#since i did my usual sunday post
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illiana-mystery · 4 months ago
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What a lovely man...
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violentdevotion · 1 year ago
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i love your actimel fridge posting keep it up
:D thank you !!!! Its more full than usual right now because the other day i went shop and got some and today my brother went to get groceries and my mum told him to get me some actimel while he was there so for at least the next 2 weeks i should be good on actimel !!!!
#laetitia tag#avds.got.mail#whats worrying me a little thought is i have work tomorrow (i only work on sundays. during the weekday i do this taci passanger assistant#thing but i hate it sooo bad it makes me sooooo car sick so while one day a week was okay while i was in uni and lived at home and only rly#needed money to buy myself treats. its not working now that im free the entire week and want to get out of this house and also dont get#student finance moneg every 3 months)#anyway yeah i am looking for a weekday job now too. BACK to the point. on sundays when i buy lunch i buy a sandwich OR wedges / a pastry f#from greggs#2 packets of crisps and nomadic oat chocolate and honeycomb yoghurt#i eat the main and one crisp packet during my lunch and then keep the other packet and the yoghurt in my bag#(which is probablg a bad idea since yoghurt shouldnt be out of a fridge for longer than 2 hrs but ive been doing this for weeks and have#survived so idk) and when i get home un sundays i usually eat the other crisp packet and yoghurt in my room and go to sleep#(< tradition that started from the time i did an all nighter before work to write an essay due that day and told myself at work i can go#home and sleep and i liked it so much i continued the napping thing minus the all nighter)#BUT my driving instructor cancelled on me yesterday and offered to do tomorrow at 5pm instead to make up for it since he usuallg doesnt do#weekends. and i get off work st 4:20 and get home before 5pm usually. and i agreed since i havent had a lesson in a few weeks now#BUT that means i need to refridgerate mg yoghurt or else itll be out of the drige for THREE/FOUR hours#and right now theres no soace in my mini fridge bc of the actimel#so im a little worried about that#having my problems is really fun actually i cant wait for god to throw some real curveballs at me like a broken loghtbulb ir smth#edit: posted this and looked at how long the tags are... girl......
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xhunnybeeex · 3 months ago
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kinktober post 1
Make Me God
TW// : NSFW content, religious themes, female anatomy, piv, oral (reader receiving), virgin reader, slight corruption kink, Priest! Anakin, pantie stealing, 
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Anakin is sitting in his usual spot in the pews as you go to look for him. He holds his new vestments in his hands, gazing at them attentively. 
“They fit okay, Father?” you ask, sitting next to your friend. 
Anakin hesitates before answering, him becoming a priest slipping his mind. It was only a couple days since the young man had become a head figure at your guy’s church. Anakin had met you when you were young, 10 and 14. The both of you never went to the same school, for he was older and went to a private catholic school while you attended public classes. That never stopped the two of you from seeing each other at youth groups, church, and going out. Your parents liked the faithful, obedient man he has become as the two of you fell into your 20s. 
He blinks out of his trance and looks over to you. “Oh hey, sorry, this is all just so new still. It feels like a dream.” he chuckles, laying the folded cloth in his lap. 
“Its all official now!” you smile, excited for him. Your faith was everything to you, and he was wired the same way. Every action, every word, every thought, all to serve your savior. 
“It feels so different,” he admits. “ but in a way it’s like nothing has changed.” he plays with the cross on his neck, fiddling with the metal over his chest between his fingers. 
“What do you mean?” you ask. “Everyone sees me the same, nothing has changed in my reputation. But the power I have here, I think God can feel it." His voice is thick, his tone almost eerie. you nod delicately.  “I dont think it’s a bad thing people see you the same. They’ve always had high respect for you.” 
He pauses, his brows furrowed and his breathing slowed. “Do you?” he questions. Your palms begin to sweat and you begin to feel squirmy. “What? Of course I do, we all-” you ramble but he hushes you. “I didn't ask about everyone, I asked if you did.” he says sternly. He stands from his seat and towers in front of you as your back presses against the pews. “Anakin, i, of  course I do.” You mumble. He looks down at you and runs his knuckles down your cheekbone. 
“Of course you do, you would never disobey your father, your god.” His voice is silk. Your breathing halts and your legs cross. Your face turns away from his gaze and he can feel your body become warm. 
“You Are devoted to your god, aren’t to.” his hand holds your face up to look at his and his thumb presses under your jawline. “Yes father.” you mumble. His eyes move to your lips and he slowly moves his fingers to trace the pink skin. His fingers begin to force their way into your mouth. You don’t even think about moving, telling him to stop. This was your priest, you wouldn’t disobey. “Suck.” he mutters. You obey, sucking gently and swirling your tongue around his flesh. Your eyes are interlocked with his. His face is cold as his jawline is tightly clenched. 
He pulls his fingers out and moves down onto his knees, his face eye level with your stomach. He rolls your flowy sunday dress up your thighs and his jaw falls slack as he looks up and down your lace panties. “Your dripping, god made you so beautiful.” he kisses up your thigh as he slides the lace down your legs and stuffs them in his pocket, having no intentions to give them back to you. He licks a long stripe down your folds and your hands go to grip his shoulders when your body starts to shudder under him. His still wet fingers make their way into you and your nails dig into his shoulders through his button up. His lips wrap around your clit and his fingers curl inside of you. You bite your lip to muffle the sounds threatening to escape your lips. “Don't be quiet, let god hear how  good you feel.” 
He continues to tease you with the tip of his tongue.  your lips part  and your head falls back against the wooden pews. “You taste like heaven” he murmurs, almost too quietly for you to catch.
 He removes his fingers, leaving you to whine due to the empty feeling hes given you. He leaves kisses up your clothed stomach and makes his way up your jaw as he starts to stand and undo his belt. His pants and boxers fall to his ankles and he pulls your hips up to meet his. He lines your folds up with him before pushing himself into you. Your back arches and you cry out from the intense burn from your stretching pussy. 
“You're a virgin aren't you.” anakin asks, gripping your hips tightly as he gives you a moment to adjust. You nod frantically and he chuckles. “God would be proud of you.” He kisses your temple and begins to move his hips. The burn slowly turns into an intense feeling of pure pleasure. Low moans escape you and the priest's lips as he thrusts hard and slow into you. 
Sweat beads drip down his forehead and darken his blonde curls. His lips move to yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth. “Can you feel god through me?” he  grunts. “Yes, father.” you squeal. But with the way you are whining and clenching around him, he's convinced you are god, and this is heaven. 
