#Witnesses await church

[storiesfromgaza]

Hello, everyone.

This may be the finest and most important article I've written since the creation of this blog, so kindly read it carefully and pay attention.

And share it so that everyone can see it.

There are many events happening tonight, and I will try to summarize them for you so that you have a complete understanding of what is happening.

Twelve days ago, a gruesome incident occurred, most of you have probably heard of it: the occupation forces shelled the Al-Ma'madani Hospital in Gaza, resulting in the deaths of over a thousand people, including patients, their families, doctors, and young children.

Has the occupation been content with this? The answer is no.

Since that day, they have been threatening another hospital, Al-Quds Hospital, with the promise of bombing it, leaving civilians and patients inside in a state of terror, awaiting death at any moment.

The first time this happened, it spread across social media platforms, especially Twitter, and many people protested, causing the occupation to halt its actions.

Today, twelve days after the Al-Ma'madani Hospital massacre, they have once again sent severe threats to the Palestinian Red Crescent Society (PRCS) for the immediate evacuation of Al-Quds Hospital, as it is destined to be bombed.

"🔴 Urgent: We have just received severe threats demanding the immediate evacuation of Al-Quds Hospital as it is set to be bombed.

Since the early hours of the morning, the vicinity of Al-Quds Hospital has been witnessing continuous airstrikes, resulting in the destruction of some buildings within a 50-meter radius.

📢 Please share, save Al-Quds Hospital! 📢

#GazaUnderAttack #GazaUnderSiege #Save_Al-Quds_Hospital

"

The second matter, three days ago, specifically on Friday, the twenty-seventh of this month, the occupation completely isolated Gaza from the world by cutting off the internet, telecommunications, and electricity. They were prepared for a brutal massacre that occurred that night and lasted for two days.

I'm talking about indiscriminate bombardment using all kinds of weapons on all areas of Gaza, whether they were churches, mosques, schools, or homes, regardless of their occupants, be they children, young people, women, or the elderly.

During that period, social media platforms and indeed the entire world were abuzz with the issue.

People from various backgrounds, nationalities, and religions unanimously agreed that it was inhumane to isolate them from the world and deny them the right to have a voice.

They were searching for solutions they could implement.

Some took to the streets, demanding the return of the internet, while others began sharing their plight on social media, primarily on Twitter.

They reached out to activists and officials who had the means to help.

One of the most prominent solutions that everyone turned to was contacting Elon Musk, the former owner of Twitter (X) and the current owner of SpaceX, to enable the people of Gaza to use the internet via Starlink's private satellites.

They hoped that he would hear their plea, as it was their only hope.

He tweeted:

"Starlink will support connectivity to internationally recognized aid organizations in Gaza.

[ComStar]

"

On the same day, five hours after the publication of this tweet, the Israeli Minister of Communications commented on it, saying, in essence, that they would use all available means to prevent the supply of Starlink internet to Gaza because Hamas would utilize it. He also threatened that if this were to occur, he would sever all his office's ties with Starlink.

Now, let's discuss the issue of hostages for a moment because it is of utmost importance to understanding the situation.

On the twenty-fourth of this month, Yasmin Porat, one of the hostages, came forward to talk about her experiences during her captivity.

I will now share some of what she mentioned in the interview:

She stated that Israeli forces eliminated everyone, including hostages, amid heavy crossfire and tank shelling.

She highlighted the contrasting behavior of Palestinian fighters who offered hope for safe passage to Gaza. Israeli forces disrupted this hope with a storm of gunfire.

Palestinian fighters treated the hostages humanely, offering them hope of a safe passage to Gaza, despite the chaos.

This compassionate act stands in stark contrast to the chaos that unfolded.

After the interview was broadcast, it was completely deleted and blocked from all social media platforms and even from Kan's website. Moreover, Yasmin's account mysteriously disappeared from the "Haboker Hazeh" program, raising concerns of censorship.

Below, you will find the interview recording.

During that period, the Al-Qassam Brigades continued their communication with the Israeli government in order to release some prisoners for humanitarian reasons, including their age and health, among them two elderly women, one of whom is named Yohav Levisheitz.

But the Israeli government showed no interest in the matter whatsoever.

As a result, they decided to release the two elderly women.

Before leaving, one of them, Yohav Levisheitz, insisted on shaking hands with one of the resistance fighters who she was their captor, as you can see in the following video.

-Tumblr doesn't allow me to post two videos in a single post, so I will provide the video link on the blog-:

https://www.tumblr.com/storiesfromgaza/732027117370572800/al-qassam-brigades-released-two-of-the-hostages?source=share

After this, she insisted on participating in a press conference to share her experience, saying:

"When we arrived in Gaza, they initially told us that they believed in the Quran and that they wouldn't harm us.

They said they would treat us as they do with those around them.

We were under tight security, and medical professionals arrived to ensure we had the medications we always took.

They showed great concern for our health.

Our place of rest was the mattresses.

We had an accompanying doctor who would visit us every two or three days to check on our well-being.

In addition to a paramedic who looked after us and provided us with our medications.

They took on the responsibility and made sure to provide the necessary medications.

They looked after our hygiene meticulously to safeguard our health so that we wouldn't fall ill.

It was they who took care of cleaning the restrooms, not us.

They provided us with everything we needed, and I acknowledge their help in that.

If equivalent medications weren't available, they offered suitable alternatives.

They were remarkably courteous (kind) and ensured we ate well, sharing the same food they ate (bread, cheese, and cucumbers)

We were treated with kindness, and they paid meticulous attention to every detail.

Women among them understood the importance of feminine hygiene and ensured we had everything we needed.

Hamas had meticulously planned everything for a long time, providing us with everything we required, even down to shampoo and conditioner.

The inefficiencies of the army and Shabak (Israel Security Agency - ISA) greatly impacted us; we were pawns in the government's game."

After this, Western media outlets, with CNN at the forefront, distorted Yohav's words and published that she said, "I went through hell."

BBC, on the other hand, released two versions of the statement.

They published the original statement by Yohav on their account dedicated to the Arab audience, while on their accounts for Western and Indian audiences, they published a manipulated version of her statement that included the same content as previously published by CNN.

These are the testimonies of two different women captives, both of whom unanimously agree that they were treated with excellent humane treatment, and no one tortured them or attempted to harass or disturb them.

On the other hand, both of them agree that Israel did not care about their safety in any way and, in fact, they would open fire in the presence of the hostages, leaving behind lifeless bodies hit by their deadly bullets.

Now, let's focus for a moment on the point of Israel and the prisoners.

Two days ago, Abu Ubaida, the official spokesman for the Al-Qassam Brigades, made a lengthy recorded speech in which he spoke about the prisoners.

He said:

"There have been numerous contacts in the prisoner file, and there was an opportunity to reach an agreement, but they delayed and did not show real seriousness in releasing the prisoners.

Instead, its barbaric shelling and continuous crimes have led to the killing of nearly fifty of them so far."

Do you understand now that Israel does not care about the prisoners at all, as it claims, and that their use of the prisoner issue is merely to prevent Elon Musk from providing internet access via Starlink in Gaza for its residents?

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[piratefishmama]

Fake it Till you Make it | Part 16

Watching Eddie scope out his surroundings was… a sight to behold. He didn’t just walk from room to room like any normal person would, no, much like an adventurer, cautiously taking in their surroundings in a new place, in a new dungeon, stretching his neck to look around corners before stepping fully around them, gently touching walls to balance himself as he stretched.

Walking with his heel off the floor, quiet as a church mouse, going from room to room, appraising each one with varying sounds of approval while Steve watched in fond amusement.

It didn’t escape him, how lucky he was. How lucky he’d gotten, how rare it was for people like him, for people like Eddie, to feel comfortable enough to just be in a place that his parents also occupied. That running into his father on the second floor, midway through twirling Eddie from the master bedroom on one side of the hallway to the other where another door awaited his eager exploration, wouldn’t result in some kind of fight, that neither he, nor Eddie, had to hide who they were and what they were doing.

It didn’t escape him that he was lucky. Not just in the freedom he had either, but that he got to see Eddie comfortable. Got to see him light up like Christmas had come early, got to witness the exact moment downstairs when he’d relaxed in Steve’s space.

When he’d taken in all that stood before him and found comfort in it. Steve knew he was lucky that he got to see that. So he wasn’t about to take it for granted.

He wasn’t going to squander the opportunity to make the most of it. Of Eddie’s childish glee. Even if it was all based on a ruse. It was a mutual ruse. A ruse they were both aware of. There was no unfortunate reveal waiting at the end of the tunnel, no high school drama where some asshole pulled the wool from someone’s eyes to reveal none of it was real!!

He was going to make it as real as physically possible, and hopefully… just… continue. After the holiday. Maybe a conversation could happen to clear up any possible misunderstandings but… Steve wanted. He wanted the ultimate nerd currently scoping out the bedroom closest to the home theatre.

“We don’t want this one” Steve advised, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as Eddie poked the mattress with a single finger, as if that would accurately test the quality of the mattress, as he’d been doing for each room. “The home theatre doesn’t have proper sound proofing, if someone wants to watch a film later, we’ll be able to hear it through the walls.” It’d been a solid DIY job on his grandfathers part.

No professional involved, just ‘yeah I can do that, stand back Mags, let a man work’ and that was that. He'd even put it on the second floor, absolute madman.

Steve always pictured his grandmother just standing there, in the same pose he was currently standing in, watching with fond exasperation as her husband went to work on a project he was deeply inexperienced in, and completely unqualified to tackle.

The fact that it looked good in there was a miracle.

“Okay so, not this room, not the bunk bed room, and not the hot tub room, that leeeaves—”

“Master bedroom, or either of the two on the right side of the house.” The options were actually limited when other people were staying, if it were just him and Eddie they could have any room they wanted, but with his parents there it cut down the options.

“Tch, why’d you have me explore all of em then! We should probably just take the master bedroom, right? Since it’s apparently your house, oh great and powerful Master” Steve raised a brow as Eddie dipped into a low bow, theatrical as ever, his tone teasing, his hair bouncing around his face as he righted himself again. Cute.

“Hmm, you looked like you were having fun, you’re cute when you’re having fun.” And his cheeks coloured so nicely whenever he was complimented, hid behind his hair in a way that made Steve’s heart do a funny little flip flop, he’d file that information away for later, continuing on as if he hadn’t just dropped a flirty bomb on the other man “but you’re right, we should probably just take that one, it does have its own private deck…” oh the things they could do on that private deck. If it were all real. “Usually I let my parents have it buuut…” he had company this time. He’d have more than enough of an excuse to get the private deck, even if he wasn’t going to use it for anything other than relaxing. He had a reason to want a little privacy. “I’m sure they’ll understand us wanting it more.”

Eddie rolled with it, quickly recovering with the out Steve had created for himself, or maybe the guy was just so smooth he didn’t even realise he was flirting. That was definitely it. “Or they’ll think they understand us wanting it more” Eddie winked all conspiratorially, which only served to make Steve laugh leaving Eddie looking upon what he’d done in pride. He made Steve laugh. He did that. He’d done that a few times and honestly the high kept staying pretty fucking high.

How had he been so wrong about Steve for so goddamn long? How long had Steve been this glorious thing, like sunshine in human form?

“Exactly” Steve chuckled before pushing himself away from the doorframe “let’s go get our bags then, our shit wont unpack itself.”

“Actually could you get them? I… I should probably call Wayne, let him know I’m safe. It’s not too late there so he should still be home, is that okay? I don’t wanna leave it too late and have to go through reception at the plant, it’s… not great.” Nine times out of ten he wound up speaking to one of the three other Wayne’s working there.

“Yeah, there’s a private line in the room, you go ahead, I’ll grab the bags.”

“My Herculean hero” it wasn’t even remotely fair how badly Steve wanted to kiss him for how little he did to earn it.

“Yer very quiet, Ed, considerin you called me.” He’d gotten through to Wayne after three rings, reassuring him about his safety had been the first thing on the agenda as he got comfortable on the frankly unnecessarily large king sized bed, but then Steve returned to the room with their bags.

All of their bags. In one go, and Eddie’s brain kind of short circuited. “Huh?”

“Yer quiet, somethin the matter?”

“Steve is carrying everything all at once.” It earned a scoff from the man on the phone, and an amused smile from Steve. “It’s awfully distracting, I dunno what to tell you, Wayne I am very distracted.” Steve’s smile only widened

“Uh huh, well, I’ll let you get on then, gotta head out soon anyway, money ain’t gonna make itself. You sure everythin’s alright though? No red flags?”

“Nah… all green flags here, they’re… they’re nice, y’know?” He hadn’t expected it, so many stories of rich people being awful, but… they were just two extremely hard working people who’d had their hard work pay off. Even on holiday they were still working, it was both exhausting to watch, and deeply admirable. Eddie could never. “I’ll call you again tomorrow to check in.”

“I’ll be waitin. Be safe, son.”

“Say hi to Garfield for me” there was a short laugh on the other end, before the line cut off, leaving Eddie smiling as he put the phone down

“Who’s Garfield?” Steve asked, “other than the fat cat.”

“He’s the fat cat shaped mug I can no longer drink from after the great mug smashing of ’86. That stupid earthquake killed him, but we had superglue, so it was fine, just can’t drink out of him anymore cause he’s fragile.” No amount of superglue could fix the tiny areas they hadn’t been able to fill in with pieces, slivers of pot lost to the dark underside of the cabinets. “Need any help?”

“Nah, you just sit there an look pretty for me.” It had the desired effect, Eddie’s eyes widening, a pretty blush blossoming on his cheeks and the final kicker, he hid behind his hair. Adorable. Perfect. Beautiful. Had they actually been dating he’d have pressed pause on the unpacking, instead, he snipped that last thread holding Eddie’s composure in place with a smoothly delivered “just like that, yeah, God, you’re such a good boy.”

The consequences were immediate.

Part 18

[squinch-depraved]

priest schlatt I beg

we're not gonna talk about how long this took me to get to

happy national clergy appreciation day (in the u.s.) !! sorry if this sucks i was raised southern baptist and even then i sucked at christianity there's a reason i practice witchcraft now lol

hanging your head low as you ducked into the confessional wouldn't save you. sure, there was no one around to see you, but knowing that god had witnessed what you had done was reason enough to try and hide from the world as much as you could. but still you tucked yourself away into the corner of the booth, clutching your purse in your trembling hands.

religion was a something of a sore spot for you; growing up in a hyper-christian family was one way to ensure you didn't feel comfortable in a house of worship. you had always viewed god as an inevitable outcome, a fact that awaited you whenever you happened to reach the end of your journey here on earth. once you graduated high school and locked yourself into a four year program at a catholic college one state over, you came to realize that the reason you couldn't stand your religion wasn't because of overbearing relatives. no, it was the very idea of god himself. you found him sadistic, an egotistical prick who had nothing better to do than let horrible things happen to his creations. maybe it was true that most of the teachings you had heard were lost on you, that you didn't even make an effort to understand the lessons passed down for thousands of years. but so what? nobody had ever made an effort to understand you or what you were going through, why should you waste your energy extending that courtesy to a church that obviously didn't care about you?

but you know who did make you feel understood? the guys you had dated in the three years since you arrived at this prison. at least, for a few weeks, in the beginning. the first one was fine. he was the one who convinced you virginity was an outdated concept- which you still agreed with to this day, you decided. he was surprisingly "woke" about the whole religion thing, which was what drew you to him in the first place.

"my parents made me study here too," he sympathized. "i totally wish i could've gone on a mission trip instead of getting a degree. like, college will be here in a few years! those impoverished people might not, y'know? i just feel like god is totally calling me to go serve. like, 'troy, man, go feed those guys! tell them how cool i am!'" he stopped tossing a miniature foam basketball against your bedroom wall for a moment to look at you.

you smiled weakly at his sentiments and glanced up from your laptop to nod. "totally, troy."

turns out, (unsurprisingly) troy was a fucking douche. he stayed around just long enough to get into your pants a couple times, but then you caught him with the girl who lived in the dorm across from you, so he had to go. nobody ever found out who stole his clothes from the men's showers, but the videos of him streaking down the hallways while he ran to his room were sent around campus for months after that.

guys two and three were more painful than troy; you had actually grown attached to them. guy two lasted almost a year, and three was only a few months, but he felt special. and the half dozen guys you slept with while trying to get over them just added to the tally of sins you were keeping subconsciously.

so when your grades started to slip from depression in the winter of your junior year, and your counselor called you to her office for an appointment, it was no surprise that her words got under your skin as easily as they did. how could they not? getting students to go to church was part of her job. she was concerned that your grades were slipping because she hadn't seen you at mass in a long time, and the absence of the lord will do that to a young girl, you know.

so later that night, after drinking by yourself at a bar a few miles from the school, you stumbled into the church on campus and slunk into the confessional. realizing that the wooden box was incredibly uncomfortable, you winced and pulled off your heels, rubbing your feet gently as you waited to be listened to.

you shrieked quietly when a small lattice window on the wall next to you slid open. "oh, fuck... sorry! um, it's my turn, right?... yeah, i think so. okay, so, um. bless me father for i have... sinned? it's been, like," you paused as you counted back the time on your fingers. "almost two years since my last confession. oh, jeez, that makes me sound awful." you were hiccupping as you rambled, and you could have sworn you heard the faintest exhale of amusement if you weren't plastered.

