#anyways this is the first thing i've written in a few months and i'm pretty content with it. felt like a good warmup | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seventh-district · 1 year ago

Text

I Don't Care If You're Contagious

He reaches beneath his jacket again, this time retrieving his gun from its concealed holster. He points it skyward, finger thankfully off the trigger, tapping the end of the barrel a few times against his temple. You note the edge of unhinged pride in his voice. “He’d never met me though.”

The few remaining shreds of your sanity beg you not to find the display endearing. They lose in the face of your love for him.

Smiling, you shake your head, trying to reprimand him still. “You’re reckless, Matthew. Utterly reckless.”

“C’mon, poppet…” He lowers the gun to rest on the table, pointing away from you. “You can still hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

You nod.

“Did you ever hear it stop?”

You shake your head.

“Then there you have it. I’m just fine.”

His idea of reassurance could use a little work.

When he comes home bloody and drained from a job you regret missing out on, you and Matt both find comfort in one another, unorthodox though it may be.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat - Minors DNI

Pairing: Matt x Reader

Word Count: 11,154

Contains: [spoilers for The Malenkee Saga (Jimち ASMR)] [not canon compliant] [SH / NSSI] [Reader's gender isn't specified but they're kinda implied to be fem] [blood] [blood consumption] [blood play] [comfort] [consensual, but not safe or sane] [descriptions of food and eating] [domestic? maybe?] [gun] [first kisses] [implied murder/death] [implied SA & violence] [needle play] [pet names] [praise] [PTSD] [scars] [traumatic memories/flashback] [unnatural abilities] [you and Matt are both criminals, mentally unwell, and so, so in love with each other 🖤]

Note: This fic is a sequel to this one, and while it isn't required reading, I'd recommend that you do if you want to have the full context going into this one.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy and fiction, and should be regarded as such. I don't condone replicating the acts depicted. If you're interested in this sort of play, please educate yourself, take the appropriate precautions, and use the correct tools.

The delicate scent of freshly chopped vegetables simmered in broth fills your small kitchen. Taking it in with a deep breath as you slowly stir the pot, you smile, content in the peaceful moment. Bringing the ladle to your lips, you blow away the rising steam with a few unhurried breaths.

Once it’s a tolerable temperature, you sample your work, and hum a quiet note. It’s… on the bland side, to put it mildly. If this pot were for you alone, you’d be reaching for the spice cabinet post haste. It isn’t, though, and you don’t even find yourself lamenting that fact, given the company you’re soon to be sharing it with.

When you’d first begun attempting to feed Matt, you started with something you considered quite basic and mild. A simple bowl of oatmeal. Forgone were any of your more extravagant toppings and mix-ins, you were sticking to the bare minimum. Oats, water and milk. A pinch of salt, a small spoonful of sugar, and just a dusting of cinnamon. It doesn’t get much more basic, (or flavorless…), than that.

Or so you thought.

The memories of his favorite cuisine must've fallen too far into the back of your mind. Mixed in and tucked away with all the other parts of your past you’d rather not dwell on, the taste, or lack thereof, of his signature “soup” was hardly the worst of them.

It was hardly the best either.

Rather unremarkable aside from the bizarre circumstances of its initial presentation, it wasn’t the taste that you found so off-putting. It was the texture. Clumps of bread that’d grown far past soggy, nearly turning to sludge amidst the watery broth, it was just… unpleasant.

You could never wrap your head around Matt’s apparent genuine enjoyment of the dish. In the beginning, before you knew him better, you’d thought he might just be fucking with you. Surely no sane person could like it at all, let alone name it their favorite. But therein laid the error in your reasoning. You weren’t dealing with a sane man at all.

When you once questioned him on it, he gave you a vague yet sincere answer. “Oh, it’s an old family recipe.” The words had rolled off his tongue with ease, and your brow furrowed. He rarely spoke of any family, hell, you weren’t sure he ever really had one. When you pressed further though, his answer quickly fell apart. When required to actually try and recall any detail as to this supposed family, he drew a blank.

It wasn’t that surprising, in all honesty. It didn’t make you doubt him much, either. Even less so nowadays, with your approximate knowledge of just how old his idea of “old” is. The mind can only recall so much, can only reach so far back before everything starts to fade.

Sometimes you mourn the amount of his memory, his history, that’s been lost to the unrelenting passage of time.

Sometimes you wonder who he’d be mourning, if their memory still lived within him.

You blink, and pull your eyes back into focus.

You stir the pot on the stove before you.

Best to keep yourself grounded in the here and now, you suppose.

Regardless of Matt’s supposed love of that awful soup of his, you weren’t too keen on it yourself. You’d been far too afraid to tell him so the first few times he fed it to you, and you were hardly in a position to decline. But time passed as it always does and you gradually turned from his captive into his companion. You learned that you needn’t fear a disagreement so trivial. Eventually you brought it up, letting him down slowly so as to not insult his… family’s cooking.

He took it far better than you’d feared, only seeming a bit… saddened, that you’d exaggerated your initial assessment of the dish. You weren’t sure if his sadness stemmed from your newfound dislike of his soup, or from the reminder of your initial fear of him. You never asked.

You couldn’t imagine that eating nothing but bread and water could be good for him, but then again he’s shown great enough feats of survival that you suspect he may not even need food at all. The black scars on your wrist suggest that you may now share that trait too, but that doesn’t mean you’ve lost your taste. You still crave food, and if the two of you are going to be eating together, you’d like it to be something you both can enjoy.

That’s how you found yourself presenting him with an innocent bowl of oatmeal, figuring it wasn’t that far of a step away from his preferences.

You quickly gathered that you’d underestimated his palate’s sensitivities.

You’d tried not to stare as he pulled the bottom of his mask up, the sight still relatively rare to you then. With bated breath, you watched him take a tentative bite of the benign breakfast food. To his credit, he didn’t cringe, or gag, or any other outrageous reaction you’d feared. He just… frowned. And your heart sank a little. Had you used too much water? Not enough milk? Too much salt? Not enough sugar?

Your inner worries were soon quieted as he politely questioned you, holding another spoonful up in front of him. “Why is it… spicy?”

It took everything in you not to laugh, both from pure surprise, and at the meme he was unknowingly quoting. “I… is it? It’s spicy to you…?”

He took in a second thoughtful bite, and nodded. “Yeah… kind of? It’s a little thick… and has this… I don’t know.” He brought his hand up to cup his exposed jawline in thought. “It’s… hmm… no, not dirt, oh what’s the word… earthy! Like… spicy… wood, or something.” You bite back a smile at his explanation, and catch how he mirrors yours when his eyes land on you. “I… I think I quite like the sweetness of it though.”

You quickly gathered that he was awfully sensitive to- well, just about every flavor, the more intense ones especially so. And his baseline for “intense” was adorably low. It made enough sense you supposed, given you’d no idea how long he’d been eating that same flavorless glop of his. It did raise a brief question in your mind though, the answer which you’d silently searched for when you were next alone.

A brief search in your phone’s browser shut down your fleeting line of thought that perhaps he’d never been accustomed to such flavors. It seemed quite the opposite, in fact, given that apparently Britain had taken over the cinnamon trade during the 1800’s. So, it was unlikely that the spice, and similar others, weren’t available to him in some capacity then. Well, if your attempts at surmising his origins were correct, that is. It didn’t seem to be considered a rare commodity by those times either.

Shaking the tangling web of thoughts from your mind, you dismissed it in the same way you’d learned to treat his many other anomalies. Perhaps he’d lived in… unique circumstances even then. Perhaps the true extent of his “old family recipe” has simply been lost to time, leaving him with memory of nothing but the utter basic ingredients. Perhaps your rough calculation of his true age was incorrect. The variety of reasons were plentiful, multiplying, and eventually, overwhelming to your tired mind.

Best to not dwell.

You were appreciative of his continued willingness to try your offerings, having not been too badly put off by his first impression of your “spicy” oatmeal. You began modifying your simple recipes, removing more and more flavor until you were left with the tamest possible versions of them. He came to enjoy your oatmeal, once you’d upped the water and forgone the cinnamon. He’d quite enjoyed your vegetable soup, too, once you parted ways with your beloved garlic and onions.

It wasn’t a hard sacrifice to make, in all honesty, because the satisfaction of finding something, anything else he liked to eat, far outweighed the loss. Besides, the omissions only applied to the initial recipe. Nothing stopped you from seasoning your own serving after the fact, which you often did. One would think you were eating Carolina Reapers with the way his eyes widened at the sight of you seasoning your food.

You never considered yourself to be much of a genuine spice lover, you just liked some flavor in your food. It became a lighthearted joke between you both. He continually balked at the sight of your heavy-handed garlic powder pour, and you gently poked fun at him over his bland taste. Watching him contentedly eat his watery oats, you once playfully remarked as much, affection lacing your quiet words as they crossed the kitchen table. “Matthew, you’ve got to be the whitest man I know.”

You doubted he’d get the reference, which only made his honest response infinitely funnier in retrospect. In the moment, though, it just made you a bit sad. “…You know other men…”

It wasn’t a question, nothing more than a quiet, trailing statement with a jealous undertone. He seemed saddened by such a reminder, and you quickly felt the urge to remove the frown settling on his lips. Rising from your seat and closing the space between you, your hand found his shoulder as you bent down to his level. After planting a long kiss on his temple, you reassured him softly. “None of them have ever held a candle to the ways in which I know you.”

You recall the feeling of his muscles relaxing beneath your touch, and you smile.

Using the edge of your ladle, you gently press it down and part a soft carrot slice in two. Nodding to yourself and giving the pot one last stir, you reach out and return the range’s dial back to its vertical off position. It’s then, in the otherwise quiet room, that Matt’s heartbeat grows noticeably louder in your ears.

It took a little while to adapt to at first, this new constant pulse in the background of your mind. When he first explained it to you, you’d had a fleeting fear that it would grow to annoy you, but you’re relieved to have found that to be far from the case. It’s comforting, above all else. A soft, constant reminder that he’s still alive, and still with you, even when he isn’t physically with you. And like any constant sound, you grew accustomed to it. Before you knew it you found it fairly easy to let slip from your focus when you so desired, and just as easy to tune back into when you wished.

Even when you weren’t paying specific attention to it though, it was always unmistakable when he first came home. Its volume being based upon your proximity, the steady beat always made itself re-known when he drew close. He was an otherwise quiet man, the many years spent in his particular occupation lending him an innate degree of stealth that he carried with him everywhere. He could never sneak up on you again, though. Such was the price he paid for giving you his heart, and he’s never seemed to mind.

So it wasn’t the silent unlocking of your door, nor was it his silent footsteps through the short hall that told you he was home. It was the steady thump of his heartbeat, catching your attention as it grew louder.

Smiling, you turn away from the stove to face the doorway just in time to greet him as he’s rounding the corner. “Welcome ho-…-ome…” The disheveled sight of him then causes your face to fall. You falter for a moment as his exhausted voice greets you in turn, making his way to the kitchen table and pulling out a chair. Reaching a hand inside his jacket, he pulls out a thick wad of cash, dropping it on the table with little fanfare as you make your way over to him.

The heavy scent of iron lingers on him, and your hands hover for a moment before gently landing on his upper arms. Catching his gaze, you question him in urgent concern. “What- what happened? Are you okay?”

He pulls his gloves off, tossing them onto the table next. “Of course I am, doll…” His unconvincing statement is punctuated by a quiet groan as he lowers himself into the chair. Your hands slip away from his arms, and when you register a cold wetness on the left, your breath hitches. Your eyes flick down to assess your palm at the same time as his preemptive reassurance hits your ears. “It’s not mine.”

The blood that soaked his jacket tints your hand a shade of red, not black, and you release your breath.

Reaching for a hand towel and wiping it away without a care, you resist the urge to put your hands on him again. You want to feel, want to search his pitch black clothes for any patch of blood that might not be red, but you refrain. You don’t ever want to overwhelm him.

Turning behind you and pulling your own chair near, you release his name in a shaky breath. “Matt…” You have to ask. “Did it… go south?”

His elbows thunk lightly against the table as he props them there, leaning forward. “Only…” He sighs. “Only a little bit.” He eyes the cash on the table. “I still got the job done.”

You follow his gaze, and frown. Reaching out, you lift one end of the stack with your thumb, watching the hundreds flicker past as you riffle through them. Pulling your hand back and crossing your arms, you voice your doubt. “Was it worth it? I don’t ever want you taking a job for the sake of the-”

“This wasn’t about the payment.” He gently cuts you off, shaking his head slowly. “That’s not why I took this job.”

“Was it… personal, then?”

“…Not quite.” His gaze drifts up from the table to stare out the small window above the sink. “It was… a moral thing, I guess. If I’d passed on it, there was a risk of it becoming personal. But- even if there wasn’t… I’m not the type to let a man like that walk.”

You question him gently. “…Like what?”

He glances at you for a moment, hesitating on his words. “He… had a reputation. Real big, strong, the cocky type. Liked throwing his weight around, starting fights…” Matt laughs. “He was so overconfident in himself, that- word was- he never even carried a gun. Thought that his sheer strength, “street smarts”, whatever, would be enough to carry him through anything.”

You roll your eyes at the notion. “Sounds like a real prick, yeah. But still, that’s not enough to get a bounty put on himself… right?”

You can’t see the way the edge of Matt’s lips tug up in the slightest smile at your words. It fades fast regardless though as he continues talking around the dark truth of the matter.

“Fist fights weren’t the only way he liked to… throw his weight around. He also had a penchant for targeting people that he knew couldn’t stand a chance at fighting back. He… enjoyed taking things that didn’t belong to him.”

The dark, disgusted edge that Matt’s voice has taken tells you that he’s not talking about material possessions. Your stomach drops. “…Oh.”

“Yeah.” His gaze locks onto the table. “There are… certain lines that you just don’t cross. He quite enjoyed crossing them. I quite enjoy killing those who do. So, no. It wasn’t about the money, doll.”

You uncross your arms, taking a deep breath. The metallic sting of the low-life’s remains wafts off of Matt and hits the back of your throat. The two of you sit in thoughtful silence for a few moments, and you come to a conclusion. “I wish you’d have let me come with you.”

You can hear the frown in his voice. “Like I said this morning, love, it was too dangerous-”

“Don’t you know how much I’d have loved to get in on a job like that?”

He breathes. In, and out. “I… do. I do. But I couldn’t risk it. Not this time.”

To his credit, he was often quite lenient with your requests. As much as he’d sometimes like to keep you here, safe, tied to the bedpost to never leave again and subject yourself to the cruel, dangerous world outside… he doesn’t. He’s come to recognize the strength that resides within you. He knows you can hold your own. He usually does let you accompany him on these jobs. He can even admit that you two make an excellent team.

That’s why you didn’t argue this morning when he insisted that he handle this one alone. The both of you have come very far. If he has reasons for wanting to work alone sometimes, you’ll step aside. But seeing him now, looking so worn down… knowing the type of revenge you missed out on, even if it wasn’t yours to take… it’s hard to stomach that you could only sit back and wait.

Your silence doesn’t sit well with him, so he continues to explain. “I know you can hold your own. As much as I hate to see you have to do it, I know. I know. But against a man like that, if there existed even the smallest chance that we could be overpowered and you could be subjected to… him.” He shakes his head, resolute. “No. I won’t ever risk that. I couldn’t live with myself if he’d so much as laid a finger on you.”

His eyes meet yours, and to your surprise, they’re almost pleading.

You hold his gaze for a moment before responding, letting the air’s tension ease. “…I get it.” You sigh, but it’s mostly one of acceptance. “But Gods, Matt, you look like you could collapse. How big of a fight did he put up, anyways?”

The old wooden chair creaks beneath him as he leans back, giving it his full exhausted weight. “He was a good fighter, I’ll admit. Strong too.” He reaches beneath his jacket again, this time retrieving his gun from its concealed holster. He points it skyward, finger thankfully off the trigger, tapping the end of the barrel a few times against his temple. You note the edge of unhinged pride in his voice. “He’d never met me though.”

The few remaining shreds of your sanity beg you not to find the display endearing. They lose in the face of your love for him.

Smiling, you shake your head, trying to reprimand him still. “You’re reckless, Matthew. Utterly reckless.”

“C’mon, poppet…” He lowers the gun to rest on the table, pointing away from you. “You can still hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

You nod.

“Did you ever hear it stop?”

You shake your head.

“Then there you have it. I’m just fine.”

His idea of reassurance could use a little work.

“Are you though? For- for all I know he could’ve hurt you fifty different ways, you healed on the way home, and I’ll be none the wiser! It’s not like I can just strip you and look for myself, I have to take your word for it!”

He’s grateful for the mask hiding the way his cheeks flush at your sudden mention of stripping him. He tilts his head to the side, searching for a more convincing answer.

The way his head moves causes the fabric of his mask to stretch out across his cheek. Not much, but enough. Just enough for your worried gaze to catch the tear in the fabric and the way it pulls apart, exposing a sliver of skin beneath.

You bolt up, leaning in close to him before he can even understand what you’re staring at. His wide-eyed gaze flicks toward you, but he doesn’t pull back. “…What is it?”

You reach a cautious hand out, giving him time to stop you, and he doesn’t. Pinching the material of his mask between your finger and thumb, you wince when you feel that it isn’t dry. Gently pulling down, you part the fabric far enough to get a better look beneath. “You have a tear in your-”

You can’t see much through the hole without tearing it wider, but the smeared black stain on the otherwise pale skin of his cheek causes you to falter. “…It’s not a tear.”

You pull your gaze away to look into his eyes. “It’s a cut.”

Recollection seems to hit him at your words, and he raises a hand to meet yours, his fingertips blindly assessing the area. When he pulls them away they’re tinted black.

Sheepish laughter escapes him as you release your hold on his mask, your frown deeper than ever.

“What can I say? He, eh… he brought a knife to a gun fight.”

You don’t laugh. “He cut through your mask. He hurt you.”

At your tone, Matt scrambles to do damage control. “It was barely a scratch! You- you know- one thing about big guys like him? They’re not all that nimble- or- or- agile like me. He hardly even landed any hits on me!”

Your eyes widen. “‘Hardly’? Are there more!?”

He shakes his head, hands held out in a placating gesture. “No! I- I mean- I don’t think so! It’s… kinda hard to tell… y’know? I was so caught up in the moment, it’s… easy to miss something as small as the sting of a blade.”

You stare at him, mouth agape for a moment in incredulous silence. You eventually close it, bringing your palms up to drag them down your cheeks in exasperation.

You suppose for a man who’s been shot as many times as he has, the pain of a cut would hardly even register by comparison.

His name comes out as a whine this time. “Matthew…”

“I’m sorry, love…” You can’t read much of his expression, but he sounds guilty.

You force yourself to take a calming breath.

“…No, no… it’s not your fault that he hurt you.” You could argue that it’s his fault for taking the job alone in the first place, but that’s hardly fair of you to say. Not when you know how much of his motivation was to keep you safe.

“You… don’t have to show me, if he hurt you elsewhere. Not if it isn’t vital. But please, at least let me help somehow. I can- I can wash those clothes for you.” Your gaze roams across the cut in his mask. “And I can mend that hole.”

“You don’t have to do any of that, doll, I-”

“I want to.” You cut him off with conviction. “I’ve- I’ve got food for you too… if you want it…” You add, gesturing to the pot on the stove with less conviction.

His gaze lingers on you as your tense shoulders fall, and his own tired muscles relax in response. Thoughtfully, he slowly begins to shrug off his jacket. “Yeah… yeah. Okay. I’d like that.”

You stand, coming around to lift the fabric from his shoulders. His voice grows soft. “…Thank you.”

With soup in your stomachs, Matt’s freshly washed clothes tumbling in the dryer, and himself currently in the shower, you release a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you set a freshly rinsed bowl in the drying rack. Retrieving the nearby hand towel from the counter, you admire what you can see of the sunset from your kitchen window, sifting through the thoughts and emotions cluttering your mind.

Matt’s order of operations this evening were strange, but hardly anything about him isn’t, so you don’t think about it too hard. Whatever compelled him to eat before his shower makes no sense to you. But hey, everybody’s got their preferences, you suppose.

Thankfully, his mask and jacket seemed to be the only two things that had any significant amount of blood on them. He let you take them off, what with you so eager to get them in the wash and rid your kitchen of the metallic scent. You imagined his shirt and pants didn’t come out completely unscathed, but with his penchant for an all-black wardrobe, it was hard to tell. You weren’t about to have him strip right then when it seemed all he wanted to do was take a nap right there at the table. It was fine, the rest could go in the wash later.

