#sacrilegious stitching

[bobceffula]

So I made this patch based on a text post that made me legitimately cackle before taking up residence in my brain for several weeks afterward. I attached a similar post, but I KNOW there’s one with this exact wording floating around tumblr somewhere, I just can’t locate it 😭 if anyone wants to do me a solid and send it to me and/or add it to this post, I’d be eternally grateful 🙌

[viciousewe]

I have been sewing on and off almost 10 years and I only made bias tape for the first time today just now.

[son-of-a-ghost]

Can I be a little sacrilegious on main for a moment?

Was intended to be a pin, but is much much bigger than what would be acceptable as a pin. Perhaps a bookmark though....

[ceesimz]

I Did It All.

"Alexia Putellas, what do you have to say about leaving the pitch for the final time?"

Twenty years done, not enough. Twenty years more, too much. A discrepancy far more complex than it needs to be.

Days spent treading the same grass that legends of the past had once done, winding and weaving fluidly through near faultless defences, roars of awe following as stars returned back to their rightful place in the sky with each jump of celebration.

Nights spent in clubs and restaurants, surrounded by people high on glory with medals around their necks, a privilege some may argue wasn't warranted. Though, when stadiums filled to their capacities chanted just one name over and over as if it was the holiest sacrament of Catalunya, fighting against that was as close to blasmephy as one could get.

To now slip off into the unknown, leaving behind only a name that no longer gave way to the presence of a figure the fields didn't deserve. The future would never know her, only her name, only her stats, only her achievements. Perhaps it was best to keep it that way.

Decades of critics speaking in such a way it was almost sacrilegious, months of shame in the media for purely being a human in the worst era of her life, weeks of slander and insults for fighting for rights in a system built to spite her, twisting her kindness into a weakness. But always, the rightful figure rises, pulling the sword from the stone and raising it to the skies in triumph. The crown could get heavy, but not once did it falter. Not once did it fall.

With the final few imprints of her boot studs as she stepped off of the turf, she simply relinquished the responsibility and handed the legacy over to the next generation, trusting them indefinitely to carry the honour in the same way she did. It wasn't just the handing over of a torch; it was the exchange of a rite of passage, a way of life, and a promise to uphold the standards of excellence and righteousness she had engraved into the sport she gave her life to. This passing of the baton wasn't solely focused on the end of something though, no, it was the beginning of something far more important than people could understand. It was time for the up-and-coming stars of the sport to take the pen and write their own chapters into the history books, encompassing the opportunity to build something even more empowering than those before them.

Allowing the armband she had worn with great pride to slip off her arm, she shed the weight of a thousand battles, all of the lessons she had learnt from each victory and each defeat now etched into every fibre of her being. The world watched as she exited the field for the last time, an understanding wordlessly divulged between millions at the recognition that this was a landmark moment.

Kaleidoscopes of nostalgia flitted past her eyes as if it were an old film roll, freeze-frames of time portraying unimaginably euphoric moments. Only for them to never be experienced again. Though every cheer, every chant, and every image of a shirt worn with her legacy stitched into the fabric of it, flooded through her veins, and would for evermore.

The high regard her peers held her to, whether she had come across them on the pitch time after time or never met them at all, was a testament to the irremovable mark she had left on the beautiful game. Other countless memorable figures that were desperate to meet her, brands desperate to work with her, all these examples of her undeniable impact.

Alexia Putellas never cared about being immortalised in her sport. She was just a girl from the outskirts of Barcelona, chasing a dream with her loved ones holding her hand along the journey. Some of those hands had slipped away as time went on, but that meant she only gained more guardian angels to watch over her. With a family as tight-knit as hers, each member past and present a constant reminder of her purpose, she never lost faith. Sure, there were moments where it faltered a little, but no matter how much people tried to make a mockery of her failures, she would step back up; each comeback better than the last.

Her longevity was unrivalled, performing to the highest standards near enough all the time, even when others didn't deserve to witness it. Still, she gave away every part of herself to a sport that tried to silence her and failed to give equity until the latest moment possible. Always undervalued and unappreciated in her place of work, but did that stop her? Dampen her spirits? No, of course it didn't. And she had ample evidence to prove it; awards, trophies, medals, and most importantly to her, an easier path paved for those following in her footsteps.

The final chapter was about to finish though, the book of a near flawless career soon to slam shut.

Football would feel the loss of her absence, but like the story of Ozymandias, the dust will blow over and erase her stature, the nature of the sport will run its course and she'll be a figment of the past. Her time had come, and she had done everything and more of what she needed to do.

She moved from an ever-present figure to just a silhouette with a few steps.

Here, now, at the crescendo of a note-worthy career run, there was only one way to answer such a question.

"I did it all."

[hazelfoureyes]

HateJokeFuck

*very sacrilegious*

Alastor knew the best way to have a laugh on Halloween! Bother the fuck out of Lucifer. Literally. Nuns don’t wear pants, right?

For my sweetest @minkdelovely

「warnings/promises: TopLucifer x BottomNun!Alastor, hate fucking, clawing skin, wings come out, HCU (hazel cinematic universe), threats to tear Alastor apart, The Lords Prayer bastardized, anal creampie, still ace ass Alastor, rough sex」

Minors dni

Alastor wasn’t particularly excited for a Halloween party at the hotel, even if he knew watching the others could be fun.

But then he had an idea to make the evening positively entertaining.

Which led him to where he was now, pressed against Niffty’s various cleaning supplies in a hallway closet, ass pounded by his furious majesty.

Alastor had thought it would be funny to wear a nun’s habit, having hand stitched little X’s and an inverted cross in red thread to personalize the outfit. 

While heaven did exile Lucifer and systemically murder his subjects, Luci still had a soft spot for what was now religious imagery. Devoting your life and body to the Lord was something he thought to be quite admirable.

So when Alastor walked into the party dressed in holy attire, Luci saw red. And black. And white. The colors of Alastor’s sinful costume. Dressed as Dadcula, Dad Dracula, obviously (Which was just Lucifer in a black cape and bat ear headband), Luci marched up to the radio demon.

“Hallway, now.” He grabbed Alastor by the arm, the nun leaving the party as quickly as he had arrived. Charlie saw the men rush out the room and worried a fight was brewing.

“Yes, your majesty?” Alastor steepled his hands together, “what’s the matter, pray tell?”

Lucifer smacked his hands down, “Stop that! You are making a mockery of centuries of worship!” Sputtering, he gestured up and down. “Take that off right fucking now!” He stomped his foot and managed a calming breath, “Please.”

The grin should have been enough to tell Luci he’d walked into a trap, “Who am I to deny my liege?” Alastor found the zipper in the back and pulled it down, letting the smock open and fall forward off his arms. Lucifer’s eyes followed the habit down from neck, to bare chest, to toned stomach, to-

“Are you-!” Lucifer’s hands came out to hide Alastor’s exposed cock, “naked!?” He seethed.

A voice called from the ballroom entrance, “Dad? Is everything alright?” Charlie was positive her father and Alastor were already tearing into each other. 

To her credit, they would be soon enough.

Panicked and terrible under pressure, Lucifer opened the closest door and shoved both himself and the now nude Alastor into it.

It was, to his despair, a broom closet. Perhaps two people could fit comfortably had it not been occupied with a shelving system of supplies, mops, brooms, and a large outdated vacuum cleaner.

As soon as he pushed them in and closed the door, he found his body pressing into Alastor’s bare ass.

Alastor was certain there was a God now, and he a favored child. What hilarious developments. Even he couldn’t orchestrate such comedy gold.

“Oh, Father, is this confessional? I have a mighty long list.”

Lucifer smacked at Alastor’s back, “Do not call me Father!”

“Daddy?” Alastor asked, coyly looking over his shoulder to the smaller man.

“Dad?” Charlie echoed.

Lucifer’s hands shot up to cover Alastor’s mouth, “Shhh, or I will kill you once and for aAAH,” a moan breaking through his sentence as Alastor ground back into his crotch.

Alastor mumbled into Luci’s palm.

“What’s wrong?” Vaggie joined, her and Charlie now feet from the door.

“I thought Dad and Al were out here bickering…” 

Alastor began grinding himself into Luci, feeling something there for him in the King of Hell’s lap.

Lucifer couldn’t help the reaction, Alastor had been intentionally winding him up for weeks.

Reaching for the newspaper and slipping, hand coming down onto Luci’s crotch. Needing something on a high shelf and just having to press his much larger body upon Luci’s smaller frame. He even sat on Lucifer once, joking, “Oh I didn’t see you there, hmm.” A size joke and groping combo.

He was touch starved and primed, so when he looked down to see skin and curves and warmth offered to him, he simply lost it.

Angel Dust had been so kind as to teach him the word hatefuck recently. And he was going to hatefuck the sass out of Alastor.

Was he using that correctly? Unimportant, a fleeting concern as he fought to undo his belt with one hand.

“They’re probably here somewhere fucking around, don’t worry about it babe. Come back and enjoy your party.” Vaggie, a psychic of some sorts, led her love away just in time.

Luci wasn’t sure he could keep it up knowing his daughter was just outside the door. But that little obstacle was gone. When Luci didn’t immediately remove his hand Alastor snaked his tongue out and around his fingers.

“Gross,” Lucifer took back his hand, thinking for a second as he stared at the wet fingers before sliding them between Alastor’s cheeks. The taller man shivered. “Did you…” the realization he had been played hit him like a piano, oddly familiar but still quite heavy. “Why are you already lubed and stretched?”

Alastor reached down slowly, face smug as he slipped a tiny bottom from a single garter belt on his right thigh. 

“Holy water?”  Luci took it from Alastor before his face fell flat, nose curling as he sniffed the air, “Is this coconut lube oil? You’re foul.” He used his teeth to unscrew the lid and poured the contents down Alastor’s lower back, “I hope you understand. You make me regret  millennia of human free will more than I already did.”

“Your majesty I cannot get any harder, please stop the dirty talk.” Alastor shimmied his hips, elusive plush black-topped, red-bottomed tail swishing along.

Lucifer was briefly mesmerized, why was it so cute? Alastor should enter every room ass first, tail out. He’d be much more palatable. Blinking away the thought he swiped his leaking member up and down the demon’s ass as he spread lubricant on himself.

“I hate you, please don’t forget that.” Lucifer lined himself up and pressed in, groaning as he effortlessly was taken to the hilt. Alastor had prepared well. Another second to imagine Alastor in the nuns' habit, legs spread and hands busy working himself open for Lucifer. Alastor’s breath hitched as Luci’s twitched and grew slightly in him. 

Alastor hadn’t started the night planning to get fucked. Once the outfit was on and he decided pants weren’t necessary, he began to consider all the ways he could fluster Lucifer. Nothing would be funnier than making the king of hell fuck a nun.

So here he was, gripping the shelves as Lucifer’s hips snapped into him.

“Oh fuck,” Luci moaned, Alastor was so tight and hot, how could someone so horrid feel so damn good? His nails dug into Alastor’s hips, pulling him back to meet every thrust.

Lucifer was enjoying himself. It felt good, Alastor not numb to pleasure, but he wanted to rile up Luci even more.

“Our Lucifer, who art in hell,” Alastor began his bastardized prayer. It worked, Luci’s hips slowing.

“Alastor.” He warned.

“Sullied be thy name; my king shall cum,” Alastor’s grin was audible. A growl came from behind him as a faint glow of fire illuminated his face, “thy sin be done,” he choked, Luci’s hips snapping into him with a sting to his ass. The fallen angel’s wings erupting and knocking the supplies off the shelves around them, no space for them to flex. Even though he knew Lucifer couldn’t hear him over the sounds of crashing bottles and broom handles, even though he could barely speak through the painfully rough fucking he was taking, he finished his prayer. 

