicely intimate occasion. Josh, as he liked to be called, was a beautiful man, warm brown eyes that hid behind round wire glasses, skin that always looked dewy and fresh, adorned with a delicate mustache and trimmed goatee, brown curly hair that had a warm glow that made him look like he wore a halo of golden sun when he walked through the room, simply put, he looked himself to be made of the sweet words he spoke. He spoke with an almost old fashioned midwestern accent, a raspy cadence you had never heard before or since.

“Breathe in, deep. Let it fill you, hold it like a delicate bird in a cage.” Josh spoke softly, his voice traveling as he paced slowly around the class, checking to ensure his students took in his meditation as they needed, adjusting them kindly when he saw it. You took in a breath, allowing the day to roll off of your shoulders, like water flowing off a duck's back. “Now, release the bird, exhale, set it free.” he instructed, the sound of a collective breath from the class floated into the air at his command. He contained a perfectly calming presence, but lately you were drifting from his guided meditations, instead you kept imagining Josh’s fingers on your skin, the way his breath would warm your skin when he would come up behind you and subtly adjust your posture or your breathing. You couldn’t help yourself, you were not dealing with the single life well. You missed sex, intimacy, physical affection at the very least. Not like your sex life before was great, you hadn’t cum with a partner in so long you started to worry maybe you didn’t even know how to without being the one in control. You were also brought to Dr. J.M.K’s class because he was also a licensed sexual therapist, as well as being a teacher in spiritual psychology, so who else could you go to for help. You had been attending these classes for a few months now and you were still warming up to the idea of asking Josh for a consultation, you just wanted to test out the waters first, to see if you liked him, to see how you felt about talking to a total stranger about your sex life.

You shook your head as you cleared your thoughts, focusing on Josh’s words. “Like the majestic eagle, imagine yourself flying high above the clouds. Weightless, free, nothing to tether you to the world below.” His voice was so soft, the light rasp that carried in his voice tingled your spine, you took a deep breath in through your nose and released it through your mouth, letting the weight of it all tumble off of you like rocks in a landslide. The feeling of your weightlessness is fleeting as you feel the tugging of your busy mind pulling you back into the room, you just can’t stop thinking of the way the clothes on your body are touching you, the way the air conditioner hums in the background, and the way you can’t stop adjusting in your seat. After a few more minutes of Josh’s guided meditation, everyone begins to put their cushions away to their respective places, chatting with each other on their way out or talking with Josh, thanking him for another relaxing session. You hang back and admire a mobile hanging in the corner by the large window. Beautiful pieces of sea glass, petrified wood and sea shells suspended by string, delicately twirling and soaking in the light from the setting yellow sun. You were happy with your session, but just couldn’t stop thinking about how you weren’t able to focus fully. Your frustration within yourself was like torture, the nagging feeling of being unable to let go and be in the moment is something you can’t remedy alone.

“Captivating, hm?” That familiar voice asks, his sudden presence startling you. You turn to face him, slack jawed and eyes wide with surprise, no time like the present right? “Y-yes, it’s beautiful.” You say, smiling awkwardly at your attempt to come off naturally. “I bought it from a merchant while I was abroad, it’s said that sea glass is believed to be tears of heartbroken mermaids, washed ashore to make her lover return to her.” He smiled wistfully at the frosted glass. You pondered the myth, if only the tears you shed were as beautiful. “Oh I uh, I wanted to thank you for such a lovely session tonight.” You stammered, searching for the right way to start. “I’m flattered, but I was actually hoping to speak with you after class.” He smiled a knowing smile, your expression faltered, you were never good at holding back your feelings from reaching your face. “Oh?” is all you can say. “Come, let's speak in my office.” Josh suggests, spinning on his heel towards the door to his office. You follow him in as he holds the door open for you, a gesture you appreciate with a smile as he gives you an acknowledging nod. The room is comfortable, unlike the coldness of an office at all. Dimly lit with a warm vintage looking lamp, a table with an unlit backflow incense burner, a plush rug, tapestries and posters from Woodstock adorn the walls. A yellow velvet chair, an emerald green couch, more cushions, a shelf of psychology books, some books on meditation, far away places, books on human sexuality, the Kama Sutra even. Josh makes his way to the velvet chair, sitting down and offering a hand to gesture to you to take a seat on the couch.