His thrusting becomes quick and sloppy, your whining sounds like Hymns in his ear. He feels you clench around him and he holds onto your hips tighter, leaving dark bruises into your skin. “Let go, finish around your priest.” he commands, and you’ll always do what the father asks of you. 
You mind is fuzzy as he fucks you into oblivion. You feel the knot in your stomach unravel as anakin holds your body close to his chest, coating your walls with his orgasm. He pulls out, continuing to hold you close to him. He gently sets you on the pews. He takes your panties out of his pocket and wipes the slick around your folds to clean you up. He pulls his pants up and He slips them back into his pocket . He kisses your forehead and picks up his vestments and rubs your cheek with his thumb. “Will I be seeing you next Sunday, my dear?” Anakin asks. You nod and give him a small smile. “Yes father.” he smiles approvingly and walks to his office in the now empty church.  
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AN//: OMGGG im so sorry this is late. This is my first one shot on tumblr and the first post for kinktober! Please like if you enjoyed and let me know if you would like to be tagged in the next post or to be removed from the current tag list. Love all. - beee! 
Tag list : @thesassypadawan @kirbie44danielle  @niconico33333777  @heelvr78 @goldie-00 @anakinstwinklebunny @enchant5d @bxbyysstuff @quandoquires @starwalkertales @rxaddix2 @necromancerrrs @s1aywalker @stephennglass @s1ck-skv1l @jyinnc @pxscalsofia
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covenists · 1 year ago
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✦ GODDESS, O. PIASTRI
when they said girlfriend effects is real, now take a look at oscar and his significant change on his aesthetic and self.
₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆。✦˚‎
yourusername
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liked by blakelively, bellahadid, francesca.cgomes and 619,724 others
yourusername i'm here for you wmagazine
view all 43,197 comments...
naileadevora you are so gorgeous i don't understand
username is she the rumored wag?
⤷ username girl she IS the wag.
ellefanning that magazine is from the waiting room, i believe...🤔
⤷ yourusername indeed it is😄
username she is so magnificent damnnn
username this is so blair waldorf coded
username mommy sorry? mommy? sorry, mommy?
bellahadid pretty pretty angel 👼🏻
username who is she rumored with tho?
landonorris 📷
username i thought y/n is oscar's wag??
⤷ username she is
⤷ username so why's lando commenting and not him
⤷ landonorris phone limit is real in here
oscarpiastri
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liked by yourusername, lando.jpg, and 380,139 others
oscarpiastri 🍂🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿
view all 31,702 comments...
username oscar why are you switching your aesthetic to this what happened?
username since when did he becoming so aesthetic
username girlfriend effect is real y'all
username AESTHETIC OSCAR😍😍
yourusername what happened to your usual orange related posts?
⤷ oscarpiastri washed it up
⤷ username wdym washed it up?
username he is so gorgeous (i just see his lower body)
username he does this on purpose
landonorris yo yourusername look at your boyfriend
⤷ yourusername i am looking respectfully 👁️👁️
⤷ username i believe that is respectful enough
username but imagine oscar being like this everytime like oh shiii
username bro is changing his aesthetic overnight is crazy
username i mean if your gf is y/n i'll be doing that too
liked by oscarpiastri
username OSCAR WITHOUT ORANGE???😱🫵🏻‼️🗣️
yourusername
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liked by prada, gigihadid, oscarpiastri, and 790,631 others
yourusername how's your sunday going?
👤: prada
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oscarpiastri going perfect with my beautiful lover
⤷ yourusername wonder who she is
landonorris enough flirting in the comments section guys
username i understand oscar i understand
username that prada sunny is looking real good omg i want itttt
carmenmmundt so beautiful 😘
username ok now paddock visit when?
username i'm excited to see her on the paddock with the wags
⤷ yourusername i mean... 🤷🏽‍♀️ oscarpiastri
⤷ oscarpiastri 🫣
username don't be like that oscar i know you want it too
username deep down he wants it too
⤷ username ikr 😌
yourusername
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liked by balenciaga, badbunny, oscarpiastri, and 612,804 others
yourusername tell them daddy's home
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username the way i choked on my coffee
username with just this i am feral like oscar pls pick up your gf
username he wasn't wrong when he said i'm in love with her bcs so do i
username ASJSKWSMSNSAK@!#$&+)#(_38
oscarpiastri my pretty pretty angel
oscarpiastri my angel, my goddess
oscarpiastri you are truly a blessing from god to me
⤷ yourusername oh pleeeeeeaasseeee
⤷ username i bet she's blushing when she typed that
username why is she naked
⤷ username it ain't naked, it's fashion
⤷ username as long as she showed her boobs out i think it's naked
⤷ username and as long as i see you here i think it's useless
username AWWWW PLS I'M SINGLE LET ME CRY IN PEACE
⤷ username username cry with me then😭
username DADDY'S HOOOOMEEEEEE
username slaying the office look down
username balenciaga really said: say no more we're gonna making you a daddy
⤷ username if she's daddy, oscar's the mommy then
⤷ danielricciardo i love what we're talking about here
⤷ username danielricciardo WHY R U HERE😭😭
yourusername and lailahasanovic
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liked by lailahasanovic, mickschumacher, oscarpiastri, and 824,681 others
yourusername girl dinner?
👤: lailahasanovic, sandyliang
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lailahasanovic girl dinner indeed
username WHAT THEY'RE TOGETHER NOW
username i used to pray for situation like this
lailahasanovic so much fun with youuu😚🩷
⤷ yourusername u too my babyyy<33
username literally blair and serena irl
⤷ yourusername xoxo😚💋
sandyliang two of a very beautiful friendship
username girl dinner indeed🍽��😋
username you can see the efforts of her taking a perfect picture for the earrings
username we love a full efforts queen
mickschumacher 😘🥰
username mick 🤝 oscar = their gf biggest supporter
username i never thought of this crossover to even happen
username i mean the both wags are model, but i am waiting for her to join rebbeca or smth idk
oscarpiastri 😍🥴
⤷ landonorris i can see him smiling while replying this. he is too lovesick with you please pick him up
⤷ charles_leclerc i see him too
⤷ danielricciardo i have his picture
⤷ oscarpiastri why are you always doing that
₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆。✦˚‎
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₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆。✦˚‎
yourusername added to their story!
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caption: here we go, rocking it again
oscarpiastri added to their story!
