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[angels-window-washing]

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[anamelessfool]

A Young Nihil & Jocasta & Kid Terzo Drabble (wc 1900)

Nihil returns from a tour with an even colder reception than usual. But he's not one to worry. He gets by with a little help from his friends. Tags: Domestic Fluff, Found Family, Platonic Bonds, No Plot Really Just Me Sorta Waffling Around, The Most Basic German You'll Ever Read In Your Life, If You Read The Most Recent Violence and Gentleness Chapter This Hits Harder, Our Loveable Fuckup

I keep thinking my latest work is the most self-indulgent thing I ever make, and then this happens. Dedicated to @saintbowie who asked me "What was the worst gift Jocasta has ever received?" and I thought about it for a long while. Also @historian-crown who said "Yes, this is exactly what I'd say if I got a gift that bad" and helped me out. Thanks. @ghuleh-recs thanks for catching up on your reading too haha

1971

Ministry HQ

It felt like there were less and less Siblings out on the Ministry portico every time Nihil came back from a gig. He liked to assume the best and so he decided life around HQ was oftentimes too busy for an official welcome of the Head of the Satanic Church of the Void. For one thing, he knew Secondo’s mother Rebecca would not be out there. At this point in their relationship they communicated solely through written memos on formal letterhead. Sister Imperator, the Dark Mother, would oftentimes scowl out the window at him from her office but even she hadn't bothered this time.

Nihil’s ghouls exchanged shrugs while they stood alone on the gravel drive, then marched in near unison through the front door. At least somebody left it unlocked.

The ghouls filed into the empty foyer, and quickly lined the perimeter with trunks and instrument cases. A certain restlessness came over Nihil as he watched them wordlessly stack their things around him, building up the walls. If they were summoned by him, if they were his servitors and constructs then they had an attunement to his emotions. He had a swell time this tour circut. So why were they making themselves so busy? Why with every trunk that rolled in did he feel the ties that bound them to his Will go slack?

Jet lag, obviously.

“You uh…wanna play some records up in my rooms? Wonder if my Ethio Jazz record I wanted came in…”

Rigor Ghoul, Papa’s head ghoul and keyboardist, crossed his huge arms. He was kind, but honest. Sometimes a bit too honest for his summoner’s liking. NO. WE CAN'T. GHOUL BUSINESS.

“Right,” chuckled Nihil. “Well, enjoy.”

Rigor gave him a noble nod, a polite clap on the shoulder, then led the rest of the ghouls up the stairs to their Roost. Nihil decided to abandon the towers of luggage in search for some sort of interaction, but the halls rang impressively hollow as his Chelsea boots clicked along the marble.

At last one of his flock emerged from a side hallway, balancing a basket of laundry in her arms and shuffling with determination over to the washer. Nihil grinned expectantly, and the sibling did a quick bob of her head over the pile of linens before sidestepping and scuttling away. Papa Nihil rubbed his jaw, considering.

Damn man, when Sister Imperator said you were down you really were down.

There was some friendly chatter from the common room, at least. It was two voices he recognized, two people he actually looked forward to seeing. By the empty fireplace, posed amidst a chaos of creativity, was his Protégée Papessa-Elect Jocasta and his youngest son Terzo. Two beings that didn’t hastily find something to be busy with when he approached.

“Oh, welcome! Welcome back Papa!” Jocasta waved from her place on the carpet. Terzo lounged beside her, legs twisted in an impossible sitting position as he picked colored pencils from a tin. The whole floor was scattered with old birthday cards and magazine cuttings. A glue brush planted across its pot dripped glue on the carpet in slow syrupy strands.

“A yellow dress would look good for this one,” she suggested to Terzo. She herself wore a pretty polyester suit of bright orange with a matching scarf to hold up her golden hair. Terzo was working on an obvious recreation of her look for one of the paper dolls in his collection.

“You're a sight for sore eyes, doll,” Nihil leered. Jocasta threw him a wry wink, the whitened Infernal Eye in her skull a weird comfort for him to see after a few weeks on the road.

What he first thought could be a possible fling with an exotic woman in a bar became something completely different, something more. She wandered over to the stage and said she was inspired. He had inspired her. His work. His art.

For once the devil in Nihil didn't raise its head and sniff the air. He couldn't switch on that flirty little part of himself as he looked at her in that half dark New York club. Staring down at her from the stage, a foot and a half above her so she had to strain her neck to really look in his eyes when she confessed. He couldn't touch her. Not when she was that small below him. Not when her red eyes wept black smears.

“It's my first night here,” she had said, and more tears washed the black down her cheeks. Her voice was dark, thick with an accent that she struggled to suppress. “It's my first night here and want to follow you.”

What could he possibly say to that? His mouth stretched into a dopey smile as he brought out a hand to her. She took it. “Just say yes, babe.”

He brought his attention back to the present. Jocasta smiled at him. After a day's travel with masked silent ghouls it was the first smile he'd seen. “And how was the flight?”

“Oh not too bad, gonna sleep it off later,” he said. “You cats having fun?”

Jocasta was his odd daughter, his right hand. She knew so much already but was always eager for more. Always striving in a way that scared him a little. He had a tough time on the road before joining the Church, and he could sense that hungry drive from anywhere. But he had buried it deep long ago.

And then Sister had chosen her. Chosen her for his Protegee. Or, the Void did, in all the strange and unearthly ways it whispered to the Dark Mother. Nihil had watched her endure the Rite of Construct that he himself had blotted from his mind except for the occasional nightmare. They've suffered. They've fucked up. They survived. So whenever he looked at the dead-alive eye in her skull above her smirking lips a protective feeling came over him, a tide of true responsibility. It was a feeling that brought up memories of Primo. Primo, a few seconds old, in his arms.

Primo…wherever you are…

“Where's Secondo, now?” Nihil asked.

“He did not want to play paper dolls with us,” said Jo, exchanging a nod with Terzo.

Secondo had been cold and bitter about Terzo ever since the lad’s unexpected arrival. “I was on tour of Europe..what's a few souvenirs?” Nihil had joked, once and only once and never ever again, to Secondo’s mother.

No matter, Secondo had been adjusting to his new role…for almost two years. He'd come around. Brothers always do, right? And like all of Nihil’s dark concerning considerations, it passed over him as quickly as a brisk summertime cloud. His mouth creaked back into a smile. “Right on,” he said, and sat cross-legged on the ground with as much grace as his bandy legs would allow.