“On earth as it is in hell,” the sentence was squeaked out in staccato, air sucked in with every stretch of his hole by his king. Alastor gripped the metal shelf side so tightly his fingers were losing blood flow, the rage behind Luci’s punishing cock making his eyes roll back. 

Lucifer gripped onto Alastor’s tail with a silent show of force, “You will stop this sacrilege.” Words forced through clenched teeth, “Or I will rent your dirty existence,” a pause to momentarily bury himself as deep as he could reach, “body and soul, asunder.”

Alastor couldn’t respond, mind slipping into a new realm entirely. He understood a threat had been made, and nodded as best he could with his head hung low between his hunched shoulders. He was making sounds as Lucifer’s nails cut into him, but he couldn’t place from where they came, pain or pleasure, only that his chest rumbled and his mouth was going dry. 

As his hips returned to their literally bruising speed, Lucifer felt his orgasm nearing. He’d never been so angry and so determined to fuck his own seed into someone else. It felt like giving a punishment, like a humiliation. He wanted Alastor to wobble out of the fucking closet, cum dripping out much later from the previously unreached place Lucifer marked.

Alastor’s body was hit up against the shelves as his knees gave out, Lucifer’s strength too much for him to withstand. As Lucifer came his wings pulled back before coming down and in. Alastor felt a heat deep in him, pooling in his guts. On his arms and forehead the soft touch of feathers caressed sweat slick skin.

They both stayed connected, only their chests moving as they heaved in and out. Lucifer waited for himself to go soft before he pulled out, forehead resting on Alastor’s back, both men on their knees.

Sometime after Luci’s wings folded back in and disappeared, Alastor regained enough sense to speak.

“Amen.”

Lucifer pulled him to the floor by his neck, fist cocked back when the door opened.

“Oh sir, not again*. Your jokes are really not funny.” Niffty scurried over Lucifer’s back to retrieve a roll of paper towels before flitting out the room. Before closing the door she huffed, “Please stop telling them. No one ever laughs.”

“Dad, why do you smell like a piña colada?” Charlie leaned into Lucifer, taking in the aroma. “Wait a minute…. I know that smell.” Angel brightened,’“Awww baby’s first hatefuck!!”

*Alastor’s other bad joke

ଳ⊹₊ ⋆ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove  @saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings

@looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith ,

[01zfan]

consuming the light | o. st

pastors son!shotaro x rich!fem. reader | 8.9k words

went a little overboard with the world building im sorry but i loved this story too much

contains: arranged marriage (not between shotaro and the reader), implied virginity loss, bible study under the guise of fooling around, readers parents are awful, shotaro is the best, ANGSTY, sad ending, oral (fem. receiving), missionary, emotional

sacrilegious masterlist

god was always kind to you. some people called it luck but you knew there was a bigger force behind all the good in your life. you were blessed to say the least. so many people would kill for the life you were born into.

as you walked down the aisle, your thin white veil filtered the colored light coming through the stained glass of the church. it was a veil imported from a place in italy you couldn’t pronounce, and it had beautiful white embroidery that told the story of both you and the man you were going to marry. the symbolism was etched not only into the veil, but also your beautiful dress. the explanation of the stitching had went in one ear and out the other. 

you looked down the aisle to your soon to be husband. with each slow step and each swelling note of the organ you felt like you were walking towards your doom. the light from the stained glass window was artificial, giving the illusion that the rest of your life wouldn’t be drained of color and sunlight.

the sun shined down on you in the form of the pastor’s son. you remember the first day you met him, during a sunday dinner hosted at the church. he helped serve the little kids and you were volunteered to help by your parents. they figured that shotaro could teach you to be kind, something they said you lacked. you weren’t sure if it was true or not, but you were at the age that you believed whatever your parents said. 

the only time you were excited to learn about god was when shotaro became your bible study partner. your parents wanted it more than you did, but you quickly became accustomed to looking at shotaro as he went over bible verses. you barely looked at the passages, eyes trained on his side profile and the way his skin gleamed underneath your kitchen lights. he would look at you as you mouthed latin hymns wrong and blush, knowing that you weren’t paying attention.

you ended up spending more and more time with shotaro outside of the church. he would come over to your house often, gawking at your high ceilings and the maids you had. you learned pretty young that your house was different than everyone else’s. your lifestyle was different, surrounded by custom furniture and large rooms. you would never tell shotaro that you enjoyed going to his house more. his house had food prepared by his parents and his place was cozy and warm. but when shotaro came to your house the cold tile suddenly felt warm underneath your feet, and all you wanted to see was his face when you looked up from your plate at dinner. he took time to learn the names of the people that kept your house up and running, thanking them sincerely when they would bring you fresh cut fruit during your bible study lessons.

your first kiss was with shotaro underneath the big tree in his backyard. you sat on the swing that hung off a large branch and laughed as he pushed you, saying you might end up wrapping around the branch if he kept going. your swings came to a stop and shotaro came to stand in front of you. he looked at you with eyes that reflected the light coming through the trees. you were shy when you said you liked him and the kiss was awkward, lips barely touching before you both pulled away. you both turned away from the other, faces hot and eyes darting everywhere else. shotaro’s hand was hot when he grabbed yours as he walked you home, and he gave you a gentle peck on your cheek when he dropped you off at your door.

from that moment on for more than three years you and shotaro had a relationship of sorts. he would walk you home and hold your hand and look after you. you ended up becoming a regular at church and shotaro started sitting next to you in the pews. no one suspected a thing was going on between you two, sometimes it felt so unreal that you didn’t know what was going on either. you both avoided the topic of defining what you guys had. something about it felt so unholy, like you were straying from the path your god—your parents had carved out for you. you couldn’t resist straying from the path when you first put your tongue in shotaro’s mouth, or when he pulled you to straddle his lap. it was all new for the both of you, learning about passion and fire that burned outside of hell. it was liberating to experience a new emotion and trying to understand it. when you told shotaro how to touch you it was like you finally had control of something in your life.

shotaro had a good head on his shoulders, one that entertained your requests and listened to you. you credited his obedience to the church, thinking about all the sunday school nuns that shaped him into the man you snuck around to see. you knew it was partially credited to his parents. they were different from yours, they had an honest living. you had heard stories of both your fathers growing up together and getting along before they chose different paths in life. your father chose riches over anything, and shotaro’s father chose the path of righteousness. their close relationship in childhood evolved to be something cordial and somewhat awkward, something both you and shotaro bared witness to. you imagine it drove your father crazy seeing someone so honest be just as respected if not more in your town. shotaro’s parents were a important part in the community, maybe even more important than your father. so your parents had built up a fake rapport with shotaro’s parents, one that you’re sure they saw right through. god-fearing people you found out were insanely perceptive. shotaro’s parents didn’t outwardly call out the fraudulence until your parents offered a large donation to the church in exchange for the churches endorsement. 

you still remember the last time you ever saw shotaro. his parents stormed through your house, looking for whichever large room you two resided in. he sat in the nook of your window while you sat beside him, with his face in your hands. his hair blew gently from the spring breeze while you brushed a strand behind his ear. that’s what had become of your bible study, the two of you sneaking away to kiss and look at eachother. 

shotaro sprung up from his spot in the window and you whipped your body around to face the door. it was quiet for a moment, everyone in the room slowly understanding the scene laid out before them. both of your parents stared at the two of you, intruding on an intimate moment. you realized you were caught when your father raised his voice and your mother began screeching. shotaro’s parents were calmer, for some reason that scared you even more.

“we are leaving now, son.” his father said sternly.

shotaro didn’t look at you as he kept his head down, walking towards the door. you were frozen in place, fingernails digging into your knees as you watched shotaro walk away.

you only got one last glance at shotaro as his parents led him out of your room. his father gave one more look to your dad, the scariest look you have ever seen.

shotaro didn’t even make it down the stairs before he heard your parents yelling at you. something about betrayal and risking your lifestyle to sneak around with someone so poor. shotaro and his parents were all shocked. he didn’t get yelled at by his parents, he was sure all the anger they felt for him dissolved into pity. 

you never got the chance to spend much time with him after that day. he became a distant figure in your life. you only caught glimpses of shotaro in the church, running around stretching his hands far to help anyone. you never got the chance to be alone with him ever again, so you were forced to watch him grow up through the church.

you watched shotaro grow into the leader of the youth group, then continue to grow to someone who led sunday service. you watched him get sent off to a private catholic school a couple of towns over. usually it only happened with rich families, but shotaro was a special case. he had wowed the school board and was rewarded a scholarship that allowed him to go. 

as ridiculous as it was, you debated on asking your parents to send you to that school. they were the ones that proposed you go to the expensive school at first, they could’ve afforded it with ease. they insisted you go to make them proud. after the situation with shotaro transpired, making them proud only made you want to deny it more. after spending so much time telling your parents you weren’t going to go to the private school it was too late to go back on your word. so you settled for staying in town. you would just have to wait until school ended so you could see shotaro again. you waited for summer eagerly like all of your peers did, but you had your different reasons. in the back of your head you saw the distant figure of shotaro, coming closer and closer to you as each season passed.

summer was like a movie every year, memories glossy and organic like it was shot on a film camera. the film was different each year—as a child it was bright and saturated, the blue sky popped and the grass shined brightly. the older you got the more muted summers became. you credited it to becoming mature, finally turning into the adult you wanted to be so badly. you made it your plan to become that bad kid your parents called you all those years ago. it wasn’t long before you heard the final bell of school toll. your graduating class ran out in their puritan christian schoolgirl uniforms. the shrill sound of cheers filled the parking lot as everyone took off the cross pendants that adorned all your necks. it was a tradition that started long before you, symbolizing your changing relationship with god. other girls in your class would become closer to him, but you had your plans to abandon him completely.

summers were very important in your town. everyone came home during the summer for the annual congregation at the ocean. it was something like an unofficial holy site, something made up by the elders before the current elders of your congregation. everyone participated in the event, washing away their sins and stress in the holy water of the ocean. it wasn’t an obligation to participate, but everyone had to be there. you saw shotaro there every year, helping take care of the kids and sometimes leading the oceanside service. 

you saw him on the sand, running around with a kid hanging onto his shoulders. you couldn’t help but look and wave at him and he waved back. you wanted him to come to you more than anything. you wanted to tell shotaro that you were an adult now, your parents couldn’t dictate who you spent your time with. even meeting in secret would suffice, but you just had to see him up close again, to have him talk to you. with his parents busy and your parents never coming to the ceremony you could finally get have a word with him. you beckoned to shotaro as you laid underneath your umbrella in the shade. this was the newfound confidence that came with washing away your sins—you were suddenly ready to sin some more. you wanted to whisk shotaro away to the car you had driven here or take him to your empty house. maybe even a secluded part of the oceanfront if he let you.

shotaro came to you after looking bewildered only for a moment. he sat with you underneath the shade of the umbrella, eyes fixed on the changing tides. 

you two both sat in silence, seeing children on the beach run around and adults chatting. it was comforting, being able to be so close to shotaro with so many people around. you put a sandy hand on his knee and shotaro turned his head away from the water to look at you.