Returning from the washroom to the kitchen, the sight of him smiling at you, politely requesting soup with blood still smeared across his cheek gave you pause. When you questioned him on it, he blinked at you with tired eyes, stating that your cooking would give him the strength to go shower afterwards. You figured he was mostly saying that in an attempt to lift your spirits, surely he wasn’t that hungry. Nevertheless, it made you smile.

Pulling your mind from the past and your gaze from the purple-orange sky, you drape your towel over the oven door’s handle. With the kitchen back in order, you close the curtains, kill the lights, and make your way to the dryer.

You interrupt the machine and pull the dry mask from the drum before shutting the door and allowing the remaining larger, thicker, still-damp fabrics to finish out the cycle.

You flatten the balaclava in your hands as you make your way to the bedroom. Matt’s humming escapes from the crack beneath the bathroom door, along with the sound of running water as he continues his shower. Thoughtfully running your thumb over the slit across the mask’s left cheek, you stop at your dresser. Pilfering through the top drawer for your little sewing kit, you decide to make good on your offer to mend the hole.

Clicking on your bedside lamp, you kick your slippers off and settle atop the sheets, laying your supplies out in front of you. Analyzing the fabric, you pick out what you’ll need. It’s a pretty clean cut.

You push aside the quiet question of how sharp the man’s knife had been.

Should be easy enough to mend it close to new with some tight, careful stitching.

You push aside the quiet question of if any part of Matt might’ve needed stitching.

Cutting a length of black thread, you ready the needle, and set to your quiet work.

You shake your head at the prior thought, finding that it won’t leave you be. There’s never any need for stitches when it comes to Matt. The same likely holds true for you now as well. You both heal too quickly for that to be necessary.

You find yourself wishing that’d been the case for you back when you had a knife stuck in your gut, countless safety pins pushed through your skin, and a maniac cornering you, intent on bleeding you out the hard way.

“Death by a thousand cuts.” He’d told you.

Long as you may live, you don’t think you’ll ever forget it.

You try not to dwell on those memories, but it’s hard not to lament what could’ve happened. How differently things could’ve gone if you’d had the power that you possess today. How you’d have pulled that blade from your stomach without fear and shoved it through his throat so fast he wouldn’t have seen it coming. How you’d have torn that hideous white mask off of his face just to watch the shock and pain contort his features as you twisted the blade.

You watch the needle push through the fabric in your hands in a rhythmic, repetitive motion, your body on autopilot as your mind lingers in the past.

Maybe if Matt hadn’t had to show up and save you that day, things could’ve gone differently. Maybe the two of you wouldn’t have had to part ways afterward. Maybe your next meeting wouldn’t have been handcuffed together in an unfamiliar room.

Who knows. It’s a waste of time to wish you could change the past. And if things hadn’t gone the way they did, maybe you’d have never seen him again at all. Maybe there’s a reason for everything happening exactly how it did. Who knows.

An unknown force suddenly jostles you and you yelp, startled out of your thoughts. You immediately hear Matt apologize, and you turn, quickly gathering that the “unknown force” was nothing more than him, plopping down on the bed next to you. You open your mouth to respond, but you’re interrupted when you go to move your hand and an instinctive hiss of pain comes out of you instead.

Looking down, your eyes widen at the sight of your sewing needle, pierced straight through the pad of your left index finger.

“Oh, no!” Comes Matt’s shocked voice from beside you after his gaze follows yours. “Ohhh, no, no, no. Did I make you do that?”

You assume your fingers must’ve slipped when he startled you, but you aren’t about to blame him. You struggle to find your words as you stare at the tiny impalement. “It’s… it’s fine, honey, I was just… zoned out. Didn’t even notice that you’d left the bathroom…”

You gather Matt’s mask in your free hand, unable to put it down given that it’s still attached to the thread, attached to the needle, attached to you. Pinning the fabric between your wrist and your chest, you twist your body and hold your hand out under the lamp to your left. The thread attaching you to the mask grows taut, tugging lightly at your new piercing, and you feel your mind slipping.

You don’t feel yourself in your bed anymore, and you don’t see your nightstand in front of you. You feel yourself pinned to a wall, and you see that awful man pushing another pin through your skin. He’s rough and careless, pressing them deep to catch on more than just skin, tugging them back up to fasten them and make sure this hurts as much as possible.

Tears well up in your eyes as you feel someone take hold of your wrist. You instinctively pull away, and their soft grip tightens.

You hear that awful, wet, sputtering voice in your mind, muttering its nonsense, growing louder, angrier. You try to make sense of its repetitions. You shut your eyes tight and all you can see is blood. All you can hear is the blood spilling from his lips… his tongue. Tongue. That’s right. Someone cut out his tongue. Who? Was it you? Have you forgotten that too? Is this your punishment for such a crime? But- no- why would you do that? Did you do that? Did you do that? Do you deserve this? What did you do to deserve this?

What did you do?

What did you do, child?

Matthew’s voice cuts through the noise at last, shouting your name.

When you open your eyes, you meet his through a watery gaze.

He lowers his voice, but his heavy, serious tone remains as he begins to ground you.

“It’s over. He’s dead. He’s dead, and gone, and never coming back, and you didn’t do anything. You never did anything to deserve that. Not any of it.”

You’re tempted to close your eyes, wanting his voice to be the only thing you can perceive, but he stops you. “Ah-ah-ah- no, no, poppet, stay with me. Want you to keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You nod, raising your free hand to wipe at your eyes. He keeps one hand around your other wrist, holding your injury steady as he tugs at the collar of his bathrobe. He then reaches for your free hand with his, and you hardly have time to be confused before he’s slipping it beneath the thick fabric of his robe, bringing your hand to rest on his bare chest. The bold move shocks you halfway out of your mind’s haze, and for a brief, blissful moment all you can focus on is how warm he is.

Guiding your hand, he settles it directly over the part of his chest where you’d planted his last two hearts. “Do you feel that?”

The steady twin thumping against your palm aligns with the rhythm of his pulse in your mind. You nod. He rests his hand atop yours, a silent invitation to keep it there.

“Good. Focus on that for me, okay? Focus on that while we breathe. Just follow my lead, I know you can do this.”

He patiently guides you through a few long minutes of breathing, until you’re able to match his measured breaths. As soon as you feel able, you try to apologize. “I’m so sorry, Matt, I don’t know what came over me, I just-”

He gently hushes you. “Pumpkin, c’mon, none of that. You don’t have anything to apologize for, okay? Just breathe. In…” You copy him again. “Aaand out…” You manage to let your shoulders drop on the exhale this time, and he smiles. “Good. There we go.” His hand slowly leaves his chest, and you wordlessly slip yours out of his robe, not wanting to overstay your welcome.

You risk another glance at your injury, and to your relief it doesn’t make your head swim this time. Matt still tries to distract you from it, leaning in to break your line of sight. “You don’t have to worry about that, doll, I’ll take care of it-”

You nod, but still cut him off by tugging your hand closer for a better look. “You can- I’ll- I’ll let you, I just… wanna see.”

He allows it, his careful grip on your wrist remaining. “See what?”

You turn your hand under the light. “How deep it is.” Your stomach turns a bit as you stare, but you’re relieved to find that it’s not that bad. The needle simply slipped through the soft pad of your fingertip, not hitting anything else. You feel silly for caring, what with your body’s capabilities, the risk from something like this is as trivial as a paper cut. You suppose you just haven’t gotten used to living in a more resilient body. All of your old fears still linger, unnecessary as they may be.

Regardless, you look away as you allow him to take your hand back. “…Okay, Doc, have at me.”

Matthew chuckles. “Me? A doctor? Goodness, what is this world coming to…”

Attempting to keep the mood light, he playfully considers your minor injury as he steadies your upturned hand on his knee. “Now, this is a pretty cool piercing, I’ll admit. But it’s also a pretty inconvenient one, isn’t it. So as- uh- oh, what do the kids say these days… hardcore as it looks, I’m gonna need to remove this, alright?”

You nod, laughing beneath your breath, and he finds himself satisfied with the small smile he manages to bring out of you.

“I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can, yeah? Want me to count you down?”

You close your eyes, shaking your head. “Nah, it’s fine. In your own time.”

“Alright, love. Deep breath in for me?”

You inhale, and one short, mildly uncomfortable moment later, you’re freed from the painful intrusion.

“There we go.” You open your eyes as he takes the needle with its attached thread and balaclava out of your hold. Playful as ever, he scolds the offending object as he sets it aside. “Bad needle, bad! No one hurts my poppet, not even you.” He shakes his head, and you huff a laugh at his commitment to the bit.

As sweet as your partner is being, your focus still shifts to your sore finger, held in your own lap now. You watch two little beads of black blood form on both ends of the puncture wound. They swell, and slowly begin to roll down your finger as Matt returns to kneel in front of you.

A half-baked thought occurs, and you act on it immediately. Holding your finger out to him in offering, you feel a sense of déjà vu, recalling the first time you made an offering like this. His eyes widen at the sudden presentation, and far be it from him to presume, he questions you.

“Would you… like me to go grab a bandage for that, dear? It should… stop bleeding on its own very soon, but, I don’t mind if you-”

You shake your head. “That’s not necessary. I, uh… I’m offering.”

His brows raise. “Offering?”

“Y-yeah. A taste. If you want it.”

His tongue briefly pokes out to wet his lips, a minuscule movement, but you catch it. “Are- are you sure? You were just pretty upset, I don’t want to make anything worse…”

You nudge your hand closer, an odd sense of desperation fueling you. “I’m sure.”

Conflicted but clearly craving it, he brings your finger to his lips carefully. You take in a breath, nodding. Painfully slow, ready to stop himself at any second, he finally tastes you, and you exhale involuntarily. When he pulls away, there are already two little dots, tiny twin scars adorning both sides of your finger.

Damn, you sure do heal fast.

Why does that disappoint you?

You catch him eyeing the twin trails running down the length of your digit, and you encourage him to do what he likely considers too obscene. “Go ahead, if you’d like, love.”

His unsure gaze flicks between you and the remaining blood on your finger several times, before eventually giving in when you don’t waver. His tongue peeks out again, chasing the trails down the length of your finger, and his cheeks are burning red when he pulls away.

You feel lightheaded at the sight, in the best way possible. Sighing out a breathy “There you go…”, you take your hand back, admiring the pinprick scars.

“Thank you… you, uh, certainly didn’t have to offer that…” Matt’s appreciation goes in one ear and out the other as you quickly find yourself in the grips of a brand new idea. A newly born desire.

A stupid one? Maybe.

A dangerous one? Perhaps.

A weird one? Certainly.

You turn and pitch it to him before you can think any better of it.

“Can we do that again?”

He blinks a few times. “…Pardon?”

You reach for your sewing kit. “Can we…” You fish out a pin-filled cushion and present it to him. “…Do that again?”

You imagine the gears in his brain stuttering and shifting as his face cycles through several different expressions. “You want… to do that… again? All of it?”

You nod, a slightly less than subtle smile on your face. “Uhuh!”

“You want to pierce yourself again? On purpose this time? Because I- I promise you there’s easier ways to draw blood-”

“It’s not that different from a cut.” You interject. “And I… certainly don’t have to be the one to do it, but I can be… if you… don’t… want to.” Your voice is barely audible by the time you get the full sentence out.

“You want me to do it?” He reaches up, placing his palm on your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?” His question is mixed with disbelieving laughter, and the sound is contagious.

Now laughing too, you nod, pulling his hand away and taking it in yours. ��Matt, I’m high on endorphins right now, I’m better than okay.” You squeeze his hand. “And I’d quite like to make this last.”

What remains of your rationality pipes up, reminding you that perhaps he doesn’t want to. You sober up a bit at the thought. “That- that is… only if you want to.”

He shakes his head. “No, I- wait that’s- that’s not a no! I mean- it’s not a yes either- at least- not yet! I…” He sighs. “I just… don’t want to bring up bad memories again.”

You alleviate his concern with admittedly shady logic at best. “We can make new ones! Re… I don’t know… re-route the association.”

He frowns, clearly skeptical.

“I promise you, Matthew, I wouldn’t do this if I thought it would upset me.”

You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back.

“How can you know that it won’t?”

“I… can’t. Not for sure.” You place the pin cushion gingerly on your knee, and you crack a smile. “Not unless we try.”

He considers you for a long moment, and you release your eager hold on his hand, reiterating your prior point.

“It’s really okay if you don’t want to.”

He takes the cushion in one hand and slowly pulls a random pin out with the other. He asks you a very serious question.

“Will you tell me to stop, the moment you don’t like it anymore?”

Surprise paints your features. “Of course.”

He sets the cushion aside. “You’re sure you’d rather I be the one to do it?”

Your breathing picks up. “I’m sure.”

He notices, because of course he does, and he smiles, voice regaining a playful edge. “Well then… what kind of doctor would I be to leave a patient in need?”

You hate to admit the effect such a silly statement has on you, but from the way he’s watching you like a hawk… you probably don’t need to admit anything.

You ask one more time. “You’re sure you’re okay with this? Don’t let me pressure you…”

He toys with the tiny, sharp instrument, rolling it between his fingers.

“I’d be lying if I said the idea of this doesn’t… entice me.” He gently pokes at one of his own fingers, testing the waters. “And having you put this level of trust in me?” He meets your gaze. “It’s nothing short of an honor.”

“Then…” You feel heat rising to your own cheeks, and flex your fingers before offering him your left hand. “Please?”

He takes it in his, and pauses with a question. “Are you sure this is where you want it? Other areas would likely be… less sensitive. L-less painful, I mean. They… might also bleed less though…”

You nod. “Yes. I want it all, pain included.”

He smirks, running his thumb along the length of your middle finger. “You’re a little crazy, you know that?”

You pout playfully. “Only a little? …Gotta step up my game then…”

He shakes his head, laughing beneath his breath. Focus returning to your hand, he requests your preference. “Through the fingertip, like the first one?”

A rush of excitement tightens your chest. “Yeah, uh… the middle one, this time, please.”

He holds the appendage steady, readying the pin. “So polite…” He glances up at you. “A countdown this time, or no?”

You shake your head. “No… uh, again, in your own time.”

He picks up on the slight nervous edge in your voice. “You don’t have to watch, love.”

You consider it, and close your eyes. “Just… for this first one.”

You feel the tiniest point of pressure against the pad of your finger.

“No second thoughts yet?”

Your lips curl up at the edges.

“None.”

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he mentions it. “Breathe for me, doll.”

You obey.

“In…”

Your lungs fill.

“Out…”

You breathe out, slow at first, and then hard, as you feel the thin metal pierce through your sensitive skin. Your free hand grips the bedsheets and a sudden heat washes over you. Matt’s calm voice is quick to fill your ears.

“Good, good. There you go, you’re okay.”

You open your eyes and sure enough, he’s mirrored the first injury. Not too deep, just enough to hurt, and draw blood when removed.

His thumb rubs distracting circles into your palm. “How are you feeling now?”

Your shaky breath turns into quiet laughter, and you feel a little unhinged as you look him in the eye. “Good… really good.”

Relief softens his features, and warms his smile. “Good. You did very well.”

Your cheeks heat from the praise, the feeling mixing deliciously with the slight throb of pain. “You-” You take in a breath. “You can take it out now.”

He shifts slightly in his position beneath you. “You sure? I’m in no rush, doll, we can take our time with this.”

“I know, I know… but I want it to bleed.” You unfurl your right hand from the sheets, reaching out to rest it on his left shoulder. “Besides, I hate to make you wait for your reward.”

His brows raise. “Reward?”

“You didn’t think I’d have you pierce me just to keep the blood all to myself, did you?” You grin. “It’d be an awful waste.”

“That’s…” His own breath grows slightly heavier, and you revel in it. “…Very generous of you, love.”

He takes the end of the pin between his fingertips, careful not to tug on it. His eyes ask for permission, and you grant it with a nod. You don’t close your eyes this time. You do squeeze his shoulder, though.

Slowly, gently, he pulls the pin back, and you watch in rapt fascination as it moves through your skin. Your breath hitches the slightest bit when it slides fully out, and comfort spills from Matthew’s lips. “Sh-sh-shhh, you’re okay, you’re okay… it’s out now.” The mixture of comfort, pain, and praise that he’s giving you is enough to make you dizzy. You love it. Maybe too much. A brief thought passes that you may never get enough.

It fades when he looks up at you, and you see the restrained desire in his eyes. It mixes with surprise. “Oh-oh! I didn’t know you were watching that time…”

You raise a brow. “Is that okay?”

A beat passes, and he laughs, soft and breathy. “Of course. Of course it is.”

Blood is already beading at your fingertip, so you raise it up in offering. “You’re really good at this.”

He eyes your fresh little wounds and a faint sense of satisfaction blooms deep within him. “…Am I?”

His eyes close as he takes the tip of your finger between his lips, and you bite back an embarrassing noise when you feel him apply light suction. “S- shit- you sure are...”

Your lidded eyes graze across his features, and they catch on the new scar adorning his cheek. They remain there even after he’s released your finger, and as you allow that hand to fall to your lap, you reach out to him with the other. He doesn’t pull away when you cup his cheek, but he does comment after a quick breath to collect himself. “Like I said earlier… ‘s just a scratch.”

You gently brush over the raised line with your thumb, a pout turning your lips down. “Scratches don’t leave scars…”

He cups a hand over yours, blinking slowly. “I’m okay, truly.” Tongue poking out from between his wet lips again, he smiles. “Feeling better than okay right now, thanks to you.”

You look from his scar, to his eyes, and back to his scar a few times as an urge blooms within you. It’s a familiar one, often fought back, and re-emerging with renewed intensity every time.

You let it win tonight.

Leaning down toward him, giving him ample time to stop you, you move to press a kiss to his cheek. He makes no attempt to object.

His breath catches, almost imperceptible if you weren’t so close, as your lips meet his freshly scarred skin. You linger for a moment that feels like forever, before pulling away. When your eyes open and meet once more, the room feels warmer.

…Maybe it’s just you.

His eyes flutter closed again as he leans into your touch, still cupping his cheek. His other hand finds yours, joining it on your lap.

As the two of you bask in your respective little highs, you feel uncharacteristically bold. So when a question arises, you don’t dismiss it as you’ve done in the past.

“Matthew?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think about kissing me?”

His eyes blink open.

“I… do kiss you?”

You smile at the innocent confusion.

“Not… not like I just did. Not on my cheek, or my forehead, or my hand…”

Your thumb brushes past the corner of his mouth.

“On my lips.”

His eyes widen.

“…Oh.”

You didn’t think his face could grow much warmer, but it does.

“I… well…” He seems reluctant to answer, and you wonder what’s holding him back.

“It’s okay if you don’t, love. I just… wonder, sometimes.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, seeming to come to a quiet conclusion. “…I do, though.” His words suddenly have a desperate edge to them. “I have, and I do. But… I feel like I shouldn’t.”

Your head tilts to the side. “Shouldn’t think about it?”

“N-” He falters. “…Yes… that’s… part of it. I do feel like I shouldn’t sometimes. I don’t ever want to push that sort of affection on you. I- I’d be okay if we never… went there. Honestly. Just… having you- the honor of calling you mine. That’s more than enough for me.”

Your eyes threaten to water from the effort of containing your emotions. “That means a lot to me, you know? That you don’t want to push me. But… I’d like to put that inner conflict of yours at ease. Because I think about it too.”

“You do?” There’s genuine disbelief in his voice.

You nod. “I sure do. Ha… honestly, I fear it’s a bit… obvious, sometimes.”

He shrugs, shaking his head slowly. “I mean… I never want to assume. I’m not always the best at reading people…”

“Well, what if I make it clear, hm?” You lock in on his gaze. “I want to kiss you too, Matthew.”

Flustered by the direct confession, he trips over his words. “I- ahaha- well, wow. Uhm- I mean, you see…”

Your voice is soft. “What is it, love?”

“I’m…” He closes his eyes. “Afraid.”

You first try the lighthearted method of easing his fears. “I promise I won’t bite…”

In spite of his apparent inner conflict, he laughs. “Not, uh, not of that… but thank you. It’s, eh…”

“You can be candid with me, honey.”

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to… get you sick.”

You blink. “Do you… feel a cold coming on, or…?”

You move your hand up to feel his forehead, but right now he’s flushed all over, so… oh. Oh, maybe you’ve been misinterpreting that.

Mirroring your earlier exchange, he pulls your hand down with a small smile. “No… not that kind of sick. I mean…” He toys with your fingers as he finds his words. “Sometimes I feel like there’s something inside me. Something dangerous. Something bad. I’m afraid of passing it to you.”