You oblige, sitting nervously, while you make a poor attempt at smiling like a person who wasn’t anxious would. “You seem tense.” “Oh, yeah, sorry. I just wanted to know why you asked me into your office.” “No my dear, I meant, during class. You seemed restless.” You blushed at the embarrassment of your answer, you knew you were having trouble in class today but you didn’t think anyone could tell. “I’ve had a lot on my mind recently.” You illude, not wanting to dump all of your baggage on your teacher. “Tell me, what’s got you so flustered?” Josh asks, hands loosely interlaced over his lap as he leans forward with genuine interest. You grow hot, how do you tell your teacher that he is one of the many thoughts racing in your insatiable mind? You clear your throat and sit up straight, thinking of Josh’s earlier suggestion on your posture. “I work a very intense corporate job, um, I’ve just moved to the city so I’ve been pretty, uh, alone, which has been hard. And I’ve just gotten out of a fairly long relationship.” You timidly answer, his brow is knitted together as he thinks over what you’ve just said, he looks at you as though you hadn’t finished talking, as though you still had something to say. You blush, can he really see through you that easily? You decide to fill the air with noise, thinking maybe it will ease his expression, “I’m sorry if I’ve been such a distraction during sessions-” “No, no not at all. I just have been wondering how I can best help you.” He says kindly as he looks to you, searching for the words. You clench your jaw as you decide to come clean, why you came to his class in the first place. “I want to tell you something.” You voice, hoping you won’t sound as awkward as you feel, Josh perks his head up to you, looking gently to you for your question. “I actually found your meditation class when I was searching for a sex therapist.” You bow your head a bit in shame, it feels so odd to admit outloud when you had never even told anyone else outside of your internet search bar. He hums in response, “Ah, I see. Now that I can assist with. What seems to be the problem, dearest?” Josh leans back against the velvet chair, head tilting to the side as he looks you over. You squirm in your seat on the couch, hands gripping at the material beneath, biting nervously at your bottom lip. “Don’t be ashamed to say what’s on your mind. It’s a very vulnerable topic that exposes our innermost selves, so I can see why you’re shy to come and ask for help. But just know, I would never judge you, that’s what I’m here for.” Josh says softly, his brown eyes sparkling, he has such a sweet and trusting face, of course you could tell him anything.

Taking in a deep breath, you muster the words to speak. “I’ve been very… unsatisfied. In many of my recent relationships, I have noticed that I cannot-” You pause, looking to Josh to give you permission to say what you are about to say, he only tilts his head. “-cum with a partner, unless, um, I do it myself. I’m starting to feel broken, like I’m just not wired right?” You can feel your eyes begin to well up with tears, the feeling of admitting your innermost shame being out in the air stung. Josh could only give you a look of pity before standing and coming to your side, sitting next to you on the couch beside you. He gently rests his hand on yours, his hand feels so warm against your own. You look up at him shyly, nervous to meet his gaze. “I’m sure that’s been very painful for you. It’s not easy to be so open like this, I appreciate your honesty.” He takes your hand in his own, running his thumb over the back of your hand, looking into your eyes with a tenderness that makes you melt, you have to look away in fear that you may actually cry. “I want you to look at me when I tell you this.” Josh nudged softly, you look up, your eyes still brimming with tears. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with the way you are or the way you’re feeling. Lots of people have trouble letting go, it’s hard to allow yourself to be at the mercy of another person. But I’ll also have you know, you’ve come to the right place.” Josh smiles sweetly, it’s an infectious smile you can’t help but mimic. Your stomach does a flip, thinking about how Josh, the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid your eyes on and more than once had fantasized about, was going to help you.