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₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆。✦˚‎
yourusername
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liked by oscarpiastri, francesca.cgomes, scuderiaferrari and 420,765 others
yourusername so scarlet it was maroon 🍷
view all 11,862 comments...
mclaren no y/n this is not you💔💔...
username ferrari's liking...
username she showed up, posting after the show and looking red not orange what is this all about actually
username omg i have a crazy idea here
carlossainz55 i swear we did not tell her anything
username she rocking every color and i am so jealous of it
oscarpiastri my beautiful girl
oscarpiastri 🍷😍
username what happened to her hair?
⤷ yourusername i trimmed it just a bit
⤷ username BUT SHE LOOKS COOL ANYWAY😭😭
username i know she listens to taylor bcs who didn't
⤷ username ...probably oscar
⤷ username she'll make him a swiftie in no time
username she looks stunning in red, wonder what she'll looks like in orange
username orange dresses are quite hard to get tho
⤷ username i know, but because of that rareness, orange is quite luxurious too
⤷ username it's papaya tho, not orange
⤷ username as long as it looks orange, i called it orange
f1wags
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f1wags international model and oscar piastri's girlfriend, y/n l/n is finally coming to monaco grand prix after a long while not attending the gp. the model's shared a long awaited hug with her partner and also had her time to visit a monaco yacht show a moment before that. other than that, she looks very beautiful with an elegant combination of her fits when she attended the monaco yacht show.
photo credit: @/vivienecarolf1 on x.
view all 9,729 comments...
username even admin is a y/n fan
⤷ username everybody is a y/n fan, even if they're not, they are a y/n fan
username she looks so darn gorgeous
username as they always said, oscar is never wrong in choosing his partner bcs she is sooooooo glorious
username oscar's right she is a goddess
username i might be switching side
username rich girl energy
username she's got that carlos energy type of richness
username that prada sunglasses is everywhere
yourusername added to their story!
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caption: snooze💤
₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆。✦˚‎
yourusername
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liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and 628,990 others
yourusername 🧚🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♀️
view all 18,619 comments...
username she is so pretty
username literal fairy i agree
username my favorite y/n picture is out y'all
oscarpiastri 🥴
gigihadid pretty bb<3
anokyai 😚😚😚😚
barbarapalvin when are we going to do it together
⤷ yourusername chanel?
alexandrasaintmleux the prettiest 🥹❤️
⤷ yourusername no uuuu
username i need to know where is the top from
⤷ username oscarpiastri
⤷ username NOT THAT TOP💀💀💀
username the neck is inviting i know
username her pose is always the best
username i want to be her😮‍💨😮‍💨
oscarpiastri
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liked by yourusername, dollhousejeans, and 492,131 others
oscarpiastri saturday going great
👤: yourusername
view all 79 comments...
username her morning face>>>
username i love when she looks all shy like this, it's adorable
username y/n captured by oscar is top tier
⤷ danielricciardo oh??? so y/n captured by me is low tier?
⤷ jackdoohan don't get jealous here boomer
⤷ username "BOOMER"💀💀💀💀
username it's quite hard to adapt that this is oscar's ig
username y/n’s effect on him is so strong
username her shy face is sooo cutee
username in her super shy era
username mama
username wondering what their kids gonna look like
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yourusername
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liked by jacobelordi, oscarpiastri, and 627,910 others
yourusername sunday going great
👤: oscarpiastri
view all 18,629 comments...
username my my, date night with oscar
username damn his handddddsssss
landonorris i love the matching post between these lovebirds
estebanocon i love your love life. fascinating.
⤷ landonorris same
⤷ username aren't we all though??????
oscarpiastri the best day of my life
⤷ yourusername wait for this night
⤷ username AWOOP⁉️‼️‼️🚨🚨
⤷ username IN THE HOTEL ROOM
⤷ username PUBLICLY???!?!?!!!🫣🫣🫣🫣
⤷ username thank god daniel's not here
⤷ danielricciardo i will have their pictures
⤷ oscarpiastri wait why are you always appearing at this type of moments though
⤷ landonorris and how did you have their pictures?
⤷ danielricciardo internal sources
oscarpiastri
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liked by yourusername, prada, and 738,102 others
oscarpiastri artwork
view all 5 comments...
username ARTWORK YOUR ASS IS THAT A HICKEY??????
username oh i mean daniel wasn't wrong
⤷ danielricciardo i was never wrong
yourusername 🫣
⤷ username EXPLAIN YOURSELF RN
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nvuy · 7 months ago
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hands on — sunday
summary. sunday feels eyes on him from everywhere, yet he still seeks your gaze despite how much he loses himself in your eyes.
notes. wrowwww confit part 2 is here i DID post it on ao3 like 5 mins ago but i think ao3 died in my country for the 74th time this year soooorrrrr hello tumblr!!!!!!
i'd strongly suggest you read confiteor here (or on ao3) before reading this one, otherwise this entire fic just sounds like an acid trip.
warnings. mdni, 18+, gn reader but you have fem anatomy, long ass 12k post, mild degradation, little bit of horror themes if you squint?, alternative summary: sunday receives head and has an existential crisis, sunday literally loses his mind (in a sexy way), religious guilt, religious themes & symbolism, sunday needs therapy, you're a weirdo (in a sexy way), y'all get it on in a church.
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The church had always been beautiful. A place of worship, fairness, mutual happiness. It’s partly the reason Sunday was always so enamoured with its pieces on the walls; Robin used to trace her hands over the paintings, and he was sure he could spot her fingerprints from when the paint was still drying.
Sunday had never felt so disgusted with himself.
The murals watched him, one thousand unblinking eyes following him as he walked down the aisle, with muted clicks from his shoes against the red carpet with gold trimming. 
He was so angry. 
He’d trudged home the night prior seething, and Robin had rested a hand on his shoulder and whispered to him until he gathered himself. He hated to present himself in such a way to her, and although she begged for him to shed a light on his problems, she was met with silence. 
He was so angry at his traitorous hands when they wandered below the waistband of his pants. He’d been trying to sleep, tossing and turning for hours, desperate for some sort of distraction. He’d retrieved a glass of water, he’d stayed up to read, and nothing was helping. Nothing soothed the ache between his thighs; the thought in the back of his mind that you were in that same rut. 
He felt awful feeling himself up again, this time alone, and he was so ashamed when he muffled his cries and came into his hand. 
Vile. 