“Oh, hi,” said Terzo. He was cutting out a pre-printed red dress for the dolls propped in their cigar box; a two-dimensional hot tub party. He bit his lip, his big green eyes blazing with intensity. He constantly tripped over himself but if there was a challenge he'd give it his all. Every little nuanced divot of the paper dress's puffed sleeves needed to be freed with the most precision a six year old with safety scissors could obtain.

“I got you a present here, my boy.” Nihil waggled his eyebrows at his son. “In Canada they got all different types of candy, yanno. I heard this one was the best.”

Terzo took the brightly colored candy bar from his father’s hands, but frowned as he bent it in a way that shouldn't be possible. Right. Nihil winced.

“Er…must have got too hot— Just throw that in the fridge, it’ll be fine,” suggested Nihil. Terzo continued to squish the melted remains trapped in the wrapper, mesmerized.

Jo laughed and for a moment everything was groovy until a realization hit him like a freight train. Gifts. He forgot one for her. His very own protégée. His long fingers drummed on his knees as he added, “Oh, and uh— I got something for you too of course, uh—” He launched himself into a scour of his sport coat, his face getting hot with shame. Luckily he never really thought to ever clear out his pockets, which meant that there was a dragon’s hoard of hotel matchbooks, used saxophone reeds and phone numbers scribbled onto bar napkins. And a gift for Jocasta, if he tried and wished hard enough.

“Jesas— no, no you did not have to get me anything, please don't worry, I'm perfectly fine!” No, it wasn’t fine at all.

Shit. “Haha no I had to, yanno— you're like uh…like uh…” The only person other than Terzo that smiles at me anymore. “Gimmie a minute, it's in here somewhere!”

His fingers closed around their prize. Something in the pocket close to his heart. Of course. He always came out on top. The power of keeping it cool triumphs once again. He drew it from his sport coat in a theatrical sweep, presenting it to his ward with a rubbery open-mouthed smile of victory.

It was a pen he got from some businessman sitting next to him on the PanAm flight that liked his style. A photo of a blonde with big hair and sultry eyes leered from the side of it. The pen when turned downward dropped the woman’s black dress and left nothing to the imagination. Jocasta let out a little squeak through her nose that Nihil decided came from a place of amused approval. Terzo silently considered the pen and then his own paper doll collection.

“Oh, it’s…” Jocasta’s mouth cracked into a fiendish grin as she played with the pen in her hands, muttering something under her breath.

“Deppatta,” Terzo parroted.

Jocasta’s eyes widened, the smile fading in mock solemnity. She leaned close, squinting. “No no it's not that— now listen… Du. De-pehr-ter. Faster. Du Depperter.”

“Du Depperter.”

Jocasta clapped her hands and Terzo brightened. “Yes, that’s it!”

“Du Depperter! Du Depperter!” The two of them began a spirited chant. Terzo choked and howled and doubled over, laughing. Jocasta joined in, wiping her eye.

“Yeah, exactly, right on,” Nihil chuckled, albeit a bit bashfully. I really should learn German, he thought to himself. Maybe tomorrow. Got plenty of time now. Until the next gig.

Jocasta wrapped an arm around him, giving him a quick peck across the cheek. “I love it though, I really do love it. Thank you.”

“Oh, good!” And he didn't have to worry about anything ever again, until there was something else to worry about. Nihil craned over Terzo’s project. “And what we making today, sport?”

Terzo presented a homemade paper doll from the cigar box. She had a red-lipped smirk and raven hair. Green eyes to match his own. Nihil remembered vaguely this particular one was his son’s favorite. “She needs roller skates.”

“Course she does, all the cool chicks need skates,” said Nihil, gesturing for some supplies. Terzo dropped some crayons and a scrap of old birthday card in his father’s hands. “I saw some real hot ones on a girl in Venice Beach once.”

Jo gave him a nudge and a wink. “Let me know if you need a pen.”

My Fic List | Other Nihil HC Stuff (AO3)

Du Depperter: "You idiot" (affectionate)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐣𝐚𝐡

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon, corruption, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find a stranger at your door, a visitor you can't make leave. (Part of the Illuminate AU)

Characters: Yelena Belova

Note: I enjoyed this very much. I hope you do too.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The bluster of winter wails outside the walls. The whistling wakes you, your eyes snapping open but the rest of you rousing slowly. Your muscles ache with the chill creeping up from the floorboards and through the aged plaster of the house. The smell of frost drifts in around the loose panes of the window, deterring you from emerging from the warmth of quilt and flannel.

At last, you find the strength to get up. You make the bed before you find your housecoat and tuck your feet into a pair of fleece-lined slippers. The house creaks around you as you open the door on whiny hinges. The single-floor holds several stories of memories; your own and others’.

You check the thermostat. It shouldn’t be so cold. You swear you can see your own breath. You shiver and rub your hands together as you enter the kitchen. You put the kettle on the burner and light it. You linger for a moment to bask in the warmth of the low flame of the gas stove.

You leave the kitchen, the click of the burner sticking in your head. You enter the back entryway of the house and pull open the old splintering door to the basement. The stares are steep and swathed in darkness, the wraiths of your childhood fears waiting at the bottom. 

You flip on the light switch and take your first step down the groaning wooden stairs. Each foot down feels like a descent into hell. You get to the bottom, even colder as no warmth can be found in the cement floors or painted brick walls. The old dryer and washer loom, the only sentinels in the cobwebbed space.

In the corner stands the rusted old furnace. You near with trepidation, shaking as you see the fog of your own breath waft out from your nose. The meter is limp and lifeless. As you near, you realise the old utility is silent.

You’ve had this problem before, it’s nothing new, just like everything else in this house. You go to the cabinet above the washer and dryer and take out the box of matches, checking to make sure they haven’t been dampened by their time in the mildewed basement. You return to the furnace and get down on your knees, close to the back. 

There you reach for the gas valve and give it a twist. You press down the red button and strike the match, putting it to the pilot light. You let go of the button and stand to turn the furnace back on. You hear the old barrel-like utility begin to hum.

You head back upstairs, the racket of the furnace building behind you, muffled as you shut the door behind you. As the handle clicks into place, you hear something closer, something louder. You pause and listen, hand resting on the cold metal knob. You fear it comes from where you just were but when it comes again, you realise the noise is from outside.

Before chasing your curiosity, you go back to the kitchen as you hear the kettle begin to quake. You move it off the burner before it can whistle and twist off the dial, the flame wilting to nothing. You shuffle into the back hall and near the back door, listening to the wind still whistling.

You hesitate to open the door, even as you’re certain it’s nothing. You look over at the old cross hung over the rack where you keep split logs for the fireplace. You slide back the lock and twist the handle, easing the swollen door from the frame.