”i missed you.” shotaro said.

the way your parents raised you was extremely different from shotaro’s upbringing. it was evident in how you two interacted with eachother. when shotaro had no problem telling you he missed you, you felt sick sometimes even reaching out an affectionate hand to him. the first part of your relationship was like a one sided game of chicken, shotaro had to work hard to whittle down your cold front. but you were older now, a different person who didn’t struggle with that stuff anymore. so you nodded your head and played with the sand some more, trying to distract yourself.

“i missed you, too.” you said.

letting down your walls was worth it when you got to see shotaro smile because of the sweet things you say to him. his hair blew in the light breeze the same way it did that night your parents caught you two. you cast your look down and so does shotaro. his eyes watch your hand as it plays with the sand.

“how are your parents?” shotaro asked.

just as quick as the walls went down, you could feel them go back up. you scoffed and retracted your hand from his knee. shotaro already missed feeling the fine grains of sand that stuck to your palm press against his knee. he turned his head to follow you as he watched you lean back and prop yourself up on a singular fist. with your free hand you moved your shades to rest on your head.

“after all this time the first thing you ask about are my parents.” you said. 

shotaro knew you wanted your words to pack a punch, but you looked distracted as you continued to play with the sand. shotaro could never bring up your parents yelling at you that day, but when he saw you he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about your pained expression when he left your room that final time. shotaro brought a hand to rest on your calf. he squeezed it gently to let you know he was sorry. shotaro felt blessed when he saw you smile. he watches you tilt your head and purse your lips, like you’re trying to think of something.

“wanna get out of here?” you asked.

your hand that was playing in the sand went back to shotaro. you were confusing to him, so shy when it came to affection but still so bold with your words and suggestions. he had trouble believing you were the same girl only a moment ago that could barely say that you missed him. now he was following you towards the parking lot as you headed towards his car.

you led him away from the oceanfront to the parking lot. you bobbed and weaved through cars, going to the familiar dingy shit box shotaro drove. it was almost like you two were robots, neither of you saying a word while shotaro used a slightly shaking hand to unlock his door. shotaro raced to open the passenger door for you, but your hand went to the backdoor instead. you opened it slowly and crawled in, doing your best to give shotaro a view of what he hasn’t seen in months. when you were fully situated in the seat you beckoned to shotaro again. he looked around the parking lot, scanning for anyone watching. once he saw the coast was clear, he went into the backseat too.

you didn’t even let the door close before your lips were on shotaro’s. you wasted no time bringing him in close, swinging your leg over his. shotaro welcomed it, hand going to your hip and your leg. your hands on his shoulder gripped his shirt. he didn’t 

it wasn’t hard to channel all your frustrations and pent up emotions into shotaro. you kissed him with a fierceness, pressing your lips to his quickly. you saw shotaro’s eyes become hooded when you started sucking on his bottom lip.

it took shotaro a moment to get into it. the fear of being caught melted off his shoulders when you brought his hand to rest on your chest. he squeezed the flesh he hadn’t been able to touch in so long, knowing exactly what you needed. when you brought your hand to his clothed dick, he had to pull away.

“we shoudn’t.” shotaro said against your lips.

“i waited a whole year. i can’t wait anymore.” you said. 

shotaro wanted to give in to you so bad. he wanted to make you feel good in the back of his beat up car. but he thought about how you deserved something special in a place that was more private. so shotaro resisted the temptation and took both your hands and put them back at your sides.

shotaro was lucky he practiced restraint, because as he pulled away from you he saw your parents leave their parked car heading for the beach. he pulled away from your lips, visibly distracted.

“what’s wrong?” you asked.

“your parents are heading towards the ocean.” shotaro said.

you crawled over him to see for yourself. sure enough your parents were walking towards the water, weaving through the cars the same way you were. you clambered over shotaro the rest of the way, ignoring his grunts as you opened the door. you were much more rushed, running through the cars trying to find a way back to your spot before your parents got there. shotaro followed behind you, going back to what he was doing before he sat by you.

you had to act as nonchalant as possible when your saw your parents see you. you kept your eyes on shotaro, letting him distract you from your impeding doom coming a step closer. shotaro gave you one last smile before your parents came and stood directly in your line of sight. they blocked your view of your sun. they stood before you like a wall separating you from shotaro. you tried to peer around their bodies but it was no use. your mother waved her hands in front of you to get your attention. you put your sunglasses on top of your head to look at them fully. they wore their usual business attire, they came from whatever meeting to come straight here. it was painfully obvious your parents weren’t going to stay there for long.

“hello honey.” your mom said to you. “congratulations on finishing the school year.”

you stayed seated underneath the umbrella. it was so annoying trying to keep up appearances. your parents were highly regarded in the town, being the second richest family and the only ones with strong political ties. you don’t know if it was because of the money or the status that made your parents so distant. you lived with them your whole lives but knew nothing about them. you were closer with the various nannies you had in your life, ones that would mysteriously quit when you referred to them as mom. 

your relationship with your parents was strained to say the least. after they degraded you and shotaro for hours on end that day the chasm between the three of you only deepened. your relationship had devolved from a mutual respect to a silent agreement that you would behave and be the dutiful daughter you had to be as long as they funded your lifestyle. this included beautiful sunglasses, gorgeous gowns, and extravagant parties. beyond the cash they threw at you they were barely parents, never knowing anything about your life. but them congratulating you on graduating was the first thing they have said to you in weeks, so you pursed your lips and nodded curtly.

“thank you.” you said.

you saw shotaro’s parents walk by and you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at them. your relationship with the couple had become strained too. you wished more than anything to feel the warmth of their home again, to be able to say a word to their son again. your parents noticed your attention had shifted, so your dad cleared his throat loudly.

“let’s go home. we have some very exciting news to share with you.” your dad said.

so you went on an awkward and silent car ride home with your parents. they never picked you up, much less drove you places. the pit in your stomach started growing and you could practically feel an ominous dark cloud appearing over your head. your parents said nothing for the rest of the car ride, letting your mind wander to the worst scenarios.

you weren’t sure what was happening when you opened your door to see a man and his parents sitting on the sofa in your living room, chatting about something. the man got up almost immediately and you were taken aback by the person standing in front of you. he wore the nicest clothes you’ve ever seen and had his hair primmed and proper. you felt extremely underdressed compared to him. you were still modest in your beach outfit, but the man in front of you was wearing clothes of a professional.

you were stunned into silence seeing the man stand before you, and even more stunned at how everyone in your living room was staring at you expectantly. you realized that you were the left out of the loop, completely in the dark about the situation at hand. you look to your parents for the answers.

“what’s going on?” you asked them.

“have a seat honey.” your dad said.

your parents looked at you expectantly and you sat down. although you were defiant, you were still a dutiful daughter, one that listened. that’s why you sat down and listened to your parents while they told you why the family was in your home.

you couldn’t believe what you were hearing as your parents told you about your future marriage. the man in front of you was the son of the richest family in town. you could tell by the way your dad’s eyes shined when talking about the family that they were richer than you could comprehend. ties with the money stronger than anything else. you visibly stiffened hearing it, before you could object your dad held up a finger to silence you. you blinked away tears as both your parents and the man’s attorney told you the conditions of the marriage. apparently everything had already been planned out and decided while you didn’t know a single thing. you weren’t able to get a word in until they were done. you looked around the room, everyone smiling as if it was the best plan in the world.

“what if i say no?” you said quietly.

“we cut you off.” your father said simply. 

you looked down at your hands, clasped together in your lap. you would’ve never thought you’d be married off to someone you barely knew. your mother had been lucky in that aspect; she got to marry your father who was a family friend. but you had never seen the man that sat next to you on the couch in your entire life. your family was rich to the point this didn’t need to happen. you looked to your mom and dad, the looks on their face told you trying to persuade them out of this was no use. at the feeling of the man’s hand on your shoulder it lit a fire in your belly, a defiant one that had you shrugging his arm off of you.

you stood up from the couch and you locked eyes with your father. your mom instantly resorted to protecting her integrity, looking at the man’s family with her smiling face and customer service voice.

“we will see you guys at the party tonight. thank you for stopping by.”

your mother shuffled the man and his family out while you stayed there staring down your father. he didn’t relent or say a single thing until the door closed.

“i refuse.” you seethed.

“you don’t have a choice.” you father said. 

you wanted to yell at him, but you knew it was no use. your mind flashed to shotaro and the way his hair would blow in the nook of your room when the window was open.

“we already have the money. we don’t need to marry into more of it.” you pleaded.

for the first time in your life, you made your father laugh. to the point where he nearly had tears coming from his eyes. he laughed the whole day, only laughing more after seeing anger take over your features. he laughed as your anger turned into defeat. his laughs rang in your ears for the days to come, turning you into the shell of the person you once were. you had lost all defiance in your body, finally becoming the compliant daughter he always wanted.

when the party came, you had no energy left in you to say snarky remarks or roll your eyes. you had become unassertive, nodding your head and saying a meek yes whenever asked a question. you could only look ahead, focusing on random paintings hung to the walls as you heard your father pretend to get choked up talking about how he will be walking his daughter down the aisle. 

you imagined seeing shotaro across the room, having him come up to you and whisk you away to a secret place for just the two of you. when you danced in the ballroom you imagined shotaro expertly blending with the crowd, dancing with you and telling you the plan to escape. he’d squeeze your hand extra tight before heading towards the exit. you wondered if he had heard the news yet, how he felt about it. when you thought too much about him your eyes started to water and the lump in your throat got bigger. you needed a place to cry, what better place than the nook in your room where you last felt love. you were able to finally sneak away after severable feeble attempts, exiting through a door in the kitchen.

shotaro was able to sneak into the party after being let in by staff that liked him. he wandered around the party, scared to be caught by your parents, knowing it would lead to him getting kicked out. once shotaro realized that your parents were too invested in talking to the esteemed guests of the party not sparing him a second look, he walked freely around the party. he realized quickly that this wasn’t a celebration thrown for you, but just another opportunity for your parents to make money.

shotaro felt himself fall apart when he opened the door to your room. he heard you first, the quiet sniffling drowning out the sound of your door opening.

you got up from the nook in your bedroom window to turn towards your door, getting ready to yell at whoever came in. you melted seeing shotaro, the tears you were holding back flowing freely. it was like no time had passed between the two of you, a whole school year of no contact dissolving into the air as you held out your arms to him. 

shotaro sat beside you and held you as you cried into his lap. he was patting your back and rubbing your head, comforting you anyway he could. shotaro kept telling you it’s okay a million times over like it might fix the current situation. he realized he had no idea what to say to you, only that he felt tears threatening his own eyes as he thought more and more about you. when you finally pulled away, makeup you had cried off stained his black pants.

“i’m sorry.” you hiccuped.

shotaro shook his head immediately.

“i should be the one that’s sorry,” shotaro said. ”i should’ve never left”

you sniffle to sit back up and look at him. 

“i figured if i got a good education your parents would view me favorably.” shotaro said. 

shotaro used the corner of his sleeve to blot away some of your ruined makeup. it was no use as your eyes swelled again, tears running down your cheeks. shotaro saw a cold resolve settle across your face. you looked up to shotaro, forcing his eyes to hold contact with your bloodshot ones.

“my whole life my parents have acted like god, and you left me just so you could try to please them?” you said quietly.

shotaro wished you sounded angry when you asked the question. he actively watched the fire burn out from behind your eyes, replaced with the same cold look shotaro saw on your fathers features. your perfect posture had devolved into you slumping against him. he couldn’t stop his hands from levitating to your face, trying to warm you up with his clammy hands. 

the feeling of shotaro’s hands were lost on you, eyes steely as you looked ahead. you quickly found out it didn’t matter, nothing did. even if you blew up and cursed at shotaro for wanting to please your parents instead of pleasing you it wouldn’t change your fate. if you kicked shotaro out and cried in your bed alone you would still be walking down the aisle tomorrow to a man you didn’t even know. atleast with your head pressed to shotaro’s chest you could hear his heart pound in his chest a thousand miles a minute and feel his hands wrapped around your body. the possibility of never feeling this close to anyone ever again hit you like a javelin in your stomach. it made you want to double over in pain, it felt like you were losing your breath as you held shotaro’s hand tightly.