"whatever, it's too late to stop now," you sighed, crossing your legs. "i let some guys sleep with me and now i'm all unpure and like. i'm supposed to show up here a couple times every week now but i don't wanna, i don't care enough about this whole god thing to waste the rest of my college life becoming a nun. i'm already worried i wasted three years coming here instead of a school where i could have felt like myself," you trailed off.

it was quiet for a moment before a gruff voice with a new york accent asked, "how many guys?"

you snorted. "9, i think," you said with a smirk, rolling your eyes.

the man on the other side of the panel felt his face heat up as he mumbled, "jesus." you couldn't hold in your laugh at how absurd this was. this was what you deserved for coming to confess at 2 in the morning.

"i know it's been a while since i've been here and all, but i'm pretty sure that's not what you're supposed to say," you giggled.

a chuckle was heard before he answered, "sorry. you're right, it's not. tell me more, what led you to sleeping with them?" at least now he was trying.

the two of you talked for about an hour, until it no longer felt like a confession and you were sure you had fallen for this priest you couldn't even see. eventually, he tried to dismiss you without giving you your penance, but something in your gut drove you to bring it up yourself.

he stepped out of the booth first, and you hesitated for a second before following him, freezing when you saw what he looked like. tall, scary, with gorgeous brown eyes framed by aviator glasses and fluffy chops adorning his cheeks. by some miracle, he also felt immobilized by his view of you hopping out of the wooden compartment- dress disheveled, fishnets ripped, heels in one hand and your purse slung over one shoulder. you were his worst nightmare, a temptation he simply could not resist. god had just placed a vulnerable young lamb like you in his midst; who was he to deny himself of the simple pleasures his lord had provided for him?

"father? father, my penance," you waved your hand in front of his face (after a bit of trying to get his attention), which had just gone dark. his eyes now looked hungry and cold.

"hmm?" he blinked and tilted his head towards you slightly. "oh. uhm," he let out a deep exhale, as if contemplating something. "y-y'know what? just come with me," he spoke gently, taking your hand and leading you to a back room with some spare furniture scattered about.

a part of you knew what was coming, and a different part of you never could have guessed the situation you were about to find yourself in. once you were alone in the room together, he pulled you close and pressed you against a wall, letting his hot breath waft over your neck as he bent down to whisper in your ear.

"god's telling me we should make it 10 men you've been with," he murmured, voice velvet smooth as it coated your eardrums. "so you can say at least one of them was a real man of the lord, hmm, doll?"

your breath, caught in your throat, sped up as he slowly, gently, tenderly took your wrists in one of his hands, bringing them to rest above your head. "father..."

"schlatt. my name's schlatt. but that's just a courtesy, hm? stick to callin' me father." you felt him smirk against your skin as he sunk his teeth into the flesh of your neck, drawing out a frantic moan from you.

"careful with your noises, angel, there's two other guys here tonight, and if we get caught, i'm gonna have to share you," schlatt warned. he used his other free hand to pull down the top of your dress, smiling greedily at the sight of your exposed breasts. "no bra?"

"i-it didn't go with the outfit," you tried to defend yourself, but he just shushed you and fondled your chest lovingly, like he really was just appreciating one of god's creations. pathetic noises spilled from your lips as you watched him admire you, a hypnotized look on your face.

"you're so beautiful, doll. wha's your name?" he asked, glancing up at your face to meet your gaze.

you stammered out your response and he repeated it, running over the name in his mind.

"pretty," he said simply. "i'm gonna make you feel good now, okay?" it was more of a statement than a question, and you nodded with a gulp as he knelt down and slid his head under your dress. you felt your pupils dilate as you leaned your head back against the wall and let your eyes fall closed. schlatt ripped a bigger hole into your fishnets and pulled your skimpy panties to the side, licking a long stripe up your folds and tracing circles with his tongue on your clit. it was hard to keep your whorish noises contained, but clamping your hand over your mouth did a good enough job.

he ate you until you were frantically scratching at his head through the fabric of your dress as you came all over his face, sobbing from how good you felt. you didn't even know it was possible to feel this euphoric, but here this priest was to show you how. once he was satisfied, he pulled away from your cunt and rose to tower over you again. he reached into his robes and opened them enough so that his crotch was visible. you watched as he pulled out his length, stunned at the size of it, and let him pick you up and position you around his waist.

"father, i'm scared, i don't know if it's gonna fit," you admitted guiltily. schlatt locked eyes with you while he replied.

"it's okay to be scared. but you have to do it anyways." with that, he slid into you, stretching you out more than you ever had been before. you bit onto him in an effort to keep quiet; his robes did a good job of muffling the sound. after a generous amount of time to let you get used to him, he started moving.

he was gentle at first, but gradually got rougher and rougher. there wasn't a moment where he wasn't focused on making you feel good. his eyes pierced through you as he rammed into you at a relentless pace, and the attention he was giving you didn't make you feel objectified like it did when the other guys fucked you. it made you feel divine, ethereal almost.

grunts and pants, along with the occasional squeal, were all that could be heard as he rolled his hips into you time and time again. he coaxed another orgasm out of you just with his cock, and once he felt like he had pleasured you enough, he sped up, now thrusting at a frenzied pace.

"when i tell you, you're gonna get on your knees and take me in your mouth, okay angel?" he instructed, out of breath. you nodded, eager to please.

"yes, father," you gasped as he reached deeper and deeper inside you with every thrust. schlatt's eyes rolled back slightly at the title and he went impossibly faster for a few seconds before speaking.

"n-now! now!" he ordered desperately. he set you down hurriedly and you slammed down onto your knees to take him in your mouth, letting him burrow deep into your throat before he finished with a loud groan and grabbed your hair roughly.

he remained in your throat for a moment while he caught his breath, sliding out once his chest had stopped heaving.

"there's your penance, doll. i better see you here for a 2 a.m. confession next monday as well, yeah? i think that's what the lord's callin' me to do," schlatt said as he buttoned his robes. you straightened your clothes as much as you could and looked up at him sheepishly.

"looking forward to it. but, uh, is there a back door i could leave through? because i do not want to walk through the church like this." you gestured to your outfit, tattered and wrinkled, and winced.

he chuckled and nodded. "yeah, i'll show you to it. maybe it could be our secret entrance," he joked.

"oh, of course. i'll knock three times whenever i need to be let in," you retort with a grin.

maybe coming to church wouldn't be so bad, after all.

[theshinazugawaslut]

Sanemi as a best friend who is obsessed with you, so when you tell him you've never ridden someone he offers to let you practice on him. On his face, abs, thigh, on anything that you can ride, he'll train you before you take his cock

a/n: sorry if this didn't come out good, I wrote it under a half-hour since I'm sick.

He's your best friend, the little boy you grew up with in the same neighbourhood — everyone knew the two of you were attached at the hip, everyone also knew that Sanemi would never let a single boy near you and so, no boy ever tried.

Your earliest memory of him is when you were both three years old, standing in a long queue on a hot Summer's day outside an ice-cream van in the park.

He had been right behind you, humming a tune, and you had turned around and said, "I love that song!"

The boy had the lovliest, archangel-white hair with the softest, lilac eyes; his cheeks all soft and squishy. He had smiled shyly and gave a small nod, though the two of you ended up holding hands as you took him to play in your sandpit.

Ever since, the two of you have been inseperable.

He always held your hand — tight, firm, like a kite he was afraid of letting go — and he looked at you like you had been weaved out of starsong and rose dew and the most honeyed siren song.

God, in his eyes you were this shimmering moon that he yearned to touch, you felt like what heaven must be like — he'd heard so many stories of heaven when he went to church with his mother, he imagined God had a face like you. There couldn't be anything else.

He was a sweet boy, you realised very quickly. Always helping you put pretty flower clips in your dishevelled hair, always using his own chubby hands to try and tuck your hair into a lopsided ponytail and smiled shyly as you squealed and squished your cheeks together to his.

He didn't mind being the subject of your childish eyeshadow palettes either, letting the cheap glittery gel being smudged across his eyelids though it did help him learn his own talent for eyeliner.

You're always over at his house or the other way around, too, and you're always making the loveliest drinks and snacks so you can watch Cinderella together, tiny hands weaved with his as you gush about how pretty the sapphire-blue ball gown is.

Soon enough, school starts, and Sanemi remains your best friend, sitting right next to you and saying no to playing football with the other boys in favour of reading a story book with you in the corner of the classroom.

You also witnessed him grab a boy bigger than him by the hair and hurting him because the boy had tripped you over and made fun of you in the playground where you had been awaiting for Sanemi.

Even when he'd gotten in trouble, he'd given you that smile that only got wider as you kissed his cheek.

He'd always been a serious child, a happy child but mature, and when he got a younger sibling, he was ecstatic, taking his newborn brother out his cot and running over to your house carelessly to show you Genya.

When his mother had rushed out in a panic a few hours later, she found you and Sanemi in your room, Genya bundled up safe and warm. The newborn safe in your arms as Sanemi snoozed against your shoulder, you looking at the newborn with bright eyes.

When Sanemi awoke later on, Genya now in his mother's arms, something inside of him stirred seeing you hold a baby with such care. He didn't know what.

Ever since he was a child, he'd give you flowers, braid your hair, kiss your cheek shyly when he was feeling very bold but one thing remained the same in highschool, that firm grip he had on your hands.

Everyone knew you two, nobody dared come near the either of you as Sanemi made it abundantly clear that his only interest was you and made it clear to everyone else - much to your obliviousness - that you did not need for friends and you especially did not want for any boys.

You never thought much of it.

You were more than happy being with him, cheerful nature and bubbly personality meaning you'd cling onto his arm anyway, doe-like eyes looking up at him as he kept an arm around your waist as he walked you from class to class.

You're bright, like the Sun, and he burns just looking at you, but for now, he's more than content helping you study for maths (you're hopeless) in the library, slipping you sweet treats every few minutes that make your eyes light up though his own shine brightly when you give him the after-school snack you baked for him in the morning.

You always give him so much — often making him bentos with all his favourite foods; spending time in his house to help take care of his six younger siblings whilst his mother worked — bathing his little sisters, changing his baby brother's nappy, singing songs and playing games with his siblings to keep them occupied so that Sanemi can finish his essays in peace, and you coming into his room after putting them all to bed, giving him dinner.

Though he rolls his eyes as he sees how you've made your notes all colourful and pretty.

"You're finding the equation of the tangent of the curve, you're supposed to do that by finding the y co-ordinate, differentiating it, calculating the gradient, and finding the equation of the line not... drawing flowers and galaxies on the page, doll," he says, exasperatedly fond.

"What's a y co-ordinate?" you ask innocently and he bangs his head against the table.

"How can you be good at fucking politics and biology and literature but be so utterly shit at maths?" he groans though you only look at him with that sweet expression of yours. "Hell, how are you good at Physics and not good at maths?"

"...I just copy your answers in Physics, and I only understand the theoretical stuff," you tell him and he glares at you, causing you to giggle. "I'm kidding! I sometimes copy your answers."

He flicks a sweetie wrapper at you then so you shriek as it touches your lashes. "You almost ruined my mascara!"

"You don't need it, anyway! Your natural lashes are like spiders anyway."

He snickers as you pull a strand of his snowy hair. "Sorry, dumpling," he says teasingly.

"You're the dumpling here! With your big, mochi cheeks!" you say with a huff.

"Next time when we go to the gym, I'm turning your treadmill to the highest speed," he threatens and you blanch, causing his laughter to grow louder.

Soon enough, you're both adults, sharing a dorm for university even though Sanemi was rather upset about having to leave his siblings and mother behind at home. Thankfully, you're adamant to keep in contact with his family which means an hour-long video call to his siblings and mother alongside your own family.

And even now, as you share a dorm for university, both wanting to become teachers, you're glued to the hip.

And now you're both twenty-one, still virgins, and you're currently cooking, calling for Sanemi who is lazily sitting on the couch, reading a book about teaching.

"'Nemi?" you say in that sweet voice of yours, calling for him as you cook something — usually Sanemi would cook but you wanted to try out a recipe this time yourself.

He puts his book down, taking a moment to come into the kitchen, thinking you had probably burned something though he's pleasantly surprised to find that's not the case though he tries to not let his jaw drop at the sight of you.

Pale-pink off shoulder top showing him just your left shoulder, all smooth and pretty, and your apple-green, pleated skirt had you looking so girlish.

"Hmm?" he says, deep voice all thrumming and rich, like smoked apples and wind-swept ash. "Oi, if you're cooking, you should do your hair back, do you want to be set on fire?"

With the words, he's already come behind you to start doing your hair in a loose braid — you're used to it; he always does your hair, helps with your make-up, most of the time he'll blow dry your hair as you study.

"What's it you called me here for? Ya missed me?" he asks behind you.

"I was just wondering," you begin. "But how come I've not had a boyfriend yet? You've not had a girlfriend either, ever... Mitsuri's dating Obanai; Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma are all with Tengen... And- and Shinobu's been seeing that Tamayo. Even my little sister has a boyfriend and I don't..."

Sanemi has frozen up behind you before he continues finishing the braid. "Why are you thinking about this?"

"I wanna love someone, too!" you tell him. "I wanna be loved! Is that so bad? I've never had a single man ever like me. I've never even kissed someone, how am I supposed to even have sex when the day comes? I have no experience and-"

"-You're seriously thinking about sex?" he interrupts, voice a little cold.

"Well, yes, I want a lover, too, and I have no practise! I know you don't either so it's not like you could actually help-"

"-I could," he whispers, mouth suddenly grazing your ear. "It'd be nice, no? Learning with me? We could learn together, it'd be fun." You don't have to look to know his eyes are hot and intense and bloodshot, that rabid grin on his face. "I'll be good to you. I'll help you learn whatever you want, hmm?"

You've entirely stiffened up, pretty eyes blown wide. It's no secret you're head over heels for the man but you didn't think...

"I'll let you think about it," says Sanemi, leaving a wet kiss on your jugular that makes you shiver, and he leaves the kitchen to finish his studying.

Though it takes only till night-time for you to agree and Sanemi gives you that tender smile of his, gently taking your hand and guiding you to his room.

"I knew you'd agree, since you're just the best," he laughs gently as he sits you down on the soft mattress, reaching over to brush some hair from your face. "My darling girl..."

You hadn't known Sanemi could look so sweet, so ravenous; his hunger a bottomless abyss, his love an endless well. He thumbs at your lips.

"Though I'm worried," he croons, suddenly gripping your jaw and making you face him. "You're such a delicate thing, you won't be able to take my cock so quickly. Tch, what a shame."

Your eyes are doe-wide now, blood rushing across your cheeks and making your cunt hot — you've never felt like this in your life. Sanemi... you hadn't expected him to be so filthy with his words immediately.

"That's fine though, I'll help you," he says with a sweet smile, as if sin wasn't clouding his eyes. He leans forward and he looks at you tenderly before capturing your lips with his; it's shy and a little awkward but god, Sanemi is desperate, grabbing your face as he peppers wet, feverish kisses against your lips. Taking your first kiss, your second, third, fourth, fifth...

You don't even realise he's deftly taken off your shirt and unclipped your red, lace bra, allowing your breasts to come spilling out and you whine, shy, trying to cover them up in the eyes of your best friend who only grins but removes your hands gently.

"No, no... You can't be doing that," laughs Sanemi. "I like'em, they're pretty, though that's only expected."

He takes your small hands and covers them with his larger, rough ones. He brings your fingers closer to his shirt, urging you to unbutton them with your own fragile fingertips, grinning as you starts kissing his chest with unsure, intoxicating lips that cause him to moan softly as you take off his shirt.

"So pretty," he coos, rubbing the base of your head as you kiss all the way down to his abdomen. "So good to me, always giving me the best gifts."

"'Nemi, I... 'm scared," you whispers against his skin and the rough pad of his thumb strokes the shape of your brow.

"So am I," he says softly, in that sincere tone you've known since you were young and he gently lifts you up so you're eye level as you both kneel on his bed. He holds your face like it's the moon. "But I trust you, and you trust me, right?"

You nod in his hands and he grins. "Atta girl." Then he's kissing you, languid and slow, keeping a hand on the back of your head so that you can't pull back. His other hand reaches for one of yours as you kiss him, lacing them together, teeth grazing your jaw momentarily as your free hand comes to drag nails against his skin.

Between those slow, sweet kisses from your best friend, you find that he looks so sweet with his wintry, moon-kissed hair from the dim light of your unconcealed window. He freezes, looking at you as though you were radiance, as you trace a finger from his strong forehead to his stronger nose — silvery scars almost glowing under the light as large hands made you shiver as he cupped your breasts, making you whimper under the searing heat of his hands.

Your delicate finger traces down the hollow of his throat and Sanemi's restraint begins to wave, his desire increasing tenfold.

You've been driving him crazy with want since the day he met you at that god forsaken ice-cream truck. His voice comes out rich and dark and thick with insanity, "You are sure about this? I do not want... God, I don't want you to regret this. We will only go as far as you please, only do whatever you want, I swear it."

You give an eager nod and he plants a chaste, lingering kiss against your mouth. You're not stupid, you know this isn't just 'practise', you know so badly what it really is. He loves you, too.

"'Nemi, please, touch me," you whisper.

"Okay, okay," he says with the lilt of murmuring brooks as he puts his svelte lips on your hair once, then twice, before move down to touch your soft stomach, tracing a line down to your belly button as he nips at your hips causing you to let out stuttered, breathy moans of his name.

"Nngh- 'N-Nemi," you say between choked breaths as his finger press against your lower back, almost moulding dimples into it.

"I know, baby, god, I know," he whispers, kissing directly above your womb, and it sends liquid lava — coarse and hot — through your veins, making you gut twist with pleasure. "We'll like this, I promise..."

He presses shaky fingers against your hips and you finally notice that dark, crazed glint in his eyes.

"'M gonna fuck you nice and good, 'm gonna fuck you full, you hear me?" Before you can even answer, he's ripping at your skirt and underwear, chucking them to the side. "I've gotta prep you first though."