As you pull the door inward, a weight pushes it against you. You step back and let it fall open completely, something collapsing by your feet. The shock blows over you with the winter gale, blustering in through the door. There, her head between your feet, is a woman smeared in dirt and something red. 

Her blond hair is filthy with dry mud and a stick is caught in a tangle. There are scratches on her face and neck, her clothing barely in tack as it exposed her raw and bloodied skin. You stare, uncertain of what to do. 

Any sane person would shove her back out in the cold and lock their door. But any decent person wouldn’t leave anyone out in that condition. You know her face, not as well as her reputation, but you do not doubt your eyes. 

You look out over the expanse of snow littered across the backyard. A touch of yellowed grass peeks through still as the winter has not yet made its full advance. It feels desolate and frigid even as you spy the top of the next house just above your fence. You can’t help but wonder how she ended up back there.

You bend, unsure of how to approach the woman. You fear waking her as much as you worry she may not be able to wake. You slip your hands under her shoulders, turning her flat and hooking your arms under hers. 

You haul her past the doorway, dragging her across the rough floorboards. You bend her legs as you go to close the door and stand facing it for just a moment as you process reality. You step back and over the woman, leaving her in the hallway as you try to decide what to do with her next.

It is just as Father Harvey read from the pages, ‘If anyone has material possessions and sees a brother or sister in need but has no pity on them, how can the love of God be in that person?’

You’re not sure you’ll be able to maneuver her further on your own, and you’re just as nervous of going near her again. The thought of a call to the cops crosses your mind but you know it’s futile when it comes to those ones.

You take the kettle off the stove and pull out a mug and some tea to steep. You ponder a second cup but it would probably be cold before she comes to. If she does.

You sit at the table, a glimpse of her dirty blonde hair visible through the doorway. You turn your attention to the window instead as you watch the snow start to fall. You could try to find her brothers or whoever they are. The other ones you don’t speak to.

As you contemplate your fate and the strange woman, you blow over your tea and take your first sip. A small comfort amid a very uncomfortable situation. You empty half the mug before setting it down, your stomach churning with anxiety.

You put your head in your hand and close your eyes. It could be a nightmare. You might wake up and find the house as you left it the night before.  You cradle your forehead, keeping your other hand against the warmth of your mug. You hear the vents start, a gush of heat blowing in from under the table as the house thrums.

You hear the clatter of the furnace kicking up. You look up to the thermostat but something else catches your eyes. The figure standing off-kilter in the doorway, watching you as you gape back in shock. Realising it was not the furnace making so much noise, but her.

She doesn’t say a word, instead letting her lips slant and dragging a limp leg over to the stove. Without looking back, she opens a cupboard and takes down a cup of her own, perusing the other wares within. She shuts it with a snap and scoffs, pushing her head back as she rubs her neck.

“Do you have any damn coffee in this shit hole?” She sneers as she drops her hand.

You blink dumbly, put off by her demanding tone and the presumption of her search through your cupboards. As she opens another, you get up and near her, pulling over the canister of coffee against the wall. You hold it up but she doesn’t take it.

You glance over at her bloodied, broken nails. You’re too polite, honestly too afraid, to ask what’s happened to her. Whatever it was, it hardly seems to faze her.

You turn to load the coffee machine, the small single serve you rarely use yourself. Not since the woman across the street disappeared. She used to come now and again for coffee when her husband worked. You always prayed for her and her husband, he wasn’t a nice man.

You shut the lid and tap the brew button. Your mind wanders to the burnt foundation of the neighbour’s house. They found his body but not hers. You hope she was still out there, somewhere, alive. More than a month though and even your faith threatens to falter.

The machine’s grind quiets and you back up, startled by the woman’s reach as she drags the mug off the drip tray. You press yourself to the adjacent counter and look at her. You slide open a drawer and grab a teaspoon, offering it to her.

“I have sugar–”

“Black is fine,” her eyes flash at the silver utensil as she lifts the cup. Her greenish bluish irises carry a tint of yellow, “put that away.”

Her harsh snap surprises you. You put the spoon back and close the drawer. She staggers back, balancing the cup over her uneven gait. She puts her coffee down before dropping into a chair, barely keeping it from turning over under her.

“Close these fucking curtains,” she demands as he bends her head and shields her eyes, “the sun’s always a bitch after the moon.”

Her words don’t make much sense. You obey and pull shut the curtains above the sink, closing out the winter sun. There’s no reason she should be so affected, the sun is trapped behind a pillow of cold clouds.

“Good girl,” she praises and takes a loud slurp. 

You spin to face her, crossing your arms as you watch her. Your hand wanders up to your throat but finds only the nook of your collar bone. You’ve left your necklace in your jewellery box. A habit you’ve rarely broken.

‘Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give, and it will be given to you.’

You remind yourself of the passage as wariness nips at your mind. You do not know this woman, you only know what is said of her. And as the Lord bids, one may not judge without first first accepting judgment themselves.

“What happened to you?” You finally muster the question from the maelstrom of fear and shock.

Her thick brows rise and she tilts her head. She sits sideways in the chair and leans back to look down at herself. As she takes in the shredded flannel hanging from her figure, she lifts her hand to touch the twigs caught in her hair. She laughs, greatly amused as she smothers it with a swig of coffee.

She pops her lips and wipes them with her filthy hand, “well, looks like I had a good night.”

She smiles, her teeth eerily long and white. The expression fills you with unease. You clasp your hands together over your stomach.

“Well, I could run you a bath and you could take some of my clothes. I have a bag I was going to donate at the church–”

“Oh, you are a good girl,” she winks, “you go to church?”

You nod, “every Sunday. It’s an open service.”

“Ha,” she guffaws, “I appreciate the invitation but it isn’t for me. I like the Catholic girls more than the Catholic rites.”

You slowly part from the edge of the counter. She is crass in a way that makes you uncomfortable, in the same way as the drunken men who come out of the old bar on Tilbury. She has no shame or it seems, sense. She is as unbothered by her torn flesh as she is by her similarly shorn clothing.

“I’ll get the tub going. The pipes will take time to heat up–”

“Ah ah,” she tuts as you turn on your heel, “what kind of good Christian does not offer a name?”

You face her again. You didn’t realise. You didn’t think to give it, somehow, it felt like giving more than just that. As if you were handing over something precious. But she is here in your home and the Lord treasures gracious hosts. So you say your name, feeling it leave your tongue like a vow.

“Beautiful,” she praises, “I am Yelena, or whatever you like me to be.”

You have nothing to say to her last remark. You leave her to your coffee and forget about your tea. You’re certain it’s already cold as ice. You head down the hallway and let yourself into the bathroom. You turn on the light as you enter and cross the small patchwork of tile to the tub.