“what am i supposed to do?” you asked.

shotaro didn’t have the answers for you as you looked up at him. in your eyes he could see new tears welling and taking the same path down your cheeks.  your eyelashes clumped together from the tears and you were starting to be reduced to sniffles. 

you could see shotaro’s eyes go blank and you realized he didn’t have an answer for you. your blurry eyes travelled to every part of his body, trying to find the answer there. you look at his black hair, the way it falls right above his eyes. every time he blinks his strands move, his hair is practically dancing as he tries to blink away tears. your eyes go to shotaro’s hands, how they grips yours so tightly that you don’t want to let go. you wonder if he will use those same hands to pray for your marriage and future that starts tomorrow. you like that you can still feel his heart beat, how it increased when you looked him in the eyes for too long.

“do you love me, shotaro?” you ask.

shotaro is happy that he knows the answer to this question—he has for a long time. he brushes a piece of hair behind your ear before going back to blot the tear tracks on your cheeks. he nods gently looking into your eyes.

“i love you more than you’ll ever know.” shotaro says quietly. 

its a quiet declaration of love as he wipes your tears away. your hand on his bicep tightens. the somber look in your eyes is replaced with a desperate one as you bring yourself from his chest to look shotaro in the eyes. 

“can you show me. please.”

shotaro could actively feel his reserves melting away the longer he looked at you. he recognized that look on your face from the countless times you two snuck away to fool around. you guys never did something when there was more than your housekeepers around. festivities from the party travelled upstairs and bled through the door. all it took was one single person to walk in and see you two. but you increased your grip on shotaro’s bicep as you readjusted yourself on the ledge. shotaro gave one last glance to your door. he remembered that he locked it after he came in. he put his other hand to rest behind you as he leaned in close. his eyes alternated between your lips and your eyes, looking for any doubt or hesitancy.

“are you sure?” shotaro asked.

he felt your hand go down to his wrist as you spread your legs. your beautiful dress rode up past your thigh as you led shotaro’s hand to your heat. his eyes grew wide but you kept your voice steady.

“this is the one time in my life i get to make the decision,” you pressed shotaro’s palm flat to your panties, letting him feel the heat. “i’ve been sure about this for a very long time.”

that was all shotaro needed. he used his other hand that was rested behind you to tilt your head, exposing your neck to him. shotaro lets his lips graze the skin of your neck, loving the way you shiver beside him. he presses his hand further into you, and you let out a sigh as you lean into him.

“i’ll let you make all the decisions tonight.” shotaro whispers into your neck.

it is sexual but it’s comforting to see how easy it is for shotaro to understand what you need. he gives you the reigns and the ability to be god on your last night of freedom. you nod your head immediately while pushing your hips to meet shotaro’s hand. he uses the heel of his palm to press against your clothed clit and his finger pushes into you. your hand, searching for something to hold, goes to your window blinds.

shotaro brings your face down to his to bring you into a kiss. the moonlight shines on you both through the window as he uses his free hand to guide the back of your neck deeper into him. shotaro lets his tongue graze your teeth before you open your mouth wider. his tongue presses against your cheek before finding your tongue, loving the feeling your your wet muscles touching. it is messy, so messy that a string of spit connects your mouths when shotaro pulls away.

“where do you want me?” shotaro asks.

it takes you awhile to find your voice again. you feel almost nervous being in charge, but shotaro rotating his hand to palm you makes your anxiety fall off your shoulders.

“on the bed.” you say.

shotaro stands up first, reluctantly pulling his hand away from your core to help you stand up from the nook. you already feel weak in the knees as shotaro leads you to your bed, a gentle hand on your back as you guys make your way across your marble floor. it’s almost like a dance, you two move in beat to the music that plays downstairs.

shotaro pulls back the canopy surrounding your bed so you can go through. you sit in the middle of your alaskan king bed, almost swallowed by the plushies and blankets that surround you. shotaro lets the curtains close as he continues to stand next to your bed. you stare at the outline of his body illuminated by the yellow glow of lamps in your room.

“do you want me to take off my clothes?” shotaro asks. 

you dig your feet underneath a blanket as you think. shotaro stands outside patiently, waiting for your order.

“just your pants and shirt,” you see shotaro reach for the waistband of his pants. “leave your underwear on.” you blurt out.

shotaro pauses only for a moment while he takes in his request. you can hear him laugh and see the shadow of him undressing himself. you take off your underwear and attempt to take off your dress but the zipper is out of your reach. 

you don’t let shotaro see you struggle to reach the zipper when he pulls back the drapes of your canopy. he looks at you and you move over slightly, as if there’s not enough room on the bed for the both of you. shotaro settles in next to you and goes back to the same position you were at sitting on the nook. you let your hands run over his upperbody, eyes looking at the bulge in his boxers. shotaro lets out a small sound of surprise when his hand presses to your bare pussy.

“so wet.” shotaro murmurs to himself.

you nod your head and lift your hips slightly while shotaro presses his palm against your clit again. the on and off presses has you gasping and closing your legs around his hand. shotaro has to use the hand that was guiding you through the make out session to apply pressure on your leg in efforts to keep them apart.

“do you want me to do this to you all night?” shotaro says in between kisses on your neck.

you have lost half your mind at this point. you shake your head trying to gather what’s left of your thoughts. you remember the sensation of shotaro’s fingers pressing into you over your panties.

“put a finger in.” you say.

shotaro obliges immediately, your wet hole giving no resistance. it has both of you moaning, the sensation new to the both of you.

“another.” you moan quietly.

when shotaro puts his second finger completely in, he does a scissoring motion inside of you. it is foreign but builds up a heat in your stomach and you can hear the tiny squelching of shotaro’s fingers interacting with your slick. you instinctively close your eyesdig your fingernails into his shoulder.

“feels good?” shotaro asks.

he kisses your eyelid and you nod your head yes. your hips feel like they’re lifting on their own accord, trying to feel more of shotaro’s fingers.

because your eyes are closed you don’t see shotaro more his body to slot between your two legs. when you no longer feel his warmth next to you, your eyes open. you see shotaro in a position you’ve never seen him in before, on his stomach as he lifts up your dress just enough to uncover your lower half. you let your upper body lower, until your propped up on your elbows. you keep an eye on shotaro and he keeps an eye on you, placing wet open mouthed kisses on your thighs. he was dangerously close to your center, a new wave of your slick coating his fingers. the speed of shotaro’s fingers was cruel and slow. you couldn’t stop your hips from bucking into his hand at a faster pace. each time you did so, shotaro’s palm grazed your clit.

“can i try something on you?” shotaro asked. he continued to place tender kisses on the hot skin of your thigh. “i heard people talking about it at my school and i could only think of you when i heard it.”

”okay.” you whined.

shotaro pulled one of his fingers out of you and you whine dagain at the loss. he used his free hand to push your thigh towards your stomach and placed an open mouthed kiss on your folds. your elbows suddenly slid out from underneath you, the new sensation making your back hit your bed with a soft thud. you focused on the canopy of your bed, the royal red and gold fabric that cascaded down your bed. it was one of the many signs of wealth in your life. you would give it up in a heartbeat to feel shotaro between your legs everyday.

shotaro looked up at you from between your legs, only getting a glimpse of your heaving chest. your boobs rested so nicely in your dress, and your pretty whimpers made him want to continue kissing your folds. shotaro was surprised seeing all of his peers at school so sinful, performing acts on each other that would send a pastor into cardiac arrest. but he understood why they did those things when he got his first taste of you. you were sweet and coated his tongue, he found himself needing more. 

you placed your legs over shotaro’s shoulders as his hand that was holding your thigh went to spread your pussy lips. he was licking whatever you body would give him earnestly, wrapping his lips around your clit before sucking. this had you pressing your head into the pillows and closing your thighs around his head. 

you got back on one of your elbows to wrap your hand in shotaro’s hair. you used the grip you had on his locks to push your further into your heat, mouth agape while you rode his tongue. you would’ve apologized sincerely in the moment for being so greedy, but you could make out shotaro’s smile in your dimly lit room. your hand pushed him further into your heat, his finger and tongue moving in tandem.

“shotaro.” you moaned.

shotaro looked up at you from in between your legs, humming into your pussy. your thighs pressed around his head again.

“keep going.” you said.

shotaro hummed again before focusing his eyes back on your heat. his speed picked up, the sucking and the licking and the kissing quickly became too much for you. shotaro pulled away his mouth to piston his two fingers into you again, wanting to see your face as you finished around him. the eye contact is what sent you over the edge and what made shotaro almost cum in his pants. your walls closing in on shotaro’s fingers almost made it impossible for him to move his digits. he kept going driven by the sound of his name falling from your lips.

by the time you came back to earth, your back was pressed into the mattress again and you were sure your head would leave an indent in the pillow. you looked down from your spot, shotaro looked down at you in amazement. your dress was haphazardly pushed push past your hips and your legs had folded in on themselves without shotaro keeping them apart. your hair was already sticking to your forehead from the sweat and you felt like you looked insane. shotaro looked at you like you were god in the flesh. maybe that’s why it was so easy for him to get on his knees for you.

you used the last of your strength to push yourself back up, eye level with shotaro who was resting on his haunches. you looked down at his boxers again. his dick twitched underneath the thin cotton layer, and you swore you could see a patch of wetness on the fabric. 

you turned your body around, showing the zipper of your dress to shotaro.

“help me with the zipper.” you said. 

any authority in your voice was replaced with raspiness. you had to clear your throat as shotaro slowly brought the zipper down your body. shotaro helped you out of your dress without asking, pulling your arms out and letting the dress fall to your stomach. hiss hands went to the clasp of your bra, waiting for you to tell him to help you with that as well.

“bra too, please.” you said.

it was the same process, him helping you out of it before tossing it to the end of the bed. shotaro slowly turned you back around, guiding you back down on the bed. shotaro gently takes off your dress and you lift your hips to help him.

when you are fully naked you hike up your legs, making your knees touch to cover up your heat. shotaro lets you cover yourself up, a gentle hand resting on your knee. your eyes keep drifting down to his boxers, and you put a gentle foot to rest on his dick. shotaro instantly hisses from the contact and he bucks up into your foot. shotaro’s action surprises you both. 

“fuck.” shotaro says breathlessly.

“take your boxers off.” you say while moving your feet.

shotaro tipped forward on the bed to hover his body over yours. you could see his dick springing free, bobbing around before sticking straight forward.

shotaro kept his body above yours waiting for your next order. you saw how angry and red his tip was, how it seemed to be aching.

“touch yourself.” you said quietly.

shotaro wrapped his hand around his dick and began pumping slowly. it was the same pace he had when fingering you, slow and controlled. the power you had over shotaro in that moment went straight to your head. he let out puffs of air as he continued to touch himself. you wrapped your arms around him and brought him closer to you, until your foreheads were touching. shotaro kissed your lips and you preened you neck to give him better access.

“i want it inside.” you whispered to shotaro.

shotaro’s hand let go of his length and went to your hips. his fingers were sticky as he pressed them into your skin.

“are you sure?” shotaro asked.