“I just can’t seem to stay in the moment, to just tune it all out and focus. I feel like I’m going crazy without any real release.” You say with a huff, tilting up to stare at the ceiling. Josh’s hand gives yours a squeeze, bringing you back to look back at him. “I understand completely, when you go so long without reaching that place of peace and incredible sensation, we become so insatiable, looking for that relief.” As he speaks he leans closer to you, his eyes are hypnotizing, the sound of his voice is intoxicating. “I can take care of you, little dove.” His breath ghosts over your lips, he’s so close now, you can already feel yourself starting to pool between your legs at just the proximity, at just the sensation of his eyes and voice solely trained on you. You can’t help but let your eyes travel to his lips, so soft and pink looking, he’s even more stunning up close. He allows his eyes to look to your lips just before snapping his eyes back to yours. “Do you want me to touch you?” He whispers, the air is so thick, you can’t remember the last time you felt such a delicious tension between you and someone else. You simply nod, “I want to hear you say it. Say what you need.” He rasps, the soft command making your heart skip a beat. “I want you to touch me, please.” You whisper, the sound of your voice nearly cracking with need. “Very good, dove.” Josh praises, a smile on his lips as he moves his hand to your cheek, taking you softly to his lips. The feeling of his lips on yours makes you breathe deep, wanting to take in the feel of his lips, the way they hold yours so softly, the way his breathing feels against yours, how gently his hands holds your face against his palm. You open your mouth to give him permission to slip his tongue inside, you can’t hold back the breathy moan that comes from you and echoes in his own mouth, he smiles into the kiss, you move your hand to his thigh, your other hand still held in Josh’s. He tastes sweet, like chai and cinnamon, the heat from his thigh radiates into your fingertips and you can’t help the giddy feeling bubbling in your chest. Your fantasy was coming true.

He breaks the kiss and you can’t help but feel lost without his lips on yours, like being in the cold without a coat. “Follow me, let’s get you more comfortable.” Josh stands, offering you his hand, you look up at him with big doe eyes and take his hand in yours, leading you to a room down a hallway that was shielded by a beaded curtain. Josh opens the door to reveal a room that looked to be dedicated to his sex therapy practice. A beautiful canopy bed nestled against the center of the back wall, the rest of the room was well decorated, less books and papers around, mainly a calming space that would best fit the clients he worked with. Sex is a very daunting subject to approach without the fear of feeling as though you were at the doctors office, too cold and sterile feeling. This room felt safe, warm and comfortable, sweet smelling from the lavender, rosemary, eucalyptus and sage branches that hung around drying in bundles. Soft rugs, warm lamps, chairs and cushions furnished the room, along with a table near the window full of crystals that lay charging in the sunlight, as well as a large wooden cabinet in the corner near the bed.

Josh turns to you as you both stop in the middle of the room, he takes both of his hands in your own, thumbs running over the tops of your hands gently. “Before we begin, I want you to know that at any point if you want to stop you need only ask. No judgment, no shame. You are always at liberty to leave if you wish, I only want to be at your service. To give you only what you are looking for.” He explained, his voice was steadfast and sure, wanting only to gain your trust and confidence. You take a note in your head from earlier with a verbal reply, “I understand.” You say confidently, Josh nods his head with a smile. His eyes scan your body, his hands running up your arms and resting on your shoulders, “Now, I want you to undress for me.” He requested softly, his voice making you at ease just as much as it excited you. You look up at him through your lashes, a look of innocence plastered on your face, you were finally going to feel Josh all over your skin. “Or dress down to whatever feels comfortable if you’d rather.” He offered, hoping to offer up anything to help with any worries you may have, but lucky for you, this was the easy part, foreplay was always the most exciting part about sex for you, it was the act itself where your challenges laid. You looked him in the eyes as you pulled your tank top over your head, dropping it to the floor below, looking away only to slide your harem pants down your legs, leaving you only in your underwear. You don’t say a word as you tilt your head to the side and look at Josh with the sweetest doll eyes you can muster as your hands sneak behind your back and unclasp your bra, adding it to the pile of clothes at your feet. Josh shows almost no reaction, trying hard to stay professional, but you catch him swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing, his eyes wandering only for a moment. You finally pull down your panties, leaving you totally nude in front of a totally dressed Josh, lips parted as he takes in your naked form. You can’t help but smile a devilish smile as he looks you over, “Does this work for you?” you ask softly, moving your hands behind your back coyly, giving him full access to your body, a blush creeping across Josh’s face. His breath hitches in his throat as he searches for the words to say next. “Perfect.” He rasps, coming just close enough to you to run the back of his index finger up your arm, feeling your soft skin beneath.