You pull back the curtain and bend over the brim to twist the four-pronged faucets. The water spills out and you splash it up the porcelain to rinse it off, turning off the flow to let it drain before starting it again. You put the stopper in place and push yourself straight.

You take a deep breath as you leave the building humidity in the bathroom and stop short as you find the woman, Yelena, just outside. She smirks at the cross stitch in its round frame, reaching to touch the embroidery; Rejoice in the Lord, the threaded cursive reads with the wreath of flowers.

“Quaint,” she muses as her eyes list over in your direction, “your husband must love you. Blessed be the meek and all that.”

You shake your head and look down at your left hand. If your mother was still around, she’d be certain to loudly proclaim your lack of suitors. The woman hums, taking the hint. She surprises you as she claps her hand on your arm.

“Who needs em? Men,” she scoffs, “trust me, they are…” she pauses, considering her next words carefully, “useless.”

She releases you and you step aside, pointing her into the bathroom. She enters, limping still. You notice how her foot drags, her leg entirely limp. You step forward, lingering at the threshold.

“The towel is clean,” you instruct, “and the hot water will probably run out by the halfway mark–” you voice catches as she strips away the remnants of her shirt. Shamelessly, she pulls down the strap of her bra, the other one snapped, and bares her chest, “oh, but uh, I’ll leave you–”

She snickers, “I am not ashamed of how the Lord made me, feel free to admire his work.”

You gasp and latch onto the doorknob. You swallow and quickly swing the door shut, clinging to it as you blink at the peeling paint. You look down at your hand, feeling as though you can’t let go. You see her body still, her pert tits and knowing smile stir your stomach cloyingly. A sinful sensation that tingles down your spine.

You snatch your hand back and nearly stumble into the wall. You must pray and cleanse yourself of these feelings. Let the Lord forgive you.

🌔

You dig out a pair of jeans and a wool sweater from the box, adding a pair of socks and underwear to the stack before scooping it up. You hug the clothing as you head down the hall, listening to the stir of water through the door. 

You clear your throat and place the pile on the square table set against the wall. You lean in, voice catching as you try to make the words come out. You feel as if you’re being choked.

“There are clothes out here for you,” you call through at last.

“Mm,” you can hear her sultry hum, “thank you, sweet one.”

You back away, retracting as if scalded. You shudder and continue on to the kitchen. You take the mugs from the table and go to the sink to wash them. The house is still cold though the furnace has softened the nip in the air.

You dry off both cups and put them back in the cupboard. You empty out the filter in the coffee machine and push the canister of grinds back against the wall. Restlessly, you pace, contemplating what comes next. It is unkind to ask a guest to leave but you must. There’s something festering about this woman being in your home.

You should’ve left her in the cold. The thought brings you to a halt and you’re mortified by your own cruelty. You shake your head and trace a cross through the air with your fingers; forgive me, lord.

You go into the living room and sit on the couch, teetering on the edge as you lean forward, elbows on your knees and hands clamped together. You press your lips to your knuckles and close your eyes. 

A silty fatigue grits under your eyelids. You are suddenly very tired. You’re still hoping this is just a dream.

“Ah, there you are,” Yelena’s voice brings your head up, your head swelling dizzily.

You look over your shoulder as she struts across the room. She wears only the wool sweater, her legs naked as the hem hovers tenuously just below her pelvis. You gulp as you watch her, stunned by her speedy and complete recovery.

The cuts across her neck and face are gone, her legs show no blemish or scar, and she walks unimpeded. Her blond hair is damp but shiny, and her cheeks are rosy and full. You’ve never seen anyone look so enthralling.

“I feel much better, darling,” she declares as she combs her fingers through her hair, the sweater rising up her thighs, “oh, but you look less than… what is the matter, sweet one?”

“N-nothing,” you go to stand but she’s quick to meet you, blocking you as she stands before you, putting a hand out to keep you at bay, “I…” you gulp, your mouth dry and pasty, “I was going to make breakfast. Are you hungry?”

She looks down at you and turns her hand to cradle your chin, “I am ravenous.”

You stare up at her, hypnotised by the heat of her touch and the yellow flecks seeming to glow in her irises. She slips her hand down to your neck and leans her weight into you, urging you to sit back. You let her, trembling as your body surrenders against your will.

She brings herself down to her knees, moving to insert herself between hers. Her hand crawls down and she hisses as she clutches the silver cross hung around your neck. He yanks and snaps the chain, bringing a yelp from your lips. She flings it away and shows how the pendant left its shape burnt into her palm. You gape as her skin slowly fades back to normal.

“What…” you breathe.

“Shhh,” she presses her finger to your lips, “I will not hurt you. The moon has gone and my hunger has changed.”

Your eyes round as you squirm. Lord, give me strength. 

Her hand falls again and she gropes you through the cotton of your sweatshirt. You murmur as she squeezes and you feel it pluck deep down inside of you. You look down at her hand as she fondles you, her other creeping up to raise the bottom of your shirt.

Your mind screams for you to stop her. You know you should, you know what she’s doing is wrong, but you can’t. It’s as if your body is no longer your own. As if she’s possessed you with her touch alone.

She rolls your shirt above your chest, peeling down the cubs of your wireless bra as she leans forward. A glaze of shock paralyses you as you watch her press her lips to the curve of your tit. He kisses the flesh, teasing it with her tongue, then her teeth, nipping so you squeak.

“Delicious,” she purrs, as her thumb twirls around your hardened nipple.

Your hands ball against the cushion, the most you can muster as your muscles lock up. She keeps one hand on your chest as she trails down your stomach with her mouth. She dotes on your soft belly, her other hand edging around as she guides your hips forward. Her fingers curl around the top of your pants.

Her other hand brushes around your ribs and down your back. She grips the elastic of your pants, guiding them down, tugging them under your ass as she jolts your body. You groan as she pulls both underwear and pants down your thighs in a single swoop. 

A crack forms in your trance and you bring your hands together to shield your nakedness. You hid your cunt behind as she strips the fabric past your ankles. She tuts and lays a kiss along your calf. She makes a path up to your knee, then switches legs, kissing along your quivering thigh.

“Don’t be shy,” she growls, “the lord gives us all a purpose. He would not make anything so beautiful if he did not mean it to be admired.”

She leans back and reaches behind her hand. She tugs the sweater up over her head, disposing it on the floor as she presents herself to you. Naked and built like a statue, muscle hewn perfectly.

She pulls your hands away from your pelvis and leers between your legs. She pushes your hands down beside you and drags her own down your thighs. She lifts your legs, one at a time, opening you to her.