“don’t ask me that.” you said.

shotaro kissed your eyebrows that furrowed. he apologized before bringing his hips close to yours. you instantly forgave him when you felt his tip prod against your entrance. 

“ready?” shotaro asked.

you nodded your head and he brought your lips in for another kiss before sliding in. it was little to no resistance, but your walls wrapped around him all the same. you were basically sucking in shotaro until he bottomed out, both of you letting out moans at the feeling of him completely inside of you.

“keep going.” you whined against shotaro’s lips.

he didn’t have to be told twice before pulling out and thrusting into you again. your hips touched each time, causing you to wrap a leg around shotaro’s waist. his forehead still rested against yours, the sweat on both of your skin keeping you together. shotaro let his eyes wander down to your chest, watching your breasts move with his thrusts. you while body reacted to him, from your eyes all the way down to your feet. it gave shotaro the drive and energy behind his thrusts. he would fuck you like this all night if you’d let him. he used both of his hands to hold your cheeks, separating your foreheads to press kisses all over your face. your sweat and some tears stuck to his lips, you were all over him. shotaro kept a hand on your face as he looked down where you were swallowing him up with ease. 

“can i—” shotaro started.

“yes.” you whined.

shotaro used his hand to unwrap one of your legs and put it over his arm. this new angle made it feel like shotaro was splitting you down the middle. you cried and pressed your hands to his chest, feeling the taut muscle underneath his skin.

“shotaro.” you cried out. 

shotaro went back in, somehow even deeper than before.

“i know. i know.” shotaro cooed. 

he had to put his body upright to get a better angle, but he still found himself folding over to kiss your face. his other hand that wasn’t holding up your leg held your hand. he could tell you were trying so hard to keep your eyes open for him, but pleasure was taking over.you squeezed his hand each time he hit a part deep inside of you. shotaro was taken aback at how you looked so pretty like this, laid out for him. he wished it was him that would have your hand tomorrow.

“you should run away with me.” shotaro said in between thrusts. 

your eyes snapped open and you clamped around him. shotaro smiled and leaned over again to kiss new tears that had fallen.

“okay.” you moaned.

it was hard to remember what you were agreeing to. you just wanted shotaro to keep hitting that spot that was deep inside of you.

“we can get married and live in a cute little place, yeah?” shotaro said. 

his pace was picking up and you didn’t know what was happening anymore. you were slowly losing control of your body, driven by the steady sound of your thighs slapping shotaro’s skin. he let go of your leg to fuck you in missionary, pressing his chest so close to yours it kept your boobs in place.

“i love you.” shotaro whispered in your ear.

you brought your nails down shotaro’s back, your legs wrapped around his waist brought him closer. the tears had started to come out more aggressively, you could feel the warm trail down the sides of your face.

”i love you too.” you silently cried.

you pressed your head into shotaro’s neck as he kissed your temple. his arms went behind your back like he was holding you, and he was driving his hips deeper and harder into you. your moans had turned into high pitched cries. you didn’t have to say you were close, both you and shotaro knew. he also knew that he should pull out now, but you kept your legs wrapped around his waist as you started moving your hips to meet his.

“inside. please.” you whispered.

shotaro came immediately once you told him to. it came out in thick ropes while your walls milked his dick. even in his haze of euphoria, shotaro brought a hand to your clit to stimulate the bundle of nerves. your back arches off the bed as you came around him. you couldn’t stop the high octave sounds from escaping you, and shotaro wouldn’t have it any other way. he was letting out pathetic sounds himself, whining and whimpering your name underneath your canopy. 

shotaro didn’t pull out until he had gone soft, both of you shivering from the odd sensation. he rolled off of you and brought you close to him, arms wrapping around your body like he was giving you a hug. you started crying into shotaro’s chest and he rubbed your back, telling you it was going to be okay.

you and shotaro stayed awake well after the party was over. you spent your time tracing out his palm with your fingers before clasping your hand over his, clasping your hands together a million different ways to make sure he was really there. you kept your head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat drum against your ear as shotaro gave you forehead kisses. the canopy around your bed gave you semblance of privacy, keeping your naked bodies partially hidden through thin draping. the longer you stayed in that position the less you cared if someone walked in—maybe your soon-to-be husband would walk in and call off the marriage immediately. if your parents banished you and wrote you out your inheritance so be it. but you knew shotaro would never forgive himself if you lost your stability in life because of him. maybe you two would find a way around your marriage. rich people committed adultery all the time. 

neither of you said a word until you saw that the sun was beginning to rise. it was an awful feeling seeing the lamps in your room be outshined by the sun because it meant that the day was here. you would lose your last name and any freedom your parents allowed you would be under scrutiny by your husband. you weren’t marrying the one you truly loved, the one whose heartbeat increased against your ear. shotaro began gently rubbing your arm, trying to comfort you as soon as possible. but you were out of tears as you raised your head to look at him. you moved some of shotaro’s hair out of his face. you wish he could stay with you forever

“they’ll be here soon to get me ready for the wedding.” you said.

shotaro wanted to stay too. the way he hesitated before sitting up and kissing your hand that stayed near his face. he put on his clothes slowly, looking around for garments that were right in front of him. you stayed perched on your bed, watching the love of your life solemnly get ready to leave you forever. 

when shotaro was done he went to the nook, leaning over to open the window and take out the screen. you rolled out of bed and threw on your robe that hung from a pillar on your bed. you tied it tight while walking over to shotaro who was preparing himself to exit through the window.

“are you sure?” you asked, peering out the window. 

the drop wasn’t too bad, but it was a drop regardless. if shotaro hurt himself you don’t know what you would do. shotaro smiled and looked down himself. he turned to you and nodded.

“i can make it.” shotaro said. 

he took one last look at your room, seeing all the knick knacks you have collected over the years chaotically placed everywhere. your room was the only place in your house that didn’t feel sterile like a hospital or made him nervous. it was comforting the same way you were. shotaro couldn’t believe this was the last time he’d be in your room. he looked at your desk and the calendar that was above it, seeing ‘shotaro day’ in big bold letters two days ago. 

“will you be alright?” shotaro asked. 

you nodded, because that’s all you could do.

“i’ll find a way.” you said simply.

“we’ll find a way,” shotaro said. “your staff likes me, i’m sure they’ll tell me when i can get you alone.”

shotaro gave you one more longing kiss before moving out of your window. you had to look away when shotaro lowered himself from your windowsill, getting his body as close as possible to the ground. you wanted to grab his hands and pull him back up and beg him to stay with you. but you had to watch him drop down into the flowerbed on the backside of your house, perfectly fine from the fall.

shotaro gave you one last look and waved goodbye. you had to bite your lip to hold yourself back from yelling his name as he walked away.

sacrilegious masterlist

[ghostlysoaps]

Nothing behind the eyes

Simon had thought himself equipped to handle it, the world crumbling down, but even Ghost can’t shield him from the sight of Johnny falling in a hail of crimson, blood pooling around his head like a jagged crown, nor the feeling of stillness as he presses his fingers to the side of his neck.

They leave him there, though he fights tooth and nail against the grip on his vest. They’re not even in the clear when the facility blows. His ears hadn’t stopped ringing since the gunshot and the explosion after helps none. Debris scatters with unbridled force, yet he doesn’t feel the gauges they carve through him until Price presses down on the weeping wounds.

He’d been the lucky one out of them, their captain. Ghost had needed stitches and Gaz a lengthy hospital stay on top of physical therapy before he was fit for fight again, albeit with new shadows haunting his eyes.

Ghost hands his resignation in soon after and does what he does best.

Disappear.

His new flat sees more life than his last one ever did. In the daylight hours he walks shambling trails on the already worn floor, tries to keep his mind and body busy, to acclimate to the sounds and scents of a smaller town where he’s not yet mapped the streets in their entirety. At night it hears him choking on gasps, sees his stirring limbs and the heaving of breaths as he jerks awake, again and again, from nightmares so vivid the taste of gravedirt lingers on his tongue and Johnny’s corpse, grinning from within a coffin his sergeant hadn’t seen, is still imprinted on the backs of his closed eyelids. 

The only torture worse than seeing Soap broken, being the one to further desecrate his corpse to free himself, is seeing him happy. When he’s hail and whole and reaching for Simon with laughter pouring like gold from his mouth. Because he’ll wake from those moments of false tranquillity, where all is right again, only to face a reality wherein it never came to fruition.

-

It’s a small thing. A creak of the floorboards. Something shifting close by. Simon is surprised to have heard it over the low whine in his ears, but instinct is a formidable thing even while on the cusp of sleep.

Ghost catches the steel-bearing arm when it careens for his neck and twists himself out of bed as he works to unsteady the assailant. They’re trained well. When he hooks one foot behind their leg to take them to the floor, they retaliate by grappling him in a move Ghost remembers teaching countless others. He’s at a disadvantage. The person going for his throat is strong and he’s dressed in tactical gear. Heavy where he struggles to pin Ghost down enough to wring his neck or slice the scar running down his chest back open again. 

But he’s not the only one armed, not when Ghost has knives stashed within reach and he manages to fumble one into his palm and drag it down his assailant’s thigh.

The distraction it brings allows him to flip their positions, to bash the man’s head against the floor until his eyes grow dazed.

He’s wearing a mask to shield his lower face, metal akin to a muzzle, and Ghost hesitates when those green irises catch his own – the shade of them unfamiliar though the shape of the eyes carrying them are not.

Cognisance is returning rapidly in that hollow gaze so Ghost does the only logical thing. 

He knocks him unconscious.

It gives him a momentary breather and Ghost uses that time to strip the assailant of his gear, of any hidden weaponry, and to tie him up with firm bands of rope made from hastily repurposed sheets. He doesn’t touch the mask until the overhead light is switched on. It feels sacrilegious to rid someone else of  the very thing Simon had used to protect himself for so long.

Soap stares back at him from beneath it. His mouth and jawline, his facial hair messier than he’d seen before. Ghost’s body had felt it the moment he had his thighs wrapped around the shadowed figure standing over his bed, had known, deep down, and had denied it until the proof was irrefutable. Dread creeps up his spine the longer he stares. Messy locks of brown hair covers his temple and Ghost very nearly rips it out of his scalp in his haste to bare it. A gnarled scar rests underneath, free of new growth, spanning nearly the length of his profiled head.

Pain blooms over his forearm and Ghost hisses, training kicking in to shove the appendage deeper into the teeth lodged there rather than tearing it (and a chunk of his flesh) away. His remaining hand digs fingers into the hinge of Soap’s jaw until it falls open, teeth bloodied and frothing with saliva. Yet the expression on his face barely changes. It remains terrifyingly placid. The way a rabies-stricken animal can go sweet and comfort seeking before the inevitable decline. They stare at one another for a beat, Ghost’s hand now gentled on his face – though a pale show of one considering how he’d been born for violence alone.

“Soap?”

No response.

He goes through every name he remembers them calling him and nothing sparks so much as a blink.

-

Prompts by @whumperless-whump-event and @seth-whumps

[visceravalentines]

What did you do for Easter, Meg? Oh you know, colored eggs and wrote sacrilegious porn, hbu? Couldn't stop thinking about the comments on this post so surprise whores here you go

Worship

Dilf!Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

Bo has a few sins to confess and in the process he commits a whole bunch of new ones.

2.5k words. Smut. Super blasphemy, like so bad, and lots of religious ideas and phrasing. Oral (fem!receiving) and PnV sex in a semi-public extremely inappropriate place w/ creampie at the end bc that's what we deserve. Soft Bo, almost sub Bo if you squint. Reader wears a dress & heels and uses she/her pronouns. Extensive liberties taken with confessional booth architecture and suit pants physics.

