#anyway it spiraled and then i wrote things

[mishapen-dear]

apocalypse au. cannibalism. corpses. Offscreen loss of loved ones

-

“Some leather armour,” Bad notes, tugging curiously at the straps of the corpse’s armour. “Euagh, almost broken, though.” The armour gets tossed to the side. “A granola bar? Okay, we’ll take that.”

Cellbit twitches at that. He wants to ask, “Do we have to?” but there’s several reasons why he doesn’t. Protesting a backup food supply is never a good idea, for one. It’s not worth it to risk starvation just because he’s worried that the backup food supply will become their primary. He tightens his hold on the bloody sword and insists again. It’s not worth it. Instead, he says, voice rasping, “There’s too many. It’s all going to rot.”

“You think so?” Bad looks up at him, then runs a critical eye over the little encampment. Ten bodies, some larger, but all fat deposits slimmed by lasting hunger. Bad licks at the blood left on his hand from looting the corpse, considering their haul thoughtfully. “I don’t think things rot that fast, Cellbit.”

He twitches again when Bad says his name. It wasn’t an admonishment- it was barely even an opinion Cellbit should validate, knowing how long it takes Bad to consider something rotten -but there is something yearning and grieving and desperate slinking between the muscle fibers of his heart that squirms to hear that disagreement. He’s shaking. He hasn’t stopped shaking. He wants to bite the edge of his sword hard enough that his teeth will crack into sharpened splinters. He wouldn’t need the sword, then. “I don’t- we should cook it,” he says. “Some.”

Bad snaps his fingers triumphantly, as though he’d remembered something. “Pre-digestion!” he exclaims so loudly that Cellbit flinches. No birds fly away- they’ve already been scared off. “Oh! You want to save some for later? Yeah, sure, we can do that. But we should eat what doesn’t fit in the car.” Cellbit doesn’t know how to explain that he can’t eat as much as much as Bad. Not even cooked. It fills him with- it’s not envy but it isn’t not envy, either. Some dissatisfaction.

Back in the— when he was small Cellbit had always assumed that it was Bad’s size that lead him to take the larger portion of their meals. It made sense, and he always got his fill so he was happy with it. Then, when he was grown, it was frustrating. Bad could eat an entire corpse in one sitting; Cell couldn’t even get through an entire leg. He’d realized then, gnawing at bone and just waiting to be done, that Bad couldn’t have possibly eaten an entire corpse. It was childish dreams made memory, morphed by the horror and the trauma and the things he didn’t think about. And now they’ve met up again, and these are their first corpses but Cellbit knows that despite their looting Bad’s share of the resources are always depleted, even when they come across a feast and- The clever part of him is wondering how much he’s really misremembered after all.

Bad seems oblivious to Cellbit’s thoughts. “We can smoke some of this and it’ll last you a bit longer,” he suggests thoughtfully, starting to dig through the corpse’s clothes again. “It might take us some extra time, but this place is safe enough that they set up camp, and we don’t know when we’ll get the chance again. Good idea. Do you want to carve the meat or set up the smoker?”

The thing in Cellbit’s heart writhes almost giddily at the praise. He thinks that he hates it. He misses when he could fool himself into thinking he deserved it. “The meat,” rasps its way out of his throat, proving him right.

Bad lights up. Cellbit can immediately tell that he’s up to something. “In that case- I have something for you that might make it… a little bit easier.”

“What is it?”

“Close your eyes!” The bleeding part of him wails at the thought of the vulnerability, but this is Bad. He’s only alive because of him. Fitting to die because of him, too. Cellbit closes his eyes and continues to shake. The back of his teeth are dry. There’s the sound of rustling as Bad does whatever, and then a triumphant, “Ta-da~!” Cellbit gratefully takes this as his cue to open his eyes again.

Badboyhalo is holding a knife.

Badboyhalo is holding a kitchen knife. Thumb and fingers pinching either side of the blade, handle out, an offering. It’s clean, except where Bad’s hands have stained it red.

Cellbit had been calm, before, the way you are when you’re doing what you were made for. Then he had been satisfied, and excited, and then jittery and bad and happy and satisfied and dreadful. Longing and hatred and benediction and fulfillment. The sight of the knife fades all of that out. When he grabs it, those feelings turn to static. Still there, still hunting him, but forced to back away in the face of its armed prey. The world smooths out a little and hurts a bit less.

Badboyhalo has given him a knife.

“Bad-“ he says, and doesn’t choke up about it.

Bad smiles at him. Bad beams at him. “I was waiting for a good time to give it to you. I know you’ve got your sword, but I remember you telling me that knives are your favourite. Is that still true?”

Overwhelmed, Cellbit nods a little. “Thank- thank you. Obrigado, Bad.”

“De nada!” Bad chirps, cheerful as anything. He pats Cellbit on the shoulder, gently, as his tone shifts. “The sky is still blue, Cellbit. Remember that.”

He wanders away before Cellbit can bring himself to mutter, “Mas às vezes está nublado.” But it’s just Cellbit now, and his knife, and the bodies, and no one living can hear him.

He’s already dropped the sword, he realizes abruptly, clinging to his knife with both hands. He needs to pick it up and clean it before the blood coagulates. There is meat in front of him, still warm and waiting to be processed. Still, he manages to pick up the sword and wipe it in the vicinity of cleanliness on the body’s clothes, his other hand still clinging to his knife. He cuts the clothes, and drops the sword to the side.

When the knife cuts flesh, he starts to grin again. The world turns into a loving red, and he gets to work.

-

Bad feels bad.

He doesn’t dwell on it. Guilt or grief- they both started with g. It’s probably even better, even, feeling guiltier than griefier! Take away the question of accountability entirely, hold control, do what he has to do. And he has to do this.

The log in Bad’s hands cracks. He giggles at it, then takes several quick breaths as tears rapidly pool in his eyes. He doesn’t wipe them, just carefully lays the log down into his makeshift fireplace.

Bad doesn’t like hurting his friends. It’s like a bad prank that leaves lasting damage; it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. But it’s not really all that bad, all things considered. Bad isn’t hurting him or putting him in more danger. If anything, Cellbit is safer with him. They’ve done this before- anything Cellbit can’t eat, Bad can, and they know Cellbit can eat Bad. It’s better. It’s what needs to be done.

There’s a loud lowing in the distance. Bad stills as he listens to it. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Cellbit still carving. They found someone else tonight. Bad feels some tension leak from between his shoulderblades. They’ll be fed and full, and slow in the morning. Cellbit and Bad will have more than enough time to get packed up after a rest.

Cellbit has someone left. Bad is giving him a gift, but he can’t give it yet. Bad knew exactly what he would do if it turned out his own loved ones were still around, and he knows what Cellbit would do, too.

If Cellbit knew that Roier was still alive, he’d leave.

#it has been a While since ive watched cellbit i reserve the right to be incorrect about characters 🙏 #theres a lot goin on rn but as i said when in doubt write cannibalism #throwing these guys at each other in my big ol sandbox #anyway CANNIBALISM #APOCALYPSE #CODEPENDANCY!! #one of my fave things pre purg was when cellbit and bad had That Talk and i fuckin Yearn for a universe where they rp more together #one of my fave sandboxes to play in is also apocalypse aus #thus: #feel free to ask questions about this au idk how much if any more ill actually write #i have no name for it yet but it can be summed up as Two Fuckers Spiralling #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp cellbit #blood #cannibalism #mishapen words #this was fun tho its been a while since i just fucked around :] #fun fact i wrote this all in tumblr mobile drafts #eat the living au

[burning-sol]

how did i manage to accidentally make an entire ref sheet twice?? this was just meant to be silly art what the fuck.. anyways. rumi.

#📚 my posts #🖍️ art #just roll with it #jrwi apotheosis #jrwi rumi #the big star on the back is meant to be an hourglass if u can see that #'sol is that twilight sparkle's cutiemark?' i can neither confirm nor deny this #also there's a rising sun/setting sun since that's a big thing abt rumi #the back of the top is... if you know you know. #exandroth earring now official and i blame scrubby #i wasnt gonna make it a thing but zey wrote a fic so good i had to #and ig im avoiding the obv thing which is rumi is not white?? #i dont wanna get into it but basically ive thought about changing the skin tone foorrrr a while? months actually. it was always nagging me #this page actually started as me just experimenting with it to see what it would look like. then it spiralled... #anyways enough talk abt that tho ive rambled enough

[numerous-bees-in-a-skin-suit]

a drawing dump of my ocs who i love very very much since my mental health is yet again in the fucking gutter!!! they are: Faris (red hair), Kat (blue hair), and Ari (purple hair). they are my sillies

(the first drawing is this challenge I found on tiktok where you shuffle your music and the first one you get you have to redraw as one of your characters)

#digital art #original content #original character #my ocs #ocs #oc art #drawing #sketch #art #this universe that I have in my head for my ocs is very cool #only if I were smart enough to get it out of my head #if you couldn’t tell Faris is my favorite #he’s so <3 and i can’t wait to put him in a trauma blender #ari is actually my first oc that i actually have some lore for #she’s so important to me #and kat comes from this one story I wrote on wattpad that I hope no one ever finds #i have a lot more ocs to draw #ANYWAYS! voltron content will resume as soon as i am able to be a person without spiraling any further #because most of my voltron content is aus and things i actually have to think about

[soldier-poet-king]

Anyway made soup. Finished that indulgent awful YA read. Slowly learning that I can write reviews of things that are critical and the world won't end and I'm not going to cause people to die or something unspeakably horrible to happen just because I was "mean". Etc etc etc

MAYBE it'll be ok

#franposting #anyway yeah my ocd has this connection #that says if im critical of something. not even mean. just critical #someone will die/theyll be an accident/etc etc etc #all this because my ocd got really bad when i wrote a supportive but critical review of a prof #on those anonymous end of term things #and then she DIED a year later of cancer #and i was convinced her cancer came back bc of me #I genuinely believed it for years. i cried. i missed so much class. i was responsible for this womans death #anyway that was eons ago. 2nd year undergrad. #but i lived with that guilt for ages #i had ocd before then. but never so obvious. never for such a ridiculous clearly untrue fact #and then it spiralled into my every action causing world disasters and deaths #so yknow. #yes i AM a little insane on my bad days #i mean in full seriousness. i believe im responsible for completely reprehensible things when in an ocd spiral #and i live in fear!!! #but maybe it is getting better. maybe kt is getting easier #i was able to say hey this book was poorly written and plotted but it was indulgent and fun while still being bad #i didn't say it was good i said i was entertained type scenario #to be clear. i can HAVE mean or critical opinions in my head. bad things only happen when i express them publicly

[nejackdaw]

Now That You've Lost Tomorrow (is yesterday still a friend?)