You whine at the words, trying to grab at his erection though he stops you with three fingers — catching your wrist. "'Nemi, I- I don't need to be prepped."

"Sweet thing, you gotta be prepped," he says, and he gives you a dry, teasing smile, "I wouldn't be a good friend if I just shoved my cock inside you, dry and raw."

"What're you gonna do?" you ask through short, choppy breaths and he chuckles.

"Let's see..." he says, almost playful but he gives your nipple a sudden squeeze that causes you to jolt in his arms.

He's quick to lie down on the bed, still clothed by his bottom half, and he has you right against his rocky abdomen that is all smooth, supple skin and ridged muscle.

"Ride me," he says, one hand on your hip, rubbing soothing circles against the plump flesh. "Move your hips for me, my girl."

You place your delicate hands on his hardened chest, rippling scars flexing as you begin to shyly move your cunt against him. He hisses softly, cursing under his breath, vulgarities spilling like prayers from his mouth.

"You pretty thing," he whines, holding the sweet fat of your hip in his large hand, guiding you back and forth on his body — he wants to be used like a fucking toy, he doesn't give a shit, it's you for god's sake, you're all he's ever wanted.

His thumb tries to search for that sweet pearl between your legs, he almost panics that he might embarrass himself but you cry out as he brushes a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves. He grins.

"There, baby?" he asks as he begins to swipe at your clit as you ride his abs. Your toes are curling into the sheet as you hump desperately against him, crying out as you feel his bulge nudge against your rear as you move back and forth, nodding deliriously to his question, tears leaking like falling stars out your eyes.

Though it's his fingers that have you coming undone as you squirt over his body deliciously, nectar coating his body like a divine sheet.

You don't even have the chance to recover as he grabs both your hips and lifts you onto his face, you squeal and try to scurry off but his strong, veined arms keep you clamped onto his face.

"Fucking sit," he sneers and you whimper, the sound making Sanemi drunk.

You feel something hot and wet flatten against your folds, his tongue silky and burning as he drags it up and down, inhaling like a man starved. "Always wan'ed to try this," he murmurs into your gorgeous pussy as he laps at it and you let out a high keen.

The sound seems reverberate in his lungs. You're all he fucking needs, wants.

You, and this sweet pussy of yours that's suffocating him in the most sweetest way possible, your hips bucking against him.

"Nngh-! O- oh god, 'Nemi," you cry out, trying to hold onto something as he keeps you firmly planted right atop his pretty face as your juices smear across his jaw and plump lips.

He's practically set you alight and crying with his tongue prodding inside your fluttering cunt, tasting you, nose bumping your gushy clit.

"You're so sweet," he groans against your pussy; the tender, pink muscle of his tongue hard at work as he made you see stars. All that left your panting mouth was feverish cries of his name to the point it was more like you were blabbering random syllables.

When you release onto his tongue, he doesn't waste a single drop — teeth almost gnashing at your cunt in his desperation to have it all inside him.

He gets you off his face and simply kisses you, nice and long, you desperately panting into his mouth, tasting your own nectar on his tongue but he just kisses you like a man starved.

"Baby," he whispers as he kisses the fat of your cheek, suckles on it a little before moving to that lovely curve of your jaw. "Wanna fuck you on my finger, my thighs-" He can barely breathe- "Wanna do it all but let me fuck you full first, hmm? We've practised enough for now, yeah?"

And you're quick to nod along to his frenzied words, causing him to lay you down, kissing your neck sweetly before kneeling on the bed to kick off his boxers.

His cock is a pretty thing ― thick, pale; strong veins across the shaft, an angry, throbbing tip. At least seven inches or so, pearls of precum falling down as he holds it.

"You... Are you ready?" he asks gently. "We can stop now if you want, I don't mind, dumpling."

You freeze, tears welling your eyes. God, you really do love him. Dumpling. Even after all this frantic lust, he looked at you like you were his world, his best friend.

He smiles against your mouth when you kiss him and he keeps at it as he slowly pushes his bulbous head through that first tight ring of muscle that has you crying into his mouth.

"You're doing so well, my sweet girl," he hisses through his teeth as he kisses your neck, pushing in inch-by-inch, all slow and languid in hopes to avoid hurting you but he was inexperienced man, he couldn't help but thrust himself all the way in when he felt you squeeze him so tight.

"See, look, such a good girl, took all of me," he groans, smiling down at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

He begins to drag his cock out and then in, soon enough slamming into you over and over and over as you cry out, toes curling. He holds one of your hands with his, fingers interlacing as he cries out into your neck, too, your body causing every primal instinct in him to become this burning thing.

"F- fuck, y-you think 'm gonna let you- let you go to anyone else after this?" he says as he holds your waist to slam your cunt back into him with force, causing you to let out loud gasps as you keened his name. "You're fuckin' wrong. I'll be the only one to- to see you like this."

He knows he's muttering nonsense but you're so damn pretty as you come undone around his cock, squirting against his abdomen a second time and he's sobbing softly as he cums for the very first time right inside your gummy walls.

"Oh, fuck!" he cries and he starts peppering kisses all over your face. "I love you, I love you, I love you, ever since we were fucking kids, I love you."

He collapses next to you on the pillow, kissing your forehead a last time. "Thank you, baby," he murmurs.

As you catch your breath, Sanemi suddenly asks, "So... when should we get married?"

The question would shock anyone else but you're cute as always.

"I always wanted a Winter wedding!"

[mavrintarou]

[1:39PM] Kita Shinsuke

It's my (our) man's birthday! Of course, I couldn't forget his birthday. I don't think I can write a non-smut fic for him at all. Or more like... a non-breeding fic. This man just reeks of breeding kink, convince me otherwise. Oh and this is my first Soulmate au

Warning: 18+ let us just leave it at that (if you have been following me this long you know I rarely ever right sfw stuff...); older Shinsuke; as mentioned, soulmate au . Soulmates operated in a rather amusing manner and had a peculiar way of working. By purposefully parting a couple destined to be together and presenting them with formidable obstacles, no matter the cost or the duration, they would invariably defy the odds and ultimately find their way back to one another.

As soon as an individual reaches the age of seventeen, akin to the legendary red string of fate, the initials of their soulmate will manifest in red on their left pinky fingers. Once the pair entwines their pinkies, their initials will vanish, symbolizing the fulfillment of their destined connection.

While a few are fortunate enough to find their soulmates nearby, others must search the world to seek their destined partners.

Kita Shinsuke, at the age of thirty-three, has not found his soulmate. Each day, he is greeted by the persistent sight of red initials, serving as a reminder that his destined partner is still out there, perhaps patiently awaiting his arrival or diligently searching for their connection.

After his grandmother’s death a few months ago, he finally opened the letter she left behind.

My dearest Shin-boy,

By the time you read this, I will no longer be on Earth with you.

My kind-hearted boy, please go and search for your soulmate. Find them and do not waste any more time. I promise I will be at peace.

Love,

Your granny

It wasn’t that Shinsuke didn’t make an effort to find his soulmate. He firmly believed that their destined connection would eventually manifest, but he had limited time left with his grandmother and wanted to ensure she had the best life possible before he embarked on a lifelong journey with his soulmate. He trusted his soulmate would understand and empathize with the priority he placed on his grandmother’s well-being.

He cast a glance at his pinky, their initials glaring at him as if he kept them waiting for over sixteen years.

Shinsuke chuckled softly, speaking to himself, “I’m on my way, I’m on my way to you. Just hold on a little while longer.”

. .

As the gentle music played through the church, signaling the commencement of the wedding ceremony, Shinsuke turned his gaze. His cousin Tenkin, who shared a similar journey, had found his soulmate in his thirties, despite the challenges they faced along the way. And now, it was Shinsuke’s moment, his turn to find his soulmate.

Observing his cousin standing at the altar, eagerly awaiting his bride’s arrival, Shinsuke finally noticed the uncanny resemblance. Being born just weeks apart, with their fathers as brothers, it was clear why many considered them to be almost like twins, with Shinsuke being the elder of the two.

One by one, each bridesmaid walked down and stood in their position.

In the blink of an eye, the small smile on Shinsuke’s face vanished, replaced by a sudden jolt in his chest that felt like a punch to the heart. His right hand instinctively pressed against the racing heart, feeling its profound beats pulsating beneath his palm. Meanwhile, an aching sensation emanated from his left pinky, prompting him to turn his palm upward and witness the radiant glow of his soulmate’s initials.

He turned his head just in time to catch a glimpse of the final bridesmaid making her way down the aisle.

As the world around them faded into a blur, his focus narrowed solely on her. In that moment, she became everything he could see, the embodiment of his desires. She was undeniably the one – the soulmate. His soulmate.

. .

Y/n’s grip tightened on her left hand, attempting to shake off the persistent tingle that pulsated in her left pinky.

Her soulmate’s initial glowed and her heart has been racing nonstop at the mere thought of, they’re here, my soulmate is here amongst the crowd at Tenkin and Jessica’s wedding.

As she gracefully walked down the aisle, her heart started pounding, not from nervousness, but from a deep instinct that whispered her soulmate was seated among the pews, awaiting her arrival.

Maintaining her composure and pace as they had rehearsed, she reached a specific area, only to feel her heart racing and a tingling sensation coursing through her pinky beneath her pristine white gloves. From the corner of her eyes, she noticed a head turning, and her knees nearly buckled in response.

When she made it to the altar and stood beside the rest of the bridesmaids, her eyes immediately fell upon a pair that was looking directly at her.

There was no mistaking that he felt it as well, that he was her soulmate.

“You okay, Y/n?” Victoria, the other bridesmaid ask, noticing how quiet she was when they found their seating at the reception dinner.

Y/n looked up and quickly nodded and smiled, “yes, it’s been a long day and the wine isn’t helping – just making me tired.”

“That means you need to dance then!” Jessica grabbed her wrist, tugging her up from her seat and to the dance floor. “Dance off the tiredness, the night is still young!”

Despite having a glass of wine, Y/n remained sober, which was unusual for her since typically even a single glass was enough to make her feel slightly tipsy. As she swayed on the dance floor with the bridesmaids, her eyes meticulously scanned the crowd, yet she couldn’t catch a glimpse of those unique eyes or the silver hair that closely resembled Tenkin’s. It made her wonder if they were related.

Another thought crossed her mind, perhaps he left? She allowed herself a moment of relaxation, releasing the tension that had built up.

The music transitioned to a slow melody, and a flurry of couples hurried onto the dance floor to partake in a waltz.

Y/n glanced at the girls, ready to join them in leaving the dance floor, when she noticed their penetrating gaze fixed upon her. A slight frown formed on her face as she struggled to decipher their expressions. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Jessica swiftly grasped Y/n’s wrists, twirling her around, causing her breath to hitch in surprise. It was then that she realized the man she had been looking for was standing behind her all along. “Shinsuke, this is Y/l/n Y/n,” Jessica hurriedly introduced, “Y/n, meet Tenkin’s cousin, Kita Shinsuke.”

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat, no doubt that he was her soulmate. His name matched the initials that is throbbing on her finger. “Shinsuke, would you like to dance with her?” Jessica added, squeezing Y/n’s shoulders in excitement.

Y/n hastily attempted to mutter an excuse but Shinsuke confidently stepped forward, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he extended his left hand. “I would be delighted to dance with you, Y/n,” he said, his voice warm and inviting.

Y/n groaned as she could feel the girls quickly fixing her hair, and smoothing her dress. Jessica reaches to pull off her gloves, “you don’t need to wear these anymore.”

Y/n’s fists quickly clenched preventing her from taking them off. “No – my – my hands are cold.”

They frowned but nodded their head, not wasting a second longer. “Enjoy your dance!”

Y/n locked eyes with Shinsuke, letting out a shaky breath before placing her gloved left hand in his. Immediately, her heart raced faster than before and her hand zapped as if she was shocked by electricity.

Shinsuke’s hand closed around her small ones and gripped it tightly, pulling her closer and placing her hand on his shoulders. “Thank you, for sharing a dance with me,” he murmured,  he pulled her close, “is this okay?”

Y/n looked away, blushing profusely under his gaze. “Yes,” she murmured. She could not hear the music yet her body swayed with his lead. Her ears feel hot as it rang with how loud her heart was beating against her chest. His touch felt hot yet cool against hers and she yearned for more.

“Y/n.”

She hummed and looked up, catching his eyes, and noticing how they glowed at her.

“Do you feel it?” He whispered, his words resonating loud and clear as if they were meant only for her to hear.

She nodded her head, biting her lip, not trusting her voice at that moment.

A smile spread across his face, revealing a single dimple on his right cheek. “I feel it too,” he whispered, leaning in gradually until their foreheads gently touched. It was a simple yet intimate gesture between the two individuals who had just met but felt as though they had known each other for a lifetime.

To any onlooker, it would be evident that these two were soulmates. The intensity of their gaze and the effortless grace with which they waltz spoke volumes as if their souls have finally reunited in perfect harmony.

Once the music ended, her heart dropped slightly, her mind racing with what do we do now?

Shinsuke held onto her hand, a silent acknowledgment of the shared connection they both felt. “Will you come with me? Please?” he asked, his voice filled with earnestness.

Without a moment of hesitation, she nodded in agreement as he guide them away from the dance floor.

He guides them to an empty bench out on the garden terrace. He immediately shrugged off his suit jacket, placing it around her shoulders. “Please, have a seat.”

Y/n blushed under his gaze, God, he’s so handsome.

A gentle chuckle escaped Shinsuke’s lips as he gracefully lowered himself to one knee, causing her eyes to widen in surprise. He reached out for her gloved left hand, his thumb caressing her knuckles. “May I… remove it?” he asked, his voice filled with warmth and anticipation.

“Yes,” she whispered. A smile adorned his face, revealing both of his dimples and Y/n’s head tilt back as she lets out a groan, exclaiming, “you’re absolutely torturing me with your dimples.”

Shinsuke made a mental note of her weakness against his dimples, etching it into his memory. With a swift motion, he gently removed her glove and turned her palm upward, his gaze fixated on the initials engraved on her pinky.

His initials.

KS

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he locked eyes with her before glancing down at her soulmate mark. His thumb tenderly brushed over it, and this time, instead of tingling or jolts, a sense of calmness, warmth, and peace washed over him. Shinsuke’s breath trembled as he lift his left pinky, revealing his own soulmate mark – the initials that belong to her.

Y/n blinked, fighting back the tears that welled up in her eyes. She reached out and tenderly touched his mark, a bittersweet smile forming on her lips. “It took us sixteen years, but we finally found each other,” she whispered, her voice filled with emotions. “I shouldn’t complain,” she murmured, holding his hand, “some people wait an eternity to meet their soulmate. Sixteen years may have felt long, but what truly matters is that we found each other.” With determination in her eyes, she raised her pinky, a symbolic gesture. “I don’t want to waste any more time,” she declared, her words filled with a sense of urgency and desire to embrace their newfound connection.

“Me too,” Shinsuke whispered, linking his pinky with hers.

. .

The ring on Y/n’s finger shimmered, catching the light with a radiant sparkle. Just a few weeks after their fateful encounter, Y/n and Shinsuke exchanged vows in a small and intimate wedding ceremony. It was customary for soulmates to marry soon after finding each other, and both Shinsuke and Y/n were eager to seize the opportunity and avoid any further separation. Time was too precious to waste.

Stepping out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist, Shinsuke’s eyes widened as the dimly lit bedroom was suddenly brightened, illuminated by the flickering candles on the cake being carried by Y/n. After a tiring day out in the field, he indulged in a long shower, craving the comfort of his home and spending the rest of his day with his wife.  

“Happy birthday Shinsuke!”

He couldn’t remember the last time he celebrated his birthday with a cake and candles.

“Make a wish, Shin,” Y/n whispered, eyes gleaming with love.

He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them and blowing out the candles. Shinsuke takes the cake out of her hands and set it on their dresser before approaching her.

Y/n gazed into his eyes and immediately recognized the familiar look within them. Y/n discovered that Shinsuke wasn’t as sociable as Tenkin, but he spoke through his silence, specifically through his eyes.

As he was at the moment.

She lets out a hesitant laugh, knowing what is about to come with those dark and dilated eyes. They are illuminated with passion and love. Love just for her. Y/n backed up until her back was pressed against the wall and Shinsuke reached out to grasp her hips, pressing himself against her. “Shin…” she half moaned and gasped when his towel dropped from his waist, allowing her to feel his erect bulge pressing against her.

His fingers slowly began bunching up her nightgown from below the waist. “Y/n,” he whispered hoarsely into her ear, his voice barely audible, “I’ve made a wish…”

Y/n feels his fingers rubbing between her legs, she can feel his smile against her cheek as he discovers she wore no panties underneath. It has become futile wearing panties when he was just going to throw them at the end of the bed. “Y – yes and…”

“And are you going to make my wish come true?”

“If I can…”

“Oh, I know you can…” Shinsuke hooked an arm underneath one knee, hiking her leg around his hip. He rubs his cock along her pussy and she can feel his precum smearing along her slit. “Will you let me make love to you without a condom?”

Y/n trails her hands up and along his muscular tanned arms until she can cup his face, pulling his head down for a kiss. “It’s your birthday, my body, heart, and soul is yours, do as your please.”

With her permission, Shinsuke thrust inside her, feeling the complete rawness of skin-to-skin contact. “Fuck, you’re so tight… how are you so tight when we make love practically every night?”

Y/n kissed him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and lifting herself to wrap both her legs around his waist. Shinsuke easily held her, slowly creating a pace and savoring the euphoric bliss. “Can we throw away the condoms? I don’t think I can… go back to using them.”