“Take my hand.” He says, extending his hand to you, you take it, smiling to yourself at the fact that you’ve been holding his hand so much. It’s funny, you are fully naked in front of the man you’ve on more than one occasion touched yourself thinking about, in a situation where he is going to help you learn to cum with a sexual partner and you’re giddy over a simple few moments where he has held your hand? Maybe you had deeper feelings for Josh than you thought. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze as he leads you to the bed, “Lie down, on your back.” He commands, tone still tender but leading. You lay on top of the white duvet, it’s thick and soft against your bare skin, the air of the room feels warm on your body, like you were exactly where you should be.

Josh sits beside you, looking down into your eyes. “I want to lead you through a session of tantric sex. Its the practice of slow, intimate and purposeful sex, to help you stay mindful of your body. To edge you slowly towards your orgasm without rushing to your climax. To simply enjoy the feeling of your body. Is that something you’re comfortable doing with me?” He explains, you had never done anything like this before, it sounds nice, gentle, and definitely what the doctor ordered. You look to Josh, his eyes scanning your face for an answer. “I think I’d like that very much.” You whisper truthfully to him. He gives you a satisfied expression, a grateful smile on his face. “I’ll be talking you through the entire experience. I don’t want you to hold any question, thought, feeling or sound back, whatever you are experiencing, let it flow through you. I’ll be by your side the whole way through. Remember, if you ever feel uncomfortable or unsure, please tell me right away.” The way he speaks is so gentle and candid, his voice always brings you such peace.

“I will.” “You promise?” Josh asks, lifting his eyebrows and giving you a grin that makes you giggle, “I promise.” you chuckle out, holding out your pinkie finger to him, he takes it and wraps his own pinkie around it, you both squeeze tight, sharing a little laugh between you. The moment felt too innocent before what you knew was to happen next, but it was sweet, he made you feel safe. “First I want you to just breathe with me, this is an important step between partners. I want your breathing to synchronize with mine.” Josh’s hands fall to the hem of his white long sleeve shirt, taking it off and over his head, letting it fall to the floor by the bed. “Here.” he says as his hand takes your wrist, pulling it up to his chest right over his heart. Your eyes widen at the feeling of his bare skin under your palm, his skin has a soft tan, a lightly toned physique, and arms that are rippled with muscle. “Is this okay?” he asks sweetly. You blink up to look away from his chest and to his eyes, “Yes.” “Good. Now I’m going to place my hand on your heart.” He narrates as he lets his hand come and rests gently on your chest just above your left breast, you pray he can’t tell how fast your heart is racing under his touch. His eyes flit to yours as he smiles. Fuck, he definitely knows. “Now breathe in deep, like I taught you.” “Like a bird in a cage.” You say, repeating his words from class, “Just like that.” He whispers, you take a deep breath and Josh follows your lead, you hold the air in, deep in your chest, your hand on his skin raising as he breathes, his heart fluttering softly against your skin. You exhale, the sound of your breaths drifting into the air above makes you feel more at peace, a little bit, but you like the feeling of knowing Josh is here in this moment with you, breathing in sync, like one being. You continue this routine until you two are only looking into eachothers eyes and breathing together without having to think about the pattern of your breath.

The air goes silent as you two gaze into eachothers eyes, almost forgetting what you were doing here. “Why do you call me little dove?” you break the silence, never looking away from his warm eyes. He laughs a little under his breath, his heart picks up the pace a bit under your palm, you’ve got him pinned. “The first time I helped you adjust your breathing during class, when I knelt beside you and put my hand over your chest, telling you to focus only on your breathing, your heart felt like it was racing against my hand, the way a bird's heart would.” Josh explains, his voice dripping in sensuality. You felt a blush creep into your cheeks, you parted your lips unsure of what to say. So he’s known how you feel for a while then? No use in hiding it now. You feel his heart beating against your own hand, its fluttering. You take note and smile shyly up at him. “Like this?” You whisper as you adjust your hand on his chest, thumb running over the skin of his chest, he smiles softly, bringing his hand to hold yours flushed against his chest. “Just like this.” He whispers back, voice faltering as he gazes into your eyes.