There’s a statue in the church. One erected from only the most exquisite sculptors of the era, crafted meticulously over gruelling hours to perfect the shape of THEM. Xipe stands behind the pulpit, larger than anything in the church, and silent. THEIR arms remain still, outstretched and gestured towards the empty pews. THEIR eyes are not open, but there is a gentle smile carved onto a perfectly whimsical face. 
It is a beautiful statue, sure, but Sunday would have preferred another God to watch over instead.
Perhaps it was for the best. 
In the preparation of the morning service, Sunday was unusually quiet. Staff piled in silently, bidding their greetings, and even Robin—and, bless her gentle heart—was reticent, her lips pulled together into a thin line. The choir practised, and it was the only sounds he heard that morning. 
The wine the church offered was of pure grapes. The chalice the sacramental wine rested in was golden with a thin stem and a wide base. A single golden spoon laid within the red. 
It’s supposed to be blood. It feels dastardly eerie to offer a piece of THEM to those undeserving of such. 
Instinctively, when his gaze met the statue’s, his gloved hand raised and clasped the golden charm at his chest tightly. 
Sunday felt a tap on his shoulder. 
“The congregation is prepared,” Robin said to him. She tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “As per usual.” 
He hadn’t taken his eyes off of the statue. “Good.” 
“And there are people coming in now,” she continued, nodding towards the door that led out to the lectern. “It’s almost eight.” 
“Thank you.”
She stopped, eyeing him warily. 
“There’s something bothering you,” she commented quietly. “You’ve been on edge since last night. Did something happen?” 
Sunday finally turned to look her in the eye. His face remained expressionless, though his tone held a hint of warning. “I’m fine, Robin. Please. Don’t worry about me.”  
“Brother–” 
“Robin.” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, though that smile he always pulled onto his lips when he was trying to deter her mind from him. His heart was pounding in his chest. “Please. Enough.” 
Defeatedly, her shoulders sagged. She wanted to tell him, as she had so many times before—so many times—that she was there for him. She’s always been there for him. 
Robin’s lips twitched into a soft, but crushed smile. “Okay.” She stared down at her shoes. They were slightly scuffed at the sides. “Okay, I… I’ll get the choir started.” 
Sunday had turned back towards the statue with an approving, idle hum. His shoulders had stiffened as he watched THEM closely, fingers interlocked in front of his stomach. It was a nervous habit Robin recognised all too well.
His hand was bleeding around the golden charm now. 
She said nothing. 
ೃ༄
When Sunday sang prayers into the microphone with a bandaged hand beneath his gloves, he wondered if he was ever truly a good person. Was he… ever fit to see the Heavens once he passed? It was all down to the judgement of one final being; unbiased, unjudged, honest. 
He always valued honesty. 
“Grace be to thee, and to your kinship.” The sunlight was burning into the back of his halo. “And, weary sinners, hold your heads, as THEY will shine light down upon you, and forgive all of your transgressions.” 
The chalice filled with wine sat idly on the table. There was an embroidered white table runner draped over the top to cover the chipped and old wood. 
The pattern was eerily similar to the stockings you wore that night. 
He dreamed of you. 
How could he? To betray himself, The Family, his own flesh and blood. He felt repulsive, like swallowing strong liquor. His saliva was thick in his throat as he spoke, hands pulled tight around the edge of the pulpit, mere inches away from shedding the program that rested in the centre. The wood creaked beneath the pressure. 
He remembered your voice as if you were truly whispering in your ear at that moment. 
You’re haunting him. He hears your heels in the hallway at home; he can smell your perfume when he passes down the aisle every morning. The script in his hands has tears from how firm he’s been gripping the paper. 
He had to remind himself he is good. He is good, and loved, and obedient, and his God is so benevolent and thoughtful to watch over someone as pathetically weak as he is. THEY will forgive him. 
He knows, he told himself. He knows what he did all those nights ago. 
Sunday felt unworthy to hold the golden chalice in his hands. The other staff had positioned themselves ready for the wine service. One had stopped to look strangely at the man. Sunday’s hands were trembling around the handles. 
“Reverend Sunday?” one of the priests asked gently. “Are you alright?” 
Briskly, he nodded his head once and pulled as much of a reassuring smile on his lips as he could. Then, he turned, careful not to spill the wine in the chalice and moved forward. 
There was already a line forming down the aisle. 
He is loved. 
“Go…” He hoped his voice was steady. It should be, for he’s said these exact words everyday for almost a year now. “Eat your food with gladness.” 
He is good.
The spoon shook in his hands as he offered it to one of the churchgoers. 
The next person stepped up. The priest on the right grasped their chin gently with the red cloth. Sunday offered another spoonful of wine. 
They were replaced with the next person. 
He is loyal.
“…And drink your wine with a joyful heart.” 
The next. And the next. And the next. 
Routine. Stagnant, maddening, routine. 
He glanced down to dip the spoon back into the wine again. The chalice was half full now, and the line was beginning to dwindle. He could see the end of it now. 
He is faithful. 
“…For THEY have already–” 
His heart faltered when he looked up again. 
The wine spilled from the spoon. He almost dropped the gold onto the floor. 
The breath that escaped his lips was shaky. 
It seemed that everyone in the church was transfixed with the smile you directed at the Head Reverend. Even the priests to his left and right had stopped. 
The choir had paused. A quick glance to the right would reveal Robin with her lips slightly parted. The organ player had pressed the wrong key and had halted the singing. 
When you shifted, he was reminded that you were not a perfect statue carved from the Gods hands. Not like the statue of Xipe that stood behind him. Your eyes flitted downwards, and he noticed your fists clenched at your sides. Discomfort pulled across your face like ink bleeding onto a canvas. 
Perhaps it was the distasteful attire you’d chosen for the ceremony that had garnered the staring. 
Maybe it was the unearthly beauty that sculpted your face, as if you were a being that had been picked from an inch of the Gods skin and blood, and brought to life on land, so full of love and saccharine bittersweetness. 
He could taste it on his tongue. 
Sunday quickly dipped the spoon back in the wine when one of the priests moved to hold the red cloth beneath your chin. 
He swallowed. “–Have already approved of what you do.” 
The spoon slipped between your parted lips. 
The other priest wiped your mouth with the cloth. It was like velvet on your lips. 
Hesitantly, out of time with the conductor, the church organ continued where the player had paused.
You pulled away from the cloth before the priest could remove his hand himself, and you offered one more warm smile—and sharp canines poked over your bottom lip—before you moved to let the next person replace you.