“Do you want to make a baby, Shin?” Y/n rolled her hips, meeting his thrusts. “We will make a baby at the rate we are going if we don’t use condoms anymore.” She runs her finger through his hair, “you can’t get enough of me just as I can’t get enough of you…”

His breath is heavy as he contemplates her question, “I wanna have more time with you before we have kids,” he whispered against her lips, “we have only just found each other and we still have time before we start making babies.”

Y/n hummed, agreeing. “Babies?”

Shinsuke shifted her against the wall and began to fasten his thrusts. “Of course… babies… as many babies.”

Their bedroom began resonating with their moans and the sound of skin on skin.

“Shin,” Y/n moaned, “I’m – I’m ovulating – it may not be the best time to cum inside of me.” His hips only seemed to increase with deeper and harder penetration. “Shin… Shin – oh… I’m so…”

His grip on her thighs tighten as he came inside of her, and the thoughts of Y/n ovulating and him cumming inside of her fertile womb tipped him over the edge. Forget his words moments ago about waiting on making babies. “Let’s make a baby now…”

Y/n’s laugh echoed throughout their room as she unwrapped her legs from around his waist, Shinsuke assisted by gently helping her back on her feet. “There’s a high chance we just made one now.” She leaned herself onto the tip of her toes to press her lips against his, for a soft kiss. “But I would love to make a baby with you.”

“Babies,” he corrected, pecking her lips and walking backward, and pulling her along as they both fall onto their bed. “I want babies with you.”

. . .

E/n: I swear, he's just the sweetest man in my head. Now back to editing my other works... or creating new stuff...

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy

[thatchickwiththecamera]

If I'm There

This is from a request sent to me by @lma1986

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Female Reader

TW: Death, Loss, Grief.  

Any and all feedback is appreciated!

Y/N groaned upon entering the hotel room and flung her body onto the crisply made king sized bed. The pelican case she had been holding was discarded somewhere along her journey. Noah, her boyfriend of two years, simply smiled at her antics as he rolled their remaining bags into the entryway. 

Noah’s band, Bad Omens, had just wrapped up their latest North American tour with a four day run of shows across central and eastern Canada. Y/N was a member of the band’s visuals team and worked as the lighting and video technician alongside Matt at Front of House. Her and Noah met four years ago when she was running visuals for one of the bands supporting Bad Omens on tour. 

Noah, Matt, and Nicholas liked her work and decided to extend an offer to join their growing team prior to the next tour. After two years of working with Bad Omens and two years of tip-toeing around shared feelings, Noah finally asked her on a date and as they say, the rest is history. 

With this tour coming to a close, it meant that they had the next two weeks off to do whatever they wanted before the guys had to be back in Los Angeles to finish tracking the new album. Everyone was scheduled to fly back to their respective home states at various times throughout the next day. While all of the gear was to be freighted back to the LA to either be stored in the warehouse until the next tour or to be moved into the awaiting studio space for recording. 

“I am so ready to sleep in my own bed,” She exclaimed, voice slightly muffled by the pillows. “I think the mattresses in the bunks are getting worse with each tour.”

“Either that or we’re just finally starting to feel older.” he said, flopping down next to her, “I mean, we are almost thirty.” 

“Don’t remind me.” She groans.

Before she can raise the question of who gets first dibs at the shower, she is interrupted by the familiar sound of her sister’s ringtone chirping from the phone in the front pocket of her hoodie. 

“Yellow!” She tiredly exclaims, placing the phone on speaker. 

“Y/N” the serious tone of her sister's voice cuts through the speaker. 

She immediately sits up and looks over at Noah, now sporting a concerned look on his face that she was sure matched her own. 

Her sister rarely called her by her first name. Mainly using childhood nicknames. Never her given name. 

“What’s wrong?” Y/N questions. 

“Y/N…it's Olivia.” Her sister continued, voice shaky. “There’s been an accident.”

She went on to explain that Olivia, Y/N’s best friend since as long as she could remember, had been hit head on by a drunk driver on her way home from dinner with friends from work. She had been rushed to the local trauma center where the medical team had managed to stabilize her but they stated that the next 24 hours were going to be critical. 

Noah was immediately on the phone with Matt, who five minutes later knocked on their door ready to drive them to the airport. 

The small airport chapel was dark and empty. The smell of incense lingered in the air from a Mass held earlier in the day. Y/N sat quietly in the last pew staring up at the large crucifix hanging on the wall above the altar and tabernacle. 

Despite eventually developing a vehement disinterest in organized religion as an adult, Y/N had been raised in the Bible Belt of the deep south and had grown up in and out of church as a child and young adult. She had witnessed and experienced enough over the course of her life that made her unable to completely let go of the notion that there was a greater power at play somewhere in the universe. 

Her grandmother always expressed belief in the power of prayer and when her usual sage advice fell on the deaf ears of a stubborn teenager, she always told Y/N to ultimately pray about it. 

“Give it up to God,” she would say, “Put it in his hands.” 

There were no direct flights out of Toronto, which left them stuck at JFK in New York City for the next three hours due to a layover. Noah’s many years on the road made it possible for him to sleep pretty much anywhere despite his tall frame. But her anxiety prevented her from finding any respite of sleep on the uncomfortable metal chairs outside the gate. 

Which is why she now found herself sitting in the Our Lady of the Skies chapel talking to a wooden crucifix. 

“I don’t know how to talk to you or if you even are actually there and listening,” She states, eyes stinging from the tears that threatened to form, “But at this point I’m desperate.”

“If there is one person in this lifetime that deserves to live a long and fulfilling life it is her,” she continued, “she can be one of the most naive people I know, but she has only ever brought kindness and love into this world because of it.” 

“You’ve already taken so many from me…,” she pleads, unable to hold back the tears as a few escape and trail down her cheeks. “Please don’t take her too.” 

A moment later she felt the warmth of an arm wrap around her and turned to see Noah sit down next to her, their carry-ons bags sitting on the floor in the aisle next to the pew. 

She buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, placed a tender kiss on her head and held her close as she finally let the tears pour out. 

Upon landing in South Carolina, Y/N's sister met them at baggage claim. She looked as tired and spread thin as Y/N did. She knew just how much Olivia meant to her little sister, and also considered her a good friend. But her bond of friendship was no wear near as unbreakable as the one that had been built between Olivia and Y/N over the years.

She wrapped Y/N up into a tight hug and let her know that Olivia had been rushed back into emergency surgery about an hour before they had landed. They had found internal bleeding that was previously missed due to the severity of the initial trauma sustained in the crash, causing her previously stable condition to quickly deteriorate. 

Upon arriving at Columbia Memorial Hospital, they quickly located Olivia’s parents in the waiting room outside the Intensive Care Unit. Olivia’s mother, Mary grabbed Y/N in a  bone crushing hug the second she saw her, thanking them for coming as quickly as they did. She followed the band and knew the journey they had made to be there. Before they could speak further, a man dressed in surgical scrubs emerged from the large bay door. She felt Noah take her hand and give it a squeeze.

Mary walked over to the doctor. He grabbed her hands and shook his head. Y/N couldn’t hear the words he spoke, but Mary’s reaction to them told her all she needed to know. 

Olivia was gone.

Y/N felt numb. She felt her emotions shut down. She wanted to cry, to scream, to fall to her knees but her body just remained frozen in place for what felt like an eternity. Noah’s hand never left hers and his grip never faltered.

They briefly expressed their condolences to Mary and other member’s of their family before leaving them space to grieve. There was no reason for them to stay at the hospital while Mary began the heartbreaking task of preparing for her only child’s funeral. 

The drive to her sister’s house was silent. She showed Y/N and Noah to the guest room and left them to unpack and prepare for bed. 

Y/N found little sleep that night. As sunlight began to stream in through the bedroom window, she turned to peer at the clock on the nightstand. 

It read 6:00am. She quietly rose so as not to disturb Noah’s sleeping form in the bed next to her. She quickly dressed, grabbed her sneakers, and headed out the front door. 

Y/N ran. 

She ran until her lungs felt like broken shards of glass. 

She ran until her legs felt like they were made of jello.

She ran until her feet were numb and weighed heavy like cinder blocks.

In school, she ran after her first heartbreak, she ran when her father died of cancer, she ran when her mother became absent in her own grief leaving her and her sister to fend for themselves, until she would eventually pass as well. 

She ran when all of life's problems seemed to pile up as high as the peaks of Mount Everest and bare down on her shoulders. 

When life didn’t make sense, Y/N ran. 

Olivia had always been the one to run with her. When her own body would grow tired she would remain on the bench at the trailhead of the old high school cross country course, making sure Y/N knew she wasn’t alone. 

But now Olivia was gone and the bench by the trailhead sat empty save for the water bottle Y/N had discarded at the start of her run. She tried to ignore the empty spot as she set out on her second loop. 

As she circled around again she spotted a second water bottle sitting next to hers on the bench. She felt the already growing agitation stir inside her further at the idea of having to interact with a stranger on the course. She prayed they would just run their route and leave her alone. 

Halfway through her third loop she heard the sound of another person coming up from behind her and expected them to call out what side they would be passing her and continue their run. 

Instead the person fell into stride next to her. She turned her head, ready to tell the stranger to politely fuck off, but stopped when she saw Noah running next to her.

He didn’t say anything, just kept running, never leaving her side as they continued to complete two more loops. He knew this was something she had to do, and despite his own fatigue, he wasn’t going to let her do it alone. 

Toward the end of her fifth loop, she felt her legs start to give way. Her toes snagged on a root sticking up in the middle of the path and she waited for her body to hit the dirt. She thought that maybe she would just lay there for a while and let the earth swallow her whole, but the impact never came. 

Instead she felt Noah wrap his arms around her. Pulling her firmly into his chest. The weight of everything she tried to hold inside started to fracture and crumble around her. The emotion she tried to run from rebounded back like a lightning bolt striking her directly in the heart. She thrashed against his hold and hit the bottom of her fists against his chest. 

She screamed out in rage as the hot tears streamed down her face. But despite her best attempts at getting him to let go, his hold remained firm. Noah was sure that his chest was red by the time she finally relaxed in his arms. He took the opportunity to kneel down and scooped the sobbing figure of the woman he loved into his arms. She didn’t have the energy to protest as he carefully carried her home. 

The funeral took place four days later. It was held at St. Joseph's Cathedral downtown where four generations of Olivia’s family had been baptized, confirmed, married, and eulogized. She could not deny that the Mass her family prepared had been beautiful despite Y/N not knowing much about the ways and traditions of the Catholic Church. 

After the service, Mary came up to the both of them and thanked them again for traveling back like they did and for staying for the service. 

“You were the closest thing Olivia had to a sister and even though it may not have seemed like it at times, you were and still are like my second child.” She stated. “Thank you for being her friend and being in our lives.” 

Tears once again formed in her eyes as Mary pulled her in for one of her soul squeezing motherly hugs that Y/N learned to cherish over the years. 

“I love you so much” she said, reaching up to grab either side of Y/N’s face, wiping away the tears with the pads of her thumbs. “And I am so proud of you.”

“I love you too.” Y/N replied, before hugging the woman once again. 

The next day they were scheduled to fly back to LA, but not before visiting Olivia’s grave. It was covered in layers of floral arrangements and marked by a temporary placard with ‘Olivia Renee Barber” and her dates of birth and death engraved on dark metal. 

Noah stayed back as Y/N paid her respects. He wished that he could take all of her grief and carry it on his own shoulders so she didn’t have to weather the burden. He knew from his own experiences that she had to go through this process at her own pace. Loss was not linear and there were no magical boxes to check as you grieve and heal.

There was one thing he knew for absolute certain. As long as he was around, she would never go through anything in this world alone. He’d be there to catch her when she’d fall and just as he knew she’d do the same for him in return.

[creatorofarcadia]

I just finished Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield and it was wonderful. Definitely recommend, especially if you're a fan of the magnus archives.

Spoilers/theories:

I don't know about anyone else, but as a fan of call of cthulhu I can't see 'the centre' as anything other than a cult for the creature, similar to the cult that forms around cthulhu. The biggest indicator of this for me is the insignia for the centre - an eye. I can't see this corresponding to the creatures primary feature being a coincidence. To me the eye insignia has the same air as a religious symbol. The centre already knows what awaits the submarine when it sends them down - meaning this expedition might not be the first.

I also think the centre being a cult makes more sense in terms of Leah's release. If you're a research centre, dedicated to knowledge without moral concerns, why let Leah leave quarantine rather than observe her metamorphosis? They could have told Mirri nothing and kept Leah for months rather than risk missing anything. However, if these passangers aren't lab rats but sacrifices to a god, you don't need to keep her, you know her fate is sealed. She has been made a follower against her will - destined to become part of your gods domain.

The last thing that makes me view them as a kind of cult is this quote from the get together before the expedition:

During the toasts, I saw several people from the Centre standing with hands clasped in front of them or under their chins, the way you might expect to witness at a church event.

Anyway I'm kind of obsessed with this book if you couldn't tell.

[idrinkteawhenifeeldeadinside]

Pit Babe episode 3 rewatch/live commentary (part 1)

Turns out, the problem with the pic/gif thing come from my external hard drive and not tumblr, so i will edit this post later.

Human trafficking in broad daylight....

I know that we are all saying that Alan is a good man (and he really is) but not agreeing to SELL your friend is like the bare minimum....

And while Kenta is reaaly cute....

(edit) Can we take a minute to talk about the what actually happening here : Kenta is not just asking to Alan to sell Babe as a racer, no, he came fully aware of what fate await Babe and he still stand right there, smiling, while trying to buy his brother like his nothing more than a f*cking pure breed broodmare.

And don't try to tell me that Kenta doesn't know about Way and Tony's plan

Witnessing Alan rejecting Kenta/red racing offers is what prompted Jeff to start trusting and opening up to Alan ever so slightly

He look so ...sad....maybe for a tiny moment, he thought that Alan said yes

Charlie putting himself out there, showing his face to hundred if not thousand of viewer.....isn't he supposed to lay low......

"Hold the cam sweety "

Abandoning a puppy on the side of the road is a crime by the way

I love Sonic fashion sense...but that white and pink pants....my brain has a hard time comprehending the structure of those particular pants.

He's still one of the most beautiful being i ever saw in my life (Topten)

Did Kenta gave his location to Alan ? Did he text Babe ? Did Babe text him ?????( yeah no, why would Babe have Kenta's number)

"Yup, he's right on time"

"But i miss you🥺" Kenta deep deep in his unconscious....probably

That scene is giving "where the f*ck did the kids put my stuff ?"

Why are you still there Jeff ?

I mean that fair

Uncle, you practically ransacked the working station for your tools, anyone can tell you're stressed

I, for one, would love to see the X hunter team do somme publicity thing......

"Family isn't everyone safe place" truest word ever spoken in a series, Thank you Jeff !

The man who to stunned to speak

How and why is Uncle still single ???

If Jeff had a vision when Alan touched him, i'm ready to bet my inexistant money that it wasn't something church approved

Did they just deprive us of Alan and Jeff's first "diner en tête à tête" ?

As someone who experienced alcoholism very closely, Babe (and Way) relationship with alcohol break my heart (not gonna elaborate further on that one)

He just want to help Alan carry the burden....That why a love Babe so much

Did Way ever carried on with asking his "high society" acquaintance for help ? Or was he waiting for Xhunter to financially crumble so that Babe had no other choice than to go back to Tony with him ?

Aww no sleep over for the besties

He really did came running like a puppy 🤣

Babe, you can be so dense sometimes

Charlie's puppy eyes should be classified as a mass destruction weapon

Babe whole face softening and the little smile....he's sooo gone

Tada! I had to travel for work those past 2 days, so i didn't get to make the commentary for the whole ep....but see you tomorrow !

[lady-wallace]

Whumptober Day 27: Voiceless

Some Alucard whump for @whumptober today.