Josh leans down to you, your hand sliding away from his chest and down to your side, his curls hanging and tickling your forehead, his lips are just a kiss away, your breath hitches as you can feel how close he is to you. “Close your eyes for me, little dove.” You smile at him and your nickname and oblige him by closing your eyes. “I want you to remain aware of your breathing, to focus on the way your body feels. Let yourself melt into the sensation.” His voice is soft as he talks to you, his hand on your chest starts to drift away from you, you feel a shift on the bed as he gets up and walks away. You hear the sound of cabinet doors open and soon close followed by his feet padding back to the bed as he comes back to you. “Focus on the way your body reacts to the touch of this feather.” He says as you can feel the gentle touch of a feather brush against your collarbone. “Think about what you’re feeling, where you are right now.” The feather glides between the valley of your breasts, down slowly on to the soft plane of your belly, sliding up your ribs as you let out a sigh. “Know that you are safe here with me, that you can ask for anything you desire without judgment.” He continues softly, his hand runs the feather down to your hip, swirling in a figure eight that brings wetness between your legs. You smile at the feeling, “You like that, dove?” You can’t see his face but you can hear the grin on his face at his question. You nod, biting your bottom lip between your teeth. He slips the feather down your leg and right back up your other leg, dancing the instrument on your thigh, slinking up to your inner thigh. He brings the feather softly up your thigh until he’s so close to where you want his attention the most, you breathe in deeply. “I can feel how badly you want it.” Josh teases, you giggle, “You have no idea.” you huff out in frustration. He brings the feather up and swirls it around your nipples, taking slow rotations on each breast. You hold in a breathy moan that rumbles in the back of your throat. “Don’t hold it back mama, let it out. I want to hear how good you feel.” His voice with that same sweet tone of authority, “Yes, doctor.” You moan in response as the delicate feather softly caresses the swell of your breast with such ease and tenderness. He lifts the feather from your skin, you nearly whine at the feeling of the lack of attention on your skin. “Let’s really work your senses, hm?” Josh says, his voice hanging in the air with no response from you.

The sound of him walking across the room takes you by surprise, what did he mean by that? The clinking of a glass makes your mind race with all sorts of possibilities. The feeling of his body on the bed nearly made you jump, pulling you out of your thoughts. “I want you to remain attentive of your body, the way the sensation makes you feel.” His tender voice instructs, you have no clue what to expect. You jolt at the sudden cold touch on the very center of your sternum, a gasp leaving your lips. “Just a cube of ice darling, it won’t hurt you.” Josh soothes, as he rolls the ice down the valley of your breasts, sitting just below your ribs. “I want you to imagine yourself as a star, burning in the vastness of space. You are beautiful, celestial, powerful, you are invincible.” His voice feels so comforting from your familiar meditation sessions, taking your mind up and away from this plane of reality and creating your own in your mind, feeling the coolness against your skin not as ice, but as an extension of yourself. “Imagine this ice cube is your power, surging through your body. Feel it melt against the heat of your skin so effortlessly, leaving a river running through you in its wake, focus on it’s path.” Josh continues, running the melting cube up your side, gliding over your collarbone, slipping down your breast, you gasp at the icy presence against your hardened nipple. He allows his fingers to run the ice over the bud, eliciting a moan from you. “Your body is so powerful, you are truly a goddess. You rule all of the dominion of your own body, only you can bring it such pleasure, just as much as you can allow yourself to let go of the Earthly things around you and let someone make you feel worshiped and adored.” You sigh at his beautiful words, a true poet and romancer.

You could feel a delicious contrast in your body start to take place, the warmth between your thighs and the icy cold of Josh’s presence over you. He rolls the melting cube over your other nipple, a soft breathy groan falling from your lips. “Give yourself over to pure ecstasy, it cries out to you like a siren’s song. Let it wash over you, welcome it with no inhibitions or doubts, fall into the pleasure that calls out your name.” He runs the nearly melted cube up your neck, your pulse beneath melting it completely away, leaving Josh’s hand to cup your cheek. You open your eyes to him looking right down into your own, you feel like your body is humming with anticipation, you feel wetter than you’ve ever been before. He slides his chilled fingertips down your side, a whisper of goosebumps appearing in his wake. His hand slides over your pubic bone, fingertips slipping between your core, you gasp at the presence of his fingers, the feeling of your heat mixing devilishly with the coolness of his digits. “Give yourself over to me.” He whispers, your eyes widening for just a moment from the shock of his touch, you couldn't look away from him even if your life depended on it.