You glance at your wrist, and its slowly growing collection of black lines. “Honey… I think that whatever lives within you is already in me too.” You tap a few times on your chest, right over both of your hearts. “You know?”

“Yeah… I do.” His gaze lingers on your chest, but you can sense that it’s innocent. Honestly, it’s almost like he’s looking more through you than at you. From his next words, you can tell that his mind’s a little far away. “Still, though… I fear that there’s more. Something worse. Something that wouldn’t serve you. I… I don’t know what it is.”

You mull his words over, and come to a rational conclusion. Well. As rational as you’re capable of being in your current state.

You reach out to place a finger beneath his chin, your thumb dangerously close to his lower lip. It doesn’t take much more than that to bring him back into the here and now with you. “Even so. I’m not scared. I wouldn’t be here with you today if I was afraid of taking risks.”

His lips part slightly as you pause, but he doesn’t interrupt you.

“If you really don’t want to, I will not pressure you. I won’t bring this up again unless you do. But regardless- I need you to know this, Matthew.”

For once, he’s the one holding his breath.

“I don’t care if you’re sick. I don’t care if it’s contagious. Hell, I’d kiss you even if you were dead.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips again. A subconscious thing, you figure.

Satisfied that you’ve made your stance clear, you move to release your gentle hold on his chin.

His hand flies up to stop you.

“Please.”

You freeze.

“Please… what?”

His tone is full of quiet desperation.

“Kiss me. Please. I want it too, I do, I do.”

Your breath grows shallow.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

You allow your hand to slide until it’s cupping the back of his jaw, and you lean down slowly. He rises to meet you halfway, you both close your eyes, and together, you give in.

It’s desperate and clumsy, trembling breaths and shaky hands. Your uneven positioning doesn’t lend itself well to the action, and your shared inexperience makes itself quietly known.

But it’s passionate, it’s intimate, vulnerable, and honest.

It’s far from perfect. It’s real.

Neither of you would change a single thing.

Breaking apart, you both descend into fits of quiet giggles. Eyes still closed and foreheads pressed together, you lean into each other, catching your breath.

When you’re calm enough to speak, you pull back, squeezing his hands in yours. “You’re so warm…”

He laces his fingers between yours. “You’re so soft…”

He shifts in his half-kneeling stance at the bed beside you, and it suddenly hits you. “Gods, how long have I kept you like this?”

The sudden question pulls him halfway out of his post-kiss daze. “Like what?”

You laugh, embarrassed. “On the floor in front of me! I’ve been so caught up in… in- in you, I didn’t even think about it, I…”

He shakes his head, tone completely unbothered. “It’s alright, doll! Really, it’s…” He stares up at you for a moment, and exhales. “It’s far from a bad position to be in.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Even so, you can’t be comfortable. C’mon, we’re getting you back in this bed with me properly.”

You move to encourage him to stand, and he puts his hands down on the edge of the bed to support himself. Only, instead of standing, he flinches with a quiet “Ow!” When he pulls his hand back, you’re mortified to see the pin he’d used on you earlier sticking out of his palm.

“Oh, fuck- Matt- here- let me see.” You reach for his wrist, and he lets you take it.

You sigh in relief once you hold it in the light. It’s not buried to the hilt, just about halfway. It hasn’t pierced through his hand completely, but the sight still makes you cringe. Guilt is quick to wash over you. “Matt, I’m so sorry, this is my fault.”

You hear the smile in his voice before you see it. “It’s okay, poppet. It hardly even hurt, just took me by surprise more than anything.”

You throw him a skeptical look, and he doubles down. “Honest! And anyways, it’s not your fault that I left it lying on the bed.”

You frown. “I distracted you…”

He shrugs. “I’d say it was well worth it, given the type of distraction.”

Shaking your head, you cradle his hand in yours. “I’m still sorry.” Looking at him with worried eyes, you make an offer. “I can take it out, if you want me to. Or- or you can! I mean- whatever you’re comfortable with…”

He nods, his smile soft. “You can do it, doll. You won’t hurt me.”

The confidence- (or is it trust?)- in his words surprises you. It shouldn’t, you suppose, given that this is nothing compared to the whole heart-transplant-thing. He wasn’t quite conscious for that, though…

Still, you don’t take the job lightly. Carefully steadying his hand, you reach to grasp the end of the pin. “Do you want me to count?”

He mirrors your words from earlier. “No, it’s okay. In your own time.”

You hold the pin steady, and pull. Not too fast, not too slow, you try to mirror how he did it for you, and it’s out in no time. He doesn't even flinch. You frown at the offending object as you place it on your bedside table with purpose. “Bad pin, bad.”

Chuckling, he flexes his hand in your hold. “It’s really alright, you know? I’m not upset.”

Your focus returns to his palm, watching blood bead up out of the tiny hole. Apparently deciding to continue acting out your prior exchange in reverse, he offers it up to you. “That’s yours, if you’d like.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “…I’ve hardly earned it.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not something to be earned. I’m giving it willingly. You’re welcome to any part of me… whenever you want it.” He catches your downcast gaze. “Always.”

Flustered by his sincerity, you try to let go of the guilt nagging at you. Focusing on the blood collecting in his palm, you recall the taste from last time.

You crave it.

Leaning down, you kitten-lick at the tiny puddle. Once you catch a taste, though, you’re quick to lave your tongue over it in earnest. He watches you closely.

Shutting your eyes, you savor his offering, but it’s quick work nonetheless, his injury healing as fast as yours had.

Once his hand is cleaned, you thank him, feeling fire on your cheeks.

“Hmm. I feel like I should be the one thanking you.” He remarks while moving to stand. Surely his knees are killing him, but he voices no complaint. He’s far more content than you’d seen him all day, actually.

He stretches with a yawn before falling into step and making his way around the bed to rejoin you. He combs his fingers through his half-damp hair, feathering it out. You watch in quiet admiration as it drapes across his shoulders.

The man has nicer hair than you do, you think to yourself for the millionth time since knowing him. Not in true jealousy, of course, but it has always surprised you. In your early meetings, you’d only ever seen a hint of it, peeking out from beneath the neck of his mask. He keeps it tied back and tucked away when he’s working, so it wasn’t until the two of you had some genuine alone-time together that you’d been graced with a proper view of it.

Milk-chocolate brown, silky-smooth, and pin-straight. He had the type of hair you’d once envied, seemingly effortless to care for. He never had to do much to make it look nice. But of course, he’d always brush it off when you said so. Seeming almost flustered, he was often unsure of what to do with your compliments, especially in the beginning. You did your best to lay them on easy.

The bed shifts once again beneath his weight, and this time you don’t flinch at all. Sitting back against the headboard, he shuffles up beside you. You lean into him as the mattress dips and he stretches out his left arm, wrapping it around you.

“Comfy?” He asks.

“Mmmhm.” You hum.

Reaching out for his hand, you pull it toward you. You love his hands, and he knows it. Luckily, he’s never seemed bothered by your penchant for hanging onto them. Quite the opposite, if you were to guess. You aren’t oblivious to his possessive nature, after all.

Idly manipulating his fingers, you quietly admire them for the thousandth time. You’ve made yourself quite familiar with every scar, callus, and crease on these strong hands. With one thought as to all that they’re capable of, it still baffles you how gently he handles you. He always has.

That doesn’t mean it’s never hurt. Sometimes pain is necessary. Or, at the very least, it’s unavoidable. But he was always gentle about it. Injuring you, bandaging you, feeding you, caring for you… hell, even that time he prepared to kill you, he was gentle about it.

You can hurt someone gently.

You can pleasure someone roughly.

…There may be a few wires crossed in your brain. You laugh to yourself softly.

“What’s funny, love?”

You shake your head before resting it on his shoulder. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just thinking.”

Even when he was scared, or angry, his gentle touch never faltered.

You sometimes wonder if it was fear, or rage, that caused his hands to tremble after your encounter with Mr. T. Was it fear of losing you? Was it anger at what the man had done? Honestly, it could’ve simply been the adrenaline rush of having just finally killed the man.

…Regardless. It wasn’t lost on you how hard he tried to keep himself composed, diligently removing pin, after pin, after pin.

That’s the only part of that awful memory that you don’t mind.

Well, that, and the confession of his feelings for you. That was certainly a highlight too.

Manually curling his fingers one by one into his palm, you run your thumb over the symbol of Venus, tattooed on his middle finger. Every time you see it, you hear his voice in your mind, answering your inquiry as to its meaning.

“Because I’m a feminist.” He’d stated matter-of-factly.

You pull his hand up further, and plant a kiss on the reminder inked into his skin.

He turns his head, planting one on the crown of your head in turn.

Using your thumb to push his fingers back out, you frown at the sight of the new scar on his palm. It’s a tiny thing, honestly. Unnoticeable unless you’re looking for it.

You huff, and plant another kiss there anyways.

Matt breathes his laughter into your hair.

“Y’know, I’d been planning on piercing myself anyways, and offering you my blood in turn. That little accident with the pin really just cut out half the work for me.”

Your eyes widen and you lean away to turn and look at him directly. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean- you were so generous with me today… it only felt fair.”

“I wasn’t expecting… you… you didn’t have to do that.”

His hand comes to life, turning the tables and beginning to gently play with yours.

“Okay… okay, I’ll admit.” His thumb taps thoughtfully over the black dots adorning your fingertips. “Fairness wasn’t the only motivating factor.”

The undercurrent of suggestion in his tone sparks your interest. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” He thoughtfully hums.

“Well, if you had further plans, I certainly never meant to interrupt.”

He considers it, softly pinching your fingers between his own. “Well. You did seem to imply earlier that you wanted more than one piercing. I’m still very willing to help.”

At the prospect, you grow a little bold. “Would you be willing to let me return the favor? You shouldn’t be doing all the work.”

He smiles, playful. “Haven’t had your fill of me yet, hm?”

You reach out to your nightstand, retrieving the pin once more. “I don’t think I could ever get enough, love.”

The two of you settle in, taking a few turns carefully piercing one another and nursing the blood. You keep the focus on your hands, for tonight, at least.

At one point, his palm brushes across the stub where your left pinky once was, and a shiver runs down your spine. His voice slips out, low and apologetic. “Sorry, poppet.”

“It’s alright… ‘s just sensitive sometimes.” You’re willing to move past the moment, but he lingers on it.

“I really never wanted to do that.”

“I know. I… it could’ve been a lot worse.”

Pain and regret seeps into his voice.

“It shouldn’t have happened at all. But they… didn’t give me much choice.”

You recall the hammer he held that night, and how he set it aside instead of turning it on you.

“You bent the rules as far as you could without breaking them. I know that.”

“I told you how I went back and made them pay in the end, right?”

You nod, but still, you question him, wanting to hear it again.

“They suffered?”

His left arm tightens around you.

“Absolutely.”

You relax against him, nodding in approval.

“Very good.”

He holds his own left pinky out for you, and you pierce it slowly.

When you’re both comfortably high off of one another, you will yourself to move one final time to set the pin safely aside.

As you curl back into Matt’s side, you notice his latest wound, still smeared with a small amount of congealing, black blood. Bringing it to your lips without hesitation, you mumble to yourself. “Getting sloppy with my work… shame on me.”

After cleaning up the mess and kissing it better one final time, you let your head fall back against the pillows. Matt regards you with lidded eyes and a soft laugh, reaching down to cup your cheek. You question him with a soft sound, and his voice is low when he answers you.

“You’ve still got my blood on your lips.”

Having lost your brain-to-mouth filter several piercings ago, you pose a bold solution.

“How about you help me clean it off then?”

You hear his heart pick up its pace at the invitation.

“Oh, I’d love to.”

Bringing his lips to meet yours for the second time tonight, you both melt into the kiss. It’s slow, and lazy, neither of you in a hurry to pull away. Even through your shared haze, when his hand finds the back of your neck and his fingertips press softly into the muscles there, it sends a jolt of pleasure through you that makes your head spin.

He pulls away to keep from laughing into the kiss. “Sorry, love. Didn’t know that would… affect you so strongly.”

Your tired eyes flutter open, and you speak between heavy breaths. “Don’t be.” You snake your hand around the back of his neck, and pull him down into you once again.

When you’ve both exhausted your air and energy, you roll over, wrapping yourself around him. As you lay there, head on his chest in the cozy, quiet room, a distant thought occurs to you.

“…Damn.”

“…Hmm?” His questioning hum reverberates in your ear.

“I never got the rest of the laundry out of the dryer.”

He huffs a laugh, pulling you in close.

“What’s so bad about that? The machine turns itself off.”

“Yeah, but… the laundry will get wrinkled…”

You trail off, and after a moment of thought, you both come to a decision together, voicing it aloud in sync.

“Ah, fuck it.”

Tiredly giggling at the jinx, the two of you give up the fight against sleep.

In the dark, beneath the sheets, your hands find each other, and you lace your sore fingers together, squeezing gently.

A/N: If you'd like to read my thoughts in regards to the process of writing this fic, as well as the musical inspiration behind it, you can find all of that over here, in the end-notes on Ao3! Header Image Sources: x - x - x (they're from Pinterest again, i know i know don't yell at me) My playlist and pin board for Matt. Lastly, of course, here's the link to The Malenkee Saga, and here's a link to Matt's videos if you're just looking for him.

#Jimち ASMR #Malenkee Saga #fanfic #horror #blood play #needle play #blood drinking #my writing #🧷 Matt 🔨#dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #gun mention #blood mention #cw sh #implied sa #cw implied sa #cw blood #cw injury #cw body horror #cw needles #i didn't mean for this to get quite so long but. listen.#sometimes you sit down to write a needle play fic and end up spending the first 2k words writing about soup #it's alright we got there in the end. as uh. tame as it may have been #listen it's their first time they're not gonna do a full back piece or smthn #anyways this is the first thing i've written in a few months and i'm pretty content with it. felt like a good warmup #it also feels good to finally have written the sequel that i mentioned wanting to make after writing the first Matt fic last year #this feels like i finally reached the point i was aiming for when writing the first one. it feels like a more comfy/satisfying ending #i don't rlly mind that it took two fics to get there though. dunno if i'll ever write a 3rd it just depends on if inspiration strikes #i had fun revisiting this old blorbo of mine though! he's always there with the rest living in the back of my mind <3

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fireinmoonshot · 2 months ago

Text

maybe one day | robert reynolds x reader

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR MARVEL'S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Reader Summary: Every time you wake up from a nightmare, Bob is there to help you get back to sleep. This time, however, is a little different. Warnings: Mentions of nightmares and traumatic pasts (nothing specific). It's also fairly angsty. Word Count: 1k A/N: It's been a while! I have been in the depths of a writing slump for the past three weeks or so but Thunderbolts has seemingly brought me out of it. I assumed it would be Bucky that did that but it ended up being Bob... I love him. He's been living rent free in my head ever since I saw the movie last night. I just had to write about him. This fic is just a small one, as obviously it's the first thing I've written since falling into a slump, but I'm pretty proud of it. Bob is very different to write for (especially different to Joaquín who is all I've been writing for lately) so I hope I've done him justice. I look forward to continuing to write for him!

The bedroom is still dark when you wake up. The only sign that you’re not alone in the room is the faint silhouette of someone sitting in the armchair at the end of your bed and the steady sound of fingers tapping against the material of the chair. Strangely, the presence isn’t scary but comforting. There’s only one person it could be.

“Was I having another nightmare?” You ask.

You’d woken up to the feeling of your bed shaking gently. It isn’t an unfamiliar feeling – you’ve woken up this way several times in the past few months. It’s Bob’s way of waking you up without shaking you awake himself. Using the most minimal of his powers to help you.

While he’s not in control of his powers, he can’t risk hurting you. Even just holding your hand could send you into one of your worst memories. And like all of the other members of your team, back in New York you’d been forced to live through them all because of the Void.

Since then, you and Bob had become closer. You’d all moved into the old Avengers tower now that you were the new Avengers. Bob’s room had been across the hall from yours. He’d heard your screams from the first nightmare and had been there to wake you up from them almost every night since. Most nights, he sits by your bed to keep you company until you fall back asleep. It’s not the most efficient way to help, he knows. But the last thing he’d ever want to do is to accidentally send you back into the memories that had given you so much trauma.

“You were.”

You sit up properly in your bed and reach out a hand to turn on the lamp that sits on your bedside table. The bulb is dull, only bright enough to bring a dark yellow glow to the room but it’s enough for you to be able to see Bob. He looks exhausted.

“Have you gotten any sleep tonight? What time is it?”

“I slept a little,” he nods. “I don’t know what time it is. Three a.m? Four, maybe.”

You stifle a yawn and run a hand through your hair. It’s thick with sweat, courtesy of the nightmare you’d been having – though you’re thankful that you don’t remember exactly what it was about tonight. “You should go back to sleep, Bob.”

“I will when you do.”

For a moment, you simply look at him. The way he looks at you despite his exhaustion doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You can see the worry in his eyes, the way his eyebrows are drawn and his lips are a little pursed. You want nothing more than to crawl to the end of your bed, reach out a hand and tug him up so he can crawl into bed with you and hold you while you fall asleep. But you know that he’d never allow himself to do something like that.

“Will you stay with me?” You ask anyway.

Bob hesitates, opening his mouth and then closing it again before he shakes his head. “You know that I can’t. I can’t until I know I can control it. I won’t put you through that again.”

“I’ll put a pillow barrier up,” you offer. Bob lets out a small laugh at your words. “I mean it, Bob. I want you to stay with me. Not on the chair at the end of my bed, not on the floor. In the bed, beside me. If you can’t hold me, that’s the next best thing.”

Bob sighs and stands up from the chair before heading around to the opposite side of the bed and pulling back the covers. You smile to yourself as you grab an extra pillow and place it in the middle of the bed. Once your head hits your own pillow again, you can look right beside you and into Bob’s eyes. It’s the closest you think he’s ever let himself get to you.

“Can I try something?” You ask, voice soft.

He nods once, though you can see he’s a little concerned that you might be about to rip down the pillow barrier and latch yourself onto him, as if you’d ever do something like that without his consent first.

You raise a hand, palm towards him, and smile as you see him raise his own hand. He moves it towards yours, just hovering it next to your hand. You can almost feel the warmth radiating off of his skin. His hand is so close to yours that you could move the smallest bit and brush your fingers against his, though you restrain yourself.

“I wish I could hold your hand,” Bob mutters quietly, voice a little muffled by the pillow.

“Me, too,” you hum, watching as your hands dance close together. “I want to know what it feels like to touch you. To have your fingers entwine with mine. To feel your skin against my skin. Is that weird to say?”

Bob shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I want that too.”

“Maybe one day?”

He looks away from your hands and meets your eyes. “One day.” It’s not a maybe. It’s a certainty. Once he can control his powers. He removes his hand from the air and tucks it underneath the blankets. “You should sleep now.”

“I will when you do,” you murmur, forcing yourself to keep your eyes open as your hand falls onto the pillow in-between the two of you, a sudden wave of sleepiness overtaking you.

Bob smiles to himself as he watches your eyes flutter closed and sleep takes hold of you. He’s glad he stayed. Even if all he wants is to push the pillow away and pull you into his arms. Even though he’s probably not going to get a wink of sleep while he lays beside you, too content with just watching you sleep, seeing how peaceful you look.

But as long as that pillow stays in place, you’re safe. Until he can control his powers, this is the way things have to be. To keep you safe from the nightmares. From the Void. From him.

#bob reynolds #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x you #bob reynolds x you #marvel #thunderbolts #thunderbolts x reader #marvel x reader #sentry

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rayasslicker · 4 months ago

Text

x. another life (written work)

You groaned, throwing your phone into one of the soft cushions.

To say that Scaramouche is a morning person was a complete understatement—that guy's a complete, abnormal morning freak. You're pretty sure he went to bed at around midnight and guessing from the times you've seen him prepare, he'd take at least two whopping hours to, what? contemplate which shade of color goes well for his Minecraft boxers?

Yeah.

That's how slow the asshole is. And listen, you're not one to judge; you're a morning person as well, but in fairness, it's mostly because you're still high from the adrenaline of doing a concerning amount of work before taking a short nap.

So, again, yeah. He's a fucking morning freak that you would absolutely not appreciate in your morning routine that requires the absolute of patience needed.

Clicking your tongue, you shoot a glare at your glowing device. One that could hopefully urge the phone to burst into flames.

Okay, bath. Bath. Bath.. bath.. bath..

–

“Three baskets of strawberries, thirty kilograms of flour, and that Letche brand of baking powder in..” you squinted, willing the memory out of the corner of your brain, “..in aisle three or seven. Just request three boxes of those, thank you.”

The man with the brown cap nodded, eagerly taking notes with the most worn-out pen you've seen so far, “that's it, miss..?”