She bends as you shake, detached from your mortal shell as he bows her head over your lap. She reaches up grazing over your chest and to your neck. She stretches her hand across your throat and holds you in place as she pokes her cool tongue against your slick heat.

You’re just as surprised at the mingling of hot and cold as you are by your own arousal. She laps you up eagerly as your body responds, falling apart in an instant. You moan through your tight throat, wrapping your fingers around her wrist as you drop your head back. Your voice gristles out as you tilt your hips in welcome.

The scald of your repentance fades into that of your delight. Her tongue delves between your folds, dissembling you with each slow swipe, each swirl around your tender bud. Her fingertips tickle along your thigh, edging the crease of your pelvis and dipping down to your entrance. She prods, wiggling just inside as she eases into you little by little.

You gasp and gulp, rocking your hips in time with her. You can hear how much you want her, you can feel it flooding from you, dripping down her hand and spreading on her tongue. She buries her face against you as she devours you, urging you on as she builds her pace, jamming her fingers deeper and deeper.

You reach down without thinking and latch onto her head. You push her down, smothering her face in your cunt as you rut against her face. You feel the swell crest and your body quakes as the tension shatters and sweeps over you. Your orgasm gushes out around her fingers as your voice fizzles to a creaky whine.

She feels along your hand, carefully drawing it away as she raises her head. Her chin drips with your juices as she snickers, baring her wolfish teeth. Her eyes glimmer as she slips her fingers out of you. You squirm with the sudden emptiness.

She grabs the backs of your calves suddenly and stands, pulling you so you slip down, your shoulders on the cushion. She grips the front of your bunched shirt and hauls you onto the floor, bringing you to your knees. She lifts her leg over your shoulder, planting her foot on the couch behind you.

She pushes your face into her pelvis and you open your mouth. You taste her, tilting your head back as she stains your tongue with her desire. Your eyes roll back as she holds you there, her hips rolling as she grips a fistful of your hair.

“Kneel in worship of me, sweet one,” she cradles the back of your head as she brings you closer, “leave your false god behind.”

All doubt, all dread, dwindles away as you’re swallowed by the heat of temptation. The strength of your spirit succumbs to the weakness of your flesh. Forgive me, lord, oh please, forgive me for how sweet it is.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #146

I woke up feeling pretty good today. I have some 6 hours of sleep, which is still not ideal, but it's better than what I have been getting over the last few days. I did a little better with hydrating. And it's not Mother's Day today. I feel a little better.

I made a tea today for myself. I didn't have the energy to capture the brewing process this time, but I did get some of the nicer-looking swirls:

I thought the surface swirl looked kind of like a dragon turning its head to look behind it. So that was pretty cool!

...Today I made the vanilla rose tea; it's one that I think you might really like. I was inspired to go to an online place called Adagio to make my own tea blend that I thought might suit your tastes, given that it is known that you enjoy vanilla and roses. I ordered it in a little tin, and on the little tin, I had them put the picture I found of you sipping tea while looking out a window. I've seen a lot of pictures of you, drawn by other people. The one of you drinking tea is by far the best one I've ever seen so far. But there's this other one where flowers of many colors are being braided into your hair; that one comes in second place. There's another one of you in a t-shirt, with your head in your arms, looking over affectionately at a curled-up and contented-looking cat.

...My favorite images of you will always be the ones in which you look happy, contented, and at peace.

After tea, I decided to shower. My mind has been funky, and one of the best ways to clear up a funky mind is to go in a warm place that smells nice. Most of my soaps are scented with roses, lavender, chamomile, or some combination thereof; I think you would like them. ...When is the last time you were able to enjoy a hot shower, with soaps that smell nice? Or a hot bath? I think you might enjoy the soaps available at my house, but given your height, I'm not sure the shower here would suit you well. You'd be welcome to use it anyhow, though (all of my friends are allowed to make use of our shower, beds, and washer/dryer), if you decided to visit; no one would bother you or get weird at you.

I blasted tunes while in the shower. There's a playlist I like to use specifically for it; it's filled with acapella renditions of various video game songs, done by an artist called Smooth McGroove; he's an amazing human being (and very kind, caring, and empathetic!) who is very skilled with the use of his voice. I love singing along with his various tunes!

...I felt A LOT better after that. Holy cow. Well enough, in fact, to begin pulling the lilac blossoms away from the greens:

Today, I even found a weird lilac blossom with six petals instead of the usual four:

...I decided that the non-standard lilac blossom is my favorite one.

In order to make good lilac syrup, you have to take the time to separate the blossoms away from the greens. This process takes a long time, but failure to do so will result in a bitter syrup. I spent three hours doing this alongside a different playlist, and I'm still nowhere near done. I'll have to continue tomorrow, assuming the remaining lilacs aren't too wilted by then...

One of my friends also invited me to a gathering of polyamorous people today. Apparently, it takes place at a local restaurant on the second Monday night of every month. I was really scared about going because I normally don't fare very well in large groups, and I really don't know how to social in general; I don't know how to politely insert myself into other people's conversations, and I don't know how to talk about myself without the other person getting overwhelmed, so normally I just watch others mingle and listen to their stories. One can learn much by simply sitting and listening, and I'm better suited to that than to speaking anyhow.

My friend, with whom I've been friends for 16 years, was with me, and he introduced me to various people. I was surprised to see one of my other friends there, too, but I suppose I shouldn't have been, given the fact that they are very active in the polyamory community. The room was chock full of neurodivergent people, and for the first time in a while, I didn't feel out-of-place. There were lots of folks in colorful outfits and gender-non-conforming clothing, and it was amazing to see! I wore my favorite shirt, along with my usual Eevee hat, cardigan, boots, and jeans, and the plush I carry everywhere, and I didn't at all feel self-conscious about it in this space.

There was, however, one older gentleman present who was dressed in more ordinary clothing, looking a little lost, out-of-place, and lonely. I noticed that the other people there were avoiding him, most likely because of his age and his style of dress, so I made it a point to approach him and to include him in my little group with my two friends and all their friends. I was delighted to discover that he has a very vibrant mind with many interests and a very omnivorous taste in music, games, and movies! He started out being very shy and uncertain, but I did my best to make him feel safe, and gradually he started opening up and talking very animatedly about the things he likes! Speaking with him was absolutely delightful! It was his first time going to this sort of activity, too, and I hope that next time, he will feel more confident and at ease instead of unwelcomed and avoided.