Prompt: Voiceless, laboratory, muzzled Fandom: Hellsing Character: Alucard

~~~~~~~

Read on Ao3

~~~~~~~

Day 27: Voiceless

An unfortunate incident leaves Alucard injured and captured by a mysterious faction who wish to use him for experimentation. Will Integra and the Hellsing organization be able to find him in time?

~~~~~~~

The fuzziness was an odd sensation. One Alucard was not familiar with. He didn’t know what had happened, why he felt this way.

He tried to move but found he couldn’t. His arms appeared to be stretched out to the sides, and he was held at the wrists in some mockery of the stigmata by something that vaguely burned

“The subject appears to be waking, Father Benedict.”

“Ah, wonderful. I have been looking forward to this moment for a long time. Finally seeing what makes Hellsing’s ultimate weapon tick.”

***

There were no formal introductions given. But Alucard parsed together enough information on his own. He seemed to be in some Vatican funded laboratory in the bowels of what he assumed were a church’s catacomb. Whatever this operation was, it was led by a man named Father Benedict; a stern, aging priest with a sharp, hypocritical eye for sinners.

The thing that bothered Alucard most was that he had little recollection of how he had ended up here. He vaguely remembered a mission, checking out a building. And after that everything fades away. The memory issues might have something to do with whatever they were pumping into him via the needle inserted into his neck. Some holy concoction of their own making, most likely.

“Just what do you think you’re going to do to Hellsing’s ultimate weapon?” Alucard asked, smirking.

The priest was nonplussed. “Furthering research into killing vampires.”

“Oh? Is that so? So you plan to torture me until you find out what you want to know? I don’t think my Master will take very kindly to you toying with her weapon.”

“Your master is the one who handed you over willingly,” the priest said with an attempt at being smug.

Alucard actually laughed, the sharp sound echoing around the stone walls.

“Really? Is that a fact, priest? The very thought of my Master Integra working with the Papists—heh, maybe you should try again. Are you not aware that lying in a sin?”

Father Benedict glowered. “It does not matter. You are not one of God’s creatures and you will die like every other vile beast of the field.”

“I could say the same for you,” Alucard said darkly. “How I will await the day that my Master comes to fetch me back and puts you in your place—a hole in unholy ground.”

The priest was obviously furious, though trying his best to hide it. He snapped at his assistant. “I’m done listening to it speak. Let’s muzzle the beast.”

Alucard laughed until they forced the muzzle over his mouth and nose. It had an inner plate made of blessed silver that was forced into his mouth, pressing against his tongue, burning. It did not break him yet though. He refused to be broken. He had had so much worse done to him than this and survived. He sneered behind the muzzle, piercing the priest with his eyes.

The man would inevitably meet the devil someday, but in the meantime, he would have to face Alucard.

***

They started with stakes. Consecrated silver, holy things, or so the priest claimed—blessed by a Cardinal or something. They stung, yes, but it was hardly consequential to Alucard. He’d had worse. It didn’t matter how many they drove into his body, through his cold heart. It would not kill a vampire as powerful as he was.

***

The holy water was next, poured into the healing holes riddling Alucard’s body once they finally pulled the stakes out. It burned, eating at his flesh before it could fully regenerate. Alucard growled behind the muzzle. This was admittedly more painful than the stakes. The smell of his acid-burned flesh wafted up, sickening.

“The sinful nature of the beast is apparent by how much it is affected,” the priest said with a cruel satisfaction.

Perhaps try pouring it over yourself and see how much better you react, Alucard would have snipped if he hadn’t been muzzled. Or does your piety truly hold up?

The burning continued, and Alucard began to worry just a bit. He had already been here for a while, and now the pain was starting to eat into his bones little by little.

Integra, he called inwardly. You had best collect your weapon before there is little left of him.

***

The holy water torture continued, with more creativity. As his wounds healed sluggishly, the priest put some into a syringe and pumped it directly into Alucard’s veins.

That was agony that he hadn’t quite expected. As he was reeling from that, his muzzle was partly removed, only for the holy water to be poured into his mouth via a funnel they shoved down his throat.

He finally screamed, his throat tearing, blood pouring from his mouth as his insides burned. He writhed against the restraints in an attempt to escape the agony.

“This method seems quite effective,” the priest noted for his assistant. “Unfortunately, it’s not the best battlefield method, but still…enlightening.”

Alucard spat a wad of bloody bile at the priest before his muzzle was shoved back over his face. He could no longer scream, only gurgle.

***

The next session, they used the holy water on his eyes.

***

Alucard had thought the blinding would be the worst thing they did to him. He knew he would heal eventually, especially with a little blood, but at the moment it was disorienting as he relied on his dulled senses to try and figure out what the priest was about to do to him next.

His muzzle was removed once again. He didn’t get the chance to spit more vitriol at the priest though before something else was shoved into his mouth, cranked until it forced his jaw open.

He had indeed thought burning his eyes out would have been the worst thing, but then he felt something closing around one of his fangs.

He growled in protest, trying to pull away, but his fang was wrenched out of his mouth with a sharp tug. Alucard screamed in desperation as the others were removed as well.

His mouth was full of blood by the time they were finished, and he slumped in the restraints.

“Now the great weapon is just a dog with no fangs,” the priest said with cruel satisfaction.

Blood dripped down Alucard’s chin. He had no reply. He had nothing. He felt himself drifting, and this time he didn’t bother to stop it.

***

He was woken by the sound of gunfire.

He still could not see, but he could sense a familiar presence.

Integra…

“Alucard!”

Hands briefly pressed to his cheeks before ripping off the muzzle. “My God, Alucard,” Integra breathed before shouting, “Help me get him down from here, dammit!”

She ripped out the needle that was still administering the drug to him.

More figures approached hurriedly. The chains holding Alucard were released and he slumped forward with a soft moan, caught by several hands before he was lowered to the floor.

“Go fetch a stretcher,” Integra said firmly.

“Can walk….” Alucard slurred.

“Hush,” Integra whispered, her hand on his face again, thumb just brushing the burns around his eyes. “They’ll burn for what they did to you. All of them will.”

Her fire bolstered him a bit, offering a little strength. “My Master,” he sighed wearily.

“Easy, Alucard, allow me to give you some blood.”

He felt her shift and heard a knife opening before the scent of Integra’s blood hit his nostrils.

He leaned forward eagerly and Integra cradled the back of his head, holding him upright as she pressed her bleeding arm to his mouth.

“Drink as much as you need,” she told him, running a hand through his matted hair. “You will heal, correct?”

Alucard hummed. “Yes…with time.”

“Then until then, rest easy,” Integra said softly as he lapped at her arm. “It’s my turn to watch over you.”

[immediatebreakfast]

If something could hold more weight in the argument of Victor and Henry's relationship as a possible romantic relationship, than Victor and Elizabeth, is their interactions in this chapter. Of course it should be said that the notions of friendship back then are very different from the notions of friendship today. So what we consider a romantic gesture, it might be general kindness expected of a friend. However, that doesn't mean we can ignore the possible queer subtext between Victor and Henry.

I thought that the symbolism of a worried husband taking careful care of his frightened and ill wife would stop last chapter, but boy I was wrong. Victor and Henry might as well go ahead and secretly swear marriage to eachother in front of the doors of a church while the moon is their only witness.

They care so much for eachother, they keep eachother balanced in an almost harmonic way. Henry is the emotional anchor that keeps Victor grounded and connected to reality, while Victor is the person that allows Henry to express all of his imagination and personality without judgement.

The whole scene of Victor introducing Clerval to his professors so they can not only know him, but approve the man who has caring for him so many months. How Henry is so carefully aware of Victor's emotions regarding science for the moment, to the point that he directs the flow of conversations as to not overwhelm Victor with what is now a delicate subject.

Victor finally allows himself to heal a little bit under the care of Henry, and at the same time he bitterly admits that he doesn't want to leave his side. Moreover, both of them delay Victor's return to Switzerland so they can continue to live and love in this pocket of happiness away from their standings in society. Surrounded by scholarly life that lets them cultivate their minds, and their hearts with their love for eachother.

"Excellent friend! how sincerely did you love me" Victor why don't you just cut the chase, and kiss him before going back to your home, and all of the fucked up family dynamics that await you.

One little tiny detail. I applaud Victor for somehow still keeping up with his university work while wasting away on a constant mental breakdown fueled by his desire of overcoming death through crimes against nature. That is an achievement that one should be proud of.

[simshousewindsor]

CORONATION PART 5: THE FINALE

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: And so, as her father and his father before him did, Her Majesty now moves in her procession down the length of this abbey, in her beautiful gown with its long purple train. And she wears, as we see her now, the Imperial State Crown. In her hands, the scepter and the rod. The signs, that in her hands, justice and mercy are never to be separated.

Shon Gableton [SNN]: Exiting the abbey for the first time, The Queen and Prince consort greet the awaiting photographers and sims.

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: History has been written and sung here today, in this warm and beautiful old building, where it has been written and sung for many hundred of years.

Shon Gableton [SNN]: Yes, but never before have we witnessed the crowning of the sovereign, or so many shared in her dedication, in this abbey church!

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: Her Majesty will hand the orb and scepter to a waiting footman before returning entering the 136-year-old Gold State coach.

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: The ride back to the palace should be far more comfortable for Her Majesty than the journey here.

Shon Gableton [SNN]: I can't believe they fit her large train inside.

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: Queen Katherine I and Prince Rainier are formally crowned and will now depart the abbey.

(crowd cheering)

Shon Gableton [SNN]: The crowd is going wild, Cameron! Her Majesty is very beloved by her sims.

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: Indeed.

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: We have thoroughly enjoyed watching the coronation of Queen Katherine I! We will be following Her Majesty's procession back to the palace where the entire royal family is expected to appear on the balcony. In the meantime, wow!

Shon Gableton [SNN]: Wow is right, Cameron! Can we talk about Prince Rainier! The first prince consort crowned, and he didn't kneel!

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: That was the biggest shock. I guess the monarchy is trying to appeal to the younger generation and eliminate many of those unsavory traditions.

Shon Gableton [SNN]: Crowds have lined Parliament Square Street as Her Majesty's procession passes.

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: You can even see a glimpse of the Duke and Duchess of Kent!

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: The procession is moving at a walking pace with four Windsor Greys pulling the Queens coach.

Shon Gableton [SNN]: Are those royal guards following the state coach?

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: They are the Queens Guards. I believe a total of twenty-four are amongst today's procession guarding Her Majesty.

Shon Gableton [SNN]: Such splendor!

Shon Gableton [SNN]: Oh! The Duke and Duchess of Kent!

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: Their Royal Highnesses are first behind the Queen.

Shon Gableton [SNN]: The Duke removed his hat!

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: The procession is rounding Memorial Arch and will soon be at The Mall.

Shon Gableton [SNN]: Yes. Her Majesty is almost home. As the procession enters The Mall, we get a glimpse of the Grenadier Guards who have just joined the final leg of the procession.

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: Upon returning to Buckingsim Palace, Their Majesties will receive a Royal Salute from the United Kingdom and Commonwealth Armed Forces who have been on parade all day. The Royal Salute will be followed by three cheers from the assembled service personnel, as a tribute from the Armed Forces on parade to The Queen and The Prince Consort on the day of Their Majesties’ Coronation.

Shon Gableton [SNN]: Just behind the Duke and Duchess of Kent are the Earl and Countess of Boykins.

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: The Duke appears to have put his hat back on. The wind must have calmed down more!

Shon Gableton [SNN]: I just love his hat!

Shon Gableton [SNN]: The Earl and Countess appear to have had a lovely coronation. Boykins House will be issuing an announcement in the coming days. Royal insiders speculate Their Royal Highnesses are announcing a tour.

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: So much to look forward to this year, Shon!

Shon Gableton [SNN]: As Queen Katherine enters the gates of Buckingsim Palace, we now look forward to the start of a glorious reign.

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: We do, indeed! Other members of the royal family arrived by car and will be making an appearance on the balcony with Her Majesty shortly. It's been a magnificent Coronation Day!

Shon Gableton [SNN]: It has, Cameron! I can't believe it's over.

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: Almost over! For me, the cherry on top of the cake is going to be the balcony wave! Coronation Day won't feel complete until Her Majesty greets her subjects from the palace!

Shon Gableton [SNN]: We'll be right back, after this commercial break, for the final moments of The Coronation of Queen Katherine I.

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: The Windenburg Royal Family appear on the balcony, with Her Majesty Queen Katherine I, as chants of "Hoorah, Hoorah!", "Long Live The Queen!" and choruses of 🎶God Save the Queen🎶 ring on.

Shon Gableton [SNN]: From us here at SNN, thank you for watching the Coronation of Queen Katherine I!

Cameron Dorly [SNN]: Long Live Queen Katherine I!

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[valyalyon]

2 Along Chasm Ridge

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CRY Master List or #LYONCRY

DIVIDERS

CW: Main girl is in a religious cult, cult tactics are used, vague religious mentions, young bride marrying cult leader, humiliation of mother of bride by cult leader, SMUT, mentions of blood, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. MDNI. 4.1K Words.

August 18, 2019.

All the families living in Chasm Ridge woke up early that Sunday morning to attend the wedding of their leader. By sunrise, most of the commune was standing outside the door to the church, waiting to be let in.

A few minutes after that, the head priest arrived and opened the doors. The first pew was exclusive to family and friends of the bride and groom, but every other pew was open to the public.

The church filled up as the priest took his place and the wedding party began to arrive.

Everyone in the church turned their attention to the priest as he began to speak, his old voice booming through the large church, “Our Holy King has called us all here to witness his wedding. Please rise for Cain Rey.”

All stood with one hive mind, numerous heads turning to the massive church doors, eyes focusing on the lone strong figure that walked in through the doors.

Each step he took was deafening, the whole cathedral shook and trembled under the weight of his power.

Seeing their King, some young women in the crowd blushed as they remembered their own intimate encounters with him.

He had been sleeping with a good handful of these 20+ year old girls living in the commune, but God would strike Cain down if he ever tried to recite any of their names.

He didn’t care about any of them, and he never did, so he would call them by the name of whatever flower he thought looked like the girl.

That was something his father had taught him, and he’d always said to “save your rose, marry her, love only her. Your wife is the most important decision you’ll make, and only a rose is fit to sustain the title.”

Cain walked through the church with a proud purpose on that day because the woman he was marrying was the rose he had always envisioned, and he had been lucky enough to find her.

He stopped at the altar, awaiting the rest of the party.

Next in line was the family of the bride and groom, but…

Well, the couple each lost a parent when they were teenagers and the commune’s former king Cephas had his funeral service held at this same church just the week before.

That left the mother of the bride, Beatrice Masson as the only family member to walk down the aisle. She walked slowly, in a red dress, holding onto a bouquet of pink roses, and smiling the crowd.

Cain wanted desperately to roll his eyes at the woman, but he kept a stoically neutral expression, moving towards her once she was closer.

In front of everyone, the man kissed his mother in law’s cheek, then guided her with his hand to her seat at the front of the pews in a private section for herself.

The mother stayed standing as Cain returned to his spot, watching his best man walk down the aisle with the maid of honor. Then, another groomsmen and another bridesmaid.

Everyone in the wedding party wore red except for Cain and his bride. The man was anxious to see her, whispering to his best man, “you seen her yet?”

“When we were all outside, yes… You’re making the right choice,” his buddy commented in a slight chuckle, “she’s way prettier than her sisters…”

Normally, the Holy King would have some righteous and angry response, but he was distracted as he heard the doors begin to open again.

The march began to play.

Ysabel felt nervous in a million ways in that moment, she knew how easy it could be for her to just pass out from the anxiety, but she ignored it all. She inhaled deeply, and smiled as she moved down the aisle.

All eyes were glued to the girl that had taken the King off the market, all judgements and envy out on full display in certain faces but no one dared say anything out loud.

It was true that the girl was beautiful, though.

Ysabel Solis was a short 18 year old woman, not even making it to five feet tall, with bronzed skin and natural fiery red hair. She had pale, baby blue eyes that were always so sensitive and sweet.

Her hair flowed naturally and at the top of her head she wore a crown laced with red roses but it was obscured by her veil.

Cain couldn’t take his deep blue eyes off the girl, just thinking she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and that he had made the right choice.

Once Ysabel was closer, Cain stepped down, taking her hand and helping her up to their place at the altar.

He held her hand confidently, and he looked at her with eyes that killed every other woman in the room, but swept Ysabel off her feet. He whispered to her for a moment, “you’re amazing…”

The girl blushed at him but replied back in a similarly quiet voice, “no, you…”

Cain smiled and squeezed her fingers as the Priest began speaking. From there, vows soon started.

“You are my rose. You are my Holy Queen, the one meant to be at my side when I enter Heaven. I promise to always be your protector…”

“To stand by your side in all moments, and to always show you that I love you,” his confession came as no surprise to Ysabel, who was already falling so hard for him.

“I promise to love you, to praise you, to pray for you, and to be your home forever,” her clear blue eyes looked into his dark blues, “I worship you, I know your love to be the ultimate safety…”

“I promise to be forever yours, my Holy King,” Ysabel’s lips trembled slightly, her eyes watering as she finished and attempted to collect herself.

Then the Priest was asking, “Cain Rey, do you take Ysabel Solis to be your wife? To love and protect as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Cain nodded his head, his smile stuck on his face as he squeezed the girl’s hands slightly.

“And do you, Ysabel Solis, take Cain Rey to be your husband?” The priest turned his attention to the woman as he continued, “To love and worship as long as you both shall live?”

Ysabel nodded her head, smiling up at Cain as she spoke, “I do.”

The best man handed the priest the couple’s rings, as the old man continued to speak, “these rings are a physical symbol of Heaven awaiting Cain and Ysabel as they make this commitment to one another.”