You smiled. “Miss [Name]. We’ll be seeing each other more, I'm sure of it.”

“Got it! We'll have it delivered by.. presumably three days from now.”

Seconds passed by as the sounds of scribbles filled the air, until another man emerged from of the entrance, form shifting and awkward before the sound of chimes and an embarrassed voice shatters the silence, “sorry to bother you, but uh, um. Your coworker, I assume..? Your coworker is very.. aggressive, and I think he wants to go in. Inside, I mean. Here.”

Silence ensued as you stared blankly at both men, before recognition hits you like cold ass water.

How the motherfuck do I always forget that he exists, goddamnit!

You flashed the two men a customer-service smile, whispers of apologies on your lips as you rushed to the door.. and, lo and behold! The Beauty and the Beast: budget edition!

Said Beast snaps his head to you, an ugly scowl adorning his face, “calltime was 8:00AM. and it's 8:09AM. How hard is it for you to be punctual for once, you fucking–”

You sighed, eyes shutting to a close, “as you said, it's 8:09AM in the morning and it's still early. Can we save the yelling later in the afternoon?”

Your veins throbbed when a click of a tongue was all you could hear before a calmer voice replaced it once again, “yeah, whatever, fruitcake. Let's get on with it. Who were those people, anyway?”

He pats the metal part of his Beauty, slowly treading over to your side, “uh. just a few of those delivery guys. yeah.”

“‘s that so? Also, fucking gross. I can hear your saliva swirling around, shithead. Keep it down.”

“..Shut up!”

–

God.

This was gonna be an absolute comedian 12-Hour Shitshow. With the first guests being the poor two men having to witness the most atrocious altercation between two hard-headed rivals, especially the one with grape-hair.

A particularly idiotic expression coursed through your rival’s face, “no, that's why you don't need the three boxes of shitty baking powder, you dumbass! You have to finish the remaining ones in the pantry first!”

The man with the brown cap flitted his eyes to the Asshole, before going back to yours, “and as I've said, there's only two in the pantry! Two! We need more than just two, and there's barely any stores in here that sells that specific brand!”

“That damn thing is also about to expire.”

“No, it's not! We bought it just a year ago, in the highest quality!”

“Baking powders lasts up from six to eighteen fucking months! You're a barista slash baker, how do you not know that!?”

“Erm—”

“Eighteen! There's still six months left. And—”

“Fuck off with your mumbling shit. There's no need to buy lthree fucking boxes of baking powder to last you a year, you dipshit. You only need one!”

“No, we don't—”

“—Um, as much as we're enjoying this, uh. Conversation, I think we have to really get going, because um. We're running late. So. How many boxes, really?” The sheepish man put out a notepad, strikingly similar to the man with the brown cap that's now pulled down to his face.

Heat burned in your cheeks as you pinched the Asshole’s side, ignoring his utterly embarrassing squeak as you replied back, “Two. just.. two. Thank you.”

The two simultaneously and awkwardly replied, “got it!”

You and Scaramouche shared a glance as they scurried to the door, before it turned into a glare.

“That was your fault, by the way.”

“Was not.”

“It was.”

“If you hadn't made a comment on the baking powder, then this wouldn't have happened.”

Scaramouche scoffed, the snark so prominent it makes you nauseous, “oh, fuck off. you listened to me in the end, didn't you? kind of proves that you really needed my help.”

A snort left your lips as you approached him, arms folded, “kinda? shut up, I never needed it,” there was a harsh finality in your tone and you made sure to emphasize it as you jabbed a finger to his chest, “I survived 15 years without your help. And I sure don't need it now.”

And in response, Scaramouche all but blinked, shock morphing his expression before it contorted to one of mixed miniscule confusion and amusement, “ever heard of sarcasm, fruitcake? you're so easy to rile up.”

Your eye twitched. It's still 8:30AM. You open up at 9:00AM. 9:00AM..

Exhale, inhale.

“And that exhale, inhale thing you're doing is also pretty dumb, by the way.”

“Okay,” you were so close. so close to punching the asshole out of here. better yet, fire him and put the nastiest record on his file, but you know better than that. because, again, exhale inhale exhale inhale— “shut the fuck up, and turn over that damn sign. go parade out the streets since you're such a dollface, you goddamn asshole. maybe you should put that pretty face of yours to some use instead of using it for the ugliest shittiest fucking–”

“You think I'm pretty?”

What. The fuck?

Your brain short-circuits, as you blankly turn to him.

Scaramouche, the shit-eating asshole that he is, dares to even flutter his eyelashes. Eyeliner becoming more prominent amidst the pale expanse that is his face and by gods, you can only hope that the absolute nausea that's swirling in your stomach right now is reflecting on your face, because why in the goddamn fuck did he say it as if it wasn't an universal fact?

Yes, he's pretty! Of course, he is! It's like goddamn sky is blue, grass is green and Tighnari is head over heels for Cyno—so why the fuck is this hardheaded dickhead acting as if your flattery is anything different from the others!?

And after prolonged minutes of intense emotional whiplash between nausea, disgust, shock and acceptance, you reply, “no, you look like god’s abandoned piece of shit.”

He snorts, poise relaxing as he sits by one of the chairs, leg propped up over the other leg, “that's a funny thing to think about.”

“..Are you gonna do the damn thing or are you just gonna—”

“Alright, alright, you fussy shithole!”

–

It's only a short 30 minutes before you’re working on the counter again: swiveling through the counter, putting on the most customer-service smile, throwing an occasional ‘good morning’ to the elderly, and saying ‘hi’ to the chit-chat companion you sporadically talk to.

Except this time, this fucking time, there's a fucking twink bumping hips and asses with you in every turn.

Hey, listen, the café that your grandmother owns specifically intends to hold two workers minimum considering that she had this whole thing built for her husband that soon passed when you were younger. So, meaning to say, it's not particularly small. It's somewhat large if you consider it, but goddamn.

It's like every hit and bump is laced with ill purpose. But when you turn to him to reprimand him, his eyes hold the same sceptical annoyance as well.

(A gnawing thought itches at your skin, but you turn that shit off the second it appears, because it mentions quite the inappropriate thing. Hint: thing being ass.)

It's gotten so bad that by the time it hits an hour before lunchtime, one of the regulars asks the most atrocious thing.

“Um, not to offend or anything, but are you two.. dating?”

And.. that? Oh boy, did your composure nearly slip if it weren't for the hand that was aggressively on your head once again along with an insincere voice cooling the atmosphere down and basically talking in the undertone of, “fuck off and never say that again”.

Along the way of him explaining, which took 3 customers waiting in line watching the theatrical show of your expressions shifting from what to yes, he's right, his fingers slowly threaded through your scalp.

And, shit. It feels good. Like, really good. You'd rather die than ponder more over that though.

So, with renewed fury, you slap his hand away, cutting him off from the yet-still persistent customer who keeps demanding if you two were dating. Which is surprising because you're pretty sure it's been five minutes.

It's then that Scaramouche gently pulls at your ear and roughly whispers, “this guy wants to fucking date you, assshat.”

Your eyes imperceptibly widen, shifting from his to the man before you, as well as the five people behind who're so clearly tired and waiting for their daily dose of caffeine.

Customers aiming for the barista aren't typically common in your area, so this situation is a bit shocking.

A sigh left your lips, as you put out a stance, “is there a problem? There's a line waiting, you know.”

The man fumbles, as you check him out, “right! sorry.”

The moment ended as fast as it came as you tended to the customers, who still seemed a bit pissed by the whole event. By the time the clock hits an hour of lunch and the whole interior is swimming in delicate gold color, you can already feel the lethargy seeping into your bones as you slumped back against the chairs.

Watching customers wasn't really your thing since you particularly have a bad habit of overdoing it and glaring into their souls instead, but perhaps this time, it wouldn't be that bad.

A short few minutes passes by before the gasbag opens its mouth again, “stop glaring at the customers like that, fruitcake. You're gonna scare them.”

That nickname..

You rolled your eyes, “oh, shut up. They don't even care.”

“Look at that little kid over there, he's shivering under your glare.”

“You're schizophrenic, shut up.”

“Yeah, and my hair is green. Anyways, where's lunch?”

Your brows raised as you turned to Scaramouche, who's also currently leaning against the doorway of the staff room, “what lunch?”

He blankly stared at you, “what do you mean, ‘what lunch’? you self-destructive piece of shit.”

You gulp, “I don't.. eat lunch?”

And, silence. Only for a short minute though, because the gasbag can't really keep his mouth closed to save his life.

“Oh, fuck you. What do you mean ‘you don't eat lunch’? Is this why you go stupid after lunch breaks?”

A frown settled on your face as shame blossomed on your cheeks, “I just get busy! And, don't call me that. I still beat you on afternoon recitations.”

A snort, “beat me, my ass. your answers are always slurred.”

“..No, it's not.”

“Ask that little brunette friend of yours and find out.”

“You're such an asshole.”

“I'm so kind, I know. And, also,” an onigiri flew into the air as you stumble over one of the stools to grab it, “30-Minute break is over, assshat. I'll take over first and you better eat that shit, or else.”

Then, slam.

You eyed the onigiri on your hand with suspicion. It was [favourite flavor].

Your gut squirms.

–

The rest of the shift passes by as uneventfully, and as the inky dark finally looms over and the café is deprived of the usual nightly customers, the Asshole finally shows signs of weariness. And it's then that you make the mistake of commenting on it.

“Aw, Mr. Twink tired already?”

“Fuck off, I don't like talking to people.”

“Uh huh, weak ass.”

He glares at you, leg attempting to sweep over to yours but you evade anyways, “try putting on a facade and act like a suck-up bitch.”

Of course, he'd think like that.

“Well, you just—”

“—Do people usually come and ask you out like that?”

And, oh. Well, that's certainly unexpected.

Your gut squirms yet again, “what?”

Why does he care? Is he shitting me?

“Are you deaf, or what?”

“Why do you care about my love life, huh?”

His face drops to a comedic deadpan, all hints of curiosity dissolving, “And in what statement did I even state that.”

You stuck your tongue, “you implied it, not my fault.”

“And this is why you placed third in that ‘Comprehension Reading Regionals’, you know.”

Annoyance settles in your temples as you shove him by the shoulder, “the past is past, that was two years ago, get over it. and besides, i was literally–”

“Excuses, excuses.”

“Shut up! it's true, and hey, I can totally beat you up again if ever the regionals come up and–”

“Yadda, yadda, yadda. Just admit you suck at reading comprehension.”

“Not until you admit sucking on dick!”

That seemed to do the trick, considering the way that familiar scowl finally settles in on his face.

“God, I hate you. You're the reason I've been getting dick pictures in my dms.”

You scoffed, he had the nerve to complain, “at least you don't get death threats from crazy fangirls.”

and instead of an answer, you feel a sharp stab in your shin, and that stupid shit-eating smirk only widens before it leaves out of your eyesight in a very comical downward motion.

“Yeah, that's right. kneel under me, dipshit.”

“You sadistic shit,” you snapped as you did a sweep kick aimed for his shins, and surprisingly that did the job as the Asshole falls over to his ass with a ‘thump’.

A transient glance was shared in understanding before the Asshole grasped at your forearm and pulled you over down with him to have you in a quasi-headlock.

“Fuck..you—” pain blossomed in your knee as you whirled around to knee him on the stomach, a wince coming out of him as he let go of you.

A brief second passed with a glare before he attempted to pin you down on the floor, only to ultimately fail by missing one of your wrists which resulted in a jab in the forearm.

The process went back and forth.

There had been way too many instances wherein you and Scaramouche nearly went into a brawl in the middle of the classroom, art room, or even the canteen. But this? This was the official one. And fuck, are you glad that no one is in the café right now, lest they'd hear the concerning amount of expletives exploding in the air.

..And!

Sike. Turns out, the universe really, really does fucking hates you.

Faintly, the bell chimes.

Your head snapped to the front, as the Asshole shifted to get a peek at the entrance—and, boom, a small ball of greys appears and your heart jumps.

Fuck, it really was your grandmother.

Sending a quick survey at the man on top of you, whose pale face is currently decorated in ugly black and purple blotches, your instinct flies in.

Which was kicking him off, resulting in a concerningly loud thud with a groan. Which also did not help with your heart hammering in your chest and your breath hitching—

“What the fuck!?” He exclaims, and you swear to the flying fuck—

“Dear?” a velvety voice comes in, the door hinges creaking as it finally opens to the staff room and—

God, you wish you could take a picture of your beautiful grandmother’s face right now.

───────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

|| previous episode - next episode. ||

───〃★tunes of your heartbeat masterlist

synopsis: in which your fate somehow gets entangled into a messy jumble between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. the question is; did the curse work?

taglist (50/50): @toekissers , @raineyun @localscarasimp , @potteraep , @shutingstar , @feiherp , @scaraenthusiast1 @dazqa , @wraithisd3adinside , @x-hihihi-x , @court-jester-stuff , @automaticpatroltragedy , @lalalaloveallmydays , @trulyylee , @jayzioxx , @featuredtofu @kazemiya @help-whatdoimakemyusername , @skyoverkill1 @phoenix-eclipses , @anqelkoz , @miyakomari @saechiro @franaby , @swivi , @vixialuvs , @heusalettle @kunikissr @yomishen @mywillt0live , @baldrapunzel @jiminscarmex @sushitushi , @liuaneee , @shynsgore , @mechanicalbeat1 , @marivaudages , @okukura , @azzumei @lucid1tty @iloveescara @usagiarchive @kyouzki @theunhingedmf @kangyeonie @mi2ukiss @bubblebellaz @eternallykira-143 @lumiicch

• featured song - im like a lawyer with the way im trying to get you off by fall out boy

• notes - meeEEEE AND YOUUUUUUUU SETTING ON AAAAA HONEYMOOOONNNNNNNNN give fall out boy a listen cuz GODDAMNNNuggghhh this song is an addiction i need it in my brain waves and also i think this song is popular in tiktok so i hope tjta helps UGGHHHH ME AND YOUUU SETTING ON A HONEYMOOONNIF I WOKE UP NEXT YO YOUUUUU

author's notes: how to quite literally force yourself to write? make a smau that has 60% writing in it. im not even joking dawg. but i love writing so😋😋😋 also can you tell im so ao3 style typa writing? i was gonna write more but then i realized that it's a goddamn smau hayss....

p.s - im passing the fuck out after this but oh my god we reached???? 700??? on the masterlist?? HELLO???? hello new followers omfmdkdndnd giggles okay stop

also totally-detailed schedule of the cafe shift:

Monday to Tuesday - Grandma and friends

Tuesday to Thursday - Hu Tao and granny friends

Friday to Saturday (interchanging) - [Name] and Scaramouche💜

afternoons to evenings in weekdays - double workers

mornings in weekdays - single worker

mornings to evenings in weekends - double workers

(ask to be added or removed)

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ghxstlike · 5 months ago

Text

in hiding

synopsis: he finds you crying and comforts you.

featuring: dan heng & aventurine (seperate)

content: sfw. comfort, pre-established relationship, dan heng has feelings for reader, tiny bit of flirting/compliments from aventurine, aventurine is kinda awkward, social anxiety (aventurine), anxiety attack (aventurine), reader’s gender isn’t specified, not proofread.

author's note: this is super self-indulgent lol. also this is the first time i’ve ever written these characters, so i apologize if they seem ooc! this also has been buried deep within my drafts- i finished this MONTHS ago….i felt too nervous to post it 😭 anywho, enjoy!

dan heng

you're another member of the astral express crew.

you've known dan heng enough to get the gist of his distant personality, even though you find him slightly intimidating.

you still managed to develop a crush on the guy, so he can't be that intimidating.

anyway, dan heng was tasked to go and 'fetch' you (pom pom's words) so all of you could eat dinner.

you’re usually in ‘his’ room, reading a book on his makeshift bed. when he enters said room and doesn’t see you, he grows a little worried.

in fact, now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t seen you in days. now, he’s really worried.

the only other place that you'd be is in your room.

when he finds you in your room, his heart sinks.

intensely worried about you the moment he realizes you're crying.

type of guy to immediately jump into action. he's not aggressive about it, no, he's gentle.

softly sits beside you where you're on your bed, his hand reaching out to touch you while asking to do so.

if you say no, he obviously listens to your wishes. would not want to harm you or make you uncomfortable while you're in this state.

he sits there, watching you cry in silence. it's a little awkward, having him watch you cry, but he doesn't know what else to do. he doesn't want to ruin anything.

he says a few things to try and calm your crying down.

"let it all out."

"it's okay, you're safe."

"i'm here for you."

if you say yes, his hand comes up to rub your back gently, making you scoot closer to him. also says comforting words in this moment as well.

after you're done crying, he listens intently if you start to talk about what is bothering you.

man's just wants you to feel better.

"i'm sorry," you mumble, wiping your snot with the back of your hand. you don't see it, but dan heng shakes his head while he smiles softly at you.

"no need to apologize." his deep, monotone voice instantly calms your nerves. "crying can be helpful to some. don't worry about it." he places a hand on your head, ruffling your hair ever so slightly. you sigh, then sniffle. even though he said it was okay, you still feel a little ashamed at yourself. you almost feel embarrassed. you sort-of know what you look like while crying, and you know it isn't pretty. your heart soars with discomfort as you realize that dan heng has witnessed you at one of your lowest moments in life.

"gosh, i probably look like a mess right now." you croak out, a dry laugh following short after. you try to wipe the dried tears off your cheeks but to no avail. you'll have to wash it off with some cold water later. you hear dan heng hum, which catches your attention. your eyes look into dan heng's. you notice how dan heng's blue eyes soften at your stare.

dan heng's hand reaches out to a strand of hair that's in the way of your face, pulling it back behind your ear. you feel your face heat up, and your heart skips a beat at the intimate eye contact. you notice how dan heng’s face is in a similar predicament to yours; a light pink blush covers his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

"you don't," he whispers. "you're beautiful."

aventurine

guy doesn't know how to comfort other people.

type of person to let the person cry it out by themself, then come back later with gifts.

i've seen a headcanon where aventurine is bad at comforting other people due to his past trauma and i truly believe it.

aventurine can rarely take stuff seriously, what makes you think he can comfort someone?

anywho. he finds you curled up into a ball in an alleyway in penacony. he heard the sobs come from a mile away and was curious at what the sound was.

he honestly thought it was a stray cat.

he's seen you around before. yeah, he remembers! you walked up to him at the bar and complimented his outfit, telling him he looked like a peacock.

he thought that it was very cute when you blushed, explaining you didn't mean to say that outloud and kept apologizing.

but now here you are, sitting on the gross ground of the alleyway with your chin propped up on your knees, crying your eyes out.

aventurine bites his lip, trying to figure out if he wants to help you or just leave you alone.

but that's when you placed your hand flat on your chest, and he noticed how you began to breathe heavily.

he knows exactly what's happening, and he can't leave you alone now.

"hey, breathe. you need to breathe."

you hear a somewhat familiar voice call out to you, but it seems so far away. you don't understand what he says and try to brush it off. though, he doesn't go away. his legs are in your line of sight, and he doesn't seem to be moving. you watch as he crouches down, his hands shakily reach towards yours.

"i'm gonna touch you, okay?" he gulps, almost flinching at the skin-to-skin contact. you don't answer, you just continue to hyperventilate as your wide eyes dart across the environment around you. the man seems to notice this and blocks your field of vision with his face.

"y-you- you're-" you try to get out, but all you can manage is a few hiccupped mumbles. the man in front of you smiles.

"hi again." you can clearly hear his smooth voice now. "can you take a deep breath for me? i'll do it with you." you nod, looking into his multi-colored eyes. they're so pretty.

you follow his actions- breathe in for 4 seconds, pause for 4 seconds, breathe out for 4 seconds. you both repeat this a few more times until your breath doesn't sound choppy or uneven.

silence overcomes the two of you. your eyes glance down at your intertwined hands, then back up at the man in front of you. suddenly realizing he's still holding your hands; he quickly drops them from his grasp while clearing his throat.

"you alright?" he says softly. his eyes glance down at your body, trying to see if you're hurt anywhere. your words interrupt him.

"no, i'm fine now," you sniffle. "thank you, um.." you pause, waiting for the man to give you his name.

"aventurine. it's no problem." aventurine shrugs. he stands up quickly, holding a hand out for you to take. "now, can i get you a drink? you must be dehydrated." his gloved fingers wiggle slightly, encouraging you to take his hand.

he grins down at you, "you can also tell me why you were sobbing in the alleyway." you chuckle at his words.

without another thought, you take aventurine's hand.