4.2k words of the Celann backstory in my head

Under the cut for length; not NSFW. Also leave my Jimminy Cricket ass alone, I was thinking about Disney narrators when I started this lmao. It wasn't supposed to be an actual piece send help

Ahem. (Tw animal death) (tw gore)

Born in the Northmoor of Breton High Rock, Celann aged to be a fine man. With a lively, happy home, he was a handsome, good natured jokester with a penchant for bringing smiles wherever he went. Be it through mischief at home, exaggerated peacocking (resulting in clumsy accidents) in front of his beloved fiancee, charitable work through the town, or the song on his lips, he was an easygoing presence that had endeared himself to the people around him. Life was good and grand: he had an easy, do nothing guard job in a happy little town to bring in coin, plans to settle down and start a family, and wanted for nothing between it all. But things started to change when his elder sister prepared to set off on her apprenticeship–dark winds blew in that he, and all of them, would never recover from.

It was an adjustment for everyone with Jehanne recently absent; she'd been gone only a week, but the absence of fabric scraps and 'come look at this for me's, the messily kept tomes and quills that dripped ink, the prospect of not hearing another "you're being ridiculous, it's been weeks! Come join us for dinner!" and her high pitched, victorious cackles as she raced away, knowing she'd magically cleared up everyone's schedules by asking–she'd only been gone a week, but it felt an awfully lot longer than that. Celann kept up with his guard work in her absence and Charlotte, ever interested in his sister's seamstress and design work, had taken up the hobby when she wasn't keeping the ledger at Garnier's, insisting someone had to be leaving fabric in a house somewhere in Jehanne's absence–to balance things out, obviously, as all good magic is supposed to be.

Time passed this way for another week or so as everyone tried to reassure themselves that everything was fine; it was a large change, but they'd known for months, and they'll settle into this new normal soon and everything would be fine. But suddenly news came whispering through the streets of strange shadows passing by windows at night, shadows with no one to cast them, and soon enough the guards were being asked to look out for missing pets, small cats and birds that must have gotten loose.

Small cats and birds that were found far from their homes and butchered, torn apart but not eaten.

An uneasiness settled over the town as more and more of the creatures turned up, and "killer" was on everyone's lips. After a few weeks of disappearances and gory resurfaces, they began tapering off until they stopped entirely. Like any predator: from small prey to large–the guards instructed woodsmen and hunters, trappers and fur traders to keep an eye out in the woods for anything that didn't look like an animal had gotten to it first. It took only two days after the order was given for a horrified hunter to return with news of a torn, gaunt elk carcass, black with rot around the edges of the worst wounds. Next it was a boar, then a doe–then nothing once again.

Celann was tasked with joining patrols, increased in the wake of the animal attacks until investigators, who so far had found no leads towards what everyone assumed to be a fledgling serial killer, could find some hint as to what had been happening. Everyone waited anxiously for the inevitable first victim.

It came only a month after the shadow appeared.

Following loud, panicked shouts, Celann stumbled into an alleyway to find something hardly recognizable as human. It was pale, even for a corpse, and gaunt like the beasts had been–ripped apart and stained black at the edges, wounds rotting prematurely. He covered his mouth and looked away as he desperately fought against the thick, burning bile at the back of his throat, side stepping into a puddle of dried blood to let a more senior guard pass by.

When everything had been documented, after the corpse had been covered and the area sealed off–more for the townspeople's sake than the scene's–and they were given permission to leave, Celann headed immediately to the blacksmith, grateful for the harsh, painful way the smell and smoke of the forge cleaned the blood and rot from his lungs. He left with three sturdy daggers, weapons he grimly pressed into his family's hands as he made them swear to carry it with them. The protests died on all their lips when they saw the fear in his eyes, each taking it with the same gravity Celann presented it with and solemnly promising they would.

After only three days, there was another disappearance; another corpse, butchered and rotting unnaturally. He'd never possessed the same gift for magic most of his people did, but Celann knew enough–knew to fear the third and what it would bring, because there was no way this terror was only a man and threes were either a blessing or a curse. In the end, it was both.

When he stumbled on the third victim, it hardly occured to him that the man had anything at all to do with the last horrifying, supernatural month. He wasn't torn open like everything before, the ground wasn't coated in blood and viscera. He looked almost like someone who'd been lucky and gone in his sleep somehow–but when Celann knelt down to check if he was alive, he startled to see familiar jewelry and recognized the gaunt corpse of the book seller from around the block. His wedding band sat at an angle around a finger too small for the old, tarnished metal, and when Celann reached for his wrist to get a better look he touched something slimy and cold.

He distantly registered someone from the patrol calling out his name as he stared down at the red on his fingers, a steadily growing urge filling him with every beat of his heart to smear it off on the rough stones beneath him until his own blood ran hot and quick and erased the feeling forever. He clenched his fist instead–looked over at the boots beside him and pretended he hadn't just terrified himself as a second guard knelt with him to inspect the body.

It was Simon who found the most important thing the body had to tell them; Celann was busy wiping the blood off on his trousers and trying to get his mind working right again. A frantic tap on his shoulder got his attention and he looked up into Simon's wide, terrified eyes before slowly turning his head to see what he'd found. The gloved hand gripping the corpse's jaw slowly retreated, shaking, and Celann looked down to see two frighteningly neat holes at the side of the neck.

They shared a long, quiet look before Celann reached out again for the merchant's hand, praying desperately he didn't dig his fingers into disgustingly smooth, exposed flesh again as he avoided gripping the wrist to turn it around. Torn and bloodied, but the black edges were smaller this time. Cleaner, neater, less noticable.

They raced away burdened with news of a vampire preying on the town, searching desperately for the commander and whatever investigators they could find.

/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/

The city was placed under curfew immediately after the news arrived, and patrols were focused for the dark and evening hours. Everyone was required inside and with at least one companion; a vampire could easily overpower a pair, but the hope was that, with no lone targets, it would resent the effort it would take to target anyone else. Guards were similarly paired and ordered not to stray from one another–the only souls out in the night needed to be vigilant. Celann thought about the daggers he'd bought his family, thought about Charlotte taking Jehanne's room at home without him there in the night to share their bed. He wondered what good those knives would be, what good his sword would do him, if the beast got insistent.

Heavy tension hung over the town for weeks after the news arrived. Curtains were drawn and lights were left burning outside as people hoped the creature would pass them by. Every sound was investigated.

After a week, after two, after a month… there was nothing. No pets, no woodland beasts, no disappearances.

The dread started to lighten as time passed, and after four weeks of no new attacks, the townsfolk had, to a degree, returned to life as normal. They were still sure to make it home before night properly fell, still kept a light on, but as the days went by there seemed to be a collective feeling that it had all been a nightmare, some trick of Vaermina.

Celann noted three absences with every pass through the town.

Nightmares didn't claim lives, and he worried at how quickly everyone let themselves believe any danger had passed. The bookshop was closed for a week, what with the owner being dead; he and Lotte liked to buy each other occasional gifts from there, and the darkness in the windows–always warmly lit and welcoming before–never failed to stir a sense of dread in him.

But then a second month was passing without any sort of attack, patrols returned to normal, and even Celann let himself relax. With how often the beast had attacked before, there was no way it would sit and wait for months. The town had been on alert and anything it would have hunted locked inside, but even the forests nearby had been spared. It had surely moved on at this point to easier prey, or either fled in order to avoid detection, he reasoned.

That reasoning was why he accepted the promotion offered to him: an easy, quiet job out at the watchtower, not too far from town and coming with a pay increase; he'd be replacing someone who quit, understandably, in light of the vampire attacks while they had been happening. The new station was a bit of a trek from the gates, at the edge of the forest, but the road was usually quiet enough and the pay was enticing so he agreed. Fresh air, new faces–it sounded like a nice change of scenery, anyway.

It took a few mornings–early, dark, quiet–to adjust to all the rustling, and Perrette teased him for it, but they got on well and she explained their duties simply and easily. They arrive at midnight and they're relieved around breakfast, and spend their downtime chatting or pretending they weren't falling back asleep. Celann never bothered her when she did, and she returned the favor when he was half asleep, half awake, never quite able to properly sleep in the tower; it turns out to be a good thing he couldn't.

It was early, a week or so after he'd started, and he was tired; he'd been resting with his head pillowed on his arms at his desk, lost in that dark, semi conscious haze. There wasn't anyone out at this hour, with the moon still so high, and he paid no mind when he hadn't heard Perrette for what should have been a suspiciously long time. She was probably playing cards and he was just resting, after all, not falling asleep like his coworker did. If anything popped up they could handle it.

Just resting is why one eye opened blearily at a sound outside, a sound Celann had only half heard and had already forgotten by the time he was looking at candlelit paperwork. He kept it open a bit longer, listening for any other sounds, then let his eyes close again, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. Nothing, just the dark and the quiet–but as the seconds passed something settled heavy in his chest, had suspicion creeping into his head, and he sat up to look around.

Nothing. Just the dark and the quiet. He slowly stood from his chair and breathed deep, waking himself up as he glanced around the inside of the watchtower. Perrette wasn't at the window, there was no humming or the sound of cards, like he'd expected. The deck was, however, still out on the windowsill, game partially through, and when he moved closer he spotted a few that had blown outside. A familiar dread settled over him as he looked down at them, caught in flower stems and other growth that kept them from blowing farther away.