As you left, Sunday promptly ignored your hand that traced the leather of his belt beneath his coat. 
His heart was racing beneath his chest, like a bird hitting its wings against the confines of its cage. 
Heat clammered and sweltered up his neck. He ignored that, too. 
ೃ༄
He can’t. 
When Sunday stepped out of the confessional booth and locked the door with the key, he leaned against the door and shut his eyes tight. 
He felt too big for his clothes. His skin doesn’t feel like it’s his. It’s hot. It’s just so hot and his skin felt as though it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper. His breathing was shaky and uneven. 
He cannot bear to look at the images and murals plastered over the walls. If they had a choice, the unstaring eyes would, too, look away in shame. The statue is still. 
Sometimes, he was convinced it moved when no one was looking. 
Maybe that’s just paranoia. It all is, isn’t it? He’s always been scared of little things. Things with eyes, like dolls, and portraits, and people, and Gods. Not THEM. Never THEM—deep down, he did fear THEM. But he knows he is loved. Otherwise, he would have been abandoned. 
The murals are watching him. 
The walls are warping the longer he stares. The halos behind the figures’ heads are fading. He feels his own doing the same. He is unworthy of it. It is more like a weight of lead, than a ring of light. 
He’s still thinking of you. 
It’s horrible. It’s wrong. His eyes sting, though he’s not sure if it is exhaustion, or if he will cry again. But he can’t cry. He had wept silently in his bed the night prior because he couldn’t sleep. And it’s hard to sleep when the house is silent, but there’s a distant clicking of your heels down the hallway outside of his room.
It does not stop, nor does it draw closer or further away. It is a rhythmic click click click, and it is suffocating. It’s even worse when he feels you breathe into his ear and urge his hand between his legs. He feels your hands trace over his shoulders to his chest from behind—and of course you’re behind, because if he were to turn around, he’d see something ugly. 
He’d see nothing. 
It’s all in his head. 
But it feels real. How hot your breath is against his neck, how your lips follow the throbbing veins in his throat, how your fingers wrap around his wrist and guide his hand between his legs. 
The feeling weighs on his chest like gold. 
He draws close to pulling off his clothes when he is in bed. He fights his will, because it is you in his ear whispering that he is most beautiful in his rawest form. And he believes you, but the idea of ruining himself any further makes him feel sick. 
And one night, with what he feels are your teeth buried in his throat, he sings that he loves you, and he grows cold. 
He cannot sleep, and when he can sleep he dreams of you. And even as he lays wide awake in his bed, his hands wander, and he can feel your skin on his. 
He can’t love you. 
It’s not love. Love is warm, unfamiliar, and new, and he hears tales of how comfortable it is. 
It’s wrong to feel this way. 
He removed himself from the confessional. His legs felt weak when a hesitant breath left his lips.
“It’s like a weight… isn’t it?” 
Sunday froze. He’d never felt so cold before. His spine snapped straight like it’s was crafted of metal, and something horrible hooked within his stomach, hard and aching, like he’d swallowed lead. 
He heard you swallow. 
He didn’t dare turn around, fingers trapped on the pages of printed hymns he was about to put away. 
“It’s persistent.” He heard the telltale sign of your clothes moving. “You feel it, too.” 
He was afraid of what he would see when he turned around. 
He does. “I don’t know what you speak of.” He then turned, eyes glaring and face alight with anger. “If you know well, you will turn and leave. Don’t come back here.” 
His shaky inhale gives himself away. 
He isn’t sure if you’re real. For his sake, he hoped you weren’t. 
Sunday held the key tight in his bandaged hand. 
“You should feel guilty.” 
His heart stopped. The teeth of the key were digging into the hole in his palm. The bandages strain against his flesh, and he bites his tongue before he can let out a bark of disdain at you. 
Ungrateful. 
He won’t voice it. He will say nothing. This is not his fault; it can’t be his fault. 
And he still feels it is his fault. But this all happened because of you. And he’s been trapped inside his head for all these nights because of you. It’s all you. 
“Should I?” he asked quietly. He watched your face twist. “Or should you?” 
“Is it not your job to help people like me?” you tried. You felt blood rise up your neck and settle in your face. You weren’t sure whether it was because he was still the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, or if your frustration was climbing further and further towards your heart. “I thought you could help me.”
You had promised to fix him as well.
If anything, he felt even more broken than he had ever been. 
Sunday breathed out shakily. 
The bandages around his hand were beginning to dye a dark red like the wine he had fed you. 
He swallowed hard. You saw his throat move. 
“Fix this, Reverend. Fix me.” 
His voice faltered when he whispered, “I cannot fix what is beyond repair. I cannot give you anything more than I already have.” 
“Then take me.” 
There was silence.
He felt his heart drop into his stomach. 
Sunday glanced towards the door of the church and tried to control his breathing. “I can’t.” He shook his head slowly. He can’t bring himself to look into your eyes. “We can’t do this again. It will fix nothing. It will make everything worse.” 
Your legs trembled. You felt your heart stop in your chest, and it hurt. 
And you were so angry. 
So, so angry. You wanted to spit in his face, or maybe you wanted to fall to your knees and kiss his shoes and beg for forgiveness. 
Whatever you felt for this man, love, attachment, some sort of long winded delusion that he could be yours if you tried hard enough, surged inside of your head. 
You wanted to touch him. You wanted to feel his skin on your hands, and you wanted to hear him again. 
You swallowed your pride, and then you uttered, “please, sir.” 
Sunday exhaled sharply through gritted teeth. 
“Not only are your hands sullied with filth, but you are also disobedient.” He still cannot bring himself to look at you. He didn’t want to. He was afraid he’d succumb to your whims if he did. His hands were trembling, fingers weak and almost as if they would snap off from the knuckles. “I told you to never come back here.” 
You almost looked offended. 
“I don’t come here willingly–” 
“I know what you are.” 
Sunday’s fists clenched by his sides. The wings beneath his ears had stiffened, feathers bristling like cacti. 
“I know what you do.” 
You said nothing. If anything, your eyes were transfixed on the statue behind him. 
“You find reverent men, and you ruin them.” He turned, then, but his eyes didn't meet yours. “Tell me: are you proud of yourself?” 
“Never proud, sire,” you admitted. Then, you bowed your head. “Though I will say, I do hope you enjoyed yourself last night.” 
He inhaled sharply, and the corners of his lips twitched upwards. 
There, you dared to reach forward and trace your thumb along the bandages of his wounded hand. 