#hsr #hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr aventurine #hsr dan heng #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #honkai star rail x reader fluff #x reader #x reader fluff #honkai star rail x you

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aur0ral1ghts · 4 months ago

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ᴀᴍᴏʀᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴀ ❧

ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴄᴏɴғᴇssᴇs ʜɪs ʟᴏᴠᴇ ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ..

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs; sᴏғᴛ ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ, ғʟᴜғғ, ᴋɪssɪɴɢ, ᴛᴇᴀsɪɴɢ, ғʀɪᴇɴᴇᴍɪᴇs.

Me and Mattheo Riddle have never gotten along. We are what you call frienemies, we are not exactly friends, but we aren't enemies. We just like to tease and pick on each other. Me and him are in the same friend group, so that's when we kinda get along. Maybe once or twice a month, we would actually have a normal conversation without insulting each other. Another reason why we don't get along is his personality. He flirts with even damn girl in this school, it's annoying honestly. He's also the schools playboy, every week he brings a new girl to his dorm, and fucks her then kicks the girl out of his dormitory like she meant nothing to him.

But we do have a few things in common, like to my surprise, we both like to read. I found this out because one day I was heading to the library to find a new book to read, and I saw him. I saw Mattheo sitting down, reading a book that wasn't a textbook made for studying. His eyes gleamed with curiosity as he flipped the page, his eyes tracing over the words written among the page.

I couldn't help but admire him for a quick moment. He looked so cute and focused, and, wait, what am I talking about..?

I walked up behind him. He turned around, his breath hitched.

"Who knew I'll see the day to find Mattheo Riddle reading a book and enjoying it?" I chuckle. He scoffs as he closes the book. "Well, I do infact read, and I enjoy it." He mutters, blinking up at me.

"Shocking." I say, exaggerating my tone. "Why are you here?" He asks, standing up, leaning on a bookshelf infront of me.

"Choosing out a new book to read." I shurg. "Not surprised." He chuckles under his breath. "Also, I've read that book you're reading right now." I say. "Spoilers; I cried at the end." I exclaim, running my finger along the spine of a book. "Don't spoil it for me, dumbass." He says, nudging me. I giggle to myself as I find a book I like, I pull it out and examine the corver. "Anyways, bye Riddle." I say, walking away to check the book out. "Right, uh, later." He mutters clearing his throat.

But that's pretty much the only thing we have common, besides having the same group of friends and both being in Slytherin.

[Mattheo]

I heard some footsteps enter the libary, I knew it was Y/ns, I could tell by her shoes, she wears these loud black shoes they have a certain sound. You just know it's her when she walks into a room.

I pretend I don't notice, I can feel her eyes upon me, she then sneaks behind me. She leans down and says close to my ear, "Who knew I'll see the day to find Mattheo Riddle reading a book, and enjoying it." She chuckles, I look back at her pretty and perfect face.

A few months ago, I randomly fell in love with y/n. It all kinda happend, one day, I was pissed off at her for something, and then the next day, I found myself staring at her and admiring her. I hated myself for it. It took me at least a whole month to accept my feelings. I've never loved a girl before, sure I had a small crush on Pansy Parkinson in first year, but that doesn't count. It only lasted a week or so.

A few weeks ago I saw Y/n read this book, she seemed really interested in it, so i got the book out, which is the book I'm currently reading.

I didn't mean to be creepy or anything- but I wanted to get into what she liked. So once told me she enjoyed Astronomy the most, so i decided to read a little about it.

[Y/n]

We are all sitting in the great hall, chatting amongst ourselves and eating the food provided in front of us.

"Are you guys going to try out for Quidditch?" Blaise Zabini asks us. "Hell, yeah!" Mattho answers, as Blaise and him clap hands together. "Me and Y/n are just going to watch the tryouts, right?" Pansy says, nudging me with her elbow. "Right." I say giggling.

The next day, I enter potions, excited to see what we are going to do. I use to not be that interesting in potions due to Snapes boring lessons, but ever since Slughorn starting teaching potions, I've grown to like it more and more.

I stand next to Pansy as I see a red-pinkish liquid on the table, brewing. I could smell a faint smell of..

Cigarettes, rich colange, and books.

Why did I smell that?

"Pansy, do you smell that?" I ask. "Smell what?" She whispers, clenching her book to her chest. "Cigarettes, and colange." I mutter under my breath. "I don't smell that? I smell apples, mint, and fresh air?" Huh? That's werid. I definitely wasn't sick, my nostrils were working fine.

"Ah, girls, it seems you have discovered Amortentia."

Amortentia, i repeat in my head. I heard of this potion, but I forgot what it is, it's on the tip of my tongue.

"Professor, what exactly is Amortentia?" I question. "Great question, Y/n, you'll find out soon enough." He chuckles. I nod.

"Alright, alright, everyone, please settle down and gather around this table." He clears his throat as students gather.

"So-"

The door slams open as a messed up Mattheo enters, looking undeniably hot. His hair was slightly messed up, his tie on his uniform was not done properly, and a cigarette was placed in his mouth. I'll hate to admit it, but he looked awfully hot.

Slughorn clears his throat. "Mr. Riddle. You're late."

"Yeah, I've noticed." He scoffs. A few students giggled.

Slughorn eyes Mattheos cigarette, he looks down at it and mumbles an "Oh." Then places it in his pocket, probably saving it for later or something.

Mattheos walks behind me, his breathing loud and hot.

"Anyways." Slughorn says.

"Gosh, Y/n, how much perfume did you spray!?" He whispers a little to loud as most of the class begins to laugh. I turn my head to face him. "I didn't spray any." I mutter. His face twists into confusion.

"Ahem, as I was saying before I got interrupted, So this lovely pink potion we have brewing over here is Amortentia, which is known to be the most intense and most powerful love potion in the world, it's rumored to smell like whatever you're attractive too."

I turn to Mattheo again to see his red flushed face. It's almost cute.

"I guess we all know who Mr. Riddle is attracted, too." He chuckles. Suddenly, Mattheo scoffs loudly before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him. It's almost like a child throwing a taturm.

Pansy comes closer to me. "What the heck was that!?" She whisper yells. "I dunno.."

Slughorn sighs, before looking back at me. "Y/n, if you will." He motions to the door.

"Uh, sure profosser." I nod, walking towards the door. This was unfair, why'd I had to to get him after his outburst? Why couldn't one of his minions go fetch him?

I headed to go to see if he had gone to the bathroom because in previous instances, he was often caught skipping in that bathroom. No one really uses it because most teachers won't allow you to use the restroom during class. You would have to wait until break, plus no one really used that bathroom due to it not being properly taken care of. There was always a bunch of cobwebs all over the celling.

I walk up to the door, and I almost hesitate to knock. But I give in and do it.

No reply.

I wanted to check anything place, but I had this werid gut feeling telling me to check inside just in case. So I opened the door as I looked at the ground.

"Mattheo..?" I ask softly, still looking down. I wait a full five seconds before he answers. "What?"

"I'm coming in." I call out, my voice echoing within the massive bathroom. I scan the room before laying eyes onto Mattheo. He's to my left side, sitting down against a hard brick wall, smoking a cigarette. (Probably the same one he stuffed into his pocket earlier.) He's also writing in a black journal. He looks up at me, lips parted, his messy curls laid perfectly upon his face.

I slowly approach him. I sit down next to him, hugging my knees, letting my back fall against the harsh brick wall. He closes his journal quickly before placing it next to him.

"Uh. Just so you know, Slughorn is looking for you." I mutter in a low tone, fidgeting with my fingers. I felt almost nervous being this close to him. I felt a wave of butterflies wash over me.

"I don't care about that jerk." He mumbles, leaning his head back, fidgeting with his wand.

"He had no right to expose you like that." I say. "Thanks." We both sit there awkwardly for a few seconds before he calls out.

"So..what did you smell in the Amortentia?" He says, looking at me, obersving me.

"Oh, um. I smelt cigarettes, rich colange and books." My face then turns red once I've realized what I've just said. I have smelt Mattheo in the potion, and I know I have just realized. I guess when I smelt him, I guess I just didn't expect it at first, I denied it. I just convinced myself I smelt someone else. But in reality, it was him.

He smirks to himself.

"Hey, Mattheo?" I question trying to avoid the subject.

He doesn't reply back, but he looks at me. My heart pounded out of my chest.

"Why do you hate me? Or at least act like it."

"I dont really hate you. I've never had. I guess I hate you because I love you."

My mouth opens but doesn't make any noise. I can't believe he just said that. Mattheo Riddle actually loves me? Sure he was attracted to me but loves me?

"Wanna know something?" He smirks. I nod helplessly. "I think you smelt me in the Amortentia."

"I think so, too." I admit as he leans in closer.

"Can I kiss you?" He says as I smile widely. "Please..?" He asks. "Yes, you can." I answer. And with that, he kisses me.

The kiss is everything I've ever wanted. It's soft, gentle, and passionate. Usually, when I imagined Mattheo kissing me, i would imagine it to be rough and lustful.

He cups onto my check, his other hand wrapped around my waist, as he pulls me in closer to him.

"Mm, you have no damn idea how long I've been waiting for this exact moment." He whispers, pulling a piece of hair behind my ear.

"Me too." I say, looking at him, as our foreheads touch.

"So, will you be my girlfriend?" He asks me out of the blue.

"Yes." I whisper back.

"Good." He smiles, as we kiss again.

A/n; this was fun to write! :)

Masterlist link

#theodore nott #benjamin wadsworth #slytherin boys #marcus lopez arguello #tom riddle x reader #harry potter fandom #tom riddle smut #theo nott smut #theo nott #lorenzo berkshire #mattheo riddle x fem!reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheoriddlexreader #mattheoriddle #mattheo x y/n

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crumpetz · 1 month ago

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a little update on the progress of The Big Road Home

it has been so long since i made a post that i had to figure out what to click on all over again lol. this week it hit me that ppl follow me specifically for fic upates and it just slipped my mind that i could be saying more. i have, like, internet social anxiety, and just default to never saying anything most of the time.

anyway, i'm really happy to report that progress on the fic has really moved along recently. for anyone who doesn't know, i have long covid and the brain fog has really interfered with my writing process. i originally taught myself to write using a certain system where i kept a lot of things in my head at once, and since losing that ability, i've been relearning how to write in a way my current self can do. which especially has sucked for the fic and where it left off, because the part i stopped at was actually a huge group of scenes scattered through multiple otherwise completed chapters that i was saving for later (before i got long covid). because even in my peak condition with my brain capable of keeping all the details straight, those scenes were still so challenging and important to get right that i wanted to wait until i was feeling extra sharp lol. so yeah, i've been basically having to reread my entire fic over and over every time i wanna figure out how to add in like one small part of all the things i've gotta cover (and thanks to the brain fog, on average, i'm capable of thinking thru all that maybe three days out of every month if i'm lucky?)

so, all that rereading and getting the details and characters consistent finally has been paying off, because i reached the stage this past week where i could finally bring it all together. the final product is going to be less seamless than what i'd originally intended, but that's just a given now that my brain is different. and, full disclosure, the stuff that i'm talking about is exposition. which i think for most ppl reading my fic is more like information they just want to know and less something that needs to feel seamless in delivery, unlike character interactions and emotional arcs. so, the reality is that the exposition in the next handful of chapters is gonna be a little clunky, but the non-exposition stuff will all be like normal, with the same amount of care i usually work toward.

i don't want to assume when everything will be ready. final tweaks always take me longer than i'm expecting. but to put it into perspective, i spent the last 2-3 yrs (i forget how long it's been oh no) getting thru like 20 percent of what needed to be done. and then i just spent a few days last week getting through 60 percent. i'm gonna wait until the full set of chapters i'm working on is complete because i want to be able to post them without a long wait in between, and i want to take the time to really get the emotional beats right. but i guess if i had to say anything for sure, it would be that for the first time since i got long covid, i'm truly seeing the light at the end of the tunnel for this fic.

my final note is that the next set of chapters isn't the end of The Big Road Home btw. i forget if i ever mentioned this, but from the start, The Big Road Home was going to be three main parts. the first part with jason and tim being street kids together, then this part we're in with tim living with the Wayne's is part 2. there's gonna be a whole 3rd part coming. idk how long it'll be, lol. it's the only part i haven't written a single word of because i've kind of been saving it as a treat.

thanks for your patience and encouragement all this time. as i said, i have pretty awful social anxiety on the internet and don't reply to ppl who reach out nearly as often as i want to. but every kind word or fanart or playlist or thoughtful comment on stuff you noticed etc etc has really carried me through the past few yrs. i can't tell you how many times i was spiraling, feeling like i might not be able to figure out how to write the next part with my current limitations, and one of you said something so lovely and encouraging, and i'd just suddenly have it in me to give it another try.

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thedaughterofkings · 5 months ago

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Sooooooo what is this cool german (?) show I'm seeing on my dash? 👀

This turned out long, so please click to read more!

Oooooooookay, soooooooo:

There is this long-running crime show on German television called Tatort (crime scene) - and I do mean long-running, the first episode was broadcast in 1970! The first broadcast of a new episode is almost always on a Sunday at a quarter past eight (prime time). In total there are almost 1300 episodes! The good thing is though, that you don't have to watch every single episode because it's not one continuous story.

Rather, there are different teams which investigate crime in different cities, and while there are some teams/characters which have been around for a very long time, we do get new teams regularly.

In 2020 a new series with a new team of police officers started in Saarbrücken (capital of the smallest federal state, disregarding the city states). AND BOY DID IT START!

The structure is almost always the same - there's a crime of the day which gets solved within 90 minutes. As the main characters are recurring, you usually also get some personal info about them and their relationships in every episode, but truly overarching B-plots are somewhat rare, especially as it's typically at least a few months until a new episode for a team is released (there are currently 18 teams in the rotation, which all get one to three new episodes per year).

With our current team for Tatort Saarbrücken we do get a larger focus on the characters and an actual B-plot over several episodes - which is especially surprising as it's produced by the smallest of the federal/regional public broadcasters and only gets one (ONE!!!!!) episode per year. Which we just had. And it ended on a massive cliffhanger. And now we have to wait. A YEAR!!! Anyways:

Our four main characters are a team of police inspectors investigating homicides.

I present to you:

Adam Schürk:

Our wet little meow meow, loves wearing double denim, police inspector that used to work in Berlin but recently returned to his hometown of Saarbrücken because he could become the partner of his former best friend -

Leo Hölzer:

the team lead, and, it turns out, the one who as a teenager put Adam's abusive (and criminal) dick of a father into a coma by hitting him with a spade to stop him beating Adam to death (hence the nickname "Spatort", a portmonteau of "Spaten" (spade) and "Tatort" (crime scene), which combined make a sort of "spade scene").

When Adam turns up, Leo is struggling to keep his team together, especially butting heads with

Esther Baumann:

the only competent one, initially very much questions Leo's authority and capability as team lead, still very much annoyed (and rightfully so) at the questionable methods that especially Adam uses to investigate their homicides ("Adam style" - which means dangerous, and probably illegal), speaks French (Saarbrücken is very close to France) and flirts with pretty fellow female French police officers, and calls the last member of the team pet names

Pia Heinrich:

why yes, almost every gif tumblr suggested for her shows her eating! In the first episodes I'd call her the laid back one, not as high strung as Esther, not as utterly insanely codependent as Adam and Leo, but oh how the turn tables! In the latest episode she's shown to be taking adhd medicine to be able to stay awake longer and investigate a cold case of a missing person that's probably going to fuel the B-plot for the next set of episodes.

When I watched their first episode, I was sitting there like - is anyone else seeing this??? I can't be the only one seeing this???? And the only place I could think of to check was tumblr - and lo, and behold, I was not the only one seeing it!

What we were seeing was:

Leo and Adam, childhood best friends (in contrast to what I've written above, in the following gif it's actually Leo, not Adam, who's double denim-ing)

it's revealed that Adam protected Leo from bullies at school, while he himself was being trained/abused/shut into wardrobes by his father, a criminal (to put it mildly). When they are discovered by Adam's father in the tree house, he beats Adam so much that Leo fears for his life and takes a spade and hits Adam's father with it, who ends up in a coma because of that. The boys hide the spade attack by feigning an accident and setting a fire to destroy evidence.

At some point after this, Adam leaves Saarbrücken/runs away, and has apparently no contact to Leo until he suddenly appears in Leo's office as his new partner!

They are of course immediately called away to a homicide and we get our first hug:

At this point I was biting back screams, kicking my feet in excitement and heading to tumblr. They've been reunited for like half an hour or so at this point!!!!!

Throughout the in total now seven episodes we also get scenes like these:

(this is Leo arresting Adam because Adam's father committed suicide in a way that made it seem as though Adam killed him - no I am not kidding and yes it involves frogs) Of course Leo works hard to clear his name and get him released form prison - which is actually when the above hug happens.

AND OF COURSE:

Are we being queerbaited? I honestly don't know - it could just be an accidental queerbait where we do most of the work ourselves, who knows, they might actually make them canon (in like five to fifteen years) - as it is, the last episode didn't have such a major focus on them and their relationship which my shipping heart of course doesn't like, but it did leave more room for the girls and for developing the relationships between the different constellations within the team and I did like that a lot!

Annnnnnd, we did end with something of a hug between the two (spoiler alert I guess^^°):

this is Leo's head on Adam's lap - unfortunately post explosion and of course the cliffhanger left us hanging before we could tell whether Leo's still alive or not! (guess why we are screaming)

Anyways, getting into Tatort Saarbrücken is both not a huge commitment (there's only six episodes of 90 minutes each so far) and a huge commitment because after each episode you'll have to wait A YEAR, but I think it's totally worth it!

Currently all episodes should be available in the ARD Mediathek, for anyone who can access it and speaks German (German subtitles available too). I do believe there are versions with English subtitles floating around as well, I can try and find them, if there's any interest!

I can go into (WAY) more detail on the different episodes or crimes or characters or relationships, if you're interested, but this is probably already way longer than you expected so I'll stop here!

#hyraeth #lessa says #it is a really cool show!!!#it's also pretty insane summarised like this #but I very much look forward to our new episode each year #I hope this answered your question and didn't just raise more questions #spatort #tatort saarbrücken

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xoxoemynn · 9 months ago

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A few months ago I was lucky enough to win a raffle prize from @adoptourcrew for a bookbinding from @/brainrotpam. I ask her to do a book binding for The Merry Strays of Lighthouse Sanctuary, which was no small undertaking as the story is just shy of 120K. But hooooly shit, I just got it in the mail this week, and she absolutely outdid herself. Just incredible, outstanding work. I'm in awe.

Here are some pictures!! There's also a video here of Pam flipping through it so you can see the gorgeous edge papers as well, so please check that out if you're at all interested in bookbinding, or even if you just like pretty things because it is so, so pretty. The book is 366 (!!!!) beautiful pages and I'm so, so in love with it.

This story is extremely special to me. It wasn't the first fic I wrote for OFMD, but somehow it always feels like it was. I wanted the setting of the fic to feel the same way the show itself made so many of us feel — a place where we could feel safe, loved, and celebrated for exactly who we are. And somehow, it feels even more poignant to me after the cancellation. We'll always have the show, and this universe will always have the Sanctuary.

This story is the longest thing I've ever written, in a genre that was totally new to me, making it by far the most ambitious project I'd undertaken up to that point. And I wrote it all not too long after assuming I was done with fandom, and any sort of creative writing, for good. Oh, how OFMD changes our best-laid plans.

ANYWAY, feeling so deeply grateful to Pam for doing this, for AOC for coordinating the raffle to raise money for so many amazing orgs while getting fans fun prizes, and for the entire fandom for being such a welcoming, enriching space that has given me so much. I love you all. 💖

#emynn.op #ofmd #lovely people being lovely #my fic #please check out that video link it's so cool #you do really need to see it in motion for the full effect #anyway this is part of the reason I've been so overflowing with love this week #thank you to everyone who's been sending in emojis #I've been 😈#responses coming soon once work stops being a lil brat

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aetlasx · 10 months ago

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prologue

pair: eddie munson x witch!reader

summary: Ah, memories. You journal your first day of high school, but things quickly take a turn just a few weeks later.

tw: menstruation, pad/tampons, bullying, name calling (pls lmk if there’s anything I missed)

a/n: just stick with me lol. he’ll be in the first part. Also, this is an AU!! For spooky season!! thank you so much for reading!!

*the chat font is the diary entry and it goes back to normal at the end*

August 22nd, 1983 It's been a few months since i've written in this thing. I thought it'd be a good time to start now since I finally made it to high school!