The moon was still high. Perrette was not here. She was not with the cards she carried in a little box as a gift from her lover, hand drawn with curling letters on the back. It was quiet. It was… unnaturally still, Celann realized. He stared out through the window at the road as his hand moved to the hilt of his sword. He listened. Something moved in the undergrowth behind the station and he quietly crept his way to the–open–back door.

A black hare greeted him at the threshold, a bloody, mangled carcass with its white ribs exposed to the moonlight. The smell of rot hit him and his face twisted; his sword scraped against the sheath as he drew it.

Vampire.

Celann didn't know where Perrette was, what had happened to her, but he doubted the beast would leave a display if it wasn't waiting. It hadn't left. He stared out into the woods and swallowed, listening and hearing nothing. Nothing. His heart beat a terrified rhythm behind his ribs as he stepped outside, stepping carefully over the carcass and into the night, heading hesitantly for the woodline.

He'd hardly stepped through, heel snapping dead leaves and trampling plants–sound, something BURSTING forward, a scream–

He managed to put an arm between them, elbow digging into their chest, pain, hot, claws and yellow eyes. His heel slid back in the dirt as the creature strained against him, screaming and snarling and gnashing bloody teeth inches from his face. The hot smell of blood and decay hit him in the face and suddenly there was a fist in his hair, pulling painfully and jerking his head to the side–it vanished as soon as it appeared and Celann watched the vampire stumble back, face twisted in betrayal.

His own twisted to mirror it as he stared at the disfigured visage of his sister.

Jehanne.

She was clutching one of her hands as if injured, and he noticed a small, circular brand pressed into the heel of her palm. The shape of his earring, a small piece of silver resting by his jaw.

Those two moments stretched into forever then minutes suddenly blurred–claws, pain, BEGGING, being thrown, his shoulders slamming into a tree.

Celann blinked blood from his eyes and raised himself onto a shaking arm, catching his breath as he reached for his sword. He noticed she'd torn through his sleeves; the cloth was dark and sticky with blood, and he could feel the edge of his mouth throbbing, the skin around his lips torn open with a nasty downward swing of her claws. Jehanne was pacing agitatedly, glaring down at him and spitting to herself as he pushed himself to sit in the undergrowth. His head was throbbing dizzyingly, shoulders on fire from the impact, and he could feel something hot and wet snaking its way through the short hairs at the back of his neck.

Celann staggered to his feet, leaning against the tree for support, and let out a shuddering breath as he held his sword in front of him. Trying to evaluate.

She wasn't uninjured herself, not that it did him any good; he'd mangled one of her wrists and she'd still thrown him like a doll. He'd cut and sliced and stabbed and she was standing all the same, and they shared a mutual look of despair. Some mix of emotions flashed across her face, faintly illuminated by what moonlight breached the canopy, bright eyes wide as her lips were parting and she was clawing at her face, fangs glistening, then– "But we're family!" she wailed

The world went quiet.

Realization hit him, then. Cold blood. The world became the woman in front of him. He couldn't let her leave. Horror. Couldn't let her live. Agony. She'd kill them all. Kill her first.

He wondered how many times his sister must have crept past their windows, how many nights she must have watched him from the forest. Family. She'd kill him if it meant turning him, kill them all if he couldn't stop her.

Jehanne took a step forward and spread her arms invitingly, one wrist hanging at a sickening angle. Another step when he didn't immediately move, a sweet smile on her face, then lunged–steel and blood and pain and screams. He couldn't hesitate, couldn't go easy anymore. Blood flew from his blade as he drove it into her heart–vampires need to be stabbed in the heart–once, twice, a third time. He staggered back and tensed, waiting for her to somehow still be moving, dizzy with blood loss and buzzing with adrenaline.

He distantly watched her head slump against the ground, face half pressed into the dirt; glowing yellow eyes went dim and returned to a familiar brown. He watched, paradoxically, as she regained some color, despite being dead. Dead. He looked at glassy eyes and felt far away. Trees and green growth and blood splatters came back into view, but it was someone else's view, someone else's eyes. They laughed, whoever it was, desperate and manic, and dropped his sword as he stared at his sister's corpse. Something was screaming about it, somewhere inside him, but it was far away and muffled, a mile away.

Celann stumbled on suddenly weak legs towards the nearest tree and let himself collapse to the ground against it, staring at her face until it blurred. Everything blended together, and all he knew was that he was cold. He distantly remembered he was bleeding, but the thought vanished almost instantly into the gentle fog that was clouding his mind. He shivered, he thinks, and then thinks nothing else as he sits on the forest floor beneath the moon for hours.

He doesn't register Perrette stumbling out of the watchtower, only partially realizing she was yelling at him at all, even as she knelt beside him. He came back to himself when someone was snapping incessantly in his face, when irritation managed to stir him into some faint awareness. Simon was kneeling in front of him, eyes wide with fear as he gestured at the people around him. They descended upon him, quiet and gentle as they hauled him to his feet, and as he was half dragged, half helped back to town, all Celann really noticed was that it was morning. The sky was a pale, misty yellow–sunrise. Morning. The night was over. The night was over but he would live with what happened in the dark forever.

/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/

He had nightmares every time he managed to fall asleep, shepherded into the temple to be healed and watched over. Breathing was difficult and he assumed he was dying; he was only a little concerned at how okay with that he was. A stranger visited him on the third day after the Incident and the priestesses allowed her to feed him something from a vial, some liquid miracle that ended the worst of the night terrors and let him breathe easy.

There had been a newly made vampire den nearby, she explained when he woke again, and Jehanne had likely been taken the day she stepped out onto the road. Her voice was factual as she informed the temple they'd all been taken care of, but there was sympathy on her face as she looked down at the shadows under his half vacant eyes. She hunted vampires–and other deadra–she'd said as she left; there was something he didn't like in her tone, something knowing, as she closed the door behind her and told him she'd be staying in town for a month or two.

He was sent back home later that afternoon, back to he and Charlotte's house, but everything felt… strange. He felt like he was intruding on his own space, in his own house, in his own bed. Lotte was being patient, but the pain in her eyes when she looked at him sent a spike through his heart. Blood. Breaking bones. He supposed he deserved it after what he'd done, though even he could tell she very genuinely didn't think less of him for it. But she handled him gently and he missed her smiles, missed making her laugh. That solemn look didn't belong in her eyes.

His parents visited twice, to make sure he was healing alright, but there was a distance between them that had never been there. They'd raised Jehanne for 26 years, their daughter, you killed our daughter, what kind of man kills his own sister? It was never said, of course, but he could see it in the tension on their faces and the stiff way they held themselves near him.

They declined both times to stay for dinner.

Celann couldn't move on. His family thought he was a murderer, his fiancee was no longer living with the man she'd gotten engaged to. Something in bim broke when he thought about it, that they were supposed to be married in a few months. He'd been over the moon about it, wouldn't stop talking about it to anyone who listened, even if they weren't really, but the hush that had fallen over the house as Charlotte gave him the space he'd started needing felt like an ill omen.

Two months passed of feeling like an outsider in his own life and he was saying goodbye to her. She refused to break off their engagement, said he felt guilty and was being stupid, and as he tried to promise not to darken her door again she told him for better or for worse came before the wedding vows and if he didn't at least write to her on his trip with this mystery woman she'd find him and drag him back home like a runaway boy.

It… hadn't been what he'd planned on. He hadn't planned on returning or writing at all, had planned on removing himself entirely, no longer the man she'd intended to marry and pained at how she was caring for him. He hadn't told her about meeting the woman from the temple, either–but people talked and Lotte was good at listening, and he wasn't as surprised as he could have been. He had mixed feelings about the indefinite engagement, but if it was what she wanted he'd let her have it, like she was letting him leave because he needed to. They looked after each other like that.

Perrette, on her part, when he found her at breakfast, immediately told him through a mouthful of jam and toast where the woman from the temple was before standing and pulling him into a hug. She pressed a small wooden box and a dagger into his hands before wishing him well and telling him to hurry, because the stranger had been packing her things last she saw and getting ready to leave.

It turns out she had left, hours ago, but Celann found her waiting expectantly outside the gate just off the road. She was sitting with her own breakfast with a second placement set up for him, and he once again didn't like the knowing look in her eyes as he sat down. She explained, eventually, that she was with the Vigil of Stendarr, and had been sent with two others to investigate rumors of vampires in the area. Jehanne had been an opportune victim, out alone on the road so early in the morning; the vampire had been trying to start a clan and needed bodies to fill the seats.

He'd almost been one of them. It was a matter of hours, apparently.

Again, she assured him they were all dead and asked if he intended to join her and her companions on the road–if he had seen what chaos and danger creatures like vampires pose and wanted to take up arms against them. He didn't answer, and she didn't demand he give one; they ate together in silence again and she didn't comment on the way he'd glance back at the gate every now and then. The guard on duty would give a little wave each time, a sad look on his face, and so Celann looked less and less until he didn't look again at all. He was leaving, after all; something deep in him was different, had shaken him out of the life he'd had, and he was moving on. There wasn't room for whatever he was in the space he'd made for himself anymore.

A few nights later he would untie the ribbon around that little box Perrette had given him, far away from town, and open it to find a clumsily hand drawn set of cards with little messages penned in her handwriting on the back. He turned the fool around to see a scribbled portrait of himself amongst the scrawled decoration; the back of every queen was a rough sketch of Charlotte. He put them gently back in the box, retied the ribbon, and ignored the look Freyja gave him as he slipped it back into his bag.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, again, without a body next to him.

"For those who cherish memories of loved ones, their compassion often conceals the beast. Our compassion compels us to destroy it."