“In their rings, their love, and now as husband and wife, they have been given the keys to a peaceful, fruitful eternity,” the man handed each ring to the opposite individual.

Cain placed Ysabel’s ring first, speaking as he did, “this ring is yours as a reminder that I only love you. I promise to love and protect you forever. I’m yours.”

Ysabel smiled when it was her turn, even as she shook a little, “this ring is yours as a reminder that I only love you. I promise to love and worship you forever. I’m yours.”

“It is my honor to pronounce Cain and Ysabel, husband and wife. Cain, you may kiss your bride,” the priest stepped aside to let the couple have their moment as the applause began thundering through the church.

Cain pulled Ysabel close, then dipped her as he kissed her in front of the commune. He kissed her sweetly, not trying to make her look bad in front of anyone.

The couple went down the aisle together as rose petals were thrown at the end of each pew for them.

They went down the aisle quickly because as the applause got louder, Cain looked down and had noticed there was a foggy-disconnected look in his Ysabel’s eyes.

He wasn’t pleased about it and wanted to get her outside to ask her why she was looking that way.

Cain opened the backdoor of the private carriage he booked for wedding day, and helped Ysabel into it. The girl’s eyes were wide when he got in with her, “what?”

“You got a private horse drawn carriage for our wedding?” Her voice was squeaky and her eyes were full of tears, “you put so much thought into everything…”

“I did,” Cain said confidently, but quickly remembered the earlier expression in her eyes, “you were disconnected going down the aisle. Why? Are you regretting your decision already?”

Ysabel shook her head, moving to sit beside her husband, “I’m not. I don’t have good experiences with loud noises… It was making me anxious.”

The man blinked, seeing how close she was and sinking into bad thoughts, “oh, that makes a lot of sense. You out did yourself… You’re beyond beautiful, I can’t describe it.”

“Does it make you want to do anything to me?” She smiled up at him shyly, her light blue eyes clear and sweet, but her question so sexual.

“You know it does but now I’m curious, because you sound like a little dog,” Cain raised his brows and held her face in between his hands, “what did your past boyfriends do to you?”

She tried to shake her head, but he had her in place, so she looked him in the eye apologetically, “I’m a virgin as far as I’ve never had vaginal-penis sex or anal sex…

“But I had an ex boyfriend and there was kissing, oral, a finger,” Ysabel told Cain anything he wanted to know, without question. He was her King, he was the one she listened to and bowed to.

Cain smiled and kissed her, holding her head as his lips parted hers.

The woman’s heart beat rapidly as she worried about overstepping and making Cain angry, but she touched his face with her small hands as she returned his kisses.

The couple spent the entire drive to the reception making out, culminating in a heated arrival for both of them.

When they arrived, everything they had planned began to fall through in one major way. By the time they became aware of the issue, the couple had been sitting at the head table for a few minutes.

No one was allowed to wear white to the wedding, so no one but Ysabel was… until Beatrice joined the reception in a wedding dress and drunk as can be.

The older woman was walking around, talking to guests and slurring as she spoke, “yes, she’s my daughter! No, I’m not her… Don’t we look alike though? Makes sense why he picked her!”

Cain was annoyed at the sight, and whispered to his groomsmen, “someone better fix her dress.”

Beside her husband, Ysabel was starting to notice her mother among the crowd, and she sighed regretfully when she saw what her mother was wearing.

The bride turned her attention to her bridesmaids, who all shared Beatrice as their mother but had different fathers, “did you two know she was planning on wearing that?”

“No, but let her. It’s not a big deal,” Ysabel’s eldest half-sister, Blanche, sounded annoyed that her younger sister was even mentioning it.

“It’s my wedding,” the woman replied with a subdued voice, her light blue eyes going to her other sister, “do you not see an issue?”

“She’s wearing a dress, Belle, big deal!” Brigitte’s reply was just as angry, and she rolled her eyes at the girl, “you’re always so dramatic.”

Ysabel didn’t even have time to really respond to her sisters, as she heard a commotion.

“Why! Why did you do that?” Beatrice cried loudly, she was a drunk mess on the floor and her white dress was stained red with wine in one spot.

Above the woman, Cain’s groomsmen stood with empty wine glasses and curious, confused looks.

“What are you wearing, Beatrice?” Cain’s voice spoke up from beside his wife as he began to stand up.

Ysabel watched as her mother stood up in utter distress, “They spilled wine on me!”

“My bride is sitting beside me,” Cain shouted so loud that Beatrice’s face gave away her fear, “if she’s sitting beside me, I should see no white dresses dancing at my wedding. If Ysabel stands, she’s the only one in a white dress in this room.”

“The dress isn’t white! It’s cream, and they shouldn’t have spilled wine on me! I’m your mother in law!” Beatrice, irate in her drunkenness, screamed back at her leader.

Cain grabbed a bottle of wine from a stand beside the wedding table. He walked over to the woman and shoved her to the ground, pouring the entire bottle over her dress, shouting to the crowd as he finished the bottle, “GET ME ANOTHER!”

Beatrice was screaming, crying, and apologizing to Cain, but his groomsmen were already running back with more bottles of wine which Cain angrily snatched away from them to pour over the woman, “who the hell are you back talking?”

“You could be put to death for screaming to me like that. Next time, remember you’re my mother in law, and shut your fucking mouth,” Cain poured a second bottle over any white parts of her dress.

“It’s a sin to ruin a man’s wedding and the moment you walk in cosplaying as a man’s bride is the moment you embarrass yourself.”

Cain’s friends handed out bottles of wine to members of the commune to drink.

The third bottle of wine that was poured on Beatrice was opened by a father, who shuffled over and dumped it out onto her dress.

Within milliseconds, all the bottles that had been handed out to members of the commune were popping open and immediately being thrown onto Beatrice.

It was hard to tell if it was overkill but the reality was that the crowd was used to Beatrice’s behavior.

She got away with so much when Cephas was in charge, but under Cain… everyone knew things would be much different.

In more than just that way.

Eventually, Beatrice stormed out, angrily, but silently.

Cain returned to the head table and saw his wife, his eyes softening slightly as he noticed her anxious wide-eyed expression.

He looked at Ysabel as he offered his hand to her, “I’m sorry about that. Let’s end early and go home?”

Ysabel nodded her head, and took her husband’s hand, following him.

…

Cain gave Ysabel a brief tour of the home when they arrived with the tour ending in the master bedroom, “Excuse me, by the way. I need to use the bathroom real quick… Drank a lot at the reception.”

“Spilled a lot more than you drank,” the sweet girl’s comment was timid, and she turned to examine their room as the man disappeared into the bathroom.

His voice faded into the master bathroom, “she deserved it. She sinned, she was punished.”

When her husband disappeared into the bathroom, the woman got onto her knees and began to pray.

Let me love you like a woman… let me shine like a diamond.

She clasped her hands together, closing her eyes, “Father, let Cain always love me and let me always love Cain.”

He wasn’t in the bathroom for long, returning to the room as he heard the girl’s prayers. Cain walked to her side and sat down on the edge of the bed, not making a sound until she was done with her prayer.

When her eyes opened, her husband’s voice came from her left, saying, “How do you feel about everything, Ysabel? Tell me, honestly.”

The man expected her to have some complaints about what happened to her mother during the wedding. He expected her to call it all too much, to say that he had gone too far for her.

Her sweet eyes met his deep blue ones, and she pouted just a bit, her lip trembling slightly, “honestly? So sad we didn’t have a first dance.”

So, Ysabel’s husband stood and reached his hand out to her.

Dance me through the panic until I’m gathered safely in…

The girl took it without question, and Cain pulled her into a slow dance. With every turn, the girl felt herself falling more in love.

They shared a fire that Ysabel didn’t really understand, but they started humming a song as they moved along the empty space in the room.

Let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone…

Cain lead his wife in their first dance, but their bodies understood one another without any words.

She followed him so easily.

In one moment, when he turned his bride, her ass pressed just right against his crotch.

Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon…

Ysabel, in feeling him, danced her body along his. She desired to please him, to be the best wife for him.

“Maybe you’re doing a little too much, my rose,” Cain inhaled sharply as he felt her ass grinding along his pants.

The girl pulled away, starting to walk away, but Cain pulled her back in, continuing their dance. This time, though, he started to help her out of her wedding dress.

Show me slowly what I only know the limits of and dance me to the end of love.

Ysabel turned to kiss him as her dress came off, and he was already leaning forward awaiting her. Their kiss was passionate, their tongues desperately trying to get to know each other better.

The bride unbuttoned Cain’s top as their kisses got more wet, saliva pooling between the two.

The man pulled his shirt off once the buttons had been undone by Ysabel, and he pulled her in by the waist, “I’m in love with you, Ysa, only you.”

“I love you, but you don’t mean that, unholy King,” the woman’s sweet voice teased the older man, and she fluttered her lashes up at him, “you’ve had so many women before me.”

“Yes, but I never loved any, and I won’t have any women after you, just you,” Cain lifted the girl easily and placed her on the bed to better ravage her.

He ate her out, wanting her to be wet, and hoping that he gave her better head than her ex.

Cain knew he was a bigger sinner than her, but he hated that anyone had touched her even a little bit. It was imperative for him to be the best at anything she’d ever felt, and anything she would feel in the future.

He never wanted to fail as a husband.

So his tongue worked in circles along her clit, then he pressed his thumb to it and began rubbing into her clit.

At the same time, his tongue began a trail down to her vagina, invading it with thirsty desire.

Ysabel moaned at every touch of his, especially as he ate her out. Her mind was racing, her fingers curling in his hair, “ohhh, Cain… feels sooo…”

The man pulled away, unbuckled his belt and took it off. When he looked down at the girl, laid on the bed, he wrapped the belt around her wrists and tightened it.

“What if I don’t want to be tied up?” Ysabel clutched her hands, looking up at Cain with a coy expression he’d never seen in a woman.

“What are you going to do? Complain? I think I can deal, I don’t mind hearing you talk,” the groom responded with a chuckle, then took off his pants and underwear.

The virgin bride’s eyes ran along her husband’s body, admiring his muscled form and then… He was easily ten inches, if not bigger. The woman was amazed.

“I could scream,” Ysabel mumbled as Cain approached her, spit flying down onto his cock that he stroked around the long shaft, “I’d be very loud.”

“I definitely don’t mind hearing you scream,” Cain replied with a chuckle, leaning down to kiss her on the mouth.

“You’re soo meaan, ahh,” the woman had started to protest just as he started to push his long, hard cock into her.

There was enough saliva between both bodies causing the sex to become passionate relatively quickly with Cain beginning to thrust his ten inches in to the small Ysabel faster each time.

She took every thrust with loud moans, her bound hands wrapped around her husband’s neck, and her lower body moving along to the feeling.

The young bride felt some pain from her first sexual experience, but she thought to embrace it would be better.

Every good woman was born to experience this pain for her husband, and how lucky was she that she got to marry a Leader, a religious figure, a very attractive man.

With each thrust, she rolled her hips along, panting and looking up at Cain with pleasure filled blue eyes.

His hands were greedy for her body, touching every surface of soft skin and kissing her every chance he got. At the same time, his lower body had a mind of its own.

Each thrust went harder, deeper. He felt the way her walls clutched around him, the tightness other worldly.

He knew Heaven was all theirs now and that there was no more looking back. From here on, only forward.

To Cain, it felt as if their souls were blending together, as if Ysabel’s body and her love were all made for him to enjoy but this moment…

This was the combining of souls that he knew would always be needed to rule over Chasm Ridge, and God had delivered this woman to him at the perfect time.

Ysabel was lost in her pleasure as she felt Cain speeding up inside her, her eyes closed and her head rolled back as she moaned happily.

“Fuck, I’ve got to fill you with my seed, I need it, I can’t pull out. Your pussy feels amazing, you feel unreal,” he leaned down to kiss the young woman, and she welcomed his lips.

His pace was intense, and Ysabel’s eyes were half open, her hips trying to match his every thrust with a well timed rhythm, “you do whatever you have to do…”

She let out another moan as his intensity drove her closer to the edge.

Then, she felt it.

The feeling of his cock pumping his load into her.

Torrents of gooey seed filled her womb and when she felt the final pumps of his cock, she began twitching and moaning against her groom’s still hard dick.

Cain groaned slightly, but thrusted deeper into the girl, making sure the cum got even deeper into her, “you’re the first woman I’ve ever cum inside of and I want you to really enjoy having my load in you, because I’m going to cum inside you every chance I get.”

Ysabel was coming back from another orgasmic peak, staring up at Cain as his thrusts continued.

“Ohh, Caaiin,” the girl moaned as another thrust caught her off guard, “are you just going to keep me as a sex toy?”

“For the rest of the night? Absolutely,” he littered her collarbone with kisses, rolling his hips against hers, “forever? Yes, but I’ll still let you live a life here and there… That way you get a break.”

Ysabel laughed as the man came up and the two shared another intimate kiss, as they fell into more sex.

…

When Cain fell asleep that night, it was sudden and immediately after his third nut into his new bride.

Ysabel went to the bathroom to pee.

She noted to herself that her new home was beautiful, and sat down on the toilet.

It took her a minute to force out the pee but when she did there was quite a lot. That made sense, she had also drunk during her wedding.

When she went to wipe, she immediately noticed that she had bled.

It made perfect sense to her though, Cain had been rougher than she had expected so of course he ended up causing her hymen to bleed.

She shook her head, not daring to think a bad thought about her husband. The girl cleaned herself with some soap and water, then returned to bed to join her husband.

Sorry for the delays in releasing this one!

I've been feeling like shit about myself and my writing lately so I've been writing very little and didn't want to post everything I had ready in case I ran out of stuff...

Regardless, I hope everyone enjoys this!

SONG REFERENCES

Let Me Love You Like a Woman by Lana del Rey

Dance Me to the End of Love by The Civil Wars

[avampyone]

Prompt #21: A long-awaited reunion

Characters: Hemlocke(Seraphine), Pierre Beaufort, mentions of Gloucent and Olivia.

Synopsis: Hemlocke has the opportunity to connect with his old tutor from when he lived in Ishgard.

Setting: During a mission in Sharlayan, The Last Stand.

Warning - none

-----------------------

It was well into the evening that Hemlocke was seen sitting across from an older elezen man with distinctly deep red hair and sideburns at one of the tables outside at the Last Stand. He was wearing the black robes of a Sharlayan professor, one of which that he himself could not help but to peer over to admire with a smile brightening his features, no matter how awkward he felt, “Teaching classes and married with two children, eh? It pleases me to see you so happy. And I happen to know personally that you are the best teacher one could ever wish for.”  He commented in all sincerity, taking another sip from his frozen coffee.

Pierre, always having been on the emotional side, brought up his handkerchief to press to his bright green gaze that was threatening to start tearing up again at any moment as he patted them delicately, “Yes, I have been incredibly happy! Although, I always hoped you would understand Gloucent gave me no choice but to leave…I knew it had been him all along. So, you say that he passed in the manor fire…good riddance.” He spoke in such a finality, like his spirits had been lifted from the knowledge he'd been right to suspect him, and that Olivia had been avenged.

“If only I had been able to take you two to Sharlayan  before it all happened…” Hemlocke reached to grab Pierre’s gloved hand in his own to hold in a gentle squeeze and shake his head, bloody depths glinting as if to plead him to think otherwise, “Please do not blame yourself. It was not your fault at all. Our lives were changed by your presence there, you know? Even after witnessing such unpleasantries, you still sought to stay with us…” He knew well now that Gloucent would have kept dragging them back no matter how far they tried to run.

“Our memories together are still those of which I think of fondly. And well...I also wanted to give you this. It was last thing I retrieved when I was running out of the manor. I know she would have liked you to have it...” Hemlocke had always been a clever kid, enough to know that Pierre had loved Olivia and the two had been a secret item for a time until the day of her passing.

Maybe it would have been wrong in the eyes of the church had anyone found out, but he hadn’t cared so long as to see the two happy. Taking a moment to reach down, he brought out a small white container from his satchel to open and present a wide tooth wooden comb decorated with an ornate gold filigree.

To see this, Pierre’s eyes widened when he carefully reached to pick up the comb to carefully brush the pad of his thumb over the surface – like he was reconnecting with those better times, “I still cannot help but hold love for her and for you, Seraphine. I’ve thought of you as my own son, and I still do...” He sniffled into the handkerchief with heavy tears threatening to roll down again.

Hemlocke was about to say something more, but suddenly felt those hands on his cheeks and groaned a little with a flush of embarrassment to feel Pierre’s fingers suddenly pinch them outward as far as they could go as if to inspect something himself, “And look at you now! Back then, I admit I was worried that you always only ever seemed a shade of a boy...but I think this travel has done you well! All grown up now too...”

A gasp of a little surprise escaped Hemlocke when he suddenly embraced him and brought him in close to sob suddenly against his shoulder. He was not sure how he would explain his wet shirt, but he chuckled out loud in amusement and patted gently at his back, “Oh come now...t-this is a little embarrassing you know? Eheh, still wonderful to know some things never change!”

[scotianostra]

On 28th February, 1539, Thomas Forret, the Vicar of Dollar, John Keillor and John Beveridge, two black-friars, Duncan Simpson a priest, and a gentleman named Robert Forrester, were all burned together on the Castle Hill on a charge of heresy.

The persecution of Protestants in Scotland, at least if measured in martyrdoms, peaked in 1539, shortly after Cardinal David Beaton, a zealous opponent of reform, was appointed primate of the country, although from the info I have picked up one John Lauder, would have been the man condemning these men, he was Scotland’s Public Accuser of Heretics at the times. Heretics being anyone who didn’t follow the Catholic faith.

Of the five “heresiarchs” executed in Edinburgh, none had quite so fascinating a tale as Thomas Forret, an Augustinian monk turned Vicar whose passion for Scripture and preaching, coupled with frank observation of the institutional Church’s doctrinal and practical failings, earned him a place at the stake at the crest of the Royal Mile, just east of Edinburgh Castle.

Forret had been warned by the high heid yins about his behaviour on the pulpit a few times, one occasion said his sermons might lead to “make the people thinke” but, a very smart man, he rebuked the accusations of going against the lords work by quoting scriptures and his quick wit. At the time in Scotland the sermons were traditionally performed by “Black Friars” and “Grey Friars” That’s Dominican and Franciscan Monks to you and I!

It would all come undone in 1539 when Forret attended the wedding of the Priest of Tullibody, which attendance, no less than the marriage itself, flouted the Church’s stance position on clerical celibacy. Forret had added insult to injury by eating meat at his fellow curate’s wedding celebration, despite the fact that it was Lent.