You know what that means? Four more years till I leave this shithole!! Better than five. June was actually waiting by the door when I got home, she really wanted to hear every detail of how it went. I told her about my classes, I have Jonathan in two and Nancy in several. I told her how the school and people were so different from anything I was used to. But, it doesn't take her long to find something wrong with the way I think. She started with her usual warnings and advice, all the things I need to avoid, all the mistakes I shouldn't make. I know she's just trying to protect me, but it feels like she can never have trust in her little sister.

On the other hand, at least Teddy asked if I had fun. He's always been the one who knows how to lighten the mood, especially knowing how his wife is. He asked about my teachers and any clubs that looked cool enough to join. He even asked about Jonathan and Nancy.

Jonathan was definitely not as excited as me. He's quite, but he's always been that way.I know that his mom was excited for his first day of high school, she even convinced him to bring his camera. Right now, I'm trying to convince him to join the newspaper but he just shrugs me off. And Nancy, well, although it's been one–girl is practically glow. Within just 8 hours of the school day, she was able to meet a boy. She kept gushing about him and is pretty excited for the rest of the school year here. I'm genuinely happy for her.

Before June could add her two cents, I interrupted her with how I stopped by Aunt Claudia's after school to see how Dustin's day went. He was already sprawled out on the couch, 'exhausted' from fighting with his new math teacher. It had been a bit since I had seen them, I slaved away my summer at my job so stopping by, I felt grateful that they weren't even mad. I'll have to start hanging out with him again.

Anyways, I’m determined to make the most of freshman year with my friends. I’m ready to prove that I’m more than just a product of this stupid town.

Wish me luck!!

September 16th, 1983

I think I lied. I don’t know where to start…but a four year wait is too long. I don’t know where it all went wrong but it started over the weekend.

Sometimes I’d like to think that if my mom was still around, this wouldn’t have happened. Hell, June is like my mom, why did it happen. I’m talking about mother nature’s gift. It seemed as though no on thought to inform me that a girls first period would be this chaotic.

Nance and I had a movie night planned. I hadn’t really talked to her much, only in class, because her new boy toy or whatever—Steve Harrington, was taking up most of her time. I thought this would be a good time to just catch up and gossip, I was wrong. That Friday was horrible. I ended up throwing up, getting the chills, my body ached to no end. But I was still determined to make movie night happen, especially since June and Teddy were gone for the weekend.

As I was dying on the couch, Nancy finally showed up. But to my disappointment, it was only to cancel. Her and Steve were going out on their first date. I don’t know if it was how hot I was feeling or my intestines twisting, but black spots started clouding my vision. I just remember her screaming for Steve and once I knew it, I woke up in the hospital.

What I’m about to write, I’ll say with confidentiality…probably because I’m the only one reading this. Whatever.

A period is probably normal for all females. What’s not normal is having to go to the hospital and having your best friend’s boyfriend make fun of you because the doctor called you a late bloomer. I mean, she apologized but, if I could’ve just died on that bed, I wouldn’t be here.

Even June lectured me when I interrupted her weekend getaway. The whole ride home she kept complaining and saying ‘how could I not know’ and ‘you just gave us another unnecessary bill’. Like, sorry my baby’s natural response has ruined something for you.

Fuck. That’s not even the worst part. When Monday came back around, everyone was looking at me when I walked in. I know how cliche it sounds after what had just happened but knowing how popular Harrington was and who his friends were, he had already told the whole school by now. During gym, Carol and a few other girls threw pads and tampons at me. I got called ‘Bloody Mary’ and ‘Leak Freak’ in the hallways, at lunch, and anytime anyone had the chance. I tried to stay strong, I even hoped Nancy would say something to me during class or at least when she saw me but she just looked at me with sympathetic eyes. It’s just hard to believe that a few weeks ago, everything was fine. We were making fun of our teacher, gossiping with Barb, and even went shopping but I guess things change. Now when I look at her I’m just consumed with rage.

Jonathan has been supportive, though. The evening I got out of the hospital, he had actually brought over some of my favorite snacks and listened to me cry all night. Even when the mocking was bad, he’s stuck by my side. He’s told some kids to fuck off, walks me to class, and I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong but knowing that I have to wake up and go through it again doesn’t really ease my pain.

I feel like my chances of making friends and actually joining some clubs are ruined. When I try talking to some new, they give me dirty looks. When I go to ask about different clubs, they turn me away. I’ve lost hope. Thought this was suppose to be a fresh start but I guess not.

And just to add more salt to the wound, I haven’t been able to sleep. Every time I close my eyes and drift to away, I’m met with such an unsettling environment. The atmosphere is thick, groggy, red. It’s coated in fog, but a man I’ve never seen before always walks through it. He says his name is Henry, he starts talking about my worries and pain. It’s always the same—he says he’s ‘there to help me’, he’s there to ‘take away the pain because he knows what it’s like’. I truly don’t know what has caused my subconscious to create things like this but I guess I’m just tired of feeling like shit.

I don’t even know why I bother keeping a journal around. Sometimes I feel like I won’t even be here in the future to reminisce on the shitty days like this. Why would I even? I guess it’s just easier to write these things down than having to say them out loud. I thought I’d be able to make my sister, aunt, cousin, and friends proud, but I’m starting to think I’m just not cut out for this.

Closing the diary, the blonde places it back in the shoebox you hid it in. Pushing it back under your bed, standing from the place he sat. A satisfied smirk on his face.

He’d been following your turmoil closely, knowing that this was just the turning point. Your struggles were feeding into his plans. This entry was straw that broke the camels back—your vulnerabilities, your fears, and your desperations. It was almost too easy.

“Your suffering is almost poetic,” Henry said to himself, walking out of your room, your house, determined to take action now. He planned to finally confront you, to force you to acknowledge the full extent of what your destiny could be with his help—with what he had to offer.

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie stranger things #witch!reader #witch!au #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you

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cerridwen007 · 1 year ago

Text

Unwind.

*Images are from Pinterest and are used for aesthetics only.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Dieter Bravo x f!reader (afab)

Word count: 4.1k (18+) MINORS DNI!

Summary: Your boyfriend, Dieter, has come home early from a project. Hoping to surprise you, he instead gets a surprise of his own when he discovers what you like to do unwind alone from a long day.

Notes/warnings: Smut, fluff, DUB-CON (one party is under the influence of ouid but they are both very into it), established relationship, accidental pervy!Dieter, accidental exhibitionism, pussy drunk Dieter, masturbation (f and m), sex toys, descriptions of smoking the devils lettuce, mentions of other drugs, porn with little plot, oral (f!receiving), piv sex, cumplay, they are both just super horny and sweet for each other, swearing, no y/n.

a/n: My first Dieter fic, I can’t remember really where or when I got the idea for this fic, but I knew it just screamed Dieter. This is probably quite up there with the filthiest thing i've written, and i'm not sorry, lol. Also, I apologise for my very long absence in posting writing. Life just got the best of me, and I lost all motivation pretty much to write. Ngl I don't think this is my best work, cause I'm a little rusty but it's fun and I enjoyed writing it. But anyway, I hope y'all enjoy, and any interactions with my posts mean the world to me. Love yall so much! <3

*******

Now that his months-long project had wrapped up early, all Dieter wanted to do was surprise you. The both of you had long played the game of hiding behind corners and hiding in all sorts of spots to try and scare each other, all throughout your relationship.

But more often than not, it was you that made his heart jump out his chest, and a long list of swear words leave his mouth as he over-dramatically clutched his chest. To which you always laughed so hard you cried a little at another successful scare and his reaction. “I'll get you next time.” he mumbles, under his breath, a cheeky grin on his handsome face as he plans when best to get you back.

So now, with an upper hand, he was hoping that he could give you a big fright and jump out of your closet when you least expect it. But what happened was so much more surprising.

You had just gotten back to your shared apartment after what felt like the longest week of your life. You had been drowning in deadlines at work and were so glad that it was friday evening so you could finally get a proper break. After ‘gracefully’ hanging up your jacket on the hooks near the front door and tossing your keys into the bowl on the entryway table, you immediately take off your bra as you walk into your apartment. Throwing it on the back of one of the barstools sitting in front of your kitchen island.

A loud sigh exhaling from your mouth as the pressure is released from your sore shoulders. It had been a long day at work before you ran around afterwards, getting a whole bunch of errands done that you had been putting off. So you were exhausted and understandably so.

You kick off your shoes as you walk through the messy apartment, not bothering to put them away where they belong or tidy up the growing mess just yet. No, first you need to unwind from the long ass week you had. Besides, the weekend started tomorrow, and you would have plenty of time to clean up then and before Dieter came back a week and a half from now.

You sighed again sadly thinking about your boyfriend. God, you missed him. He had been gone about 3 months now, and each day didn't get any easier. When the two of you were together, you were attached at the hip. Spending all the time you could together; talking, laughing, cuddling and fucking.

So it was quite a change the last few months going from spending almost all your time with your favourite person to almost none, except the few short calls Dieter managed to find time to have with you amongst his very busy schedule.

You tried to remind yourself of the fact that Dieter would be back before you knew it, and then you could once again spend all the much needed time together that you wanted.

You opened your fridge looking for a snack. You could have to tie your over till dinner that you would order yourself later, a treat for the end of a busy week.

You picked a few string cheese packets from the chilly shelves of your fridge before closing it shut with your hip as you walked off into your living room. Sitting down with a big “oof” on your couch and immediately sinking deep into the plush cushions as far as you could.

Dieter's heart was beating fast as he watched you through the horizontal slats of the storage closet door. He waited with baited breath, trying to find the perfect time to jump out and give you both the scare and surprise of a lifetime. He had been lucky enough to arrive an hour or so before you got home, which gave him plenty of time to get ready and pick the best hiding spot before you arrived.

He bites his lip, trying to hold back the chuckles wanting to escape as he imagined your hopefully soon to be shocked face. He watches as you get comfy on the couch and can’t help but look at you with adoration, even with dark circles under your eyes and your hair slightly untamed, you looked like a dream, the prettiest thing he has seen.

You quickly finish your cheese sticks, hungrier than you thought you were, and toss the wrappers on the coffee table. Yet another thing to be cleaned up tomorrow. You let out a long yawn and stretched your arms above your head. A cheeky smile graces your mouth as you realise how you're going to spend the rest of your night unwinding.

You waste no time in reaching into the draws of your coffee table before you and pulling out a dark green bong with small red flowers decorating it that Dieter got you for your birthday last year. You put it down the top of the coffee table briefly as you pull out a matching glass box with your stash in it and a red grinder.

Your fingers are working swiftly in their practiced work as you get your first cone ready. You pull out your black zippo lighter with your and Dieters' initials and the day the two of you started dating engraved on the front. You flick your thumb over the flint wheel a few times until it ignites. You take in a fraction of a breath before putting your mouth on the end of the glass tube, tilted towards you.

Holding the flame over dried grounds, watching as the white smoke slowly crawls up the neck of the bong. You let the smoke enter your lungs, filling you with warmth.

Your lips only disconnect when all the smoke is gone and you breathe in a little of fresh air. You hold it in your mouth for a few seconds before you tilt your head back and exhale all the hazy smoke. Your loose fist covers your mouth when you let a small cough.

You decide to do one more hit before you put down the ‘vase’ and let your head rest against the center of the back of the couch. Your legs spread wide, carelessly, as you wait for the drug to slowly take its effects. You groan as you lie back on the couch with a mouthful of smoke. You tilt your head up to look up at the ceiling as you let the hazy white cloud float from your parted lips.

Reaching down beside you, your fingers find something from out under your couch, a rectangle box. You open it to reveal a matte purple 8 inch, life-like, dildo. Fit with veins, balls at the base, and all. Your mouth waters just from the sight.

You have been extremely horny as of late. You always are when Dieter goes away for long periods of time, and you don’t have him to give you toe-curling orgasms all the time. You can never make yourself cum quite as hard as Dieter can make you come, but not from lack of trying. You lazily scoot down the couch a bit so you can take your pants and underwear off.

Dieter eyes bulge in head when he realises what you about to do and he swears his heart skips a beat when he sees that you're wearing his boxer briefs, even more so when he sees a glistening line of arousal, saturating them. He palms his now fully erect cock through his jeans, as his eyes connect with your glistening folds.

You take the hefty dildo out of the box and half haphazardly toss the container to the ground. Your breath hitches in your throat as you make quite work of sliding it through your folds, the tip catches deliciously on your clit.

You toss it to the side for a quick sec and reach down to your bong on the coffee table, after taking another cone you put it back on the table and grab the remote of the table, flicking on the tv and putting on one of your favourite vibey sex playlists on spotify on.

You sigh as you lean back and you take off your work shirt, leaving you in nothing but a flimsy old tank top, which you nipples prominently stick out of and some cosy socks. You pull your breasts out of your shirt and start groping yourself while watching the screen playing at a low volume, with hazy eyes.

You soon pick the silicone dick up again and slowly tease yourself by tracing around your lips and through your dripping seam. Your head lulls on the back of the couch. You tease around your aching hole with the tip before pushing in ever so slightly. Your eyes roll back for a second as you moan at the slight stretch. “D-dieter.” You softly call out.

His eyes bulge out of his sockets watching you, his hand unconsciously reaching down under the elastic of his pants to feel his rock-hard erection. He swipes his thumb over his weeping tip and has to bite back a groan.

You pump in so slowly, only till it reaches halfway before you pull it out further again. You continue this to help work yourself open.

He watches you intently, stroking himself to the slow rhythm youv’e set for fucking yourself. He uses his other hand to pinch his base every few minutes, to keep from blowing his load, so close just from the sight of you.

God, he doesnt even care about scaring and surprising you anymore, all he cares about is watching you as you fuck your self, quietly calling out his name as you take your time in getting to your release. He has half a mind to just jump out now and fuck you himself but the sight of you spread out for him, caught up in your own little pleasure-filled world is a sight to good to be true.

He studies your form like he doesn't know it like the back of his hand, like he hasn't spent hours upon hours coaxing the prettiest little moans and whimpers from you, caressing over every single inch of you.

His eyes will never grow tired of the sight of you, your centre gushing with arousal, your eyes fighting to stay open, your mouth on the other hand, fighting to stay closed as a beautifully orchestrated ensemble of curses, moans, groans and his name come flooding out of your mouth.

His mouth waters as the ring of your arousal grows thicker around the base of the silicone cock. He missed the taste of you so much, while he was away. He loved spending hours between your legs, until you were shaking and overstimulated and had to beg him to stop. Crying out “Dieter! Please!” as you struggled to push away his starved mouth.

Your head is feeling quite light now, and the pleasure is rushing through your veins as you increase the speed of your strokes. You keep chanting Dieter’s name, over and over again, softly as if it will summon him somehow. Well shit, maybe it does.

Before he even realises what he is doing, his hand is fumbling for the doorknob of the closet, and he is stepping out, sweaty, and disheveled, all just from watching you. Your heart stops for a second as you hear the closet door near you open, your brain unable to come up with any sane reasonings until Dieter walks out flushed and sheepishly in a trance, consumed by his love and lust for you.

“Dieter?” You whisper, shocked to your core, that he is standing in front of you and still not entirely convinced that he isn't a hallucination caused by your hornyness and longing for him. And also maybe the drugs too.

He swallows harshly, his throat dry. All the liquids in his body seemingly have traveled lower in anticipation. You're about to jump up from the couch and squeeze him till his ribs break, but he beats you to it, sinking to the floor in front of you and hugging your calves tightly. As much as you missed your baby, you can't help but feel a little awkward, having been caught masturbating and still with the dildo between your legs, no doubt.

Before you can even clear your throat and try to explain yourself, Dieter starts kissing along the tops of your thighs, up your stomach, then sternum, up your throat till his lips lock onto yours. He kisses you with such meaning and passion as he tries and conveys all the feeling of how much he missed you and is so glad to see you now into a single kiss

“God. I. Missed.You. So. Much. Baby.” He says in between quick pecks before once again consuming your mouth with his own, trying to make up for all that lost time he wasn't able to taste your lips on his.

You break the kiss with a gasp, looking down to your legs where Dieter is spreading them to see the current state of your throbbing pussy. “Fuck and it sure looks like she missed me too, huh sweetheart. Just oozing and weeping, begging for my touch. Ain't that right baby?” He lovingly teases.

You grin and spread your legs even further to let him get an even better look at you swollen, glistening folds, still clenching around the girth of the dildo. He reaches his hand up between your legs and pulls the toy in and out of you slowly, eliciting a whimper from you.

“Fuck.” He groans, completely enthralled by the sight of you, and the growing creamy ring of arousal you have created around the base of the cock. He continues to slowly pump it in and out of you, as you squirm above him, your once lost orgasm now coming so close to grasp again.

“Dieter...please.” You croon, begging him not to stop as you feel the edge of your high starts to wash over you.

“Atta girl, fuck just like that. Cum for me baby.” He softly demands, as he works the now shiny dildo hard, fast and deep into your cunt. He sits up a bit on his knees and hovers over you.

Leaning his head to the side he starts to suck on your pulsing clit. His eyes roaming between your leaking hole and trembling thighs, up to your red, cloudy eyes struggling to stay open with your brows furrowed above them. Your mouth agape, curses and whimpers as your orgasm hits you full force.

He watches with blown eyes, mouth hanging open, nearly drooling at the sight of your back arching off the couch, as the waves of your orgasm crash over you. He slowly pumps the cock in and out of you, prolonging your high till your legs close firmly around it. He carefully opens them back enough so he can pull out the cock.

He palms himself as he inspects the aftermath, mouth watering from the sight and smell of your creamy residue slathered upon the tip to the flared base of the slick silicone. He sticks out his tongue and brings the base, where most of the cum has gathered in a band round the bottom, to his mouth. You watch stunned and too aroused to speak as he licks it clean of your sweet drippings.

“God baby, missed the taste of this sweet pussy.” he groans. You clench around nothing as you watch him, eyes fluttering behind closed lids, messily tongue the silicone like one might lick brownie or cookie batter of a spatula.

After he finishes with the lower half, his lips pink and shiny, he wordlessly brings the tip up to your face. You grin devilishly before opening your lips wide and sucking the fat head into your mouth. You too moan at the sweet taste of yourself, not often shared directly from the source but usually from Dieters tongue do you taste the sticky release of your climax.

He palms his painfully hard cock through his pants, before spreading your thighs wide once again, and feasting on the remaining juices. You moan as best as you can with the cock down your throat, before removing it from your mouth and sitting it beside you as you watch Dieter's beautiful curls bob up and down between your legs.

His tongue slides from your quivering hole to your clit, licking flatly. He alternates between sucking your nub, to fucking into your wet hole.

You fight to keep your thighs open, to not crush his head or let the gorgeous sight below you be hidden, but you can’t any more as the drug haze inside your veins seems to have taken all your strength. Sensing your struggle, Dieter curls his arms around your thighs, holding them open and drags your center closer to his hungry mouth.

You whimper at the dull pain that you feel from his tight grip holding you apart, just under your breaking point. The aching soreness from your legs being spread so wide, only adding to the intensity of pleasure rolling around in your stomach.

He alternates between eating you messily, and slowly picking you apart. Motorboating his lips and nose between your folds, and precise and firm licks on your clit while curling his thick fingers up into that sweet, sweet spot inside you, that has you moaning, incohesive gibberish from your pleasure and drug intoxication.

Even with Dieter being the sober one (surprisingly), he sounds just as wrecked as you, if not more. So drunk and intoxicated on you and your pussy, something he and you both thought he was deprived of way too long.

Soon you are reaching yet another, and surely not the last of night, orgasm. Your thighs shake with the intensity of the pleasure seeping into your veins. Your lips go from being an wide ‘o’ shape to a cheesy wide grin as the dopamine and endorphins flood your system.

Dieter makes sure he licks up every single drop of your essence before he rises off his knees slightly and encases you in a massive, big bear hug. Feeling what little air was left in your lungs, you giggle along with Dieter breathlessly as you squeeze his middle just as hard.

He lifts his head to plant the softest, sweet kiss on your lips before rubbing his nose against yours. You take a deep, tired breath in and your eyes flutter close, his delicious musky scent filling your nostrils once again.

“I missed you so much too, baby.” You whisper. You admire the deep crows feet around his eyes as he grins, his dark rich eyes sparking as he beams with happiness, love, and lust. His smile turns into something that of the devils as he begins to caress your body.

He lifts up your arms and takes off your tank top, throwing it on the ground somewhere. Before his lips lock onto your pebbled nipples. Groaning as he squeezes and plays with the other one, before switching his mouth over. After leaving your tits a glistening, saliva-covered mess he descends further down your body, his kiss-bruised lips planting themselves on every single inch of skin he can see.