His eyes searched yours, looking as you felt the heat from your core melt the coldness that lingered on his skin. He ran his fingers up your dripping center, until he rested them lightly over your clit. You moaned at the intoxicating feeling of his energy against yours, brows knit in pleasure. He took in your reaction with a look of great interest, he let his eyes wander over your flushed face, over your body and the trail of water he had drawn over your skin from the coldness of the ice, a droplet of water rolling delicately running down the swell of your breast from the movement of your breathing. He seems so enraptured by the picture of you beneath him, a work of art upon the bed. He reaches over to the bedside table to the glass of ice cubes, taking one in his hand and holding it over you. He brings the cube and runs it slowly along your bottom lip, he runs it gently over the tender skin then moves to replicate the motion over your top lip. He gently moves his free hand to cup your jaw, indicating a request to open your mouth. You open your mouth to him, he gently places the small melting cube on your tongue, a subtle squeeze of his hand allowing you to close your mouth. “Breathe. Feel the heat of your tongue melt the ice to water, let it run down your throat.” Josh instructs cooly, his hand sliding down to rest gently on your throat. It melts quickly, you swallow the cool water, the feeling of the motion of your muscles under Josh’s palm makes him smirk as he brings his hand back to your cheek, he gazes sweetly into your eyes. “Good girl.” He whispers, his praise burning your cheeks.

He looks down to your tinged lips, reddened slightly from the coldness of the ice that ran over them just a moment ago. Josh dips his head down to you, his lips hovering just above yours, you tilt your chin up to him, a smirk flashing over his lips just before finally succumbing to your kiss. The feeling of his warm lips on your cold ones made you swoon, he felt so perfect against your mouth, he opened his mouth to you allowing you to slide your tongue inside, rolling it alongside his warm tongue, melting the cold away from you, it feels as though you’re thawing under him. He holds your face in his hands as he kisses you, you peek through your lashes in the kiss, watching his masterful lips against yours, you close your eyes to try to cement that memory deep in your mind. Swiftly Josh moves to be on top of you, his knee moves to place himself at your center, you jolt at the sudden pressure. You begin to lose yourself, forgetting what Josh had taught you, you were busy wrapped up underneath Josh and his warm kisses to think. You buck your hips against his clothed thigh, a breathy moan escaping your lips at the feeling between your legs. Josh pulls back, his thumb running gently running over your cheek, “So impatient.” He chides at your neediness, your brows knit, your mouth open to complain as he pulls his knee away. “Don’t rush towards pleasure, let it come to you.” Josh says wisely, moving back towards the glass of ice, taking a cube and popping it into his mouth. He moves back over your naked body, his dulled nails softly raking up your sides, his hands now resting on your hips, he leans down and plants soft yet chilled kisses on your stomach, slowly oh so slowly down to your hips and finally the skin of your inner thighs. You inhale a shaky breath, he’s so close now, you think you may just come from the sight of him meeting your eyes, his hands softly resting on either thigh, curls adorning his beautiful face. “I want you to focus on the feeling, how it makes you feel. I don’t want you to hold back. I am wholly here for your pleasure.”

You can only nod your answer, he gives your thigh one last kiss, making sure to hold your eyes as he did before finally dipping to where you wanted him most. His tongue running a languid stripe up your slit, you immediately groan at the sensation, his tongue so cold yet his breath so warm on your dripping pussy. The feeling unlike anything you had ever felt before, his cool tongue mixed with your warmth took you to a higher place, feeling angelic and light in your body, feeling as though Josh’s hands on your thighs were all that was keeping you from floating off the bed and to the stars above. You're a panting mess, your mouth lazed open from the feeling of pure euphoria bubbling up throughout your entire anatomy. His tongue still moving slowly had finally fully melted against you, leaving the delightful feeling of his tongue against you. He began to kitty lick the surface of your clit, you moaned out his name without a drop of shame. The increased pace he had found dissolved back to his slow movement, the change in tempo and temperature was breathtaking. You ball the white duvet in your fists, the feeling of your climax was there, you giggled in pure joy between moans, you were going to finally fucking do it. You tried to resist the urge to tighten your thighs around Josh but decided not to fight it, he groaned against your center, the vibration only turning you on further. You look down to Josh, he looks more angelic than usual, even in this most sinful act, he was still doing the work of a saint. His eyes meet yours, so full of surety and confidence, he practically oozes it settled between your legs, he knows he has you right at heaven’s gate. He smirks to himself then wraps his lips around your clit, and that's all it takes to send you crashing into your orgasm. You throw your head back against the pillows, moaning and groaning, cursing and screaming Josh’s name as he continues to lap his tongue against you. The feeling of your climax is so intense you feel as though you could explode into pure starlight, creating a new galaxy all your own. But Josh never slows his tongue, he pulls you through your climax and then even further, “Oh fuck, oh Josh that feels so good.” You cry out, your hands trying desperately to stay hooked into the sheets but the sensation is so good you want to feel Josh even closer to you. He lays a flat tongue against your clit, your hips bucking instinctually as he pulls you through your oversensitivity in your core and to your second orgasm. “Fuck, oh no fucking way.” You grunt, the idea of cumming again so quickly has your head spinning, you could hardly ever cum once with a partner and Josh can make you cum twice from just his mouth?! You have got to find better guys.