#skyrim #celann #dawnguard #writing #i really need a personal writing tag hmm #also yeah i was thinking about like. disney narrators. when the camera is showing the village or whatever #idk something new #anyway if basically everyone in skyrim is a man im making everyone in celanns backstory a woman. i make the rules #also dw about the engagement im a polyship celann truther #whos going to stop me #my last dnd character was named moore and i thought moore/less (pre/post canpaign trauma) was such a funny joke #celann went from moore to less real fast #anyway i think this was in my docs for like two months and then i wrote almost the entire thing in two days bc ao3 was down #so. my hand was forced #also im just dropping in the tags that if celann hadnt gone off on a murder journey hed have been kinda okay #but where does that leave us #no sad little man in fort dawnguard #i killed someone > im a killer > killers can only kill > i killed someone #etc its a vicious spiral #k one last extra before i forget but gunmars line at the end is what slammed the last piece of the backstory puzzle together #and the linked song is the title source #i think that covers it all #ive obsessed over every detail of this post long enough im hitting post aldnaonskw

[andthebeanstalk]

i love that you are still here on this earth. i am relieved that we've both made it this far. and i am so, so happy to be here on this planet with you. thank you for that.

#original #this is bc i wrote a super long post about mental health and ableism and saved it to my drafts after finishing it bc it is #intense enough to give it a breather and a second look before posting it #it started as an angry thing about suicide and ableism but ended in a long beautiful monologue that basically can be summed up w this post #which is. ya know. actually a really good sign for my overall mental health. just... considering how those topics used to spiral me #like send me into a downward mental spiral to a dangerous degree. this is way way better. (if almost as time-consuming lol) #but also i may have literally just been repeating another post i've made so #idk #but anyway thank you for being here. please stay alive bc in 20 years i am going to have a party and you are invited #i am saving you a seat just like all the other kind folks you could meet in that time if you don't run into me specifically #but you need to be alive to be able to go bc I don't think ghosts exist and i definitely can't see them if they do #so you gotta try your best okay? just like you've been doing. hold on. be brave. and i'll try to do the same. #because baby i'm going to that fucking party. #and it is going to RULE but it will be so much better if you're there too.

[sparrowmoth]

FOR YOUUU: 💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting? 💞what's the most important part of a story for you? 🤍what's one fic of yours you think people didn't "get"?

@finitevoid Thank youuuu, Blake!! <3<3

💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

It’s definitely surprised me that Wishing (Will Make It So) has performed so well (relative to the size and state of the fandom). I’m, of course, always happy when people enjoy my work, but that particular fic was written with a highly condensed plot just to get it out of my brain without it actually becoming a multi-chapter lmao.

I didn’t think much of anyone would read it since it might come across as “lazy” writing, but… here we are. And it stands as a good reminder to myself that not every idea needs to be crafted with blood, sweat, and tears. My macaroni art is valid too lol.

💞what's the most important part of a story for you?

Hmmm, not sure if I’m interpreting this question correctly, but can I just say character interaction? Because this is something I find is often sacrificed for plot and pacing. And I know some genres, like action, may often necessitate such sacrifices, but idk I’m just infinitely more interested in what goes on between characters.

I think that reflects a lot in my writing because, if you’ve read enough of my work, you’ll probably notice that there’s often not a lot of movement through space or time. I will spend thousands of words exploring a single conversation in a single room between two people.

That’s what’s important to me. That’s what hooks me on stories. The way characters just… interact. And if there’s not enough emphasis on that or if I don’t feel like there’s any real sense of connection between the characters, I’m bored. I’m done. I’ve already stopped reading, bye dajkgdjskg

🤍what's one fic of yours you think people didn't "get"?

Oh, that would have to be Stitch the Stars to Hold the Night Sky, which is something I blame myself for because when I re-read it many months after posting, I was like… okay, yeah, great concept, patchy execution lol. I started re-writing it sometime last year, but I got hung up on something halfway through so I decided to shelve it before I tore it apart completely.

As such, the second half of the story has been out of the public eye for quite a while now, but I’ll post a full rewrite eventually and then idk we'll see if that helps at all with its reception ig dajkgjdksg

Fic Writer Asks

#finitevoid #<3 #ask games #my writing #my fanfiction #ah stitch the stars #I really need to pick up that doc again #I'm fond of that story regardless of how it performs #I think my biggest mistake with it was that I originally wrote it in multiple tenses and that made it super clunky #that was the primary thing I wanted to change in the rewrite #but it's hard re-reading my own stuff sometimes because all I see is mistakes! mistakes! mistakes! and then I spiral into madness #one day I will figure it out though #one dayyyy #anyway thank you for the ask! <3

[bumpscosity]

Got my next covid booster 💪

#it was like an hour ago and my arms already starting to get sore this is gonna suck again #also on the paper I had to fill out beforehand I almost wrote that I was 17. I turn 21 next month #2020 fucked me up so bad I stg my brain froze in time the second lockdown hit #anyways with each covid shot I seem to have less and less symptoms so I think I’ll be mostly symptom free #everything non arm pain related usually hits the next day so tomorrow may suck but who knows #sassy speaks #tw medical #tw needles #worst thing that happened was the fact that I had anxiety abt getting the shot and then had to go run errands which #going to a packed store also stresses me out so I’ve just been anxiety filled all day 😀 #gonna take it easy today. maybe draw to keep my arm moving #warning for ppl with intrusive thoughts for the next tag it def has something that could cause a spiral #also right as she was putting the needle in my arm my brain went ‘WHAT IF THE NEEDLE BREAKS OFF IN YOUR ARM’ so that was fun

[neverendingford]

.

#having a keyboard doesn't make me a better writer #but it does let me reference my plot outline and character goals #which means that I can actually do things with dialogue and realize that I've missed an entire scene that's crucial to Andrey's character #it would be really awkward if I had him suddenly obsess over Goncharov without building up to it #there's so much juicy inter-character hate that I'm absolutely not going to do justice to but I'm trying #saw the 'bad-writer-awards' post so I wrote another scene. hopefully I can post chapter two tomorrow after work #writing is a lot like a minecraft build. there's only so much prep you can do before you just have to sit down and actually start #once you've got max tools you have to buckle up and dig that hole. #once you've gathered the materials you just have to sit down and start placing them #and once you've gotten your story outline done... you have to sit down and write it. #it won't be perfect or even that great. but my minecraft builds don't have to be perfect either. the fun is in making and deconstructing. #not in the consumption of it #anyway I just wanna get into the weirdly uncomfortable power dynamic of Andrey spiraling as things go wrong #and Alexei trying to save his own skin by appeasing him #I just want to get to the fucked up relationship stuff

[travellermp3]

I was about to start a video about rabies that looked interesting but then I remembered that anything about rabies triggers my paranoia and intrusive thoughts :)

#personal.txt #tw rabies #even just reading or hearing the word can make me start spiraling if I'm in a bad enough mental state #it's the one of the things that has made me doubt my belief in God #anyway I don't like talking about this but I couldn't sleep unless I wrote it down or talked to someone about it

[thetardisisnotourdivision]

Absolutely BUZZING right now because I've written a musical and me and my friend are working on finding a way of staging it which is so!!!!!!!!!!! Fucking!!!!!!!!!!!! Exciting!!!!!!!!!!! But neither of us can compose!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And three of the songs are fucking AWFUL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And we can't say or do anything for at least six months!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But STILL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#The working title is This Book Is The Property Of Felicity Burrows #Which is a mouthful but whatever #I've probably posted about it before bc it's the one I wrote the initial story of when I was like. Ten. #it's a horror/thriller with brutal bloody murder #which everyone apparently thought was a normal thing for a ten years old to write about #In fairness we were supposed to be writing horror stories at the time #But there's something about it that made me go “...why was this the story I chose and how am I describing shit in quite so much detail” #that was before my downward spiral too so it's not even a part of that #Anyway one of the song's working titles was “how many English lit references can we get into one song before somebody complains” #which was fun to write #: )

[intermundia]

my favorite thing about anakin as a character is the inherent nuance lucas wrote into his story, like he's neither an innocent victim nor an inherently evil monster, he's just some guy put in a series of Situations and ultimately failing the test of his humility and self-control. he was certainly flattered and shaped by the devil, spiraling into something unrecognizable, but he chose to take every step down the pathway to hell. lucas knew he would lose a certain demographic by making him basically a greedy pawn in the larger story, not a righteous betrayed macho badass, but he did it anyway. he made him an awkward romantic and a loyal friend, a generous boy and a brilliant teen. he made sure he had all the positive qualities that meant that he had potential to be so much more than vader, but it was clearly his choice to lie, murder, and fully squander that potential. there are no excuses for what he became, no acceptable reasons to commit mass slaughter. he became an unbelievably selfish and impatient man, reckless and wantonly violent. hayden captured that nuance so well, nobody can match the sweetness of his smile and the absolute horror of his scowl on mustafar. to view him through a single lens as either pure victim of manipulation and (canonically unsupported) emotional neglect, or a creepy evil villain, denies the heart of his story and the weight of his tragedy. he's neither an angel nor a demon, he's both and neither, he's deeply human, a classical tragic hero with a flaw of greed. lucas made a choice with the prequels to tell a story that not everyone wanted to hear, and the result was a character that i think is one of the best of modern pop culture, mostly because he feels to me so very, very ancient and eternal.