And he let you. 
He did not flinch away, nor did he tell you to leave again. 
He simply stared down at your fingers as they smoothed along the expanse of the scratchy material along his palm. Your fingers slotted between his. 
Sunday sighed, defeated. 
Your hand was so warm. And despite the disgust and the swamp he felt bubbling in his guts, he felt as if he’d known you his entire life. 
There was something so foreign in your skin, and yet he wanted nothing more than to melt into you like a burning flame upon a candlestick. 
Sunday, at that moment, felt no shame in what he had done to himself that same night. 
If anything, it pleased you, and that lit his skin on fire. A nice warmth buried itself in his stomach. 
“How dare you come back here.” The whisper was without malice, though he wished it did hold some sort of bite. Instead, he sounded pathetic, and lost, and he felt only you could help him. 
You don’t seem the slightest bit apologetic. 
Instead, your lips stretch into a small smile. 
“I blame you,” you said to him. Your lashes fluttered against his cheek. You didn't dare let your hand wander. Cautiously, you squeezed his fingers around yours, and silently prayed that he could let you indulge one last time. 
He blamed himself, too. 
His heart raced in his chest when your lips pressed to his. The poor muscle bashed helplessly against his ribs, like a small defenceless bird trying to free itself of its enclosure. Perhaps his heart knew better and attempted to leap from his throat.
You were gentle. So gentle he was convinced you were a different person; a different being to what he initially presumed you were. And it hurt. His chest hurt, like one thousand feathers weighed down upon his bones. Your lips were soft, and his own trembled against yours. 
Sunday’s other hand was still curled by his side, shaking with the urge to touch the expanse of your skin, and to also remain glued to his thighs at the same time. 
One of the wings beneath his ear tickled your jaw. The feathers trembled against your skin. You pressed deeper into hus mouth, so much so he almost startled back when your chest pressed against his. 
Sunday could feel your heart clammer against his own, and he felt as though you couldn’t have been any closer to him. 
A tick in time, a short moment of weakness, and one he’ll regret when he goes home and struggles to sleep again, but his hand abandons your grip. He tries his hardest to resist. He shouldn’t have ever let this happen again.  
Your arms daringly swung around his neck, one hand holding his cheek gently to keep his lips on yours. You could feel his hesitation, but something wrong urged you forward; urged you to ruin him even further. 
His hands rested on your hips. They did not move. They did not wander. They were frozen on your skin like ice. 
You tasted of the wine he’d given you.
It was strange, sweet, and it made his face flush the same colour as the blood on his hand. 
“Blessed Reverend,” you whispered against his lips. “How will you sleep tonight?” 
Your nose brushed against his. His feathers rustled when your breath and the scent of wine curled around his cheek. 
“I won’t,” he admitted. It’s quiet. You barely heard it. “I will toss and turn.” 
You fluttered your lashes at his answer. He felt your lips stretch into a smile. 
His heart frantically raced in his chest when your lips touched his again, and he stiffened when he stepped backwards with you and his back pressed against the pulpit. 
The hand on his cheek traced down the throbbing veins of his neck, and he had half a mind to pull away from you. His own hands held firmer against your hips.
He was growing dizzy. 
When he fluttered his eyes open, sick from the taste of wine on his lips, he saw one thousand eyes staring down at him. 
On the walls, on the ceiling, from the stained glass windows. His heart hurt in his chest, the thudding so loud he could barely hear anything else as it echoed in his ears. The swarm of guilt, still, was not enough to tear him off of you. 
The statue behind him, however, burned holes in the back of his head. He knew the sculpture was carved with its eyes shut, but he felt it he turned around, he’d notice the crack of a pupil beneath the stone eyelids. 
Your hand was on his stomach now, thumb following the central curve of his belly down beneath his navel. 
When your thumb hooked beneath his belt, his fingers wrapped around your wrist before you could dip any lower towards his thighs. 
“Not here,” he pleaded softly against your lips. 
He swallowed hard. 
“Where do you suggest we go?” you asked. He almost didn’t hear you. There was implication in your voice. 
He hated how warm he grew in his chest, but he knew it was wrong. So wrong, and it’s horrible. 
“You will not clamber into my bed tonight,” he whispered to you. That he knew for sure. 
You shook your head slowly. “I want you to take me here.” 
His stomach churned. It was as if he’d swallowed unjust liquor in one giant gulp. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think as he did. His mouth tried to form words, some type of rejection, or some form of a nicely worded insult, but nothing came out. 
Instead, he stupidly gaped at you. 
His eyes flitted up to the statue of Xipe. THEIR eyes remained closed, all six of them, and the expressions held still. 
Sometimes, he was convinced the statue was alive. 
Perhaps that was just paranoia. 
He found it fitting to pull you towards the hall and down a flight of steps. He held onto you tight by your arms, afraid you’d disappear, as he once again, grew uncomfortable in his own skin and clothes.
Fitting to be furthest away from the sunlight. 
As his fingers fumbled with the keys to the cellar, your hands wandered around his waist. and your warm lips pressed to the back of his wings. The feathers twitched and flinched. 
Sunday’s breathing grew heavy as the door unlocked and creaked open. 
The cellar was… just that. A cellar. There were an abundance of barrels laid down beneath the benches on either side of the room. They were most likely full of wine for the services. There wasn’t much out on display. 
Fittingly so, it was dark, and there were no windows. 
Your shoes clicked against the tiled floor. 
It’s dark. So dark you can barely see him, but he keeps a firm grasp on your wrist as you step into the room. It’s not too cold, surprisingly. It does not smell of mould or abandonment; perhaps they take good care of this place. 
You almost knocked into a table in the centre of the room. The glass sitting on top clattered and shook as you startled back into him. 
“It is safer here,” Sunday whispered in your ear. You knew he locked the door. His hands squeezed your shoulders. 
“I believe you,” you told him. 
Sunday hummed at your words, and his lips brushed against the side of your neck. His breathing remained unsteady. 
You turned around to feel blindly for his waist. It was probably best that it was dark down here. It was appropriate for the both of you, and so far away from the sky, and the leering eyes of the murals painted onto the walls. 
His body is warm against yours. 
He finds it in himself, wherever he hides himself away, to kiss you then. Maybe because it’s dark. You can just make out the outline of him, and whatever light creeps through the bottom of the door is enough. 
“I came for you, sire,” you said. “Use me as you wish.” 