“Mm need to fffffuck you sweetttt thing, and ffffeel that heavenly p-pussy wwwrapped around me againnn.” He mumbles, his lips smushed against your stomach. You softly laugh and nod your head. Getting the gist of what he was saying and knowing him well enough to know what he said that you didn't catch.

“Please Dieter. Please fuck me. Need… to feel you. Missed you…. and your cock…. so fucken much.” You garble out in your own form of a coherent sentence.

Dieter can’t help but whimper listening to you, his cock pulses with need for release as he listens to your confession (although mumbled) of need for him.

He can’t wait any longer.

He reaches under your ass and lifts you up and shifts you so you're lying on your back longways on the couch. He quickly shucks his shirt off, getting a little stuck in the process as he does so. You both giggle and laugh as your hands go up to help him. He soon pulls it off and makes quick work off, shoving his pants and boxers off his legs.

Both of your eyes are shining with something so deep and emotional as you admire each other's naked bodies. A sight seen countless times between the two of you but one that neither would ever grow sick of. You reach up and stroke your hands up and down Dieter's front, feeling his strong chest and plush belly that you love very, very much. He whimpers as your hands trail down into the coarse hair at the base of his leaking cock.

Even as he towers over your relaxed form, there is an air of submission to him still. The way his eyes are glazed over with no other drug than love, pupils blown wider than when he was higher than a kite on LSD. His eyes brows slightly furrowed in, his chest moving fast as he pants. His bottom lip trembling with anticipation of connecting your bodies together so intimately once again how they should be. How they would always be if Dieter got a chance.

He shakes himself out of his love trance and lowers himself over you, his forearms resting on the couch beside your head. You close your eyes and kiss him deeply, giving him a piece of you that no one but him gets to have. Literally and spiritually. He groans almost pathetically when you reach your hand down and swipe his tip through your once again dripping folds.

Your squinting and red eyes look up at him pleadingly, just begging to put the both of you out of the agonising wait and finally feel each other. He smiles a soft smile before he lines himself up and slowly pushes into your pulsing cunt.

“Ohhhh….ohhh…oh…yeah, honey.” He moans out as he slowly bottoms out in your cunt. You gasp as you adjust to his considerably large girth. Something you truly will never fully get used to. Your hands clutch as his biceps, grounding yourself as your fluttering pussy adjusts to him.

“God….fucken hell, baby. You feel somehow even better than I remember. Jesus christ.” He pants, his face screwing up from the pleasure just simply inside your beautiful heat gives him. He desperately tries to think of anything else other than your stunning form below him and just made for him cunt, feeling already so close to blowing his load.

He reaches down and pinches his base and quickly begins Jack hammering into you fast and hard, to hopefully get you off before he ultimately finishes way quicker than he intended to.

“Oh f-f-fuck, Dieter!” You cry out, eyes squeezing tight at the immediate hard and fast pace Dieter has set while fucking you.

“Im s-sorry b-baby. Fuckkk. You just feel too damn good. I just n-n-need. Ahhh. Need you come before I-I-I do.” He stutters.

Your heart and cunt clenches around, eyes rolling back from the pure ecstasy coursing through your as Dieter repeatedly stuffs his fat tip into the squishy part deep inside you.

“OoOoh shit, baby. Can feel you clenching real good around me, god damn!” He groans.

You lay there bonelessly, whimpering as Dieter’s fingers circle you clit just right. Sending you over the edge into the deep depths of mind-numbing pleasure. Your body shakes as your orgasm comes crashing down and over you, with Dieter only seconds after.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh oh oh shit,” He wails out with every rope of cum that spurts out of him, his hips almost unconsciously thrusting themselves as deep as they can go every time, only stopping on the last rope of cum, burying his now spent cock deep into your pussy. He lets his full weight drop on top of you as he catches his breath from his own high.

You breathe out with a soft smile, feeling such bliss and warmth from Dieter being here with you. He moves his head from your neck and looks at you. You both smile wide and break in hearty chuckles, before kissing each other.

You relish in the feeling of Dieter’s chest booming with laughter pressed up against yours, feeling his beating heart beat under you hand, showing that he is here with you now and just Dieter in general, his body fitting on top of your like a puzzle, like two pieces that you never would’ve known hadn't always been connected together like this.

And that’s exactly how you fall asleep, entwined in each others arms, connected in all ways possible, smiling to yourself as you listen to Dieter’s soft snores and you feel his heart beating strongly against yours, before you two let the sweet blissful temptations of sleep take you too. Everything was going to be okay now that your love was back with you.

*********

#dieter bravo #dieter x reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #the bubble fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfic

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sulphuricgrin · 2 months ago

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writing in april

total word count: 17,218!!

Let's briefly talk about the total count before I go into some habits I tried out this month that have helped me! This month I have written nearly as much as I have in January, February, and March combined! :D I'm genuinely so proud of myself!

I have written 1 one-shot and today was just shy of finishing chapter 6 of Fate-Touched. Tomorrow it should get finished and I'll be onto the editing stage!

Now, what's changed compared to the 1st quarter of the year? Well, not that much. Those 4 days of zeros was an unfortunate depressive episode, which is pretty common to see on my calendars. (Yay bipolar!) But! This was also the least amount of zero days compared to other months.

So what happened by the 17th, where I suddenly got into numbers that were uncommon from me? Well, a few things helped.

One: I've been doing what I can to limit distractions. Mainly by taking myself out of my house, to cafes, the local library, or just sitting outside now that warm weather has finally come. Also taking a break from Tumblr has helped also reduce a serious distraction of always opening up Tumblr and forever scrolling.

Two: on a friend discord server, we added sprintobot to do writing sprints. At first I was very unfamiliar with it and hesitant to try because I don't do well while timed. But I eventually decided to try it out, figuring if I hate it, I don't have to try again. And I wasn't very good at it at first, but saw the merit in it. I put in my earbuds and have a reason to focus on just writing for 15 minutes.

Well, I liked it enough to put it on my personal server. So during the day, I would do a sprint (or two!) and writing 150-200 words per session. And how the words add up! And then some evenings, friends and I would do sprints together. It's a lot of fun to share what we've written during those times. It's very motivating! Thank you friends!!❤

Three: started writing semi-detailed outlines for my one-shots or chapter and it's been incredibly helpful in my writing process. Even though I took nearly a month break from Chapter 6 to write 3 one-shots that had their grip on me, when I opened up the chapter wip, I knew where I was and how the scenes are supposed to go by referencing my outlines. So it was easy to jump back into it.

Four: I might be a little hypomanic. (yay bipolar!) But using writing as a focus during these times are definitely healthier than other options. So I won't complain!

[EDIT] Five: around half way through the month, I had been on a higher dosage of my Stratterra, which is for my ADHD, for about a month. That dosage was finally kicking in and is helping me like it should!

So anyways, here's April's calendar and word counts per day!

Previous months for reference

Jan: 7200 Feb: 4346 Mar: 7065

Year Total so far: 35,829 words

#Word count per month #sulphur rambles #seriously thank you to friends that keep me motivated!

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bokettochild · 3 months ago

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⭐️ Crown Admist Courage ⭐️

I'm really enjoying the story so far! 💕🥰

Oh boy!

So, obviously, I REALLY like the Prince Legend trope, yeah?

This fic was mostly born out of a need to write a Legend centric fic again after not having written him a long-fic of his own since, what, Feathered? I mean, other than ABFHP, but that is..... we don't talk about that...

*goes and sobs in unfulfilled ideas and a writing style changed by a years work and no longer what it was for that project*

*ahem*, anyways! Clearly, I wanted to play with something, and I don't remember what it was precisely, but for ages now, I've had this thought in my head of all the knights just...finding out legend is royal and losing their shit. Not gonna lie, the thought of him perched on a throne (not sitting properly on it because he's just Like That) while the rest stand around with swords drawn and Legend smirking his freaking face off at the camera has been haunting me for the last few years.

I like the idea of Legend eventually weaponizing his status when he needs to, although I doubt it will ever actually appear in a fic. That said! After writing Legend as a prince in ABFHP, the idea of playing with it again but this time in the boys' home environment (AKA the outdoors) was sort of itching at my brain.

Honestly, it was probably someone in the LU-Legend community here on Tumblr that inspired the actual fic with some sort of post about Legend and knights or something, but my brain got to working and thinking and eventually I decided to make it an official draft.

I actually put it up to a poll to determine what my next fic would be, and ACAC was one of like, six options I put out there for my next major fic. I think the other ones were a Warriors dies/is forgotten, the boys get trapped in Time's world post LU, and a mix-and-match fic where the boys get separated and paired off with a random princess and have to find each other across time and space again; but now with said princess in tow. ACAC won the poll though, and so I started writing it- um...... *checks calendar* almost six months ago?!?!?!?! Holy cow? Like it's the start of a new month but sweet snap-dragons!!!!

Anyways!

Starting a fic is generally torture for me, at least when I know it's going to be a multi-chap/longfic. The first chapter sets the mood for the whole thing and establishes the interpretation of the characters and all that, so I was wracking my brain for what to do to get this thing off the ground. In the end, I ended up opening a random google-doc and just writing whatever my brain would spit out, wondering where to go and what to do and just rambling out every concept I could think of.

I debated so hard on whether or not Legend would actually know about his heritage or not, but since Feathered used the approach that he was in the dark, I thought it would be fun to do one where Legend's known all along, is totally aware of where he comes from and the history surrounding it, and it just stupidly ignorent to the fact that everyone around him is slowly figuring it out.

I knew we'd have some angst, since the royal-prince theories have been pretty dark since I first entered the fandom, so, for a bit of humor, I decided to go the route of "everyone eventually knows but also assumes they're the only one that knows", so, to any readers who were hoping that the boys would compare notes and use their brains, sorry to disappoint! Nobody is likely going to share their knowledge on purpose. if anything, I think it will be Legend that eventually 'outs himself', but only after everyone already knows. Until then, we'll just have all the boys convinced they are the sole knower of a very important and dangerous secret that they cannot share with the rest of they want Legend to stay alive.

That in mind! I had to start the fic I a way that wouldn't start it too slow, nor too fast.

The first draft actually was done in an echo of Feathered where I would recount about how Legend learned the truth, ages and ages ago, but it set up the imagine of a very innocent, sweet, baby-fied Legend (who, to be fair, would actually have been like nine at the time so it's not too bad) and it would make transitioning to the actual plot really tricky. That, and it just felt like a cheap knock-off of my previous works, and I didn't want that. So, instead, I tried to figure out a way for somebody to learn about the truth, and Sky ended up being the one I wanted to find out first.

I ran a few scenarios in my mind, but in the end, I decided on using the temple/Palace of Hylia plotline that we see in the fic. I figured that having Legend interact with ancient artifacts meant for the gods alone might set it up nicely, and putting them in an ancient building meant that I got to have written explanations dotted about for Sky to see for himself, and read, while the rest likely wouldn't be able to.

Sky coming to grips with the situation, with Sun's help, had many versions. I had them flirting and teasing and assuring each other in every direction, but very little of it was consistent with the point I was trying to drive: Legend is connected to Hylia somehow. I ended up cutting a TON of Sky/Sun interactions/moments in order to stay on track, including a chapter from Sun's perspective on the whole matter. I do like what I came out with though; it feels like a good balance of the plot and some character/dynamic building while also providing substantial lore to set up the story the way that I wanted to!

I was not actually intending on dragging the boys all the way to Warriors time so soon either, because I wanted to have them explore the surface village and meet people, but in the end I ended up cutting that too because it felt more rambling, and really could just be boiled down to a single paragraph instead.

Fun not though about their entrance into the captain's world! The portal is actually made by Lana! Technically speaking, the boys were yoinked across time and space because Lana needed backup and just summoned the first person that came to mind, and he ended up coming with eight other heroes in tow! I intended to make a note of this or otherwise touch on it in-fic, but, obviously, there was a lot of exposition happening and I couldn't find a good way to make it come up naturally. It might still be brought up, but I'm not sure.

Now, obviously, if you've been watching my Tumblr, you probably know that I put out polls to see who would find out next in any given update, and I wasn't actually planning on it being Wars, but what the people wanted, the people got! The appear of having knight drama was just too strong!

Initially, I was planning on leaving it at Warriors seeing the vet use similar magic to Zelda and putting the pieces together and just leaving it at that, but then, while making dinner one night after a few rounds of HW, I ended up just.... accidentally imagining/daydreaming the whole bit with Impa explaining things to Warriors. No lie, I did not plan a single line of that! I thought it and then grabbed for my computer and started typing as fast as I could while the spark was still there, trying to cover everything from the imaginary conversation in my head. In the end, I had to cut the scene in two because it just was so MUCH, but I loved the ideas I came up with there. it is, by far, the best theory I have come up with in regards to the princes' of Hyrule and the royal family as a whole, ever! Enough so that I've started referencing it in other fics too (although to a lesser extent, but TBoHH now has nods to it now, and I'm sure it follow elsewhere as well, going forwards .

Warriors reactions are made to be sort of a mirror to the way that Wild used to act in the memories we see in BOTW, and I actually really wanted to include a scene that sort of mirrors that first memory we locate where Flora yells at Wild for following her everywhere. Chapter 12 was supposed to include Legend shouting some very similar choice words at Wars, but I ended up scrapping it (and the whole chapter draft) when it kept petering out and rambling off into nowhere. I still intend to touch on the parallels there though!

Speaking of parallels, I am loving getting to play with the Flora & Legend parallels! The first time I ever compared them was actually in the OG TBBU series, where Wild observes to Warriors and Time that Legend is very similar to his princess in many ways, and that comparison has stuck in my head since. I have intentionally played into it in this fic, from the first chapter where Wild lends Legend his slate to the present one I released this weekend. The purpose of this is to mess with Wild's head but also to sort of endear Legend to him so that he's not just being a knight, like Wars, but actually uses his experience from being Flora's knight to navigate his supposed duty to the vet better than the captain is. For example, rather than acting stiff and soldierly, he's being friendly and appealing to Legend's interests so that he can manipulate circumstances to let him stay close to the vet and thus protect him better.

Honestly, I love the dynamic potential between the two of them, and having Flora as a sort of a base model for Legend's behavior makes it easier to write him in this AU where he's experiencing things that JoJo's Legend would never actually even see, realistically. It also makes for some great Wild angst/character building, because it plays into his memory loss and issues regarding failure, while also giving him context for new situations and ways to help.

Legend's Magic

I had no intentions of bringing Legend's magic into the fic at all, save a single throwaway line to reference my theories about Legend post-Koholint (do NOT ask me about these unless you want an angst-fest that may or may not have wrecked more drafts than I care to admit, and which might go on for hours/pages). For spoiler reasons for several fics now, I can't explain the magic thing in full, but I really just meant it to be an explanation for why Legend's not freely using holy magic left and right, but you guys seemed to really enjoy the concept, so I've been leaning more into it!

The heart issues are actually a side effect of his magical condition, and I like to think Legend's had poor health his whole life as a result of his magic being too strong for his physical form (much like how Impa spoke about in fic). Being that he's a twin, he's actually the weaker/smaller sibling, and sue to the conditions he was raised in, that was aggravated by a lack of food, medical care, and his early start to adventuring, all of which contributed to making his body weaker even as his magic continued to get stronger.

None of this is the fault of the vet's Uncle, but because Legend's parents died when he was very small, Uncle was left providing for him single-handedly, while trying to fly under the radar of the crown, so they were pretty poor all around and genuinely couldn't afford what was needed to help Legend grow up properly. In contrast, Zelda did have these things and thus doesn't suffer the same issues.

The Plot Going Forwards

Again, I did NOT intend to really delve into Legend's magic in this fic, not much, but I realized over time that, once the boys all find out, it might be nice to have an actual conflict for them all to face, legend of course being at the center of it, and it would be pretty cool if magic/godly heritage ended up being a major plot point. And yes, this line of thought can be blamed entirely on @weepingtalecowboy, who has been flooding my brain, and the LU-Legend community, with killer ideas about the vet and who kindly gave me permission to try my hand at some of them.

Currently, the idea appealing most to me is the boys being stranded in Hyrule's era and having to deal with some cultists, because I've never really played with that before and it would be so fun to really hurt them all via ritual sacrifice and torture >:)

Of course, things might change, and I have no set plans for this fic and really am just going where it takes me.

Epona

Legend's a horse girl and I feel it is a great crime that we haven't touched on this fact more My man used to be able to speak to animals just passively (as per the OoS manga/his games), and while it is hinted this is part of his magic, and thus no longer something he can do in this fic, I really wanted to touch on it.

I fully intend on playing with Epona more in the fic and making her relevant to the story in some way, although HOW, I'm not yet sure. As a result though, I think Twilight might be next to learn the truth about the vet (also because I desperately want to use a fun line/reference in the fic but it only works with Twilight)

Trivia

Legend honestly has so much random trivia related to him that your average LU fan likely doesn't know about. From his knowledge of telephones to the fact that he's canonically a boxer, there are so many little asides, characters, facts, traits, and skills that I so rarely see in fics, and I'm making an effort to lean more into the Legend lore in this story and include them!

So far, I've gotten to include the factoid about Legend's ability to speak to animals, his boxing skills, Ghanti's whole existence, and, of course, the whole technology thing! I want to toss in a few details every few chapters, and maybe bring in a few characters we rarely see in fics, but there's no promise that I CAN. (I will be trying though)

The Princesses

So far, only Sun has really gotten any spotlight, but I do want to include a fair bit about the princesses where I can in this fic, making them actually plot relevant rather than just passing background characters who show up just for a cameo and then disappear again, like they have in my other fics. Again, I have no concrete plans and am sort of winging this whole thing, but I do enjoy having the girls play a role of some kind. I was hoping to have Artemis involved more, before, but Impa ended up taking over instead.

And that's it for now! We haven't gotten all that far in the story, technically speaking, and only three out of eight have figured anything out!

That said though, I am just here for the ride, and have no clue where we're going, so who knows what's next and who knows how close/far we are from the end LOL

I wanted to thank everyone who's been reading and commenting though, for their kind words, fun ideas, theories, suggestions, and general encouragement! It's been fun and I hope it continues to be so!

#asks and answers #linked universe #linkeduniverse #ketto's commentary #lu legend #a crown amidst courage

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benzendrine-nosebleed · 8 months ago

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"A Prayer On His Lips, A Hail Mary in his Hips (Formerly 'Forgive, Me Father') PART 3!!

So, it's been a hell of a week since I uploaded part 2, and I just gotta say, I've really been enjoying getting back into the Tumblr scene and enjoying being a fangirl again and not actually being ashamed of it! I've been so much happier lately writing something I'm passionate about, and my Fiancé is happy that I'm comfortable enough to write my dumb little heart out every day. I've written somewhere around 30k words in the past month, and that's way more than I've written in the past, so from the bottom of my heart, thanks guys. I love your support, and your love for my fics. I have another one in the works too, but I don't know when I'll put it out yet.

Anyways, I had actually named this story "A Prayer on His Lips, a Hail Mary in His Hips" but forgot to name it that when I posted the first part. So, without further ado, Part 3!

Info: 4900 words long, ABSOLUTELY NSFW, enjoy and let me know if you'd want a part 4!

Is that was I am, Father? A lost, wayward lamb?” I asked playfully, still seated before him. The sun had shifted in the sky, filling the room with golden rays trying to catch a peek at us, basking in the sins of the flesh.

“Y’are,” he mumbled, smirking. “But I like that a lot, it makes me want to teach ya things. I want to show you The Shepard, it makes me want to bring ya to the herd. I wanna see you every week, kneeling before the cross, before me as I deliver flesh to your pretty lips again.”

“Oh, you’ll see me kneeling Father. I’ll be in the front pew, kneeling just like this,” I motioned to myself, perking up as his gaze freely wandered up and down my body, “Praying for the sins I’ll want to keep committing.”

His eyes lifted to mine again, a grin growing on his face as he came down from his high. His hand came off of his thigh, lifting my chin to meet his face. His fingertips were gentle on my chin as he brought my nose to his, the tips gently touching as he whispered. “You’re gonna be the best little Catholic girl, and I’m gonna be the biggest sinner for you, babe. He, He knows temptation all too well, and he should know that since I’m a man, just a human on the earth he’s crafted with his own fingertips,” His fingertips shifted on my chin to accentuate his point, “I will inevitably sin again. I will repent for the original sin for the rest of my life, but there is more to life than begging for forgiveness over and over again.”

I noticed as the accent he had developed after cumming down my throat slipped away, leaving me to hear the Catholic Preacher again, rather than the needy servant who desired more. I, desired more of that accent, the blissful state he was in when I had my lips wrapped around him, I wanted to see who he’d be with his godly cock pressed into my stomach, that warm feeling of him spilling into me for the first time. That was something Catholics were known for, right? No protection?