#yes i am vaguing star wars author mike chen's recent tweets #don't worry about it lol #anakin skywalker #he's so important to me lmao such a fascinating character #sw

[inkskinned]

i'm used to it, and how bad it is, and how often it's so bad that it rings like a bell inside of me, drowning out everything around me. and the truth is that i get frustrated with myself about it - again? we're like this still? again? it's not that i feel weak, precisely. it's just this sense almost like - i've already been pushing against this thing for years now, shouldn't i have gained more ground?

i get frustrated because i'm sick of picking up the loose ends every six months. i get frustrated because it's always this same shit, same problem - i lose myself in a matter of months; spiral out of control, lose touch with friends and loved ones. i stop taking care of myself and therapy gets hard and i let everything around me wilt and shrivel and fall off; start somehow both sleeping too much and not-enough. i panic-attack and cry in my car in a target parking lot, pulling my hair out and hurting my ribs from sobbing so hard - and later, when i'm better, i'm embarrassed because how could i let it get that far?

it feels like - i already have done this so many times. isn't there a way out of it? isn't there a point where i've just... won? that it never happens again, that i just get to be done? maybe this is weakness, i guess - that i still (so often!) succumb.

i am used to it, so i forget exactly how hard it gets. do you even know how many times i've laid in bed, exhausted, blank and numb and listless and said - i can't anymore. i just can't. i'm not even really upset. it's okay. i've been here long enough. so much of my life was beautiful.... i'm just... done.

do you know how many times i woke up and i said - i can't and put my feet on the floor and said i can't, i don't want to and took a shower and walked the dog and bought myself fresh bread and put a nice playlist on and said i really can't, there's no end to this and i went to work and i called a friend and i made myself cookies even if food tasted like ashes and decided that i really should wait for the new album from that artist i love and i thought i can't, it's not worth it and then i washed my hands and cut my hair and drank more water and wrote a poem and signed up for an art class at the local community college and said i can't, i can't, i won't do this again, and i paid my rent and let the dishes rot in the sink but still made myself eat anything fresh even if it meant overdrawing my account on a stupid bag of plums just because they looked delicious and do you know how often i closed my eyes and thought this is it i really fucking can't, something has to give and i have nothing left that it can take and then i went to bed and i got up and i fucking survived anyway

yesterday the local ice cream place opened up for the first time this season and they were giving out tiny samples of their new dairy-free options and i tried a mango sorbet. three months ago i was positive that februrary was going to be my last month on the planet. i am teaching my dog a new trick and i just discovered a new band i love. i got a plant from the clearance aisle and repotted her and she's been perking up. i made salmon for alison and we ate it in her new house with her new beautiful baby girl. my manager told me he keeps recommending my work to others just because i always include a stupid number of puns. tomorrow i'm trying a new dance class. tomorrow i'm maybe going to buy more plums.

i forget, you know? it's not some bone-deep strength or some magical power. it's that some part of me knows - i need to stay. in all of this; out of all of this - i just want to choose love.

#writeblr #this is too honest and writing it made me cry #sorry #poetry

[mysicklove]

𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

DAY 4: SENSORY DEPRIVATION

With: Kyojuro Rengoku

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Sub! Kyojuro, gn! reader, blindfold/gag/earmuffs, feather usage, ice usage, nonverbal safe word discussed (not used), implied wax play, crying, begging/pleading, reader is a liar.

A/N: Everytime i wrote about his happy trail i thought of ashi. LOL. also this fic is a mess im going to be honest. not my best work, my friends.

Rengoku doesn't understand why he was put in this position. He doesn't understand why he has a blindfold on with his arms tied together behind him, and his legs strapped to the bottom of the chair. He doesn't understand why he has a small black gag in his mouth and pink fluffy earmuffs. 

The thing was, Kyojuro struggles with restraints. He just can't seem to sit still when he receives pleasure. He wants desperately to obey your commands, but your touch always sends him spiralling, and his body always jerks and twitches without meaning to. He has accidentally knocked your hand away so many times when you overstimulate him, or forced your hand back onto his cock when you edge him. It was just a force of habit, and he always apologizes profusely when he does so. Its not like he means to disobey you.

So, tying him up was the next best option. Plus, depriving him of his senses was just because you were feeling cruel, and you wanted to see how strongly he was bound to react with your touch. 

So here he was, completely at your mercy, shivering slightly from what you could guess fear or guilt. He has never done anything to make him deserve a “punishment”, but you were mean. He just looked so pretty when his face was contorted in fear, you couldnt help yourself.

Rengokus blindfold was already dampening with tears as he continues to tremble under your view. His whole world is dark, and everything is silent. The lack of his senses was a strange feeling, and it overwhelmed him.  "I'm sorry, my love. I'm sorry. Im sorry," He pleads into the gag, the words coming out so muffled you can barely make out the apologies. 

You grab his chin, and press a kiss to his temple, his cheek, and his neck. Immediately he seems to calm down, and you take this time to remove just one of his earmuffs. “Did nothing wrong, Kyo. There is no need to cry.”

He jumps at the sudden sound, and turns to where your voice was coming from. He sniffles, but nods, leaning his head forward to hopefully coax out more affection from you. You smile at him and move to rest your palm on his cheek. He nuzzles it immediately, thankful for any touch. The darkness and the silence made him feel alone, and he was grateful to have some sort of reassurance. 

Your hands graze at his thighs, and he flinches at the feeling, breathing into the muzzle. “Not going anywhere, relax pretty. I'm here,” You coo, using your other hand to run through his hair. He seems to finally begin to melt, his arms no longer struggling against the restraints, and his body refrained from shivering. “Gonna make you feel good, yeah?”

He doesn't even try to speak, the gag wouldnt allow him to anyways. But he nods his head obediently, trying not to move too much from excitement. You kiss his cheek again, hardly containing yourself from how cute he is. Then, you reach back and place a small bell into his hands. He slightly cocks his head to the side, no doubt furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. “If you want to stop, ring that. Can you do that for me?”

He nods determinedly, and then rings it to test it out. Immediately, like a puppy, he turns to you, expectantly awaiting his reward for listening. You indulge him, giggling slightly and kissing the space right below his ears, one of his erogenous zones. He groans into the gag, accidentally pulling at the restraints once again. “Good boy!” You praise, and it sends his head spinning. “Now, ring that whenever you feel uncomfortable and I will stop, alright?” He nods his head. “Good. I'm not going to hurt you tonight Kyo, so you can relax.”

You fingers continue to drag along the area inches from his now hard dick, eyeing it contently. It sticks up proud, and seems to be begging to be touched. You smile and turn back to him, watching the way his chest raises from his breath in steady motions. “I'm going to put your earmuffs back on, so it's going to be a little quiet. It'll just make all the touches more pleasurable, I promise.”

He nods his head, and lets out a gargled, “love you,” through the gag, to which you smile, and murmur your own words of endearment. Then, you cover his ear with the earmuffs, and sigh.

Like a predator stalking their prey, you circle the chair for a second, overwhelmed at the possibilities of what to do to him first. Your fingers drag over his neck and then trace down his arm. He shivers with every movement, feeling goosebumps rise with every graze of your finger. Its overwhelmingly sensitive, and he swears he can almost feel your breath on his skin. His sense of touch was heightened with the lack of the others.

Your mouth latches onto his neck, slightly nibbling at the sensitive skin. He pants into the gag, and slightly bares his neck to give you more room. You pull away for a moment, and blow on his neck, sending his whole body into a fit of shivers. You cant help but giggle at the action, and place your hand on his thigh in mock comfort.

Your head was growing foggy from the meer power you felt over him. He was completely at your mercy, and other than viciously fight at the restrains, he could do nothing. Of course you loved him, and would never dare to do something he didn't like, but you couldn't help but tease him just a little. You may have lied about the “only” pleasure aspect of it.

You sit yourself on his lap, startling him. Baring no mind to his reaction, you lean up and kiss his chin in reassurance, before turning to your right and grabbing the object you have been dying to use. 

A dainty white feather. Something so soft and fragile, that is going to send your lover into a spiral. The thought made your mouth water, and Kyojuro, almost sensing your thoughts, visibly gulps.

You first run your own fingers over his chest, grazing over his nipples. He remains motionless, but you can see him tense. His chest was a very sensitive part of his body, and he was afraid of what was to come next. Rightfully so.

You pull away, and glance downward toward his abdomen. With a wicked grin, you take a hold onto the feather and graze his lower stomach, just where his happy trail begins. Its a light touch, and you barely even skim the surface of his skin, but the reaction is immediate. Another full body shiver, seemingly from the ticklish feeling this time. 

You hum, pleased with the reaction, and continue your antics upward. His pants grow louder into the gag with the passing seconds. Finally, the feather drags along his chest. The spot you have been most curious to see.

The feather glides over his nipple and he lets out a garbled whine. The buds harden in an instant and he nervously shakes his head. You ignore it and continue your movements, circling his chest.

Rengoku twitches under your hold and pulls against the restraints. He is so unbelievably sensitive there, and with the addition to the blind fold and earmuffs, he swears the feather is borderline overstimulating him. He can feel every bristle of it, and the cool air it pushes towards him when you slightly flap it. It sends him into a frenzy. It's too much, but too little. He wants more of the stimulation, but he also wants to pull away. He wants you to be rougher with him, but the idea of that makes him nervous. 

He doesn't know what he wants, and just like usual, he begins to tug at the restrains, body uncontrollably twitching. His chest tries to cave inward from the ticklish feeling, but he doesn't go far considering the restraints. He just continues to shake his head back and forth, high pitched yelps and complaints barely making it through the gag. 

“Aw baby, are you sensitive there?” You tease mostly to yourself, knowing he can't hear you all things considering. His squirms make you giggle, and you take vague notice to the bright hair that shakes from side to side from his sporadic movements. 

It tickles so much. It tickles and it feels good, and it hurts, and it is too soft, and he is losing his mind. The feeling of being bound, forced to take everything you give him only seems to make the feather more tortuous. 

He feels it begin to move downward, and Kyojuro heaves, trying to catch his breath after holding it for so long. His mouth clentches around the gag, and he tries to calm down his body. 

But of course, he can feel the feather move downward and oh. Oh no. He couldn't handle it down there. It was too sensitive.

He whips his head back and forth and whines into the gag. It comes out as a broken plea, and he can't hear your response, but he hopes you may take his noises to heart. He didn't get his hopes up.

The feather brushes around the tip, and Kyojuro yelps, jerking so much that the chair beneath him lifts up just slightly. You send a warning slap to his thigh, and he cries out, the tears beginning to flow again. It hurt more now that he couldnt see it. He apologizes through the gag, but it doesn't do much, other than make him drool all over himself.

You trace it up and down his cock, and he begins to tremble again. His dick is twitching with every stroke, and honestly it enamored you how reactive it was being. Cute.

One of your hands move back up his chest, thumbing at the nub, while the other continues its slow, light movements of the feather. Bringing it from the head, all the way down to his balls, giggling when your hear his cries.