Sunday’s lips bumped against your neck. “You cannot whisper depravity into my ears.” 
“You brought me down here for a reason,” you answered him. Your fingers slid down his throat and you thumbed over the top button of his shirt. “I say what I want.” 
“You are filthy.” And he kissed you again. Fury flared in his stomach like fire. 
You freed the first two buttons of his shirt, and while you were busied following the smooth skin of his neck, he pushed off your coat. 
You managed to pull the white blazer off of his shoulders, and though he couldn’t see it, he heard the heavy fabric crumple to the floor by his feet. He internally cringed; the wrinkles he would have to iron out would be too telling. 
You hummed pleasantly as you drew him back against your lips. 
The wings around his waist were a nice surprise. You hadn’t expected them to be any larger than your arm with the way he tucked them beneath his coat, but although the feathers were flattened from the material, they stretched out wide in relief. 
He knew the blackened feathers were ugly and uneven and clipped to the very edge, but you didn’t seem to mind. In fact, your fingers flitted over the base gently, a soft caress of your hand that made the feathers bristle. 
Your lips were so soft. Despite wandering hands, you were so gentle. It made his stomach churn, but his heart stammered in his chest. 
The feathers rustled. You heard them. They reminded you of a pigeon shaking out its wings. 
The table was just next to your hip. 
You moved away from his lips for just a moment. 
And then, you reached forward blindly and swiped the glass off of the table. Jars and glasses and bottles of wine smashed onto the tiles, and Sunday’s grip tightens on your hips. 
“What are you doing?!” He asked with horror strewn about his face, though you couldn’t directly see it. It was very well and obvious in his voice. “Why would you–”
You silenced him with your fingers pressed to the cupid’s bow of his lips. “Lay on the table, Reverend.” 
“Are you–” 
“Lay down.” You guided his hips softly, cautious of the poor and frantically beating heart in his chest, until the bones bumped into the edge of the wood. 
Sunday’s breathing shook with disdain. The table pressed against his back, and he could feel your hands sliding up his chest to push him backwards. The exposed skin of his chest met the slight chill of the air. Your thumb moved along the line of buttons before it raised again to push at his jugular until he was forced back onto the table. 
Sunday trembled for a moment. 
It almost hurt how quickly the guilt in his stomach vanished when you crawled up on the table next to him. His vision, although useless in the lowlights of the cellar, fogged over with heat and the thick air that filled his lungs. 
His skin prickled when your lips grazed his neck.
This is wrong. So wrong, and–
His fists clenched by his sides when your lips drag down his chest, following the buttons on his shirt. The plastic was cool, and it collided with your teeth as you travelled lower and lower. 
All the while, anxiety stirred in his stomach like some roaring beast. This was wrong, to be beneath you like this, where he’s not taking what he wants, where he’s not in control. This is wrong, wrong, wrong– 
Where his shirt pulled untucked from his pants exposed a lining of skin and his stomach, and he felt teeth set into his flesh. The skin below his navel stirred a bright red, and his veins were set ablaze. 
He stiffened, and his hand instinctively came forward to pull his skin free from your teeth. 
He felt his eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness. So, so slowly. 
Sunday inhaled, and his voice trembled, so he kept his lips shut. 
You spoke, “don’t resist. Enjoy it.” 
He felt the telltale tug of his belt, and the jingle of the buckle as it finally loosened. He sighed in relief from the feeling. Still, his hands curled even tighter by his sides. “How can I–” 
Your fingers ventured beneath his unbuckled belt. You then firmly rubbed your thumb up and down and up down his side of his cock twitching in his pants and Sunday had half a mind to squirm on the table. 
“Do I make you anxious?” He heard you giggle close to his ear, and your lips smoothed over the base of one of his wings. 
He wanted to say you did, and you made him shake, and you made him dream about you, and you made him touch himself when he couldn’t sleep, and– 
Nothing but a moan pulled from his lips when your hand finally freed his cock from his pants. 
His chest heaved in disgust and pleasure and everything for that was your sullied and dirtied skin touching him. That was you, and those terrible shameful words that spilled from your tongue that made him shudder and caused his heart to quicken. 
His face grew impossibly hotter than before. 
You hooked your legs around his thigh, pressing your knee between his legs firm enough to still him. The dryness of your hand tugging the warmish pulled skin of his cock sent his mind into a haze. 
The horrible rhythm of your hand against his was so good, and he wished he could just disappear right then and there. 
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was so relieved there were no eyes watching him here. He was so relieved the cellar only had one door locked now. He made sure of it. 
If you commanded him to take, then he would ensure you wouldn’t leave this very room until you’d given him everything you had to offer. 
Heat sweltered between his legs, surging like flames licking up his skin. 
He wanted to speak. He wanted to order; he wanted to bend you over the table and take what was his. 
His ankles weakened when your fingers slipped over the head of his cock. Just at the thought of ruining you, a drop of cum squeezed from his slit, and your thumb smeared it all over him as best it could. 
His stomach heaved, basically convulsed, as you stroked him firmer and firmer until his limbs grew weak and burned from squirming and wriggling beneath you. He gave up barely minutes after you’d started, and now he only found it in himself to moan and moan over and over again beneath your hand like some dog. 
Wrong. 
He felt your lips trail down his neck. 
Oh. His hand rested behind your head and he tilted his head so your lips could drag against his flesh. It was awful. So, so awful his jaw clenched and his fingers twisted into your hair. 
Your teeth pulled at the taught skin below his jaw. 
“Don’t leave marks,” he breathed. He swallowed, and you followed the shape of his jugular with a graze of your teeth. 
This is awful,
His stomach churned. He feared he’d throw up with shame. 
Sunday was panting now, nails digging into your scalp. His teeth gritted and grinded behind his lips. He can’t do this. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t– 
Sunday managed to sit up shakily. 
“Put–” Another moan escaped his lips, followed by a trail of laughter at how ridiculous this was. “Put your mouth on me.” 
“Is that what the High Priest wishes?” Your lips followed along the soft skin above his collarbone. “He wants his dick sucked by a ‘whore’ on the streets? Will that satisfy you, Reverend?” 
Anger flared in his chest. His hand moved from behind your scalp to grasp your chin firmly. “You will do well to remember you are here to please me.”
And you would.
A dreamy sigh escaped your lips as he gripped your face hard enough to almost hurt. His nails dug into your cheek. “Of course, Reverend. Thank you.” 
 He let go of you. 
As obscene as it was, his hand twisted into your hair again and pushed your face towards his lap. 