He spoke on being kind of an outcast when he was growing up and going to school. This was something I could very much relate to. We exchanged contact information, and I'm hoping to be able to get to know him better over time. I exchanged contact information with 3 other people in that space, too; I'm very much looking forward to getting to know them as well! One of them creates music and then puts it on a place called Soundcloud (that's where the acapellas I've made are!), and although I won't be able to listen to it tonight because I have to go to bed soon, I'm very much looking forward to listening to it tomorrow!

I didn't take any pictures of the people, because having your face in places is dangerous if you're a non-standard human; in addition to being polyamorous, lots of the people there were LGBTQ, and folks like us are very much hated in my world, to the point where people try to fire us from our jobs, ostracize us from our communities, or even torture and kill us - it's really very unfortunate. But I did get a couple pictures of some nearby flowers, and the scenery along the route to the place, and some pictures of the crafted flowers on the tables:

...Oh, and!!! I managed to snag a picture of a bird-of-prey in flight. They're always so far away and difficult to capture with my cellphone camera, but... well. It's the black speck in the sky. Here:

...Yesterday I said I felt disconnected from everyone and everything and like I don't belong. Today, I was invited to a place where there were a LOT of people like me, and just like that, a few new potential friends were simply dropped into my lap. This is unprecedented. And also very interesting. And also strange. But not in a bad way. I suddenly feel even more foolish about the bit of stupidity I pulled yesterday, ahahaha... 😅😬😓

...Tomorrow, I will pull more lilac blossoms from their greens, and then finally get started on steeping them in hot water to make syrup; it'll be very good. I'll probably be pulling blooms out of greens all day, but that's fine; it's very meditative sort of work. And autistic brains like mine tend to be well-suited for repetitive tasks like this; I can't complain.

I need to try to actually go to bed on time today, so I'm going to end today's letter here.

Hey, Sephiroth? If you're out there, reading these, listening to me, and cheering me on a little from where you are (impossible, I know, but maybe we can pretend)... thank you. Thank you for existing. Thank you for being here. Thank you for being yourself.

I love you. And I'll write again tomorrow. Stay safe for me, won't you?

Your friend, Lumine

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[dzpenumbra]

5/13/23

The newest ink piece is done. They're definitely getting more experimental now. We'll see what the next one turns into.

I went out to dinner (basically breakfast for me, it was 5:30PM) with my brother, my sister in law, my 1 year old nephew and my sister's mom. It was... an interesting experience. I showed up a little late... because they showed up early. And my nephew was... very vocal today. Yelling very loud in joy and in upset. And honestly, I don't care. Kids are kids, it's just the nature of it, and the parents do their best. I view it a lot like dogs barking, it's just part of being in a community and it's part of what they do, so you just kinda... try to understand what's going on and... as a parent... I guess you just get mobile with it if it seems like he's not going to quiet down any time soon.

Super fucking brave of them to keep taking their infant son out to dinner. I guarantee my parents didn't do that with us. And I was tempted to compliment my brother for it, but there wasn't really a window for it. So, it was a super stressful situation for them. Plus... my sister in law was literally on the phone with her hospital (she's a doctor) and they had a dude waving a fucking gun around in the parking lot. And here I was, just sitting here at dinner trying to act like a normal person. Sitting next to an elderly woman who I had met once before in passing. My brother just looked tired and really trying to smile through it. Which is like... his life story. But... not to get too personal for him, but his hands tell the story - they always have. Because he has historically been a legit OCD hand-washer, since highschool. And by that, I mean like... scrubbing until they bleed, washing dozens of times a day. And those hands were cracked again, and the winter dryness scapegoat is kinda gone now. So, as always... I worry, you know? But... if you come in hot with that shit? People take that kind of confrontation (even when it's concern and compassion) as aggression. I have learned that lesson in spades. And my sister in law is starting to put on weight too. I'm guessing that might be her stress thing. And again... it's just hard to see people in a position like that... and know that I can offer help... that I have tons to offer for help... and know that they're going to pass. So I might as well not even try. And that's a very real thing. In these types of interactions, it is actually is 100% the correct response for me to not be forward.

So... to translate that... and part of this lesson I'm a little scrambled on since I'm pretty new to learning it and it still doesn't make any goddamn sense to me. Navigating other peoples' pride, that is... I brought up my interest in getting into nature art, like in-the-woods nature installations, like the one I did at the river back by my old place. And how I was interested in talking to the whatever place near me across the river, the place that stewards all that land and does like natural farming and shit. And I wanted to talk to them about how I'm an artist and how I want to learn from them about permaculture and topography and ecology and irrigation and shit... and then make practical natural art inspired by what I learn. And... I was telling them how I feel like... I don't know, like they're not going to want someone shadowing them around. And they're not going to like... pay me. I guess that's the big thing and the thing I didn't actually bring up. There's no fucking way someone is going to pay me so that they can teach me... if anything, I should be paying them! AND YET... this is my fucking job. So... I'm in this predicament where I would like... either be doing essentially an unpaid internship... or paying someone so I can work. Which is fucking dumb. And extremely unfair. But I didn't even get into that shit. I just was expressing how I felt like they might not want to have someone shadowing them around or whatever. And I think a big part of it is the same reflex I've developed from offering help to my family, and asking for help from my family. It's that reflex that... "it's better not to ask."

That's the theory. I'm not happy about it.

All the stuff I wrote about last night came up internally in little bits. Inferiority shit. Impostor syndrome shit. All that. My sister in law's mom mentioned her friend who made tie dye t-shirts (which is awesome) as a side-gig and kinda compared me to that. Which... is a thing, and kinda shows how people treat this kinda work. A side-gig, a hobby. And when I was talking to my brother alone, I was talking about how it's tricky to figure out how to turn this process-based work into money... and he, like thousands before him, recommended mass production. Which is... becoming just flat-out cliché at this point. And I pointed out that like... I feel like it cheapens the one-of-a-kind nature of these pieces. And he came back with like... "oh yeah but then you have a bunch, and then you have the original too!" And I just... I can't really explain this shit to these people, man! Like... The shit I'm making is like... gallery-grade, it's like... shit that's supposed to go in a fucking museum. That's the intention. I'm not here to make trendy t-shirts or hock $10 prints at a booth at a farmer's market. That's not the work that I'm currently doing.