“Not pweasure! Not pweasure!” He sobs, his thighs trembling. It tickled so much he couldn't stand it and with the addition of your fingers pinching his nipples, he was crumbling. You lied to him. He was supposed to feel good. Not to be teased to till he cant breathe anymore. You are so cruel.

Of course he couldnt say anything, nor use pleading eyes to beg for you to stop. But his body jerking back and forth, trying desperately to get anyway from your hands and the horrible, horrible feather definitely convey his emotions.

You grab one more item to end up the scene, finally setting down the feather. To continue on with little warning on what you had stored for him was cruel, even for you. But, of course you will have fun watching his reaction to this.

You place the small item in the palm of your hand, and gently bring it over to his cock. Then with a sadistic grin, you drag it down the shaft.

The first thing Kyojuro feels after the removal of the feather was cold. So unbearably cold, and right on his dick. 

Ice. It had to be. 

The chair comes lifting off the ground again from his quick movements to get away. He's screaming into the gag, and shaking his head profusely, begging for you to take it away. It was so cold, and he was so sensitive. His hands pull at the restraints and his body tries, and fails to crumble inward himself.

The blindfold slips off one of his eyes and he finally gets a view of you. His eyes are glassy, and flooded with tears, and his eyebrows are adorably furrowed in a plea. He makes a noise when you pull the ice away slightly, and you look up at him. 

“Aw Kyo, you want to see that badly?” You coo, and he can barely read your lips from the tears. He shakes his head and sobs, head hanging low. You bring the ice cube to his chest and he whines, eyes screwing shut automatically as his nipples harden. The cool water stains his chest, and he is shivering under it. 

His hips and back drive into the chair, to try to create some distance from the horrible coldness. It doesn't work, and his one eye watches the way the ice cube coats the dark patch of hair on his lower abdomen, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps. It was making his way back to his groin, and all Kyojuro can do is cry, and hope you be easy on him. He can't stand the cold. He was made for heat.

One hand grabs onto his cock, steading the trembling thing, and the other holds onto the cube. “Well, if you want to watch so badly, might as well give you a show,” You whisper, and Kyojuro cant read your lips this time. So, he stares at you with mild confusion and fear as to what you are going to do next.

With one last malicious glance, you place the ice cube on top of the tip, and swirl it around his hole. He screams again, back arching, and staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. You don't let up even when his legs try again and again to shut, but ultimately fail. 

He can feel the cool liquid drip into his slit, and he feels as if he cannot breathe. It was one of the strongest sensations he has ever felt before, and his fingers dig into his palm to help steady himself. It was so cold. Unbelievably cold, and the water was dripping inside him, in a place where it should not be. 

Kyojuro didnt know what to do other than take it. The silence of it all was driving him even more mad, and he wonders if having him see this was worst than being blindfolded.

Your circular motions dont let up, and eventually it's the ice that begins to melt, considering how hot the hashira runs. You rub it over his now slightly shrinking dick, and his whole body is shivering. But, his whines and cries have finally gone down, instead just loud pants to try and catch his breath. He must be growing used to it.

This was a good stopping point. You run the remainder of the cube over the throbbing tip again, and he whimpers slightly, but it doesn't compare to what the noises he made before. You kiss his thighs, and drop the sliver of ice back into the metal bin, whipping your hands on your shirt.

He did well. It was impressive really. How good he did. But, you didnt expect anything else from your lover. 

You smile to yourself, and then reach up to remove the earmuffs and blindfold. But strangely enough, Kyojuros one free eye wasn't looking at you. His whole neck was staring to the right while his chests rise and fall with heavy breaths, as if he was entranced by something. Drool coats his mouth, but he doesn't seem to notice, so enthralled at what he is staring at.

You follow his gaze, eyes widening when you see it.

You watch as the candle you lit earlier to set the mood, drips with wax. It falls onto the candle stand, and Kyojuro stares with hearts in his eyes as if mesmerized by the wax. 

You let out a shaky breath, turning to him on last time, reading his mind. He glances at you and nods every so slightly, with a small huffs. You grin at him, readjusting his blindfold and grabbing the candle. You watch Rengokus adams' apple bob as he gulps in both fear and excitement. 

He was shivering so much, it was like he was in dire need to warm up. And you had just the solution for him, and instantaneous way to heat up his skin again.. A drop of wax drips onto Kyojuros thigh, and the man does his best to not scream at the burning sensation. 

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#mello.writes #Barkforme! #Kinktober 2023 #dom! reader #dom reader #gn reader #x reader #reader insert #kyojuro smut #kyojuro x reader #rengoku smut #rengoku x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader smut #kny smut #kny x reader #kny kyojuro

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Trigger Points

Pairing: Erotic Massage Therapist Ezra x f!reader (not romantic)

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Medical kink, massage kink (is that a thing?), erotic massage, mentions of sexual dysfunction and difficulty orgasming, consent forms, the clinical is erotic now, power imbalance due to the masseur/patient dynamic, mentions of uhhh *checks notes* anal massage, lots of vaginal fingering I mean massaging, pelvic floor massaging but make it erotic, dubcon only in the sense that Ezra says orgasm is not the goal and then definitely deliberately gives her one anyway, g-spot orgasms, squirting, Penny gets on her soapbox at the end

Summary: Ezra is a massage therapist. What kind, you ask? Internal massage. That’s it that’s the fic.

A/N: I wrote this in twenty-four hours in a horny unhinged writing frenzy. Am I embarrassed that this came from my brain? Yes. Am I posting it anyway? Also yes. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for the beta (and all of the screaming) and to @leslie-lyman for egging on the medical kink that I definitely don't have.

Masterlist

You aren’t sure what you’re doing here.

This isn’t like you.

As you stare at the nondescript building–no sign, no name on the door–you think back to the seemingly random circumstances that brought you here.

The party you hadn’t wanted to go to. 

The friend–acquaintance–who insisted.

The man with a distinctive blonde streak that kept lingering by the snack table and popping cocktail shrimp into his mouth with an enthusiasm that had made you look twice in wary amusement.

Like so many men, he’d taken your glance in his direction as an invitation to come over and start a conversation, but the resulting discussion was decidedly unlike any other man–or human–you’d come across.

Loquacious to the point of being humorous, the man–Ezra, he told you–was disarming and insightful. You opened up to him immediately; he seemed to have this uncanny ability to pull your life’s story from your lips, much to your surprise and chagrin. Did you really tell a strange man at a party that you’ve been from doctor to doctor, complaining of sexual pain and dysfunction, only to be given dismissive, unhelpful advice? Have a glass of wine, one said. Use different soap, said another. Make sure your laundry detergent is fragrance-free. 

“I think I’m just built wrong,” you said bitterly, taking a sip from your wine glass. “Anyway, it’s fine. You didn’t sign up to listen to a stranger’s problems at some house party.”

“On the contrary,” Ezra replied mysteriously, raising one eyebrow as he regarded you with amusement. “I think our fortuitous meeting must have been arranged by the universe itself.”

Fishing his wallet out of his back pocket, he had handed you a business card that had only his first name–Ezra, no last name, and a phone number.

“I just happen to be a certified massage therapist, trained to assist with the very complaints of which you speak.”

“What kind of massage?” you’d asked, scrunching up your face in skepticism.

“Internal massage.”

You may have told him to fuck off then and there. You may have made your excuses and left the party in your embarrassment over having spilled your heart to a stranger with a questionable line of work, to say the very least. 

…You may have called two weeks later to inquire about an appointment.

The woman who answered the phone in that same kind of warm, soothing tone that seems to be common in so many legitimate massage practices made you feel slightly less insane about calling. The lengthy consent form she emailed after hanging up, however, sent you spiraling again.

Extensive questions about sexual history, your beliefs about sex, your relationship to sex, your experience with pain, dysfunction, your sexuality, etc. Check boxes indicating your level of experience and comfort with a number of sexual acts and situations. And at the end, three check boxes asking whether you would like to be massaged vaginally, anally, or both. 

A bell tinkles pleasantly when you open the door, and the scent of lavender fills your nose. Soft, soothing music plays from a hidden speaker somewhere, and one of those self-contained rock garden water fountains bubbles away in the corner of the brightly lit waiting room.

A woman behind the desk greets you–it must be the same one you’d spoken to on the phone–and checks you in. She walks you through what to expect during the appointment–first, you’ll meet with Ezra to discuss the consent form, then you’ll be asked to disrobe and lay on the massage table under a sheet. The type of care you’re given, she tells you, depends on what you put down on the consent form, which of course she hasn’t read, so she can’t tell you any specifics. 

“But he specializes in women with sexual dysfunction?” you ask skeptically. It had said as much on the forms. 

“Oh, yes,” the woman nods enthusiastically. “I know it’s an unusual service he provides, but Ezra is a professional, conscientious, and passionate about the work he does.”

You nod slowly, and she flashes you a warm, comforting smile before instructing you to sit anywhere.

You do, trying not to look too nervous as you wait.

Thankfully, you aren’t there for too long before a door opens, and Ezra softly calls your name.

Your nerves cause you to babble as you follow the man to the quiet, dimly-lit massage room. “Sorry I told you to fuck off,” you say. “That was pretty rude, and I’m sure it’s weird that I’m here now even though I clearly thought you were a pervert at the party, and–” you trail off, standing awkwardly beside the massage table as Ezra sits on a rolling stool.

“Now, now. Water under the bridge, I assure you, sprite. My profession is often met with skepticism at best and outright hostility at worst, but I let the testimonials speak for themselves. I assume you’ve read them?”

You nod, thinking back to the paragraphs of women saying they’d never known their bodies were capable of such pleasure before experiencing what they had called erotic massage.

“And I have read your consent form very carefully; I like to commit these things to heart, you see. Helps me do my job to the very best of my ability. Now, I did have a question about your very last answer: you made a checkmark indicating you were interested in vaginal massage only, but drew in a little question-mark next to anal massage.”