So grievous were Forret’s collective crimes that, at his trial, he was condemned to death “without anie place for recantatioun.”

Subsequently brought to the place of his execution, a certain Friar Hardbuckell encouraged him to save his soul by confessing his faith in God. “I beleeve in God,” Forret replied. Hardbuckell then encouraged him to confess his faith in the Virgin Mary by adding the words “and in our Ladie.” Forret answered, “I beleeve as our Ladie beleeveth,” thereby maintaining to the end the perfect and full sufficiency of Christ’s saving work for sinners.

Forret’s wit and knowledge of Scripture stayed with him to his very last breath. Having been preceded to the gallows by one of his fellow martyrs, Forret called the same a “wily fellow” who wished to arrive at the feast awaiting them in heaven before the others in order to secure a good seat. As the noose was placed around his neck, he began to recite Psalm 51 in Latin: Misere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam tuam. “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love.” Thus he continued “till they pulled the stoole frome under his feete, and so wirried [hanged], and after burnt him.”

Pics are of a memorail stone and bridge over the River Devon between the village of Blairingone and Dollar on the border of Clackmannanshire and Kinross-shire

Much more on the unfortunate man here https://www.reformation21.org/.../scotlands-protestant...

[takingstockofwhatmattersmost]

A Trip Through The Ages (No One Loves For Free)

the morning sun caresses the room, stirring life with coffee in hand, Angelou's words...fresh her wisdom, a constant marvel, unchanged since my school days when I first consumed her today, overwhelmed by her insight guys like us, rejecting all that's soft in the philosophers we revered...study despite the disdain, seductively loathsome insignificant, at best, in highbrow conversations only men's opinions are deemed valuable feigning indifference to their score donning tight trousers, attempting to tempt

basking in the autumn sun as clouds gather desires of youth and flesh swirling thank you, Angelou, for the enlightenment trying to appear nonchalant, cheeks blazing we sat still, unmoving, and reluctant to flee enduring the thorns of filthy desires navigating the swamp of misogyny until we reached Wollstonecraft's teachings realizing both Bell Hooks and Hannah Arendt shared much their dread of men, each in her own way Hooks feared herself, Arendt feared her allure did their fear flatter or reject their femininity

always cast as the dreaded, unwanted male our harsh drawing them into temptation our masculine, a deadly allure, irresistible yet...how could we not cherish Angelou "There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you" those adolescent, poet-wannabes in a room mesmerized by music, letting the meanings drift lost in the psalm-like rhythms...we succumbed some attempted to be dutiful souls religious seekers in Teacher's convoluted debates held accountable, yet utterly powerless a sensible man would have howled before God

as naïve students, we were stunned to unravel men's desires; their yearnings are younger than we expected Angelou lusted after a younger soul Guy, her son, no one knows his pain Dickinson, akin to Poe, fixated on the young imposing her will on innocence, unprepared a Pygmalion complex! crafting the submissive doll molding obedience, expecting abandonment it was then i parted ways with poetry a minor sacrifice, despite my devotion to it

we were a band of innocent optimists evil, an unfathomable concept now, by my side, a soul versed in evils familiar with errors, material and spiritual handling them deftly, like changing a lock he prays at chosen moments, designated places (At meals, in church), while i pray without structure, sporadically like a lingering fever, desires waning faith dwells, yet questions with each heartbeat

afternoon arrives, meade in hand engaged with Wollstonecraft "No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks" [true. we choose, fearing wrath] an indirect jab at Angelou, i can only presume Hooks' disdain for denying the erotic for it demands acknowledgment before dismissal contemplating her father's stern repression of all things sexual, warping young Bell Hooks yet submitting to her father's authority choosing her father over her Rosa

Hooks speaks truth: deny the erotic and it beckons attention acknowledgment must precede rejection and what of her "Repetition," a theory perhaps rooted in her belief that she could rewrite her courtship with Rosa this time with a joyful resolution while she awaited her...eternally seventeen but within two years, they would tie the knot she longed to create from memories, not the present utilizing ideas, not people

sipping my meader, musing over either/or particularly either, centered on hapless Lenore many encounters with Arendt and Hooks...and Poe now he understood the game he escorted Lenore to the opera once and after Mozart's overture rang out Poe stood up, declaring, "We're leaving now You've witnessed the best: the anticipation of pleasure." in his protracted discourse on the subject he insisted the performance was the essence was the overture merely a prelude? Poor Lenore should've seen the adornment coming

in disguise, he poeticized his voice echoing: Lenore's beauty fleeting like a blossoming night flower, wilted by dawn a relic of one night with Guy de Vere Poe, veiled by romantic notions visualized Lenore as eternally youthful his interpretation naïvely blind innocent sopranos, ready for Lenore...mere myths maybe his diva did dally with de Vere moments before stepping out, believing it enhanced her allure as backstage whispers claim, weakening his resolve

Maya...help me help you Edgar is being a dullit Lenore has so much more to give and the poet philosophers...

...well they know nothing of love and lust as we are all still students learning from a Teacher

[theroseceleste]

Jessica - @ Lizzie_Miggy on Twitter commissioned me to write a Bridgerton inspired AU for our lovely comic book Miguel O'Hara and her OC Lizzie Cunningham.

A Duke who has already suffered loss, reluctantly marries again. Will he allow himself to move on and embrace his second chance with love?

Thank you so much Jessica for the opportunity to write about comic book Miguel and your OC and explore the setting of Bridgerton.

Contains : 18+ - Minors DNI - Wedding day, wedding night, SMUT : oral, fingering, first time sex for OC.

Word count : 6805

Any interaction with post such as liking, commenting or reblogging is greatly appreciated. Thank you xx

Enjoy! xx

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Elizabeth Cunningham stands before her tall looking glass in her chambers. Her emerald green eyes wander over her elegant reflection. A slim-fitting silk wedding dress with a lace overlay adorns her beautiful form. A shakey, nervous breath escapes her parted lips as her gloved fingers trace delicately over the intricate lace design. Her long, dark, wavy brown hair is styled in a bun formed of tight ringlets, while a long ribbon of her wavy locks sweeps over her face and wraps around the elaborate arrangement at the back. A veil sits proudly atop the hairstyle, its smooth netted material drapes down her back, ready to conceal her face with the time comes.

Today is the day. A day that she has been waiting for what seems like an eternity. A day she gets to marry the man she truly loves - Duke Miguel O’Hara Fitzroy. Their long journey of courtship had come to a close and a new chapter of their lives together will soon begin. Their relationship did have its challenges. Reluctance on his part being one of them. A feeling born from grief over a lost first love, his first wife and mother to his daughter Gabriella.

Elizabeth leaves her bedroom for the last time, for today, after the wedding, she’ll be the new Duchess and will be living at her husband’s estate. The bride will miss her old room as it provides a certain comfort to her, a level of security that she grew up with in her family home. In fact, she’ll miss the grand house in Mayfair she lived in her whole life just as much as her bedroom. The family home contains countless memories of a happy childhood.

A whinny from a horse outside the house alerts her that her carriage awaits. It is time…

‘Lizzie’ - as she’s better known by close friends and family - watches the ton go by as her elegant horse-drawn carriage takes her to the church. The rest of the world continues with their normal lives as she’s about to embark on a new stage in hers.

Her father joins her in the carriage. He's proud to be the one to escort her down the aisle and give her away to the Duke. His darling girl will become the new Duchess. A title grander than anything a nobleman would give her. She is a vision of beauty in his eyes, but he supposes he’s biassed. He thinks Duke Miguel O’Hara Fitzroy should consider himself a lucky man, being given a second chance in love and marriage.

Church bells ring merrily as the carriage comes to a gentle stop outside. Not only will the rest of her close family be in there, but the King himself, the Duke’s mother, and his daughter will bear witness to their union.

   This dreamlike moment is becoming more and more a reality as time passes by. Pre-wedding nerves flutter like butterflies inside her as she is assisted out of the carriage gracefully and brought to the church doors.

Entering the house of worship, Lizzie can hear the hushed voices inside as the bells stop ringing. Silence falls upon the ton.

“Are you ready my darling girl?” her father asks in a low whisper as he holds out his arm for her to take delicately.

The blushing bride nods with an excited and nervous smile. Her hand rests on top of Lord Cunningham’s arm.

A large oak door stands between Lizzie and her future. She takes in a deep breath to calm her thumping heart and settle her buzzing nerves. With a loud creak, the door opens slowly. A sea of wooden pews stand before her, and at the other end of the aisle are her family and most importantly, the Duke.

Sun rays dazzle through the large windows, illuminating the pure white walls of the church. The groom stands there facing the altar. As he waits, he holds both of his hands together in front of him. His formal red military attire takes her breath away as she watches him from afar. The uniform compliments his build, making him look rather dashing.

As the Duke’s back is turned, the sunlight shines upon his dark brown hair, highlighting a deep red tint to it.

Either side of the aisle, bouquets of white and pink flowers sit on the end of each pew. At either side of the altar, two large elegant vases stand atop plinths with flowers and verdant leaves spilling out, cascading down the sides in a beautiful display.

The train of her silk and lace wedding dress slides along the smooth floor of the church as her father guides her slowly.

On the left, her family watches in awe at the elegant girl before them. On the right, the King and the Duke’s mother smile in approval at the stunning bride for their son.

Upon hearing slow footsteps approach from behind, the Duke finally turns. He probably feels the most nervous of all about his marriage to Lady Cunningham. Pressure has been mounting from his mother and father to marry, and the longer he courted Elizabeth, unpleasant gossip within the noble society prompted the Duke into proposing.

As of right now, however, he is blown away by her beauty. She is presented in a modest manner, but looks exquisite all the same. Their eyes meet after he turns to watch her as they reach the end of the aisle. The father of the bride bows to the King and then his daughter’s future husband, before taking his seat with the rest of his family.

After giving her own polite curtsey, Lady Cunningham looks up at her groom and smiles. Even through her veil, her green eyes shine brightly. Despite the nerves he feels, his expression remains fairly neutral, not revealing much in the way of feeling and emotion. Eventually, they turn to the altar to begin proceedings.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest begins. “We have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and woman in Holy Matrimony.”

Silence rains within the church as all the guests listen.

“The union of husband and wife is intended by God for the mutual joy; for the help and comfort given to each other in prosperity and adversity; and, when it is God’s will, for the procreation of children and their nurture in the knowledge and love of the Lord.”

The soon to be new Duchess blushes at the priest’s words, ‘procreation of children’, feeling thankful that the veil should help neutralise the pink hue on her cheeks.

“Therefore marriage is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, deliberately and in accordance with the purposes for which it was instituted by God.”

A pang of trepidation shoots through the Duke’s heart as his eyes remain fixed on the priest. He knows Elizabeth’s true feelings, but he worries his reluctance will affect them both.

“Into this union Lady Elizabeth Cunninham and Duke Miguel O’Hara Fitzroy now come to be joined. If any of you can show just cause why they may not be lawfully wed, speak now, or else forever hold your peace.”

The silence within the church remains resolute as no-one comes forth and speaks out, much to Lizzie’s relief. She subtly releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“I charge you both, here in the presence of God and the witness of this company, that if either of you know any reason why you may not be married lawfully and in accordance with God’s Word, do now confess it.” The priest waits for any potential response from the couple.

Lady Cunningham has nothing to say and turns to gaze up towards her love. Her optimistic green eyes searching the Duke in silence.

Miguel swallows hard. He is lawfully within his right to marry, however he can’t help but feel hesitation, but does not open his mouth to speak.

Satisfied that neither of them have any reason not to continue with the marriage, the priest continues onto the next segment by turning to Lizzie.

“Lady Elizabeth Cunningham, will you have this man to be your husband; to live together with him in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honour and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful unto him as long as you both shall live?”

The sweetest smile grows across her pink, plump lips. “I will.” A promise she truly means. A promise she had been wanting to make to the Duke for such a long time. She felt it challenging to not cry with happiness in this moment, however she keeps her composure.

Now, the priest turns to the groom and repeats the question and waits for his response.

The Duke holds his answer for a moment longer than his bride. It’s not that he doesn’t want to marry her, however he has reservations that he hasn’t yet confided in anyone and now perhaps he feels it is too late to express his worries. Finally, he replies.

“I will.”

The priest now asks for the bride and groom to face one another in preparation of the exchanging of vows.

Miguel takes his lady’s right hand and repeats the vows he’s been given.

“In the name of God, I, Duke Miguel O’Hara Fitzroy, take you, Lady Elizabeth Cunningham, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death…” he pauses for a moment and swallows hard again. “This is my solemn vow.”

The groom releases his bride’s right hand. Now it is her turn to take his. His large hand dwarfs hers as she holds it, giving it a delicate squeeze. His heart warms as he feels her fingers tighten around his.

“In the name of God, I, Lady Elizabeth Cunningham, take you, Duke Miguel O’Hara Fitzroy, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.” Her words are spoken clearly and precisely without a single moment's hesitation. The pair release hands but remain facing one another as the priest takes a cushion bearing the rings to be exchanged by the bride and groom.

“Bless, O Lord, these rings are a symbol of the vows by which this man and this woman have bound themselves to each other through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

A chorus of “Amen,” follows the priest’s prayer to God to bless the rings.

Before placing the ring on his bride’s finger, he must remove her long silk glove. Taking her hand gently in his, he tugs at the material, causing it to slip down her arm with ease.

Now that her hand is bare, Duke Miguel takes Elizabeth’s ring from the white velvet cushion presented to him. Holding her left hand, he positions the ring just at her fingertip. This moment transports him back to his first marriage but he presses on as he feels his father’s eyes fixed on him.

“I give you this ring as a symbol of my love, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honour you, in the Name of the Father, and the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” After he speaks, the fine jewellery sits proudly on her ring finger.

The Duke’s ring is now lifted from the cushion as Elizabeth prepares to do the same.

It seems like an eternity sliding the gold metal band up his left ring finger as she speaks her vows. Each digit is so long and slender. She loves admiring his strong hands. Just doing this makes her feel giddy.

The priest now joins both the bride’s and groom’s right hand and begins to speak once more.

“Now that Lady Elizabeth Cunningham and Duke Miguel O’Hara Fitzroy have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and giving and receiving of rings, I pronounce that they are husband and wife, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” he pauses for a moment. “Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder.”

Another chorus of ‘Amen’ rings out from everyone within the church.

“Lady Elizabeth Cunningham and Duke Miguel O’Hara Fitzroy, having witnessed your vows of love to one another, it is my joy to present you to all gathered here as husband and wife,” he pauses to face Miguel. “You may kiss the bride.”

Elizabeth’s heart flutters at the priest’s permission for the Duke to kiss his bride. She waits patiently as he gently lifts her veil and leans in to give her a soft, delicate kiss on her lips. While he does it quickly, he feels her press into him which makes his heart pound momentarily.

Alone at last - in the carriage - the pair are on their way to the wedding’s reception. It feels strange to know that they’re married now. Strange how the deal is sealed by simply speaking a few words and sliding a ring on the bethrothed’s finger.

Sitting side by side, a slightly awkward silence rests between them. A well-manicured hand reaches out and takes the Duke’s, causing him to stir from his deep thoughts. The silent man looks down at his new Duchess and a soft smile breaks across his face.

“You look beautiful, my dear Elizabeth,” he whispers to her as he squeezes her hand back.

“Please, my love, call me Lizzie. We’re married now, we can act rather more familiar with one another.”

The handsome smile fades slightly as fear creeps up on him at her words.

“Of course - Lizzie,” His Grace repeats the affectionate name for his new wife as if testing it out on his tongue. He tries to smile again, but it does not reach his eyes.

With such a caring heart, Elizabeth can sense her new husband’s troubles but is not yet privy as to what they are. A feeling of concern washes over her. Another gentle squeeze presses against the Duke’s hand to provide some kind of reassurance. Silence falls once more within the carriage as it gently rocks down a road of the ton, on the way to his father’s palace.

In comparison to the number of guests at the church, the reception is certainly a lot busier. An array of colours fills a large room. Ladies, Viscountesses, and Baronesses brighten the place with the latest fashion. Some wear gowns of bright colours that dazzle, while others are sporting flattering paler shades. The male guests of course look handsome and sharply dressed for the joyous and momentous occasion.

An orchestra plays at one end of the room while a banquet for the guests is beautifully presented on a large table. An impressive five tier wedding cake stands proud, adorned with pink flowers wrapping around each layer elegantly.

Her Grace, Elizabeth, finds herself separated from her husband as she greets guests. Duke Miguel O’Hara Fitzroy appears to be speaking with his father who sits at the other end of the room. She receives bows and curtseys, compliments on her dress and the stunning reception that is being thrown in honour of their wedding. Between speaking with guests, the Duchess notices that the discussion between the King and his son is looking rather heated, despite speaking in hushed tones.

A little while later, the dancing begins. The bride and groom join hands and stand at the centre of the wide open space in which they will dance together. The orchestra begins to play, prompting the newly wed couple to waltz. The Duke and his new Duchess spin and twirl in beautiful circles around the dance floor. It seems his wife is rather well practised and performs with grace and elegance. She follows his lead as though she has danced with him for a lifetime.

In his gentle but firm hold, she stares up at Miguel as she tries to read how he is feeling as he looks subdued, hesitant and retiring. Occasionally she is met with a smile and kind eyes from the love of her life, making her heart flutter once more.

Curiosity still grows within her as to what his discussion with the King was about, but the Duke’s face is giving nothing away.

After their dance, many other couples begin to join them on the floor. Dancing and twirling under elaborately designed gilded candelabras hanging from the ceiling. Flames from the candles themselves flicker and sway in their own performances while illuminating the room as the sun starts to set, painting a golden glow through the windows and onto the walls.