After, I found myself, in my head, wondering why I take there opinions with so much gravity. Like... they clearly don't go to art galleries. They clearly don't really understand the difference between a piece in the MoMA that took 4 months of daily work to make and... a digital painting that got turned into cheap mass-produced prints through an online distributer in fucking China or some shit. Like... they're the same career to the layman, they are interchangeable. It's fucking odd. It feels like I've been aspiring and training to be an astrophysicist... and I just lack the social connections and struggle with anxiety and depression problems that inhibit my ability to get out there and blindly get myself in a door in my field... so they suggest I become a 2nd grade Math teacher. I dunno, I'll get over it, it just rubs me the wrong way, because it really doesn't feel supportive. Quite the opposite actually. When I express that I really don't want to make prints because it literally cheapens the one-of-a-kind value of my piece by making dozens of cheap copycat clones of it... and instead of like... absorbing that... and adjusting? They double down? "Oh, but the original is still valuable though..." <eyeroll>

There's a difference between painting the Mona Lisa, and selling prints of the Mona Lisa. They are different things. And what today's cracked out consumerist addict fucking culture seems to forget is the value in scarcity. The value that I create in what I do comes from several core concepts - Sentimentality, Handmade (as much as possible), One-of-a-kind, Deep Meaning, Well-Researched. My pieces are cerebral as well as aesthetic. They have stories. What is the story of a clone? Code fed into a printer, machine-pushed off a factory line, dropped in a box, shipped overseas, arrives at your doorstep. It's a cheap souvenir. You'd be lucky to get a print that has had human hands on it before your own. And that just... doesn't feel personal. And what I work with? Is personal.

All that said, I may have an interest in getting into t-shirt making or doing stickers or shit like that someday. And I have done prints and shit before. There is value in it, it has its place in society and I do appreciate it for what it is. But, again, that is the opposite of my intentions right now. And yeah, it kinda sucks to be that misunderstood and have them really just not really care at all. And... just being honest... when you tell someone you're a struggling artist? (And I assume they do the same for musicians.) People tend to treat you like a child who won't give up their dream of becoming an astronaut, rather than find ways to be supportive. And by "people", I mean the vast majority of people I've met. Just my personal experience. And I felt that vibe again today, and it sucked ass. It felt like being a teenager at the adults table at a family reunion, and my brother is only 3 years older than me. It's a shitty feeling.

All that said... I had a good time! XD I didn't feel anxious at all, I felt really confident actually. The personal issues in the conversation that I had? Very brief and entirely internal. Very quickly transitioning into other topics. So, it was nice. And getting to chill with my nephew was awesome. It did really suck that they were talking about childcare in front of me again, but like... yeah, I just kinda tap out after a while, you know? They know. They know my interest, they know my flexibility, they know how close I live, they know that if they invite me to do something I will say "yes" every time, and it'll be a good time too. But they still don't. So... yeah. It's their life, not mine. I don't control that.

I got home and worked on the skull a bit. It's coming along nicely, it's polished very smooth now. I've come down from 120 grit to 400, then started with a 600 grit towards the end today but I might not even need that. I might just paint or ink it instead of carving. Still on the fence. But it's gonna be cool either way.

I watched RP, finished the ink drawing, binged on snack food because I don't have shit for real food... and here I am. At 5:15AM. Because I got sucked into Risk of Rain 2 again. Such a frustrating fucking game, I have grown a deep love/hate relationship with it. So yeah, that was the day, I gotta get to bed soon or else I'll be tempted to just say "fuck it" and stay up all night.

[truckshine]

What Are Truck Detailing And Truck Washing?

If you run a trucking business, you want to make sure that your trucks look their best at all times. Not only does this show professionalism and attention to detail, but it also ensures that your fleet runs as efficiently as possible. This is why many businesses are turning to truck detailing and truck washing services. This article will explain the difference between these two services and discuss why they are so important for any commercial trucking business. Read on to learn more about how these services can help keep your trucks looking their best!

What Is Truck Detailing?

Truck detailing is the process of cleaning and polishing the interior and exterior of a truck. Truck washing is a part of truck detailing, but it is not the only process. Truck detailing also includes cleaning the engine, undercarriage, and wheels.

The Benefits Of Truck Detailing And Truck Washing

There are many benefits to truck detailing and truck washing. These services can help keep your truck looking its best, extend the life of your truck, and protect your investment.

Truck detailing and truck washing can remove dirt, grime, and other contaminants that can damage your truck's finish. This can help maintain the value of your truck and keep it looking great for years to come.

Truck detailing and truck washing can also protect your paint job from fading or peeling. The sun's ultraviolet rays can cause serious damage to unprotected paint, so regular cleaning and waxing can help keep your truck's paint job looking new.

In addition, regular truck detailing and truck washing can help prevent rust and corrosion. These services will remove any salt or other corrosive materials that could damage your truck's body or frame.

How To Get Started With Truck Detailing And Truck Washing?

If you're looking to get started in the world of truck detailing and truck washing, there are a few things you'll need to know. First and foremost, it's important to understand the difference between the two services. Truck detailing is a comprehensive cleaning and polishing service that restores a truck's interior and exterior to showroom condition. On the other hand, truck washing is a more basic cleaning service that cleans the outside of the truck.

To get started in truck detailing or washing, you'll need basic supplies, including a hose, pressure washer, soap, brushes, and towels. You'll also need access to water and electricity. If you're planning on starting your own business, you'll need to invest in additional equipment, such as an air compressor, buffer, and waxer.

Once you have your supplies gathered, start washing the outside of the truck to remove any dirt or grime. Next, apply soap with a brush to the truck's wheels and tires and scrub them clean. Then rinse off the soap with your hose. Next, move on to cleaning the rest of the exterior surfaces of the truck, including the windows, mirrors, and door handles.

Tips For Truck Detailing And Truck Washing

There are a few key things to keep in mind when detailing or washing your truck:

1. Use the right products. This is especially important for truck detailing, as using the wrong products can damage the paint or finish. Make sure to use products that are specifically designed for trucks.

2. Pay attention to the details. When washing your truck, take extra time to pay attention to the nooks and crannies where dirt and grime tend to build up. The same goes for detailing – ensure you don't overlook any areas.

3. Be bold and ask for help. If you need help properly detailing or washing your truck, there's no shame in asking for help from a professional. They can ensure that your truck looks its best and advise you on the best products to use.

Conclusion

Truck detailing near me and washing are important for keeping your truck looking great and running efficiently. You can keep your truck in shape for years with the right products, tools, and techniques. Whether you do the job yourself or hire a professional detailer, with regular maintenance, your will stay clean and look great on the road. Investing in a good quality cleaning product is essential if you want optimal results from every wash session - so be sure to find one that works best for you!

Shine Express Truck Wash Pty Ltd

1/17 Penelope Cres,

Arndell Park NSW 2148,

Australia

+611300 802770

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[anonymousfiction211]

The washing room

Summary: You spill your drink on Loki and decided to clean his shirt.   Word count: 1.485 words Warning: Smut A/N: A bit busy with school lately. Not a very long story, but still hope you like it :) Let me know if you have any comments, suggestions or ideas!