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, too quickly, jumbling the words together. “Depends on how… how…”

“How everything goes. Of course.” Ezra nods, making a quick note on your form. “I’ll consider you to be a vaginal-only patient for now, to be revisited at a later date if so desired.”

“Kay,” you squeak.

“Allright, let me give you a rundown of how this works. I’m not a sex worker; my job isn’t to make you orgasm. Like any massage therapist, my job is to find muscles that need to be worked out, and work them out. I just happen to specialize in muscles that other areas of practice typically ignore. This will involve both internal and external work–you might find that I might press on your lower abdomen, for example, with the other hand inside you. I always start slow with new patients; I’ll begin externally, massaging the entire pubic area and finding spots that might require extra attention. When you’re ready, we’ll move to an internal massage starting with one finger and seeing how many is most comfortable for you right now. Eventually, as we progress through your appointments, the goal is for the internal massage to involve two hands.

“Now, all that being said, the goal of these sessions might not be orgasm, but I want to let you know that it is normal and okay if that happens during your massage,” Ezra continues. “This is a safe space, and your comfort and pleasure is encouraged through this process. All of that seem hunky-dory?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod rapidly.

“Perfect. If you’re ready to get started, I’ll leave the room so you can get undressed. You can undress only from the waist down if you’re comfortable, or you can disrobe completely; the rest of you will be covered by the sheet, so it’s all down to what you prefer.”

Ezra leaves, the door clicking shut behind him, and you take a few moments to steady yourself before taking off only your pants and underwear. Grimacing at the awkwardness, you tuck the underwear into your jeans and place your shoes on top of both on the spare chair in the corner of the room. Then, you lie down under the sheet and wait.

Ezra taps lightly to herald his return before opening the door. “Good,” he says, seeing you laying stiffly on the massage table. “I’m going to check in many times during this first appointment especially,” he explains. “So much so that you may tire of it. You may simply say ‘good,’ when I ask how you are feeling, and I will continue. If you do not feel good at any point, I must ask that you say so. Sound okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, this massage table is custom made for my area of practice specifically,” Ezra explains, reaching under the table and unfolding a pair of stirrups–the kind you’ve seen many times at the gynecologist–and you grimace.

“Ah, I know, most people on this table do not have the most positive memories associated with these,” Ezra tuts, “and if you aren’t sure about using these, we can simply rest your legs on either side of the table.”

“I think I’m okay,” you tell him, cautiously reaching your feet out until your legs are uncomfortably splayed open. 

“You tell me if that changes.” Ezra sits down on the stool and rolls it over to sit at the front of the table. “I’m going to do the external massage with the sheet down,” he says. “No need for a cold breeze if it isn’t necessary, after all. As discussed before, I’m going to feel around the entire pubic area, finding anything that needs extra attention. If you’ve gotten a regular massage, you might notice that this one is much gentler; there won’t be any harsh poking or prodding, just light pressure and rubbing. If that’s all good, sprite, say the word and I’ll begin.”

“I’m good.”

“Very good. First, we’re going to warm up a little by touching your inner thighs. All muscles in this area are interconnected, so this will help soften things up as well.” 

You keep your eyes closed and let out a slow breath through pursed lips as you feel Ezra’s large, warm hands slowly working out the tension in your thighs. The unfamiliar feeling of someone’s hands in such an intimate area is an odd one, at first, but you can’t help but slowly begin to relax as he works out the delicate muscles of the upper-most part of your legs.

“Checking in again, sprite, how are we feeling?”

“Good,” you answer, with a little more confidence this time. “It’s good.”

“Excellent,” Ezra praises. “If we’re feeling nice and comfortable about it, I’m going to start to move upward and inward. You’ll feel me touch your outer labia, your perineum, and your pubic bone as we move forward. How do we feel about that?”

“Nervous,” you admit, giggling awkwardly. “But good.”

“Of course, sprite, it’s normal to be nervous about an unfamiliar sensation. Always remember that you are able to say ‘stop’ at any time.”

At your nod, Ezra’s hands shift, his thumbs beginning to rub up and down the outside of your labia. He rubs little circles around the entire area, including–something that makes your entire body flush with heat immediately–the skin just above your little puckered hole. 

“I know, I know,” Ezra soothes. “Just trying to get a complete picture here. We aren’t doing any internal massage in this area, but you may feel my fingers on the skin around it occasionally.”

“Okay,” you agree, nodding again.

“You’re doing so well, sprite. I’m going to stay external, but we’re going to start to examine a little deeper, does that sound okay? I’ll be rubbing your inner labia this time, spreading them apart to examine your vulva, urethra, and clitoris with my fingers. This is where it might start to feel pleasurable, or it could feel odd and uncomfortable as you become accustomed to this type of massage.”

“Yep,” you say, voice tight with anxiety again.

“I need a little bit more than that, sprite,” Ezra chastises. “Are you good to continue?”

“Yes. Good.”

“I can tell you’re nervous; why don’t you take a deep breath in for me for the count of five…” he counts slowly as you obey, “...and as you let it out slowly, you’re going to feel my hands move inward.”

The feel of Ezra running his slicked fingers up and down your inner labia doesn’t feel quite as uncomfortable as you’d feared. You’ve never been touched like this, or even touched yourself like this. It’s an exploration of sorts, collecting some data that means something only to him, perhaps. After a short time, he pulls you apart with his thumb and forefinger, spreading you open. 

“I’m going to rub back and forth just on the surface level,” Ezra says, “You might feel my thumb press down on a few places to locate any areas to focus on later.”

You take more slow, even breaths as you feel his warm thumb move from your perineum to your clit, then back down again. In a few places, he presses down, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb as he locates some unknown source of tension.

“How well you're doing,” Ezra praises warmly. “I've definitely found some areas of tension that we can work on during your sessions. This isn't the end of the external massage, per se, as I'll still want to work on some of those spots, but this is where I start to add an internal component, if you're up to it. What are we thinking?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I'm okay with that.”

“Good. As I explained before, I'm going to start very slow. I work with clients with a wide range of comfort levels and ability, and I'm not going to push anyone too far before they're ready. Not to be glib or reductive, but this is not dissimilar to a basic shoulder massage. I'll be working all along the muscles of your vaginal wall. We'll start with just one finger, and if that's comfortable for you, we'll see how it goes with two. I'm going to slowly slide one finger in, let you adjust to how that feels, and then I'll begin the massage on your right side, moving to the back, the left, and then the front, around in a little circle like so. At the same time I'll be gently pressing with my other hand so that I can get a feel for the muscles that are stiff, sore, or carry any tension. If at any point any sensation is unpleasant, please bring it to my attention immediately. In that event, I will stop and reassess. If that discomfort is the result of muscle or pelvic floor tension, we will slowly, slowly work through it without causing you any pain. Is all of this acceptable?”

“Yes.”

“And am I okay to begin your internal massage?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Just as before, I'm going to spread open your labia nice and wide, only this time you are going to feel my finger slowly enter you. Once inside, we'll take a few deep breaths together, I'll ask if you are comfortable, and I'll begin the massage.”

As Ezra speaks, he does each action in turn. You feel your labia being parted, and then one slick, warm finger slips inside. It hits a bit of resistance when he passes your pelvic floor, but doesn't cause any pain. At his instruction, he guides you through three deep breaths as you become accustomed to the sensation.

“I'm going to begin moving now,” he announces. “Beginning on your left side.”

It's an odd feeling to adjust to, the way Ezra’s finger moves inside you. With his other hand pressing sometimes on your hip, sometimes at your side, you can feel him pressing against your wall in–true to his word–the same way one might massage a shoulder. This is just… very different. Or perhaps it's the same, and your brain only perceives it as such. 

Despite the awkwardness of having someone rubbing such an intimate, deep, vulnerable part of your body, you can admit that something does feel good about this. Ezra is right, of course; there are muscles internally as well as externally, and you've never had yours attended to in such a way before. 

Ezra’s finger rubs this way and that, covering all possible knots and tense spots on that particular side. 

“Checking in, sprite,” he intones gently. “How does it feel?”

“Weird… but kinda good. I think I understand why you say it's just like a shoulder massage–I never really thought about having muscles there, but… I can feel them relaxing the same way they would as… as if it were my shoulder.”

“No physical difference between the two,” Ezra says, voicing your earlier thought. “Only up here do we make a distinction.” He taps the side of his head and gives you a sideways grin. “If we’re feeling pretty good with one, would you like to try adding one more? It all depends on your level of comfort, but it is easier to get at the muscles with two, rather than one. Would you like to try?”

The gentle loosening of the muscles you hadn't even known were tense is surprisingly soothing, so of course, you agree.

“You're doing so well at checking in with me,” Ezra says. “Take a nice deep breath for me, and we’ll switch to two fingers. Ready?”

You make a little noise of assent, and as you exhale, you feel the pressure inside you increase as Ezra slips another finger inside you. 

“Doing good, sprite. I’m going to move to the muscles at the back of your vaginal walls now, which means my other hand is going to be pressing up on your lower back and buttocks. Is this fine?”

“That’s fine, yeah,” you nod, and at your consent, Ezra goes back to his steady, methodical working of your pelvic floor. 

At this new angle, the sensations inside you are new and different from before. When he was massaging your left side, all you could really feel was the gentle push and pull as your muscles were soothed and relaxed. You can still feel the muscle tension easing away… but it’s very quickly being replaced by a different kind.

You try to focus on taking deep breaths in and out of your nose as Ezra seems to draw heat into your core with every stroke. You stop focusing on the relaxation entirely, instead concentrating every effort to not make any awkward noises that indicate how much your body is responding to his touch.

You really should have known better.

“Many people find that different areas of the vaginal wall can cause different kinds of sensations,” Ezra says quietly as he gently rubs small circles from within you while pressing just above your puckered hole. “The front vaginal wall, of course, has the tendency to produce the strongest impression because of what most people call the g-spot, but the rear wall is also very responsive. I want to remind you of what we discussed earlier; that you are welcome and encouraged to lean into those feelings. It is common for patients to come to orgasm multiple times during a session, and can be helpful for further muscle relaxation. All this to say, sprite, you don’t have to work to suppress the fact that this feels pleasurable. Of course it does. It’s far more advantageous for you to allow it to happen rather than spend the session working to rein it in. Understand?”