“There is so much to life outside the church, Father. I’ve seen the most beautiful things travelling, things you deserve to see too. But, I’ve discovered something that has made me want to begin coming here.” I could feel my breath bounce off of his face and back to mine, our noses still grazing each other. A few stray hairs from his mustache tickled my lips. “I found something to worship.”

“You have, huh?”

“Father, until you show me there is a God, I’m gonna be worshipping you, Each, little, inch of your skin, I wanna taste like communion.”

He pulled away sharply, his chest rising and falling with each hearty breath. “Me, huh? You wanna taste me, worship me like I’m the Holy Father himself? You don’t know what you’re going to do to me...”

“Yes, Father, I do. I want to wrap that rosary around my hands again, and kneel at your feet while I praise you...”

His eyes shifted away, staring at the crucifix hanging on the wall. “ I need you, Y/N... I need you in the ways that are condemned for a man who is married to the church... As the head priest, I have to hold an image for the congregation, to keep them from being led astray. You, you’ve made me break my vows...” His fingers moved to the sides of my jaw, pressing in sharply. “ That is a sin only you can repent for... I’m damned for eternity.”

His tone had changed to something more serious, something unsettling. There was an anger in him that was brewing, yet he held it at bay. I feared more at the control he had over his own emotions than what he was going to do about them. “I’m, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to come here to have you break your vows. I just, I wanted to find an answer to my problems.” His fingers kept pressing into my jaw, his other hand moving now to wrap around my head once more.

“You’ll need to give penance, you wayward babe. You’ll confess at the front of the church, kneeling on the steps of the altar. Only then, can I begin to give you any sort of absolution for what you’ve done to me.” He released his tightened grip on me, swiftly walking to his computer and turning it on. His hearty stride shook the room as I sat in front of the loveseat still, worried for what any of this meant.

“The Lord, he teaches us about not exacting revenge, the he does not need man to have vengeance, to fight eye for an eye.” His computer chimed as he logged in, moving to some program on there. He opened the application, and I watched as the surveillance system for the church was pulled up on the screen.

“What are you talking about?” I asked hurtfully, lost in his ramblings. “Revenge? Because I made you break your vows? I’m sorry, I, I didn’t mean to.”

“He asks us to turn our cheek, to love them with all of our merciful heart,” he continued. “Revenge is motivated by the anger, the pain and fear of man. However, justice is motivation through the heart of His.” The cameras all went black with a few clicks of his mouse. “I want to exact revenge, to break you as you’ve broken me. I’ve learned though, to both love and feat The Holy Father. I need to show you the same love, and fear for me.”

I turned around to fully look at him, trying to understand his preaching still. “Father? I don’t know what you’re trying to say. What do I have to do?”

He shot up from his chair, striding back over to me. “You need to repent for your sins, and be a good girl for the church. You’re going to the altar right now to repent.” He leaned down, grabbing my arm and helping me up. “You’re going to repent for your sins, Y/N, and I’m going to be giving you absolution.” He was gentle with his grasp, but rushing me. I stood up, standing toe-to toe with him. His naked frame loomed over me, his chest heaving with each breath, his throat pumping with each gasp.

“Like this?” My breath fastening. He wanted me to go the altar, no more clothed than the day I was born, to repent for my sins?

“Yes, Now,” He growled, He snarled, his teeth showing as his insatiable eyes ran up and down me. “You’re going to worship The Father, beg him for salvation, beg him to give you what you need.” He reached other and grabbed his crucifix off of the loveseat. He swiftly picked me up, cradling me up to his chest, his sweaty musk mixed with his cologne, completely encompassing me in his holy fury.

He opened the locked door, pacing into the empty hallway. “You remember how to pray?” He asked, his footsteps hitting the ground faster.

“I’m pretty sure I do, Father,” I replied, my heart beating out of my chest. My senses heightened as we moved to the entrance to the sanctuary, the heavy wooden doors were closed.

“Good, because you’re going to be quizzed on it, and I’ll be grading how well you do.” He reached out his arm that held my knees for the handle, gently opening the doors to the darkened sanctuary, where we first had met in the confessional booth no more than an hour or two earlier.

The sanctuary was dark, the only light came pouring in through the stained glass motifs, gently illuminating the pews and altar. There was something so sacred of seeing the place of worship in the darkness, knowing not too many people go to see the Holy Father like this. The colors through the stained glass glazed the floors, the podium, the cross at the back of the altar: it took my breath away. Father Schlatt moved suavely down the pews, his body almost floating with delicacy as he honored the holy space, like he’d done for years prior. He held my body close to him again, his reverence for his place of reverence flowing out of him He stoically walked to the altar, softly whispering prayers.

He gently kneeled at the altar, letting me out of his arms. I moved to stand up, longing for his touch now, again. It felt wonderful being held so close to him, how his warm body wished to protect me, even after what had transpired. I had ruined this man’s vows to God, and yet he was gently with me, through gritted teeth.

“Kneel, right here,” He spoke. He was stern, yet the disappointment I had expected to hear in his voice was gone. “Face the cross, and pray out loud. I want to hear you beg for forgiveness, beg The Father to save you.”

“Yes, Father.” I quivered, kneeling next to him. I pressed my knees into the carpeted step, and moved to clasp my hands in front of myself, picturing how his hands were earlier. I kneeled my head, reciting the prayer. “Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name.” Fuck, after this, the prayer gets blurry. I remember the sound of the locking door, the sound of him gracefully kneeling before me, between my legs..

“Keep going,” He stood up, leaving me alone at the altar. I heard him move behind me.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, as on earth, as in Heaven-“ SMACK. A sharp pain shot across my back.

“On Earth, as in Heaven,” He growled.

“On Earth as in Heaven.” My back grew hotter where he had struck it. “Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us.” I closed my eyes tightly, bracing for the sharp pain again. When it didn’t come, I raced to continue through the prayer. “Forgive us, our trespasses-“ SMACK. The searing pain shot through my back again, causing me to shoot out a small cry. I felt the tears welling behind my eyelids.

“You only say ‘Forgive us’, one time. ‘Give us, this daily bread, and forgive us, our daily trespasses.’”

“I-I’m Sorry Father, Forgive us, our daily trespasses.”

“Good girl. Keep. Going.” He loomed behind me, the mere presence of his tall figure, now whipping me, scared me... yet I felt that he was punishing me in a way that excited him. I could only picture him standing tall, cock hard, the tip pressed against the trail I ran my tongue down, I needed more. If I had to put up with the pain of him whipping me, so be it. I needed to see The Father, in all of his glory, in the iridescence of the stained glass, beheld by the cross.

“As we forgive those who trespass against us.” I braced again, waiting for the stinging whip, which didn’t come. “And deliver us from evil, Amen-“ WHACK. A guttural whimper left me as I leaned forward to the next step of the altar step, the now familiar pain searing across my back.

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. You poor, little lamb.” He sternly spoke, his voice deepening. “You forgot the leading into temptation...” I could hear him shift behind me, his body dropping to the floor. “Finish the prayer.”

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil... Amen.” I cried, the tears falling down my face now.

“Amen,” His hands moved to the my sides, as he spoke softly and soothingly against my back by the whip marks. He pressed gently kisses into them. “Good girl, you took that well. But, you forgot one thing.”

“What, Father?” I pleaded, the tears slowing down while I continued to kneel into the steps.

“You forgot what is supposed to be in your hands. How did they feel, whipped against your back?” Oh my god, the rosary.

“I completely forgot, Father, I’m sorry...” I moaned out now, the heat in their whip marks still pulsing against my back.

“Oh, you’re never going to forget them again, are you?”

“No, No Father, I won’t.”

“Good,” He grunted, his left hand, still gripping the rosary against me moved down my side, cupping my ass. The beads felt cool against my skin now, while his fingers dug into the soft tissue. “You made me break my vows to The Lord, so in return, as a justice, I need to break you. I’m going to whip you into being a good little Catholic Girl, just for me. You’re going to worship me,” His hand slid up my back to my hip, bringing it around gently to my slit. His other hand moved to my neck, pulling it up against him. My back was pressed to his chest, his rosary laden hand beginning to run its fingers up and down me, grazing my clit with each pass. I softly moaned each time he did, while his head craned down into my neck.

“You said you were going to worship me as if I was the Holy Father himself, didn’t you? Well, you’re going to be worshipping The Father now. You’re going to be using those lips for a lot more than praying.” He sunk his teeth into me, causing me to shudder and a small whimper to leave me.

“aaaaAh! Mmh, Father, yes, Yes Father” I moaned out, my clasped hands moving behind me to hold onto his thighs. I could feel the whipped skin pressed against him, the hot flesh pressed against him was tender and hurt, but it was something I was willing to embrace again, if it meant he’d be pleasing me.

“Good Girl,” He breathed out, his fingers painstakingly slow against me. I grew wetter with each stroke, his fingers finding my clit on his own accord. His middle finger slowly twitched against it as my stomach clenched and my body pulsated. My moans turned pleasurable as he brought me closer to my own orgasm. As my voice began to peak in tone, he slowed down, “Oh, Y/N, I’m not going to make you feel pleasure until I can show you what you do to me. I’m going to show you a world as if it was made just for you, like I crafted it for you with my own hands, as The Holy Father did for those who follow him.” He slid a finger inside of me, the cross on the rosary pressed against my slit as he moved his finger in and out slowly, reveling in the feeling himself.

“Father, p-p-please,” I begged, his finger exploring the inner walls of my pussy. “I need more of you... anything, please.” What the hell was he doing to me, to make me turn into such a slut for him as soon as he made a move?

“Mmph, I don’t know, are you deserving of the salvation?” He asked, his palm pressed the cross against my clit, and yet in a sick, twisted way, I was finding pleasure in it, while his finger worked on getting me wetter with its gentle rhythm, in, out, in, out. “Or should I see that you’re damned? I’m torn, I wanna save ya, but you make salvation seem so, so far out of reach when you beg like that.” Oh Christ, the accent came back.

“Fath, oh god... Father, oohhfff,” I moaned out, pressing back into him, begging for more of his touch. More, of his tantalizing touches, anything for more of him in me.

“Mmph, I think I could save ya, as for myself, maybe not. I’m already damned, so why not go all the way?” He asked, smiling as his tongue worked flicked my ear. “I think I wanna taste ya, ya sweet sinner. You’ve been so good for me, letting me whip you with the rosary, letting me tease ya with it... I’ll be wrapping it around those praying hands again soon enough. Just you wait.” His grip released on my neck, and he placed it on my hip. His other hand pulled out of me, the sensations of his teases leaving me desperate for his touch again. He moved that hand to my hip, as he picked me up with ease. “Turn around, and sit on the floor of the altar, mmkay?”

“Yes, yes Father,” The pounding in my chest echoed into my ears, as I shuffled up the two stairs to the floor of the altar, sitting facing him. I placed my hands on my knees, awaiting his next command.

“Good. Now,” He placed his hands on top of mine on my knees, “We’re just gonna spread these pretty legs apart,” His hands gently pressing into mine, while his body leaned in closer. “I’ve never done this before, but, God, I know I need to taste ya.” He parted my buckled knees apart, his mouth slightly agape as he watched me become exposed. I felt vulnerable, but safe, somehow. “You... oh, look at you,” He whispered, his right hand leaving my knee to run up and down my slit. I could feel the heat in my cheeks rising, my breath falling deeper into my chest as he slowly worked his pointer and middle finger between the folds. I threw my head back, the fire in his touch already being so hard to handle. Moans left my lips, and my hands fled my knees to the altar floor, desperately trying to hold myself up while he explored.

His left hand still pressed my knee to open, pressing it almost to the floor, antsy to keep my legs open while he worked up his own courage to dig in. His right hand moved up to his mouth, and I watched at this once holy man licked his fingers clean of the film I left on his fingertips. “Oooh, mmph, The Lord made ya so, so delicious. I need more, babe.”

Before I had a chance to catch my breath, he pressed his face into my pussy, his nose resting right above it. He began licking my folds, his right hand immediately moving to hold my right down as I tried to bring it up against his face, bucking from the sensations. I threw myself onto the floor of the altar, lost in the sensations of The Father’s Holy Tongue.

“Oh Fuck!” I exclaimed, all filter I had leaving as his tongue worked with my hips, now rocking against his face.

He pulled away, smiling deviously as he licked his lips. I watched as he caught his breath, his hands still pinning me to the floor. “I forgot, I’m sorry, I was too excited to taste you, Babe, I should’ve realized I’d be drinking you up,” He spoke sweetly, moving to bow his head, speaking just above a whisper. “Bless me, Lord, for these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy Bounty. Through you, Christ our Lord, Amen.” He snarled after finishing his prayer, the devious smile returning as his head raised, and moved back into me. I couldn’t help but whimper, his face felt so good pressed up against my slit, his tongue working to bring me to an orgasm so easily. I brought my left hand up to his hair, and pulled his head up softly. “..uhff fuck... there Baby, right there,” I moaned out, guiding his tongue to my clit. His eyes shot up to meet mine, glazed over with unbelievable pleasure. He continued to lick ferociously at my clit, and lifted his right hand from my leg, bringing it down to his mouth, and taking a quick lick across his thumb as he rubbed me right below where his tongue worked wonders.

His tongue worked tirelessly against me, bringing me closer to an orgasm, when his left hand moved off of my leg, and he moved to down to his cock, surely throbbing with pleasure by now. He groaned as he stroked himself with his left hand, his right hand and tongue focused on making me squirm. Slews of moans, pleas, and whimpers escaped me. “Fath-mmm, Fath-er... pl...please... more... mmm, my God..., so, so fucking good...” For having no experience with any sort of intimacy, Father Schlatt must have brought in his expertise from his priesthood to bring me unholy pleasure. Was it from flipping through pages of the scripture that he learned to move his fingers so precisely? Or was it from daubing Holy Water on church-goers how he learned to press just the right amount of pressure to my flesh? I tried to think as I moaned out words, sounds, anything to keep me from reaching an orgasm just yet.

I brought my thighs up to the side of his face, feeling his soft sideburns rub against my tender thighs. They rubbed softly with each of his licks. They felt almost ticklish against my skin, but I couldn’t help but crave more of their feeling against my skin while he stoked his tongue, but his pointer finger gently moved against the length of my pussy his thumb was once grazing, as he wetted his pointer finger, and slid it into me, causing me to gasp in the midst of my moans. “mmmh oh... aH! Schatt!” Oh Fuck!” I cried out, my hips sinking down into his hand.

He pulled away softly from his ministrations against me to speak out. “You taste so, so good, I don’t wanna believe that The Lord has been keeping this from me... Unless he was just waiting to bring ya to me... Maybe he made you just for me... you feel so, so perfect on my tongue, on my fingers, toots.” Toots? Okay, that’s a new one, but I... I can’t focus on that now... not with how he’s finger fucking me. “Maybe he made you just to ruin me...” He coaxed, his finger now curling inside in a tauntingly sensual way. I breathed out a sharp wail, my body burning wildly for how he teased me, how much I needed his teachings. In an instant, he learned forward, his twitching cock now grazing at my entrance, where his finger slid out. His rosary laden hand intertwined with my hand on the floor, pinning it above my head. His hips slowly moved himself against my pussy, the slow, teasing stroked causing whimpers and guttural moans alike to leave both of us.

“Father... Are you sure?” I asked. my hips however, moving against him, feeling how hot, how ready he was to fuck me.

“I, I need to.. I need to make you mine, in the eyes of The Lord.” His hips moved against mine as well. The friction was unbearable, it was too perfect to pass up the opportunity. Father Schlatt leaned down next to my ear, slowing his rhythm. “Babe, I need to pray, and I need you to pray with me. You’re not gonna know the words, but close your eyes, and keep those pretty little moans quiet for a moment, ‘kay?”

“Mhmm,” I murmured, squeezing my eyes shut and gripping his hand tighter.

“Hail Mary Full of Grace, The Lord is with Thee.” His breath grew hotter against my skin. “Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of the womb, Jesus.” His tongue grazed my earlobe, he gently nibbled on it. His hand that stroked his cock stopped, instead it began pressing the tip to my now slick entrance. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, in the hour of our death. Amen,” He finished the prayer quietly, taking a second to listen to my breaths.

“Amen,” I spoke gently, opening my eyes to meet his. His mouth was still open from his prayer, his head gently nodding at his subconscious request. I nodded back, my lips parted too from my final “Amen.”

He pressed his hips forward, the tip of his cock paving the way for the rest of his shaft to enter me. He was slow, merciful, yet he shot daggers through my eyes, while his fingers tightened around the ones he laced them with, pressing the beads into my hand. All breath escaped my chest as I felt him penetrate me, being gentle as to not overwhelm himself. I whimpered, attempting to savor the gentle movements. Every nerve ending was on fire, begging for his length to keep pushing, to keep moving, to keep the friction going. He pulled his cock mostly out, leaving just the tip in, and slowly worked himself back in, pressing farther in this time. He kept this slow rhythmic torture up until he found a pace where he could control himself.

With each thrust, I couldn’t help but whimper, the feeling of him stretching me was so, so fucking good. His body was ragged; sweat poured down him as he refrained from racing, savoring each sinful moment. “You, you feel so good,” He groaned “too, too good. God I’m gonna, I’m gonna... if I go any faster,” His hand had moved to my hip, gently guiding me back to his with each of his pulsing thrusts.

“F-Father, you, you feel so good, too,” I whimpered, taking each of his thrusts, feeling his cock deep in my belly.

He continued his painstakingly slow pace, driving me crazy as his he focused his energy into keeping his mind busy. “Babe... you.. oh, oh God..” he cried out, his hand gripping deeper into my thigh, almost tearing through my flesh as his fingernail dug in deeper. “I need... more... of you...” He pleaded, his thrusts still slow, yet slamming into my hips eagerly.

His thrusts into me were calculated, his own body pressing his need further into me as I craved every inch of him. “Mmm, Baby, you feel so fucking good in me,” I cried through gritted teeth. My hand embraced the press of the rosary beads into it, the feel of him learning how to make love, I felt high on his lust, and still grounded by his religion. I looked up at him to see his once pomaded hair was strewn, stringy with sweat, and was moving into his eyes, bouncing with his rhythm. He gazed into me, his mouth parted, as he crashed into my lips for a searing kiss. Our tongues mingled frantically as his pace continued slowly, steadily.

I moved our hands from above our heads while we tangled tongued, bringing his rosary laden hand to my clit, and pressing his fingers into it, mimicking the motions I would use to please myself. I couldn’t help but realize, the he was such a fast learner, pressing his thumb against my clit and teasing it fast while his thrusts moved faster. “Baby, fu-uck! You’re gonna make me cum on you,” I pleaded, torrential wave of pleasure flowing through me with each flick from his thumb.

His hips slammed into mine, as I reached my own orgasm on his cock, clenching down on him, and feeling everything on a high. His cock felt hot in me, my belly warm, my clit tender and spent, and my legs were shaking. I couldn’t focus on anything past his head being thrown back, and the feeling of hips pressed against my inner thighs. His guttural moans and the sight of him were through tunnel vision as my mind grew fuzzy. Did he say ‘pussy’? Wait, did he cum in me? Oh... well... fuck... fuck it felt... good...

He looked at me as he continued to hasten his pace, his breaths growing more erratic. His eyes shot right through me, his gaze darkened and fully corrupted. “God, your pussy was made just for me... He made it just for me to ruin myself- in- Mmmhh,” He grunted, I couldn’t tell anymore what was throbbing with each stroke, I could only focus on the clenched muscles in my abdomen, on yhe brink of an orgasm like no other I had felt before. “I’m gonna ruin you too,” he blurted out, looking down at his thumb, steadily torturing me, and pulled his thumb away for just long enough for himself to spit on my clit, and race to work his spit in while his cock swelled. His body tensed while his moans grew audibly. “I-mmh-aah-aaahh,” He moaned out, practically yelling by the end of it.

His fingers held onto my hips as he slowly pulled his spent cock out of me, his entire body convulsing in waves as his tip entered the cooler air again. “Oh God... oh Christ, anyone... oh whoever is up there,” he moaned, his words lingering through the drawls escaping him. He fell forwards onto the altar floor next to me, recovering from him pleasuring me too. “Thank you,” He moaned out. All I could do is smile, looking at the heap he fell into next to me. The gentle sunlight refracted off of the cathedral glass to glaze over him with soft hues of blues, reds and greens. We laid there for what seemed like an eternity, catching our breaths, the thought of our damnation never once crossing our pleasured minds.

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