“I’m gonna- oh holy shit-” Your curse cut off by the second wave of your climax, you bolt straight up, watching Josh work beneath you, eyes closed in concentration, tongue stroking against your clit in just the right way, his thumbs massaging your thighs at the skin he has trapped under his large palms. You can no longer hold your hands back, you allow yourself to weave your fingers into Josh’s hair, tangling and pulling softly at his roots, giving subtle pressure against his head as a plea to work you through your climax. He does so with pleasure, you can’t even make a sound as your orgasm pulses through you, you fall back onto the pillows, finally able to find your breath and voice again at the release. Josh rises from his position, leaning back on his heels, his lips and chin coated in your arousal, cheeks look as though they were sunkissed from the redness that adorned his face. You can only look at him and sigh, trying to find your breath, you smirk at him before letting your head fall back to stare at the ceiling of the canopy bed, a stupidly huge grin on your face. “Fuck.” Is all you can muster, Josh chuckles at your reaction, he crawls up your body, hovering just above your face. “I want you to kiss me, see how beautiful you taste.” Josh whispers, his words already making you wet again.

You pull him to you, his lips taste like your wetness mixed with his own taste, his tongue exploring your mouth is so erotic you pull him by his waist to feel him on top of you. You let your hands rake over his skin, your nails sliding with just enough pressure that elicits a moan from Josh. The kiss deepens, his hand pushing back loose strands of hair behind your ear, making a clear path for his lips to come down to the sensitive skin of your neck. You let your hand cradle the back of his head as he kisses your neck, pressing him to you. “Please, fuck me Josh.” you moan, Josh looks up from the crook of your neck. “You can’t get enough, huh?” he smirks at you, “I have waited so long to feel how you just made me feel.” “Let’s just call this, one for good measure.” Josh smiles before kissing you hard, you sit up, bringing him up with you. Your hands fly to his pants, tugging at the belt on his white pants, his hands scrambling to take them off, pulling them down and tossing them aside, leaving him only in his briefs.

You palm him through the thin material, he moans pulling away from your kiss, laying you back against the bed. “You’re so hard.” You whisper, looking up into his eyes, now darkened from lust. “You were soaked when I first touched you.” His words sound so dirty, the rasp and passion lacing his voice, abandoning his usual poetic and flowery speech from class and your earlier session. “Let's just say, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.” You say pulling his hands to cup your breasts, “Good to know I’m not alone.” Josh divulges, he slides down your body, taking your nipple into his mouth, the feeling immediately making your back arch. You let your hand wander down to his hair, pressing him closer to you, allowing your touches to be a little more fervent in your motions than before. You slide a hand down his waist, landing on the waistband of his briefs, tugging at it breathlessly, he pulls his lips from your body and looks to you, you only whine in response, praying he can read your mind, or at the very least your body language. He gets the hint, sitting up on his heels, a hard outline of his cock evident behind the thin fabric. You allow your eyes to linger on him, the feeling of your obvious yearning makes Josh smirk. “You ready, dove?” His voice low and grovely, you nod your head in excitement. “Use your words, remember what I said, tell me what you need, darling.” His prodding makes you blush as you think of how to say the next sentence. “I want to feel you inside me, doctor.” You say in the most innocent voice you could summon for a request so filthy. His eyes brighten, a grin playing on his face at you calling him by his title, you think back to when you said it earlier, wishing you could go back in time and peek your eyes open to catch his reaction. “Good girl.” His voice is so seductive and tempting as he pulls down his briefs, tossing them aside.