A note: this can be read as a non-chronological part of my ongoing dilf Bo series or as a standalone.

You haven't been in this church since you were a teenager. Your eyes wander up and over the stained glass, the soaring rafters. It's a beautiful building, stately, tranquil.

"Got somethin' I need to confess," Bo whispers with his lips against your ear. Goosebumps roll down your skin.

You shoot a sidelong glance down the pew at your parents, less than two feet away. They're holiday Catholics and the sermon has them rapt, like tourists watching a wild animal from the safety of their vehicle.

You incline your head subtly in Bo's direction and hold your breath so you don't miss his next words.

"I can't get you outta my head."

You exhale slowly and shift on the bench, careful not to set the ancient wood creaking. When you sneak a look at him, he's the picture of innocence, taking in the gospel like a man who doesn't need it. You clasp your hands on your lap.

Casually, like he's commenting on the father's delivery, Bo leans in again and murmurs, "Bet you'd let me touch you here, huh? Get my hands under that little skirt...."

You shiver and shift. The bench tattles on you and your mother sends a reprimand your way with her eyes. You tug the hem of your skirt towards your knees and try to channel a modicum of the faux virtue sitting to your left.

He quiets down and behaves himself for just long enough that the flame flickering in your center dies down to an almost-appropriate level, but the heat of his leg against your bare thigh keeps you from turning all your thoughts to God. The weight of his hand on the small of your back as he guides you out of the pew for Communion is a stitch past purity. The look he manages to slip you as the father places the wafer in his open mouth makes you feel like you need to get back in line for a second pass at contrition, and maybe this time you'll mean it.

His hand brushes across your ass as you scoot back into the pew and you think about obedience, how you hate to be told what to do but you'd drop to your knees for him right now, right here, if he'd promise to quell the simmer he's started between your legs.

The father is thanking those who helped prepare the picnic on the lawn outside and Bo props his arm on the back of the bench, leans close and lets his lips graze your skin, and whispers, "Meet me up there once everybody's outside." He gestures with a nod.

You look at him with wide eyes. "The confessional?" you hiss.

He winks at you.

You follow your parents out onto the green, but Bo doesn't follow you. In fact you lose him immediately in the crowd, can't help but search for him among the abundance of pastel dresses and khaki suits. You agree vapidly with everything your mother says about the mass, nod politely at all your dad's closest acquaintances.

You excuse yourself at the second or third possible opportunity, afraid of running into the father if you sneak back too soon. Your footsteps are deafening in the now silent sanctuary, your eager uncertainty echoing back at you like an accusation.

Bo is nowhere to be seen, but neither is the clergy, so you step lightly across the stone floor and approach the confessional booth. The penitent's bench is hardly private, hung with a red curtain that only conceals from the waist up. You duck instead into the priest's chamber and inch the door closed behind you, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding once you're safely out of sight.

The small space is dimly lit by a single bulb recessed in the ceiling and the fractured light coming in through the screen on the one side. There's a bench built into the back wall and furnished with a velvet cushion. You sit, adjusting your skirt, and think about guilt.

Abruptly the door flies open and Bo slips inside, closing it all the way behind him. He's appropriately debonair in a blue suit, white shirt, no tie. For a moment, he looks a touch harried, glancing over his shoulder to be sure the door is closed. But then he looks down at you, meets your gaze, and flashes you a grin.

"Well what do we have here?"

You move to stand and he shakes his head, fighting to shrug off his suit coat in the confined space. "Don't get up, darlin', you're perfect right there. Betcha this is the first time anyone with tits has sat in that seat."

You giggle, a touch nervous. He reaches his hand out for yours and brings your knuckles to his lips. His mustache prickles your skin.

"You enjoy the mass?"

You're not sure if he's serious. "...parts of it, yeah."

He smiles. "Which parts?"

You open your mouth for a sharp reply but your gaze is hung up on his lips and when he shifts his weight you become unbearably aware of how close his bulge is to your face.

Bo laughs low and squeezes your hand. "I myself had a hard time focusin' on the good word. Had my mind on...other things." He eyes you with something like mischief. "I was hopin' maybe you could help me...unburden myself."

The smell of him is slowly permeating the tiny space, overwriting the stuffy scent of incense and oiled wood with tobacco and aftershave. He barely fits, too tall, shoulders too broad. He could swallow you whole and you wish he would.

"Anything you want," you say softly.

Bracing himself against the walls, he sinks to his knees in front of you. The pattern of the screen is emblazoned on his face in light. The wood pops and creaks. You remember to breathe.

"I'm a sinner, darlin'." He gazes up at you through those lashes, smiling sheepishly, big hands curving around your calves. "Done too much wrong to confess. Can't even remember it all."

You touch his cheek, brush your thumb over the crow's feet at the corner of his eye. "Start small."

His hands slide down to your ankles and he works at the strap of your heels with ungainly fingers. "I been tellin' lies, baby." He slips off one shoe and starts on the other. "Your mama asked me if I've been seein' anyone and I said no." His thumb runs along the arch of your foot. "Your daddy asked me if I knew where you was the other night and I told him I didn't have a clue."

He wraps his fingers around your ankles and squeezes gently, and then pulls your legs open. You stifle a gasp, try to press your thighs together to maintain a smidgen of modesty.

Bo kisses your knees. His hands creep up the outside of your legs. "Been gamblin'. Riskin' my reputation, my livelihood."

"Why would you do that?" you whisper.

He grins against your skin. His fingers are sneaking beneath your skirt. "Well y'see, there's this girl...."

You bite your lip as he curls one finger around the waistband of your panties on either side and tugs them down your thighs.

"She ain't for me...but she's all I want. And that's another thing." He tucks your panties in his pocket and you pretend you don't notice. "I been plagued by lustful thoughts. Day and night I'm thinkin' about this girl, thinkin' about the sounds she makes...picturin' her underneath me...." He guides your knees apart, drags his mouth over your skin, lighting you up from the outside in. His shoulders are solid under your hands, a foundation to cling to.

"See, I know it's wrong, but whenever she's around me I just...forget myself. Start wonderin' what she's got on under her clothes, what I gotta do to get 'em off of her...." He nips at your flesh, one, two, three up your thigh, and you gasp each time. "Keeps me up at night wishin' she was in my bed." He pauses, looks at you with cocked eyebrows. "I think about her damn near every time I defile myself, which is...often."

You exhale slowly, release the death grip you have on his shirt and run your fingers through his hair. "Sounds like you've got a lot of penance to do."

Bo lets out a helpless chuckle. "I know it, baby. I'm desperate." He blinks up at you, looking earnest. "I'm hopin' you got some salvation to offer me."

"I might." You tug your skirt up, baring yourself to him, and he groans, fingers digging into your flesh. "But you've got to earn it."

He inches forward and pins your legs open on either side of his shoulders. "Never been much of a god-fearin' man," he says, "but I know how to worship." He bows his head and you close your eyes when you feel his breath on your skin. "What d'you know about devotion, angel?"

"Nothing," you say, breathless. "Teach me."

The first pass of his tongue is feather-light and devastating and you sigh as that flickering flame roils brightly back to life. He teases the edge of your entrance, warming you up with the heat of his attention. You make a small sound and he responds with a slow, insistent lick up the length of your slit that makes you whine and clutch at his hair.

He cradles your clit in the cup of his lips and venerates you with his tongue in lazy spirals, up and over, and your blood throbs in the same rhythm. He sucks gently, and then harder, and you moan in the bliss of transubstantiation as his mouth makes the mundane into the divine.

With a growl in the back of his throat he hoists your legs onto his shoulders and penetrates you with his tongue, lapping at your pussy in search of absolution. Your eyes bounce around the blank ceiling of the booth as your hips buck mindlessly against his chin. His mustache tickles your lips, beard coarse against your inner thighs.

"Bo," you gasp as he sucks hard at your clit, "oh, god."

"I'm a bad person, baby," he mumbles. "Promise."

"No." You try and fail to stifle a cry, back arching, toes curled. "You're so good...you're so good."

Between your gasps you hear the sound of footsteps on the stone. Your steady-building climax skids to a halt and you stare wide-eyed at the confessional door.

Bo doesn't stop. In fact, he redoubles his efforts.

You clamp your hand over your mouth, trying desperately to keep still even as your body flexes and writhes against your will. You can hear two voices--you recognize one as the father but the other could be anybody, some stranger, some sinner seeking Easter confession.

Bo seals his mouth over your cunt and grinds his tongue against your clit again and again, gripping your ass, holding you to him as you squirm and seek purchase on the featureless walls.

The voices are getting closer and against all odds, so is your release. You're past the point of redemption, couldn't stave it off if you wanted to.

"Bo," you squeak under your breath, clawing at the back of his neck, grasping the edge of the seat, "please--"

He grunts softly. He's devouring you, hellbent on a miracle, bound and determined to introduce you to God. And seconds later, when your cup runneth over and your spine arches against the velvet and you have to sink your teeth into the meat of your palm to keep from howling his name, you see starbursts of pastel pink and sky blue behind your eyes and figure this is probably the closest you'll get to the pearly gates.

Your breath is hitching in your chest and you feel him slip out of your hands and you whimper, floating back into your body, unsteady as you try to sit up straight on the bench. The voices and footsteps are fading and you breathe a sigh of relief and release.

His hands are on your arms and he's coaxing you to your feet, supporting your weight on behalf of your shaking legs, turning you around in the tight space and murmuring in your ear.

"Need you, baby, right now, c'mere. Need to be inside you. Let me--"

He takes your place on the bench. He's undone his belt, freed his cock from his pants, and you clamber eagerly into his lap and let him guide you down onto him. Your head lolls back as he pushes into you, fills your empty space. The image of him looking desperately up at you is burned into the back of your eyelids.

"Angel," he breathes as he takes your face in his hands and brings your mouth to his. His kisses are hot with lust, with greed, with envy of everyone who's ever touched your lips before him. You can smell yourself in his beard, sweet and heady like original sin.

You move, rocking back and forth on his cock, and he moves you, hands on your hips, your skirt in disarray, his shirt falling open as you wrestle with the buttons. He pulls you closer, pulls himself deeper, and you can feel his heart pounding when you brace yourself on his chest.

"Ain't gonna last long," he pants. "So fuckin' tight, baby, so perfect...."

"That's okay, that's okay," you say, stumbling over your words. The frame of the booth is groaning in legitimate complaint, the entire structure trembling slightly, and you're going to get caught, surely you are, and you'll be cast out together beyond the reach of forgiveness but that might be alright as long as you've got him with you.

You press yourself against him, as close as you can get and not close enough. He cums with his face buried in your chest and your name in his mouth like a prayer. The kick of his cock inside you grants you another little climax, a little death, little moans jarred from your lips with each waning thrust of his hips.

"Kiss me," you whisper, and he obeys, his eyes glazed, his gaze soft and adoring. His needy grip on your waist melts into caresses and you finger the buttons of his shirt like rosary beads. One is missing; you're both hopelessly disheveled, undeniably sin-touched. You push his hair off his forehead and back into place. "Did this help?"

He shakes his head and laughs quietly. "No."

"Made it worse."

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

"'S okay." He kisses you again. "You're forgiven."