By sundown, the Duchess has spoken to everyone in the room, including her now father-in-law, King Tyler Stone and Miguel’s mother, Conchata. They both seem very approving of their son’s new wife; he couldn’t have chosen a better candidate for his hand in marriage. They believe her optimistic outlook will brighten Miguel’s life, with the help of his beautiful daughter, Gabriella.

Climbing into a horse-drawn carriage once more, the bride and groom set off to their estate and her new home. As their carriage trundles down the dark roads, Lizzie notices that her husband has fallen silent once more.

“What was your discussion with the King about, my love?” she asks, doing her best to be careful on the subject.

The Duke sighs as his gaze remains on the view outside his window. Candle-lit street lamps pass by momentarily, illuminating the beautiful houses of Mayfair.

“He was just interfering in my business; pay no mind to it my dear.”

Her beautifully shaped brown eyebrows furrow at his response. “But it’s clearly upset you, Miguel-”

“It has not,” the groom interjects. While it is a response that cut his wife’s words short, it was not said sternly, or in a cold manner. However Elizabeth notices he is not looking at her. A strong sense of resolute willpower encourages her to persist. She will get to the bottom of this conundrum and fix whatever it is that has put her husband in a sombre mood.

A clear night sky twinkles above the pair as they climb out of the carriage after it arrives outside their grand home. The air is still warm and comfortable. Lizzie cannot wait to see her new home during the day. She’s sure the house’s beautiful features are hidden in the darkness that enshrouds it at night.

Arm in arm, the Duke leads his new wife into the family home, where his daughter is already sleeping. She had retired early from the wedding reception as it was approaching past her bedtime.

After tucking her in, Miguel gives Gabriella a soft and loving kiss on her forehead as she sleeps soundly.

Once the groom emerges from his daughter’s bed chambers, he reunites with his new Duchess.

“This will be your room,” he says softly as he guides her into a large bedroom, full of opulence and luxurious furniture.

Her Grace raises a questioning eyebrow at her husband.

“My room? And where is yours? Do we not have a marital bed?”

Miguel frowns at her questions. This is what he and his father were discussing earlier. The King was pressuring the Duke to ensure his new marriage was consummated on this night.

“I’ll just be along the corridor and on the right,” he answers, glossing over Lizzie’s final question.

Long ago, before he was married to his first wife, His Grace considered himself a ladies’ man. Many a woman swooned and flapped their feather fans at him as he passed. He enjoyed their attention, and loved to see how their faces blush when he paid any one of the lucky ladies a compliment.

Of course he calmed down once he found his wife. He was loyal and loving towards her. His daughter completed them as a family once she arrived. He was happy and full of contentment, nothing could bring him down… Except for his wife’s untimely passing.

His better half, his significant other, the sun to his moon - gone, and never coming back. His ‘ladies’ man’ persona, totally diminished.

After the mourning period, the King and his own mother began talking to him about remarrying. Something he felt reluctant to do. To keep the peace, after much deliberation and disagreement, he re-entered society.

Instantly he was swarmed by many young ladies, totally overwhelming him at balls and other social events; until one evening, one lady in particular caught his eye. While still displaying a level of attraction towards him, she seemed to care for him and his feelings, unlike the other ladies wanting to marry him for his title and status. She was indeed beautiful and a very talented young woman. However, his reluctance to marry made him draw out their courtship as long as he could, before feeling more pressure mounting on him, and his own guilt of taking up Lady Elizabeth Cunningham’s precious time searching for a husband in society.

His now wife shakes her head at her husband. This is not how things should be, and this is not how she wants it to go.

“What troubles you, my love?” she asks, stepping forward and taking his hands in hers. Tension stiffens his body, making him look more rigid as he feels her touch. She notices her groom try to pull away but her imploring emerald green eyes stops him in his tracks.

“Nothing troubles me-”

“Something clearly is,” she interjects. She hopes he will open up for her, but she is met with nothing. “Need I remind you of our vows we made just this morning?”

His Grace breaks eye contact and looks away, however his hands grip hers back.

“I, Elizabeth, take you, Miguel, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by-”

“I know!” His serious, wide eyes snap back to his wife. The pair remain standing before one another, their fingers interlinking.

“Did you not mean your promises to me and to God, Your Grace?” The fact that she refers to him as ‘Your Grace’ and not as her usual ‘my love’ or his actual name hits him hard. His expression softens before he lets out a long sigh.

“Of course I meant them, Lizzie…”

“Then what in God’s name is the matter?” The Duchess has kept her cool the whole day. Acting with grace and decorum despite experiencing several moments where her new husband hasn’t behaved with his new bride as she hoped. The desperation to understand his troubles is clear in her voice.

Silence - an all too familiar sound for her falls between them again. But before she speaks to prompt him further, the Duke begins to confess.

“I’m scared,” his voice almost breaks with emotion. A pause fills the air once again as he breathes heavily. Lizzie’s shocked, wide eyes are fixed on his.

“Scared of what?” she mutters, his confession almost renders her speechless.

“I’m scared - no - petrified that if I allow myself to get too close, I’ll…” He bows his head down, almost in shame. “I’ll lose you too…”

A surge of love floods her entire body as tears well up in her eyes. His words confirm that he does in fact feel love for her and relief washes over her.

“My love,” she begins as her hands rest upon either side of his face, “I understand your worry. But is it not better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all?”

The Duke considers her question in silence.

“We are married now, my love. We must embrace this.” Her thumbs caress his cheeks. “My love for you is as true as the days are bright and the nights are dark. From the moment we met, I have loved you. My feelings have never wavered, never dimmed, never waned. Instead, they have grown, like the warmth of the sun builds on a summer’s morning, resolute as mountains that bow to nothing and everlasting as the wedding band that encircles my finger.”

A beautiful smile breaks across her face the very moment she sees her words warm her husband’s heart. His expression softens, along with the rest of his body.

“It is my dream to be the one to make you happy, to be the one you wake up next to every morning and to be the one you see last at night. Please let me live my dream and you’ll never regret it… I swear it.”

“Oh, mi bonita…” A whisper rushes through his parted lips as his hands find her face. Long black eyelashes flutter at his touch, while her heart feels a similar sensation. There have been fleeting moments when she has heard him speak Spanish and it gives her a thrill each time. She doesn’t know much, but she understands that he just called her his pretty.

With such an unblemished reputation as hers, the Duchess had never been touched the way her husband is touching her now. His closeness takes her breath away. While it feels nice and very much welcome, it will take a while to get used to.

“Lo siento, mi amor.” His Duchess is right, it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. It’d be a miserable existence to be married and too afraid to show love and give affection. Even worse, to be married and to never feel love or affection. He couldn’t do that to Lizzie.

A hand slides from the side of her face to the back of her head. His fingertips getting lost in the bundle of curls collected together in a bun. A desire burns through him as he looks down at his new wife. He remembers her pressing into his kiss earlier at the church and would very much like to experience that again.

Her breath hitches as she feels him lean down closer to her. A series of gasps fill the room as his lips press against her forehead and travel delicately to her cheek and jawline. In the corner of his eye he watches her eyelids shut while her lashes flutter against the side of his face, tickling his skin. The sound of her soft breath emerges from her beautiful, kissable lips. The Duke wants to take his time. Make the moments she spent earlier being so tolerant with his behaviour worthwhile.

A smile spreads across his face as he feels her lean in against him, her parted lips in search for his own. More faltered breaths punctuate the sound of his tender kisses, the warm air fanning across his cheek.

She gasps as he misses her lips all together and plants kisses on the other side of her face. Her head turns the other way, following him as her search for his lips continues. It has become a game. She giggles while he chuckles as hands caress and their breathing quickens.

Lizzie’s search is becoming more desperate and Miguel finally relents. His lips travel slowly from her cheek down to her ready lips.

Both of their bodies come alive the moment he captures her mouth with his. Eyelashes flutter again as their kiss excites her.

She feels something warm and wet tease at her lips. His tongue seeks entry to deepen the kiss. A strange sensation but a welcome one. Lizzie has always wondered what a proper kiss feels like and now she’s finding out. Her fingers travel from his cheeks up into his wavy reddish-brown hair as she allows his tongue entry into her mouth.

Rocking forward, she stands on the balls of her feet to give herself extra height while his arms wrap around her, holding his wife close to him.

“I think…” His Grace begins before he quickly captures her lips and pulls away again. “I shall sleep in here after all…” A smile grows against his lips, upon hearing his comment.

“Excellent idea, my love…” Elizabeth replies before sighing sweetly, her husband’s lips have found her neck, peppering her skin with tender kisses and light grazes with his teeth. A grunt vibrates against her flesh as she grabs his hair and gently tugs it. The sensation shoots right down to between his legs, awakening a certain part of his body.

Pins that support the bridal hairstyle start to get pulled out one by one by the groom. He longs to see her beautiful, long, dark, brown hair frame her pretty face again. Intricate curls and ringlets fall, bouncing into place as he lets more of her hair down. His hand collects all the hair accessories and places them on the bedside table. As he does so, he continues to kiss his bride, showering her with the love that she deserves. Fingers run smoothly through her hair, loosening the curls until it resembles more of her normal style.

“There you are…” he whispers after pulling away, his eyes taking in the view of her gorgeous wavy mane. The Duchess giggles; she’s enjoying this side of him and can’t wait to experience it more.

Now that her hair is down, his hands focus on the buttons on the back of her dress. As the bridal gown loosens, his warm lips ignite tingling sensations coming alive from the side of her neck while he stands behind her. He hears soft moans and sighs come from her mouth as she tilts her head to one side, allowing him better access. A strange sensation pulses out from between her legs. A feeling she has never experienced before. It feels pleasant but it pushes her to want more, strengthening the urge for something she doesn’t yet fully understand.

“Such beautiful sounds, mi bonita…” he whispers against her skin as she unfastens the last of her buttons. Another lusty sound rings out from her parted lips. His Spanish makes her melt. 

Not much effort is required to let the dress slip down her shoulders and arms, collapsing in a half inflated heap on the floor. Now her short stays corset and the silk bottoms is all that is left for him to negotiate.

It isn’t long for them both to lay together on the luxurious four poster bed. An opulent canopy hangs above them. Hands roaming the skin of each other’s naked bodies as their lips are connected once more in a deep and passionate kiss. Fingertips leave goosebumps in their wake as they reach the crest of her perfect breasts. Her manicured hands traverse the sculpted muscles on his chest.

Then, he leans further forward over the top of her. Her smile falls slightly the moment she feels something hot and throbbing rest against her stomach. She can’t resist a look and almost yelps in surprise.

A strong hand gently cups her chin and pulls her head to make her look back at his face.

“Do not worry, mi amor. I’ll take great care of you,” he leans in close and kisses her lips quickly before speaking again. “I’ll go slowly, I’ll be tender and we can stop at any time if you so wish.”

Lizzie gives a slight nervous nod, but she trusts him unequivocally.

After dancing tight circles around her hardened nipples, his fingers slip further down her body. Over her ribs, over her stomach and slowing down where her legs join her hips.

“First, I need to make sure you’re ready for me, mi amor…” He watches her close her eyes and sigh as he calls her his love in Spanish. Her reaction to his second language makes him smile before planting more kisses against her neck. This time he adds the sensation of his tongue trailing tantalisingly on her skin, tasting her.

“M-Miguel…” she whispers softly. Feeling him lick and kiss her neck while his hands gently parts her legs is taking her breath away. Giving her sensations she’s not at all used to.

“You’re in good hands, my love.”

A bigger gasp fills the room as the tip of his middle finger begins to circle deliciously around her sensitive bud.

“Enjoy it, mi amor. Does it feel good?” he asks as he murmurs in her ear momentarily.

The blushing bride bites her lip and nods while she tries to stifle a moan.

As time passes, his fingers travel lower down over her entrance. He discovers his efforts so far have already excited her. Biting his lip, he looks down at her with a smile.

“You’re nearly ready…”

After coating his fingers in more of her arousal, he slowly runs them up and down his hardened shaft and around the tip.

The Duke repositions himself on top of his Duchess. His lips crash against hers in a fiery kiss, enjoying the feeling of her skin against his. He has missed this feeling of closeness and intimacy. Feeling glad that he has this opportunity again and allowing himself to enjoy it.

Lizzie’s body instinctively arches upwards against him, seeking more contact, more heat and looking for something that’ll calm her inexplicable urges.

Kisses, licks and nibbles proceed down her body, starting from her neck, over her collarbone before stopping at her breasts.

“Miguel!” she moans urgently as she feels his lips close around a nipple and suck on it gently. Her hands go straight into his hair, unable to resist keeping him there for a while. A warm pulse emits deep inside her core, bringing a fresh wave of arousal that threatens to seep from her needy pussy. All she hears is a warm chuckle against her skin in response.

“That’s it mi amor, enjoy me…” he finally mumbles after releasing her nipple.

Moving over to the other, he does the same again. Drawing it into his mouth with a delicious suck, prompting her to arch into his body and moan once more.

The attention from his mouth advances down her body after releasing her nipple. Tingles erupt around her flesh, generating goosebumps to flare all over her skin.

“I wager you taste exquisite…” he mumbles between kisses as he continues to move lower.

“Miguel… w-where are you go- oh!” Her hands grip the bed sheets as she feels his tongue tease her clit, bringing a different sensation to when he used his fingers. The added warmth and moisture from his mouth made it feel even more irresistible.

Flicking in a teasing manner, between sensual circles and tender sucks, his tongue works hard to bring her absolute pleasure.

“You do indeed taste wonderfully…” The vibrations from his words only add more to what she’s already feeling, making her go crazy.

Elizabeth is now done with stifling her louder moans. It only gets worse when she hears him begin to groan against her, dissolving her into a bigger mess than she’s already in.

Just when she thinks she couldn’t receive more stimulation down there, she feels two fingers brush up and down her sensitive folds again. But soon, they begin to enter gently. Teasing the tight entrance, opening the lips just slightly.

His Grace feels her body stiffen as he pushes his fingers in further.

“Breathe, mi amore, breathe and relax…” he instructs before sucking on her clit a little bit harder in an attempt to distract her from his fingers.

As per his instructions, she relaxes and begins to enjoy the alien sensation of his digits sliding gently in and out, twisting and turning. The bride closes her eyes once more. All of this pleasure is transporting her to cloud nine.

Finally, Miguel believes she’s as ready as she’ll ever be for him. Crawling back up to face her, caging her underneath him protectively, he whispers to her softly.

“As I said, I’ll go slowly and I’ll be gentle. This may hurt, just a tiny bit.”

They keep their eyes locked onto one another. His gaze searches her expression for any kind of pain as he slowly starts to take her. His hips push further and further forward with every passing second, until she gasps out loud and tenses. His Grace stops pushing immediately and waits for her to relax again.

“You’re doing so well, mi amor.” His words bring a smile to her face and her blush deepens.

He begins again, slowly pushing until the hilt of his cock meets her fully aroused entrance.

“There we go…” Another whisper fills her ear. With little movements, he pulls back slightly before pushing back in, testing her for her reaction. Moans erupt from her parted lips as he watches her brow furrow with pleasure.

Dainty hands rest on his sides as his thrusts begin to grow stronger. With every pump, his body ripples, making sure her sensitive bud gets attention from his perfectly defined hips.

Knowing that his bride is fully comfortable with him inside her, he allows his grunts and groans to join her beautiful moans and sighs. A symphony of pleasure in time to his expert lovemaking fills the room.

The bed creaks under his efforts, but neither of them care. They’re too wrapped in their intimate, passionate lovemaking.

The Duchess’ mind is totally blown. She feels complete with him inside her, thrusting and grinding away, filling her with nothing but pleasure and love.

A new sensation is starting to build, one that makes her brow furrow more as she cannot see where this will take her, but she knows it’s doing something to her. With every movement from her husband, the sensation grows stronger.

Miguel grins, he can feel that sensation in her grow too as she begins to clench around him. Squeezing him harder with each pump.

“Miguel… what… I’m feeling something new… I-”

“Hush… do not fear…” he whispers between thrusts. “Let it go… let it happen…” 

Her fingers grip his sides harder as she listens to him. Instinctively, her hips begin to move with him, making them both start a fresh chorus of moans and groans.

The Duke’s mouth hovers teasingly above hers, they exchange each other’s air as they stare into their spouse’s eyes, deepening that connection further still.

Movements get faster and perhaps a little harder. His Grace can tell that his wife is well on her way to her first ever climax.

“Let go, mi amor, good girl…” he praises her as he thrusts even harder.

She lets a sudden moan escape her lips, the loudest one so far. An even more pronounced back arch pushes her body into his, creating further friction between them and pushing her over the edge of pleasure.

“Oh! Miguel!” Lizzie cries out, totally lost to the sensations swirling and rushing through her body. All the while, His Grace watches admiringly, enjoying the view of his wife feeling the powerful orgasm he has just delivered her to.

“Si, mi amor, si…”

His thrusts increase in speed, giving him the stimulation he needs to join her at the peak of pleasure. Miguel certainly isn’t that far behind.

“Make more pretty noises for me, my love… please…” he begs as he pants heavily.

He’s desperate for that release. Desperate to give her every part of him. And he’s so, so close.

Every moan that parts from her lips edges him nearer. His hands ball up into fists, clenching the bed sheets. Every thrust is accompanied with a wild sounding grunt. He watches her body rock under his efforts. The sound, the feeling, the display all working together, bringing him to the cusp of his climax.

With one final pump, his body stiffens as tingles erupt everywhere all around his body, spreading like wildfire. A beautiful sensation he thought he’d never feel again.

The Duchess feels the deep pulsing within her as her husband climaxes and fills her with his seed.

Strong arms wrap around Elizabeth, allowing her to bury her head between his neck and shoulder as the throbs of his orgasm die down.

Laying with her back pressing against his front, they snuggle together in their marital bed, their marriage consummated on their wedding night. The afterglow shining brightly between them with no regrets whatsoever. The groom kisses the sensitive area near her ear as his hand glides up and down her arm on top.

“Te amo…” the Duke whispers softly.

A warm smile spreads across her lips as she wriggles further against him, making sure she fits perfectly.

Today has been her dream come true and she cannot wait to see what her new life will bring, with the man she loves so loyally and so truly.

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