You gawk at his dick, he had everything you wanted and more. Is it possible for a penis to look beautiful? Because that is truly the only word you could use to describe it. He positions himself at your center, sliding his hard cock through the wetness of your folds, he already feels perfect. You both moan at the contact, his brows knit and jaw hanging as he pushes into you. Slowly filling you up until he bottoms out inside of you, he pauses giving you a moment to adjust. “This is what you imagined during class?” he asks, voice trying hard not to falter at the feeling of you wrapped around him. “Too many times.” You say with a grin, he chuckles under his breath, taking in the sight of you. “So beautiful.” He whispers as he moves in for a kiss, he deepens the kiss and begins to slowly thrust into you. The slower tempo feels incredible, like Josh explained earlier, the act of sex is the point, not just racing to the climax. It feels so intimate, the slow tender thrusts, the sounds of your collective inhales and exhales melded in a perfect melody you wish you could bottle up and keep forever.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” You moan, your words feeling drawled out as they roll off your tongue, his tip pressing up against your sweet spot repeatedly now. That familiar pressure in your stomach begins to churn, you can’t believe it. A draught of orgasms during sex and here you were hurdling towards your third climax of the night. You let your eyes roll back as Josh slightly increases the tempo, his hand on your hip with just the perfect grip on your flesh keeps your mind focused, the bounce of his curls as he thrusts, the look of his now rosy cheeks all keeping you in the moment. “Feels so good for me.” Josh pants out as you tighten around him, his hand abandons your waist as he brings his hand to your face, cupping your cheek. “Such an obedient student.” His words alone make you feel so much pleasure, his thumb brushes against your bottom lip. He presses his thumb into your open mouth while gently holding your face, you oblige and wrap your lips around his thumb, letting your tongue dance against him. Josh lets out a groan as you look up at him through your lashes. He removes his thumb from your mouth as he slides his hand between your bodies, circling your clit with his thumb now covered in your saliva. A groan is pulled from your throat at the contact, you close your eyes at the sweet sensation, Josh brings up his speed once more, you hold on to him, letting your nails scratch his back as his hips and hand have you melting below him. “I-I’m so close.” you stammer out, his eyes find yours, “I want you to look at me.” He simply says, you open your eyes and look back at him. “I want to watch you cum.” Josh’s voice gives him away, he’s on the edge now. You can feel the pressure in your abdomen begin to reach a fever pitch, already feeling so much stronger than the last two. “Let go.” His voice commands and you couldn't stop yourself if you tried.

Josh’s motion on your clit as well as the feeling of his cock against your g-spot sends you overboard and into your hardest orgasm yet. You hold his golden brown eyes, the look of Josh above you has you writhing, grasping at his waist as he drives into you, pulling you through your climax. “Just like that, oh just like that dove.” He moans, you can see his own orgasm crash against him, he pulls you tighter to him, you reciprocate gripping hard on to him, the two of you in the throws of absolute pleasure. Josh’s hips still as he allows himself to lay fully on you, his heavy breathing against the crook of your neck, you do the same, staring in dismay at the ceiling.

You begin to giggle, a huge smile spread over your face, a tear slipping out onto your cheek. Josh hoists himself off of you and looks to you in a concerned way, “What’s wrong?” He asks quickly, you just shake your head, “I did it.” You laugh out, rolling your head to look at Josh lying beside you, immediately calming Josh’s expression. “Yes you did. You did so well.” He smiles softly as he brushes the tear of joy from your cheek, as gentle as he always is. The two of you just lay like this for a while, just basking in the afterglow of your orgasms. It's a comfortable silence, one you wish you could live in beside Josh for as long as you wanted. “You’re really good at that.” You say, breaking the silence. “What?” “Sex.” Josh smiles bright, a laugh falling from his lips and filling the air with the beautiful sound. “No, I'm serious. You should build a career off of it.” You jest, poking him on the very tip of his nose. He smiles and pulls you closer to him, your face inches apart, “Maybe I should take you out to dinner first.”

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