[blood-injections]

Ghoul witnessing Benzedrine doing a surgery or stiching someones wound with such care and precision and just. being floored. because that should be him. Thats his creator, who put him together and made him, who knows his flesh insode and out, who touched him all over but then hardly ever again, and no matter how much he fucking hates Benzedrine he cant help but need him. Because he fucking made him and it cant be undone now. But hes just a monster and in Benzedrine's eyes, sure, a medical miracle, but also a failed experiment. Because ghoul didnt turn out exactly how he wanted to and hes ashamed of it. For a while he treated ghoul like he was holy, he made him, put him together, which might as well be some form of worship, to build a man with your own hands, and then bring him to life- but then ghoul woke up, and the hands that had known every part of him before he was even alive ceased to worship him, there was a handful of checkups to ensure everything was working correctly, but the stiches dissolved on their own and ghoul proved himself a failure of what Benzedrine wanted him to be and hes alone, hes forsaken his creator but also, his creator has fosaken him, and he didnt think it would hurt so much. And he hates himself for after everything, after what Benzedrine did to create him, he hates himself for he fact he misses him, wants his attention, his devotion, and then he sees Benzedrine operating on someone or stiching up a wound with practice and precision, a form of worship like making him, and hes so fucking jealous. Those hands made him, before he was even alive and awake and aware. But now he knows who he is and he wants to indulge so, so bad. Even of he has to beg him he feels the shame might be worth it, just for those hands to worship him again and to exist for it this time. It should be him. He wants to beg Benzedrine to cut him open and look at his own handiwork again, then to sew him back up after tying his stomach in knots, touching him with that practiced care. He wants Benzedrine to know him inside and out and look at him with wonder again, like a miracle, not like a failure. And he also longs to know Benzedrine the same way. Simply because he feels he deserves to know his creator the same way he knows him. He wants even ground. He wants to worship as well. Stitches, scars, an act of pain and of love, of bleeding and needing and something almost religious between them, or maybe sacrilegious. Something twisted, need and shame and need and shame, longing and lonliness and scalpels and scars. Longing turning to curiousity turning to desire while still all along being fueled by rage and hatred and yet all that just creates a fucked up love that as always, spirals into lust. But if they indulge there will be nothing healthy, no tenderness. Just anger, just giving and getting, just primal need that their emotions bleed into. Rage. Shame. Maybe they'd get it all out but also, maybe it'll all build up, or the parts getting pushed down will. The results, of that shame of your creation being a failure, the results of your creator abandoning you. Lonliness. Confusion. Regret. Revenge. And it'll probably spiral into a breakdown, maybe turning to fists, maybe even to knives at throats through tears and a loaded, ragged, "Why?"

[rafent]

Avoiding strangers as if he was waltzing with them Alfred made his way through the halls. As he walked by, some stopped to look at him with curious eyes and others kept on their tracks as their heads turned his way, but the prince didn't think much of it and instead kept on his way until he was met with a closed door. With busy hands he knocked on it to make his entrance known, unlocking the door without dropping or damaging anything he carried proved to be more of a challenge but with a movement of a few free fingers and push with his arm he made his way in.

Walking in he closed the door behind him with his arm and then turned to face the person sitting at the other end of this office. A smile bloomed on his face as Alfred walked closer. "Hey there, Lord Rafal!" He greeted stopping his tracks and eyeing the table separating the two of them, yes there'd be enough space to place everything on top of it. "Today's your birthday and i know you didn't get to celebrate many of them as yourself, so to make up for some you missed i brought some gifts."

In his right hand he carried a big bouquet of red roses, he placed it on the table. "To start, roses, they remind me of you and their bright color makes me think of your eyes—and dragonstone!" Looking at the size of the gift he chuckled, maybe he went overboard with simply asking the florist 'give me a big bouquet!' "Each rose is a birthday wish i didn't get to give you until now."

With one gift down he made his way to the other side of the table and kneeled down, with his free hand he set down one of the gifts. "This one's for last." Having said that, he looked inside the little bag he carried and pulled out a box, opening it a snake-shaped ring with two rubies for eyes and a pair of diamond shaped earrings twinkled. "You're always wearing jewelry so i thought you'd like this one. Let me put the ring on for you."

Reaching for Rafal's left hand, Alfred held his world with his right one. Two digits were enough to pick up the ring and his eyes danced choosing were to place it of the few free ones, in the end he gently slid it on his ring finger. A complacent smile at seeing it fit perfectly.

Lastly he reached for the small fabric placed on the table. Quietly he unfolded it to show a small embroidery with two roses and some diamonds on it—details that reminded him of the dragon—the stitching was far from perfect but he had put effort on it. "I'm not good at sewing but i tried making something myself that would last more than a flowercrown. The embroidery passed down my family is way prettier but it's back in Firene." He laughed, placing it on Rafal's hands. "This is to remind you that even if we are apart, i'm always with you."

"I do want to say something, for as long as i'm alive i will be here to celebrate your birthday and to remind you how precious your life is not only to me but all the people who love you." Standing up his gaze softened as he spoke once again. "Happy birthday Lord Rafal! I'm blessed to have you as my dear friend."

Having taken that off his chest he gently smacked his friend's shoulder. "Anyway! Why don't we go eat dinner together? I know of a place where we could eat a nice birthday cake."

A sweet waft of roses invaded the dragon's lair. Curious. Sacrilegious. Alfred. For all his familiarity with the Firenese prince, a single knock predated the bold vision that resulted in the other's wake - as was often wont to do. Heavy, trundling steps barely succeeded in entering his office and in holding aloft an armful of items. Had there been greetings or questions he first intended, the sight of a thoroughly encumbered Alfred plucked them straight from his mouth.

Countless thoughts whirred in their attempts to reach a conclusion. However, the proclamation of 'happy birthday' left no room for mistake, only further cementing intentions with a bounteous rose bouquet just short of spilling onto the floor and more offerings on its tail. Crimson eyes partook in a slow-inching dawn of understanding, drawn to the ring placed on his hand, the earrings chosen for their memorable ruby color, and then the gift of embroidery. True to word, an amateur product, if not one made lush by time and labor.

. . .the maker's homage to his subject of regard.

Wordlessly, he twisted off the band and set it down without force. He acknowledged the roses with a glance. At last he picked up the fabric, turning it over in his fingers with a blasé look of measurement, this way and that, sparing no corner from sight. And, at last, he spoke: "This stitchwork is not anything special. It is of a quality that the average onlooker would not inspect twice. The roses intended as embellishments are not perfectly aligned. These edges look to be unraveling."

Each word snapped into line without hesitation, piercing as the gaze that analyzed every defect that dared exist before it with visibility. Not a single mistake did he fail to bring to light and, after planting the cloth down, silent judgment lapsed across the course of several seconds. Several more.

". . .I approve."

He pushed onto his heels with a fond twitch of lips. Rising from his chair and brushing past the prince in one seamless motion, only with two feet set firmly before the door did he halt. "I am grateful, Alfred, your sentiments and gifts have not only been generous, but they have revealed to me the true blessings to be had. They have made this a special birthday." Anticipatory appraisal over his shoulder. "—and dinner would make the occasion happier still."

[blenderfullasarcasm]

10 People You Want to Know Better

tagged by @kuroko99

Relationship Status: single

Favorite Colors:  red, black, silver

Favorite Foods: soft pretzels, bubble tea, onigiri, croque madame, cheese toasties

Song Stuck in Your Head: The Beginning - ONE OK ROCK

Last Thing You Googled: oracle (the cloud infrastructure company)

Time: 23:36

Dream Trip: Japan! I went for my study abroad but got sent home a month in bc of the pandemic :/ 

Last Thing You Read: Batman: Urban Legends #20

Last Book You Enjoyed: The Magpie Murders, by Anthony Horowitz

Favorite Thing to Cook/Bake: chocolate crinkle cookies! they're chocolate chocolate chip cookies, dense like brownies, and covered in powdered sugar

Favorite Craft: knitting or embroidery! right now I'm working on knitting a Batman doll and cross-stitching a Kaitou KID embroidery piece

Most Niche Dislike: mushrooms. cannot stand them. even the smell of them makes me want to gag. also generally not a fan of soup, which I have been informed is sacrilegious.

Opinion on Circuses: have only experienced it through Dick Grayson’s backstory. and my time on here i guess.

Sense of Direction? pretty okay. I'm the human GPS whenever I'm with my family, so.

tagging: @summerbummin @artycreaty @rururinchan @helloitstrash @hexfloog @marshmallowgoop

[bobceffula]

I’m super proud of this patch, and I’m actually very tempted to make more 🫢

[mykawinchester]

You make me vicious

☽ ᴍᴜsɪᴄᴀʟ ɪɴsᴘɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ☾

"You make me vicious

Watch as I make the pain my mistress

You can call me Miss Malicious

I'll dress you up in stitches

No, I cannot resist this

If it don't hurt I get suspicious

I like to take the knife and twist it

Yeah, my love is sacrilegious

I'm not scared to admit it

This violence is delicious."

Vicious - Halestorm

☽ ᴘʜᴏᴛᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜ sᴘᴏɴsᴏʀs ☾

PANIQ - Moonstag's Coffee

PANIQ - Crescent Glasses II - Modified

🌑︎ 🌒︎ 🌓︎ 🌔︎ 🌕︎ 🌖︎ 🌗︎ 🌘︎ 🌑︎

☽ 🇧​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇩​​​​​🇾​​​​​ 🇬​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇦​​​​​🇱​​​​​🇸​​​​​ ☾

Head: Lelutka - Avalon

Body: Reborn

Body Mod(s): N/A

Skin: Pumec - Astra

Body: Velour x ItGirls - Picasso Babe - Slim Muse

Eyes: IKON - Apex

🌑︎ 🌒︎ 🌓︎ 🌔︎ 🌕︎ 🌖︎ 🌗︎ 🌘︎ 🌑︎

☽ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛʏ ᴇɴʜᴀɴᴄᴇʀs ☾

Hair: Stealthic - Makeout

Makeup:

Eyes: Just Magnetized - Vanilla - Blood

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Backdrop: .PALETO.Backdrop:. Sub -A5

Pose: Mysteria - Sk8er Boi

(Custom texture on board)

[dameronology]

trigger (frank castle)

summary: frank castle lives to protect you. he doesn't take it very well when you do the same for him.

warnings: brief mentions of loss, injury, swearing, weapons

mannn i haven't written for frank in ages. i missed him. enjoy.

- jazz

The air in your apartment was so thick that it couldn’t have even been cut with a knife. It was held mostly in the small gap between you and Frank, almost enough to be suffocating but not quite enough to asphyxiate you completely. His actions were sharp and calm as he stitched you up, hands barely wavering. Methodical, steady, routine - a direct opposite to everything he was at every other second of the day. It was a funny contrast to your own state - bruises and blood aside; your palms were clammy, heart pounding in your chest and wasps swarming in your stomach. It wasn’t fear. Not at Frank, at least. No matter how fucking stupid you were, he would never lay a finger on you. The thought alone made him angry at whatever fictional version of himself was capable of that. And then he got angry at his regular self for possessing a mind that even went there.

“Frank-” you tried to speak, voice smashing the cold, hard silence.

“- don’t,” his gruff voice caught you out. “Just…not right now.”

He didn’t have the words, to be frank (though sometimes he wished he wasn’t). He’d always had recurring nightmares about you throwing yourself in the line of fire but hell. Frank had never expected you to actually fucking do it. The worst part was that you hadn’t even hesitated; you hadn’t paused for a single goddamn second to consider the consequences. That was exactly the kind of thing he was supposed to do for you: protect you. Not the other way round. You were pure and golden and worthy of saving and he was…he was The Punisher. He was vexed and sacrilegious as they came, all shades of red and anger. He wasn’t supposed to be worth saving.