“No, I’m not doing it”

“It would just be for this night. Please? As a favour for me?”

“FINE! But just for THIS night! And don’t forget to say hi to Jane for me”

You followed Thor to the living room. Loki sat there reading one of his books. He didn’t look up when the two of you entered. He licked his finger and turned over a page. “I’m going to Jane’s tonight. So lady Y/N will be keeping you company tonight” Thor said to Loki. “You mean babysitting” he said without looking up. Thor sighed and looked at you “Don’t let him get into trouble”. You gave him an sceptic look. “Okay, just call me when he gets into trouble”

You sat down on the couch and turned on the tv. You started to flip through the channels. “Can’t you just pick something to watch” said a low voice near your ear. You gasped in shock and accidently dropped the remote on the floor. Loki walked around the couch and picked up the remote. “Jesus, you nearly gave me a heart attack” you hissed at him. He plopped down next to you “Not amused, darling?”

He changed the channel and a horror film started to play. You tried to take the remote but he held it too high. “Come on, you know I scare easily” you whined. He looked into your eyes “Isn’t it your job to keep me out of trouble?” he smirked. “Besides, if you’re really scared you can curl up to me” he winked at you. You felt yourself blush a little. You crossed your arms and stared at the tv. “Would you like a drink?” he asked you. “Eh.. yeah, since when are you so nice?” “I am always nice to you” he conjured up two cups and handed one to you.

It wasn’t a secret that of all the people living in the tower Loki got the best along with you. That included his own brother. He never threatened to throw you out of a window or stab you. But he sure was annoying most of the time. He was always finding way of getting under your skin. Putting hair dye in your shampoo, or your books too high so you can’t reach them. But the most annoying part was that you couldn’t stay mad at him too long. You were madly in love with him from the first day he moved in. He could be moody, but was always charming. And the two of you had more intimate moments, seeing a side of him not everybody knows about. Plus he had a certain grace about him. Everything he did seemed flawless, calculated. His emerald eyes and long black hair had you staring at him every time he wasn’t watching.

You pretended not to notice his arm sliding behind you on the back of the couch. Sure, you and Loki were friends. And he was an enormous flirt and tease, but you always doubted his sincerity. You weren’t following the movie, suddenly a jump scare appeared on the screen. Out of instinct you put your hands in front of your face, spilling the drink you were holding over Loki’s shirt. You heard him sigh and you saw the wet stain on his shirt. “O my god, I’m so sorry!” You stood up and went to grab a towel from the kitchen. When you came back Loki had taken his shirt off. You stopped in your tracks and stared at his abbs. When you see Loki you wouldn’t take him for a muscular guy, but he certainly had a trained body. He cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts. You were hoping he didn’t notice your face reddening.

You walked towards him and started to dry his chest. “Again, so sorry. I didn’t mean to…” he put his finger under your chin and tilted your head. You looked straight in his emerald eyes “It’s okay, darling” he said in a husky voice. He let go of your chin and put hand on top of yours, which was still holding the towel to his chest. He lightly stroked your hand, not breaking eye contact. Your mind was racing with thoughts about Loki and you kissing, undressing and more. “Ehm… you shirt! I should put it in the washer” you quickly said. You broke contact and grabbed his shirt. You quickly walked towards the washing room.

You bend down to put his shirt in the washer. When you closed the washer door you stood up straight. You felt two hands on your hips and a chest at your back. A hand left your hips and put your hair behind your ear. You felt lips against your ears and hear him whisper “Y/N, I can’t do this anymore. I need you, badly” You turned around and faced him in shock “W- what?” “Darling, you must have noticed the teasing and flirting lately. I certainly noticed that slight blush on your face” he put a hand on the back of your neck and pulled you towards you. Your lips were almost touching. “Can I?” he asked. You nodded and you felt his lips press lightly against yours. He kept going and you felt his tongue begging you for entrance. You opened your mouth and let him in. You slid your own tongue down his mouth and started to explore it. Your hands were stroking his chest lightly.  

He broke the kissing and smiled at you. “I don’t think this is quite fair” he said. He grabbed the under hem of your shir and pulled it over your head. He started to kiss you again and you felt a hand unclip your bra. You put your hand around him on his back and pulled him as close as you could “it’s cold” you said. “I know a way that will warm you up” he smirked. He pushed you back, trapping you between the washer and his body. He grabbed you by your hips and pulled you up, placing you on top of the washer. You tried to break the kiss, but he wouldn’t let you. “I need air” you said between kisses. “I have been waiting to kiss you since I met you, I am not stopping” he growled. You giggled and put your hands in your hair. You felt him smile and felt his hands staring to caress you breasts. You felt your nipples harden as the kissing became more passionately.

You squeaked when the washer started to wash in the highest setting. Sending vibrations through your entire body. Loki chuckled “Enjoying yourself?” You felt him open up the buttons of your pants, sliding his hand down. You moaned and started to kiss his chest, trailing up to his neck and ear. Feeling proud when you heard a soft moan escape from his lips. He started to tease you by drawing circles on your underwear, right on top of your clit. You tried to move your hips with his movements. Becoming wetter with the minute. “Stop teasing me” you moaned. “Teasing is in my nature” he said with amusement in his voice.

A green shimmer engulfed the washer and it started to vibrate at a higher pace. You yelped at the new feeling, but Loki shut you up by sliding his tongue back in your mouth. You felt him slide your underwear to the side and go back to drawing circles on top of your clit. His fingers went lower and two of them entered you. Making you moan like crazy. He started to pump his fingers in and out of you. Loki started to place kisses up and down your neck, occasionally biting you softly. While his fingers worked their way in and out of you, you felt his thumb go back to your clit. The overstimulation and the vibrations of the washer send were becoming to much. You started to moan louder “Loki, please… I’m so close” He stopped kissing you and looked into your eyes. “Come for me” he whispered in his low husky voice. You didn’t know how, but came undone immediately at his command, moaning his name.

Loki worked you through your high. The washer stopped vibrating. He pulled his fingers out of you, as slow as he could. He kissed you passionately. He put his fingers to his own mouth and licked them clean. He was still staring into your eyes. Watching him do that got you worked up again. He grabbed your hips and pulled you against him. Your legs wrapped around his waist and a hand supported your ass. You felt his erection against your heat. “I’m not done with you” he whispered. He walked you back to his room. “Good thing we were alone tonight” you said. “Hmm.. almost as if someone planned it this way” he said teasingly while squeezing your ass.