“Y-Yeah,” you nod, trying to sink back down onto the massage table again and stop fighting against your body’s automatic responses.

Even so, you don’t really believe you could orgasm from just this. Hell, you can barely orgasm during sex even when you use a vibrator. Your body’s need for intense, prolonged clitoral stimulation is simply a fact. A law, as immutable as gravity, and no amount of “internal massage” would ever have the same effect. 

“If you ever do wish to revisit that last little question on the consent form, one type of treatment that can be incredibly effective is to massage the area in between, if you take my meaning,” Ezra comments lightly, as though discussing the weather. “It’s perfectly workable through what I’m doing now, of course, but even though I’m capturing the same general area, in my years of practice I’ve actually found that anal massage is an important component in achieving a comprehensive relaxation of all pelvic muscles.”

“Okay,” you say dumbly. His words–all the more impactful because of the detached clinical tone–combined with the constant pressure of his fingers, are creating a maelstrom of pleasure in your brain. You still aren’t sure if you’re “allowed” to find this entire situation to be incredibly erotic, but you worry you’ll soon have no choice, especially if your mind keeps conjuring up how it might feel to have both of Ezra’s hands rubbing something deep within you. How full you might feel.

“Nothing that needs to be discussed now or even in the near future, sprite,” he adds. “But just something to keep in the back of your mind as we progress through treatment.”

“Mm,” you agree. It’s–oh God, are you going to come? The pressure is building, building inside you, and even though there’s nothing touching your clit, it feels as though you might be reaching that point of no return. You make a soft, whining, desperate little sound as Ezra massages your vaginal wall with methodical precision.

“I know, I know,” he soothes in that syrupy voice of his. “Take a few deep breaths for me–I promise, it’s okay to let it go. Allow your body to do what it’s meant to do.” At this, he presses down even harder, and you gasp as you suddenly begin to clench around his fingers. Your chest heaves as you ride the waves of pleasure until they subside to a gentle ebb. Ezra remains still throughout it all, waiting patiently until you stop twitching with aftershocks.

“See? So much better when you listen to your body,” he praises. “Can you feel that? It causes your muscles to relax even further, so much more effectively than even I can manage. Feel the difference right here–” he rubs a wide circle up and down your wall, “–there’s so much less tension now, isn’t there?”

“Yeah,” you agree, still catching your breath.

“Let’s do a quick check-in before I move on,” Ezra suggests, “and while we do, I’d like to make a quick recommendation, if you are amenable.”

“That’s fine,” you answer. 

“Give us a quick run-down of how you’re feeling,” he says. “Any pain? Discomfort?” When you shake your head, he continues. “How about mentally? Orgasm can make us feel vulnerable, and that’s perfectly okay, of course, but not if it leads to feeling uncomfortable or unsafe.”

“It still feels a little… strange, but I’m okay.”

“Ah, of course. Now, as far as my recommendation… Now that you’re far more relaxed, I think it might be helpful to switch to three fingers. How do you feel about that?”

You swallow. “It might feel like a lot,” you admit quietly.

“Indeed,” Ezra agrees. “As a general rule, the more fingers I am able to use, the more effective the massage. The ideal internal massage would be either with all four fingers on one hand, or a combination of three and two. If you’re feeling at all apprehensive about discomfort, however, I think it would be better to wait and see, yes?”

“Yes,” you nod gratefully. 

“Moving on to your right side, sprite,” he says cheerfully. “Halfway there, and doing great.”

You can see what Ezra had been saying–you can feel that your walls are more pliant and moldable after your orgasm. However, it’s also made your nerves more sensitive to his touch, and the intense feeling of pleasure continues to flicker inside you with every gentle probe of his fingers. 

You begin to float, losing track of time and simply focusing on the sensations within you. Ezra quiets down when he senses your more meditative state, and continues to massage with minimal commentary. When his thick fingers begin to move, pressing upward toward your abdomen, however, your breath catches and your hips lift of their own accord.

“My apologies, sprite. I should have warned you I was moving to the front wall before I did so, but you were in such a state of utter relaxation that I was loathe to speak up.”

“S’fine.”

“You may find this area to be the most intense in terms of sensation,” Ezra comments. “There’s a reason I usually save it for last.”

You make a slightly garbled, strained noise of assent as his other hand rubs gentle circles on your mons pubis while the other continues its deliberate path up and down your walls, soothing out all of the tension and finding some incredibly sensitive spots as it does.

Ezra pauses over one such area, and, in such exquisite torture that makes you actually cry out into the room, curls both fingers up to apply even more pressure.

“Ah, that,” he chuckles to himself. “That thing–the little area they call the ‘g-spot’–it’s not some mysterious, unique phenomenon, nor is it mythological. What they didn’t know at the time–and far too many people still are not aware–is that the clitoris is much larger than just the little bit that we see on the outside.” His fingers rub little circles, back and forth, up and down, massaging so meticulously that it feels almost ruthless. “Sooo many nerves in one relatively small place,” he murmurs. “Stimulating the clitoris is normally the most reliable way to acheive orgasm, and yet so little of it is accessible. But here–” he presses up again, and you gasp, “–here we are able to access the other end of the organ.”

You can hardly concentrate on the original goal of muscle relaxation with so much pressure on your g-spot (or, apparently, the back of your clitoris) but you can still feel Ezra dutifully and clinically working out the tension in your pelvic floor. 

“Doing so well, sprite, so well. One nice, big, relaxing orgasm for me and then we’ll gently explore how the tension lessens afterward.”

Despite his insistence before your appointment that orgasm was not the goal of these sessions, you can’t help but notice Ezra appears to be guiding you towards one with masterful precision. With one hand applying light pressure on your abdomen and the other pressing upward to meet it, it feels as though he’s got the most sensitive organ of your body trapped between his fingers. He plays it like an instrument, each finger working independently to stroke different parts of the soft, spongy membrane. 

Finally, finally, the pressure becomes so much that you simply seem to implode; all at once, you clamp down on Ezra’s fingers like a vice as your lower back lifts from the table. A feeling of pure, hot, wet relief surges through you, and the release feels endless, as though your body simply cannot stop pulsing and contracting. Dimly, you realize that it must be the ruthless stimulation from Ezra’s hands keeping you suspended in what feels like a never-ending orgasm. His fingers press upwards, rubbing quickly and insistently back and forth against the sensitive organ, and the movement draws more and more rhythmic clenches that seem to ripple across the entire area. 

And–Oh, God–with each intense throb, little streams of fluid splash out over Ezra’s hand, and you realize with absolute mortification that the sheet, massage table, and Ezra’s white coat are already soaked with your release.

“Oh shit, I’m sorr–” you try to apologize as soon as you have the presence of mind.

“Now, now, not to worry, little sprite. Any manifestation of pleasure is welcomed and encouraged here, and I’ve been at this long enough to know that stimulating the back of the clitoris oftentimes results in strong and voluminous ejaculations…” You twitch with one last, pathetic aftershock, and Ezra soothingly rubs his fingers up and down your wall in the same way one might rub someone’s back after a long day. “But feel the difference, little sprite. Feel how supple and pliant your muscles are compared to before. This is the state we strive for, little sprite. Complete and utter relaxation. When you find yourself starting to tense up again–such is the consequence of the stressful lives we lead–I want you to call up this moment, and the way your pelvic muscles so easily move for my hand, and try to get back to this state. With enough practice on your own in between sessions, this will become easily achieved.

“I’m going to do a couple of nice, wide circles with my hand to stretch out those muscles one last time, and as I do, I’d like you to take some nice, deep, easy breaths with me. Once we get  to five nice big breaths, I’ll slowly remove my hand. Does this sound good?”

“Yuh-huh,” you nod.

“Nice big inhale,” Ezra reminds you, and you dutifully suck in a deep, cleansing breath of air as you feel his hand circle around your vaginal walls, pressing deep into the muscle as he does. You repeat the action four more times, and on your very last exhale, the light feeling of pressure within you finally abates as his fingers slip out of you. 

“How do you feel?”

“Pretty relaxed,” you say with a relieved laugh.

“Mentally?” he prods.

“I dunno, fine,” you shrug.

“Any feelings of vulnerability are normal,” he says as he stands from his stool and helps you guide your legs out of the stirrups and back onto the table under the sheet. “You may find that these feelings may be delayed by a few days, even, so be gentle with yourself for the next week or so. Light muscle soreness is also normal, in the same way it can occur after a normal massage. If at any time this light soreness transforms into pain, please do not hesitate to contact me.”

Ezra picks up your consent form again and scans it briefly before setting it back down and giving you a serious, thoughtful look. “You told me three weeks ago that you were ‘built wrong,’ and you mention several times in your form that you have difficulty bringing yourself to orgasm. Little sprite, I have lost count of the number of clients who have the same complaints and who have similarly insisted their bodies were simply different from ‘normal’ people’s. Now, mind you, the sample size may be biased, but from this data I can only conclude that no human being is ‘built wrong.’ The problem lies in our minds, and more specifically, in the social conditioning we’ve all received since birth–conditioning that in no way favors the female experience of pleasure. Society has failed you, has labeled your pleasure as secondary, illusive, impossible, or even imaginary. Your sessions with me will help to reverse the physical symptoms from a lifetime of unhelpful social conditioning, and now that you know your body is not only capable of experiencing pleasure, but of doing so in ways you weren’t even aware, your mind will follow.”

“Wow,” you breathe, awestruck by how different you feel. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“I’ll leave you to get dressed, little sprite,” Ezra says, briefly patting your hand in a comforting manner. “When you’re ready, go ahead and open the door and I’ll walk you to the lobby to schedule your next appointment.”

#ezra #ezra prospect #ezra x you #ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #pedro pascal #prospect fanfiction