And yet here you were, bleeding out on his couch. Because of him; because you’d deemed him important enough to be worth risking your own life for.

You’d gotten lucky. The bullet had barely skimmed your shoulder, but the fight that followed with your assailant had left some nasty cuts and scrapes. They were scattered over your stomach and down your arm - nothing too jarring, but still a little too much for Frank given the circumstances. He worked on your arm first, gently dabbing away at the wounds.

“You’re gonna have to lose the shirt,” he murmured, gently tugging at your top. You let him pull it off of you, exposing the marks on your stomach. His breath caught in his throat.

“Can I just say something-”

“-no,” Frank’s tone was curt and final. “Just let me clean you up, okay? Right now I can’t even fuckin’ look at you in this state and I’m gonna say something I don’t mean.”

His heart broke when you pulled away from him, slinking back into the couch. You folded your arms over your chest and glanced away from him - your eyes were darting around the room, looking at anything but him. The cracks in the wall, the late rent payment hung up on the fridge, piles of boots abandoned by the door. It was the safe haven that you’d built for yourselves and now, it was threatening to implode.

“Hey,” Frank said, voice a little more docile now. “Look at me.”

You wouldn’t. Your eyes stayed put.

“Look at me,” he grabbed your wrists, gently pulling you back towards him. “Don’t make me beg. You know I don’t beg.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“You wanna be like that?” he raised an eyebrow. “Fine. Throw all the tantrums you want. Whatever keeps you busy.”

Large hands worked away to patch you up - again, it was nothing too dire but for Frank Castle, anything more than a paper cut was deemed too much. You were both grateful that none of it had to be stitched up. His stitching skills were a little less than stellar and you didn’t all that much fancy the wonky scarring. Still, he was extremely tender in his actions.

The Punisher’s hands were capable of many things; some bloody, some pleasurable, some less than desirable. They were calloused and scarred and rough around the edges but when he tangled his fingers with yours or ran a large palm down your back, you felt safe. It was a metaphor for who he was, in many ways. Violent to literally every other single person on the planet but gentle with you.

Frank wrapped the final piece of gauze around your stomach; he pinned it in place and reached for one of his shirts out the strewn laundry basket on the floor, guiding it over your head. It smelt like him; cheap laundry detergent, the Lacoste aftershave that he swore by and…the general scent of guns. Whatever that may be.

He stayed silent as he picked you up - one arm under your legs and one under your arms - and carried you through to the bedroom. His movements were still methodical; too methodical. Almost silent and deadly as he placed you on the bed and moved about the room, removing his boots and holsters and belt. The mattress dipped beside you as he sat down, broad back facing away from you.

“Frank,” you began. “If you don’t start talking I’m getting my shit and I’m staying at my mum’s tonight.”

He glanced over at you, a derivative snort escaping his lips. “Do you really fucking think that you can take the high road right now, sweetheart?”

“I almost took a bullet for you and you’re acting like I did the opposite, like I took a gun and pointed it at your head-”

“- it kinda felt like you did!” Frank stood up, turning to face you. “You can’t do shit like that!”

“And you can?!” you shot back. “Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight but hell, Frank, I was trying to save your life!”

“I’ve never asked you to-”

“- you don’t have to-”

“- that’s my job-”

“- it goes both ways-”

“- it shouldn’t -”

“ - you make no fucking sense, Frank-”

“- I can’t lose you, goddammit!”

His voice ripped through the walls like a bullet, right into the core of your chest. You stopped, mouth slightly hanging open as you held his gaze. Frank was red in the face, cheeks stained with tears - you hadn’t seen him cry before - and chest heaving. It felt like time had stopped around you. The noise outside continued - the shouts and beeps and sounds of Manhattan - but you could only hear your heart pounding in your chest.

Neither of you wanted to speak first. It was a battle of wills, really - one part of you was fixated on how idiotic the man sounded, spewing all this bullshit of how he can only save you, but you had to look at the wider picture. Frank had lost everything humanly possible; his wife, his kids, his name. His entire world had been torn apart one too many times and he wasn’t about to let it happen again. Frank was happy to lose anything else - this apartment, his guns, the old piece of shit car you shared - but not you. He could rebuild again; constantly and continuously, but only if you were there. He’d pack up and move across the world, across the street, across the block, but it was all fucking pointless if he didn’t have you. Frank Castle would have bled himself dry just to keep you by his side. God forbid you do the same.

“Hey,” you propped yourself up on your knees, crossing the mattress and opening your arms to him. “C’mere, Frank. C’mere.”

The vigilante fell forward, broad arms meeting the middle of your torso as he picked up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, preparing for impact as he spun around and fell backwards onto the mattress. He held onto you tightly, chest to chest, forehead to forehead.

“I love you,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then the other, and then his nose. “I love you so fucking much and I would do anything for you, okay?”

“I love you too,” he murmured. “But you can’t be doing batshit stuff like that. It scares the fuckin’ daylights outta me. Jumping into bullets left, right and center like some damn ninja? I dunno who the fuck you think you are but best be keeping your pretty ass still-”

“- I can do as I want with my pretty ass,” you cut him off, fighting back a smile. “I get it, though. I don’t want you to lose me as much as I don’t want to lose you and for that reason - by my own choice and not yours, because this is not the 1920s - I will refrain from being a ninja in future.”

His large palms ran up and down your back, gently passing over the bruises. You leaned into him, burying your head under his and letting out a small sigh.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” you quietly said. “I’m not sorry for saving your ass but I am sorry for not thinking beforehand.”

“It’s okay,” Frank replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I just…you know I’d never stop raining on hell on this goddamn city if I lost you, right? I’d go through every bastard, every criminal, every fucking person and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

You felt him tense up beneath you, so you popped your head up, holding his gaze. The thought alone of losing you was starting to get to him again.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

Frank placed a hand on the back of your head, pulling your head back into his chest and sinking back down in the mattress. It was a tight grip, almost as if he was clinging onto you - it certainly felt that like sometimes. Like you were slipping through his fingers, day by day, bit by bit, until you’d be gone completely, free falling from the hot fucking mess he’d created. The irony was that he couldn’t have been more wrong. He was just as much to you as you were to him.

He’d protect you with his life. You were his life.f

[ddarker-dreams]

Unholy Revelation. Yan Rosaria x Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, mild not SFW implications if you squint.  Word count: 1k.

If there’s anything Rosaria abhors more than the various nuisances who pester her, it’s pity.

She can’t pick any singular reason for disliking it. There are too many, each more grating than the last; a lodged thorn in her side that’s pushed in further with every display. The citizens of Mondstadt mean well. The extra food slid none too discreetly on her plate when she goes to Good Hunter, how the guards allow her to skulk in the shadows without question, every instance of her fellow sisters feigning ignorance to her absence.

Rosaria knows she’s an outsider, they don’t need to constantly remind her, inadvertent as it may be.

Maybe that’s why her heart of stone holds a soft spot for you. The way you treat her is different than anyone else — and while she doesn’t consider herself to be addicted — it’s something close enough to the term.

The moon is at its peak in the night sky, a signal that Rosaria’s work in the dark is to be underway. Though her regular routine of performing thorough surveillance on Mondstadt is currently on hold. Under normal circumstances, nothing could keep her from the self-appointed job she takes so seriously, not even the Archons themselves. As long as air fills her lungs, there is work to be done. Yet here she sits. Fishnet tight covered legs crossed, her magenta eyes fixated on your every precise movement, waiting with uncharacteristic patience for you to finish your task.

“This fabric is a perfect fit for you,” you hum, fastening another stitch into place.

Rosaria appreciates the discretion you exercise with her. When she comes to you at unholy hours of the night, presenting her tattered clothes, you never ask too many questions or look at her with fear. You simply invite her in while you fix the various garments. She’s not always able to accept your invitation, but she allowed herself the privilege of your company tonight. This might not be her favorite activity to partake in involving you at night, but it is enchanting to watch your handiwork with clothes.

Your comment piques her interest in a way only you can. “And why is that?”

“The way it flows may appear without direction to the incompetent eye. Nevertheless, it never fails to retain its shape and purpose.”

She purses her lips to fight off an incoming smile. It’s not like you could see it, with how focused you are on fixing her torn habit, yet she still doesn’t afford herself the vulnerability. For an innocent appearing tailor, you’re far from naïve like the other citizens. How you’ve not grown callous as she has from knowing the truth is a mystery. Rosaria has given credence to some theories. Where she inhabits the shadow of Mondstadt’s sun, you navigate freely between both worlds, never settling down in one. It’s a fine line that you tread upon.

The despair of knowing too much, or the ignorance of knowing too little. The scales that normally tip in favor of one or the other remain at equilibrium for you.

“I see that spending hours in the Knight’s library is starting to affect you,” Rosaria quips. You reward her with that melodious laugh of yours — a sound so lovely it’s almost sacrilegious for besting the beauty of the gods — not taking any offense to her scathing sarcasm.

You pull the needle through and upwards. “Yes, well, I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later. Lisa’s starting to run out of poetry books to recommend.”

“Hm.”

Rosaria’s fingers drum against the arm of her chair in tandem, but she offers no rebuttal. Your dexterous hands continue, unimpeded by her heavy stare, the light humming of a favored Mondstadt ballad filling the air. She’s always been partial to your fingers. They can work in the most wonderful ways, she’s learned. A few minutes later, you set your needle and thread onto the side table and smile.

“All done here!” You exclaim, proudly holding up to display your handiwork. It’s like the garment was brand new, but with some alterations, namely the end of the headpiece which is slightly more jagged than it was before. To keep it symmetrical, you had to apply the same look to the side left unaffected by her fight. Rosaria expects she’ll receive some strife for the altered habit, not that it’ll be anything she can’t handle; this look feels more fitting for someone of her disposition anyways.

She stands and approaches you with long, languid strides. “You work fast.”

This is the closest sentiment to a compliment you’ll get from her, not that you seem to mind. She bends over to take the headpiece from your hands, only to find you’ve yet to relinquish your grip; you’re staring up at her through thick eyelashes.

“Rose…” you trail off, the nickname one she claims to detest but always responds to nevertheless, “Can you promise me something?”

She takes in a deep breath. “That depends on what the promise is.”

“I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. So please... stop intimidating my friends.”

You’ve since shut your eyes, a mannerism she associates with you being in deep thought. Rosaria lifts a gloved finger to your exposed collarbone, lightly running it up and to your neck, stopping to hover over your pulse. Your skin has always been far warmer than hers. That’s what you claim, at least, when she asks why you always shiver at her touch.

Rosaria wonders which one of you lies more.

You release the breath you were holding when she peels back, taking her now repaired headpiece with her.

“Intimidating...? I have no idea what it is you’re talking about,” Rosaria replies, all the while fastening the accessory back onto her person. It felt abnormal to go so long without it. She used to disdain the headpiece, feeling like it was nothing but dead weight until you offhandedly complimented how she looks in it. Now, she makes an effort to always have it on.

Your shoulders slump ever so slightly, a weak laugh leaving your lips. “Of course. How… silly of me.”

“How silly indeed.”

Whenever the scales start to tip outside of her favor, she forcefully applies weight to keep it balanced; all so that you remain where she wants you to.

[holylulusworld]

You make me vicious Watch as I make the pain my mistress You can call me Miss Malicious I'll dress you up in stitches No, I can not resist this

If it don't hurt I get suspicious I like to take the knife and twist it Yeah my love is sacrilegious I'm nuts, get to admit it This violence is delicious