This was only slightly better. How he could pull and tug you where he wanted. He was here to take; isn’t that what you said? 
Still, it was obscene. Grotesque. Disgusting and muddied and it’s so, so hot down here. For a moment, he feared Hell, for maybe the world below the soil had risen to take him and you into the earth. 
It would be what you both deserved. 
He felt your tongue first. Awful thing, your tongue. If he’d had it his way, it would have been torn from your mouth the second you stepped into his church this morning. 
It didn’t feel as awful as he knew it was when the wet muscle dragged along the head of his cock. The tip of your tongue nestled upon his slit, and it was so hot, and he almost lost his mind trying to remove what was left of his clothes on his person. 
He did not. 
Though it was dark, and he could see the outline of you clearly, he refused to let him feel more of your skin on his. 
Your lips pressed a dainty kiss to the tip of his cock before they then wrapped around the head. 
Hot. That’s what it was. Sweltering, sweaty, sickening humidity crawling up his neck, like one thousand bugs twitching and writhing upon his skin. 
His stomach stuttered, and he felt your palms rest on his hips as you positioned yourself more comfortably to the side of him. You draped your stomach over his soft thigh to splay your hands over his torso. 
Sunday raised his fingers to bite down on the side of his hand to silence himself. There was no coming back from this. Exiting the confessional yesterday with filthy hands already destroyed him, and now something sour was pooling at the back of his throat at the idea of unlocking the cellar door and leaving. 
He couldn’t imagine how dishevelled and improper he looked. 
His wings fluttered when your mouth lowered further on him, and one of your hands abandoned his stuttering hips to thumb along the sensitive skin beneath his cock. 
You were consistent, licking up and down with your tongue in wet passes. It drove him mad. He preferred it that way, floating out of his mind, as your warm tongue covered the skin of his cock in your saliva. 
You tasted salt as his slit dripped pathetically, but you kept your lips zipped at teasing him any further. You could hear him above you, a panting mess, breathing all slow and heavy, of whatever he was an hour ago with a tight and twitch grip in your hair, so much so his nails had embedded themselves into your scalp. 
His hips stuttered forward when you pushed your mouth further down his cock.
You drooled around the skin, slicking his thighs with spit and his own cum, as you willed your breathing through your nose. Surprisingly, instead of what any vile man would do and move his hips forward and fuck the back of your throat without a care in the world of your ability to breathe, Sunday waited. 
He waited patiently. Perhaps he was searching for signs of discomfort, or maybe he was adjusting to the heat of your mouth and your tongue stretching past your lips to run along the swollen veins of his cock, but either way he waited. 
He was more or less hesitating. 
He felt so disgusting and hot, but your mouth was so warm and his breathing shook more and more and the air felt trapped inside of his lungs. 
It’s so hot. 
Your tongue dragged up a swollen vein alongside his cock again and Sunday hissed, holding your hair tight as a warning. Watch yourself. He was afraid of how difficult it was to allow your mouth to do its own thing; how desperately he wanted to feel the back of your throat. 
You would let him. You had promised him you’d let him take and take and take until there was nothing left of you. 
The hand in your hair served more as a gentle encouragement than a forcing manoeuvre. He was swollen. He could feel himself bursting at the seams. 
Instead, he searched for a distraction. “Come–” His breathing stuttered. “Come here.” 
You pulled off of his cock. 
You hummed curiously. 
One of his hands was following the gentle curve of your spine, dipping lower and lower towards the back of your thighs. Instinctively, you moved closer towards him. 
But still, you managed, “you don’t have to touch me, sire.” 
“I want to hear you,” he whispered. 
His hand snaked around your front and steadily undid the button at your waistband. The zipper followed next before his gloved fingers disappeared beneath your underwear and delved between your thighs. 
He wouldn’t take the gloves off. He couldn’t. 
The feeling of the scratchy cotton against your clit sends you into overdrive. 
You part your thighs to allow his fingers to tease up and down your slit as you trace the underside of his cock with your tongue. 
His hips remained still. 
You felt he wanted to. How he desperately wanted to grab your face through how his hips tremored and twitched around your mouth. How he wanted so badly to bury his cock in your throat and feel you choke and splutter around him. 
You moaned around him, and Sunday hissed again, this time lower, and it almost served as a warning. Your pleasure, for this moment, would come after his. 
Still, you grinded down on his fingers as he rubbed your clit in quick and light circles. Your breathing stuttered, and he dared to guide your head just an inch lower around his cock. 
His thighs began twitching. 
“Oh…” It’s breathy and light and warm, what spilled from his mouth. His fingers pushed back what strands of hair had fallen in your face. “You–” Words didn’t escape his lips properly, and all that tore from his throat was a dreary and miserable whine. 
You keened over his fingers. The cotton was good, though now his palm was soaked. 
You whined stupidly when his hand abandoned your clit, before your muffled disappointment was replaced by a pleased hum when he pushed a finger inside of you. The glove slid in with embarrassing ease, and Sunday flushed at the feeling. 
You squeezed around his finger, drawing him in further. 
Your lips were growing desperate around his cock, tongue flitting out again and again to taste the cum that streamed from his slit. 
“I–” Oh, God. The room was spinning. “I can’t–” His stomach heaved when your tongue grazed along the swollen vein before you drew backwards and licked harshly along his dripping slit. “I can’t–” 
He dragged his cock forward into your mouth again and again. Not enough to touch the back of your throat with the tip, but enough to knock the air from your lungs with every push. 
You learned quickly that Sunday preferred your mouth and tongue remain relatively still and open for him. 
He preferred to control how he fucked into your throat, holding onto the back of your head as gently as he could—you dutifully ignored how his nails stabbed into your scalp. 
It was easier for him now to take what he wanted. 
You’re so wet. He could hear it, even if he hadn’t even bothered to strip you of your pants. It’s obscene, and his cock hardened even more at the sound. 
His rhythm remained the same. He’s quick, much unused to the wet heat soaking around his cock, and more so worried about how the head rubs along your tongue. 
But you’re so obedient like this. So pliant and warm with his hand between your legs teasing that gaping and soaking hole. And it’s so warm and hot and yes, yes, yes, come on–
“This is–” 
Your eyes fluttered open to acknowledge him. 
His thighs twitched around your head. 
He let out a shaky gasp. 
His hand loosened around your skull. You drew back only just and mused a simple, “take what you need.” 
He needed you. 
He smelt wine from how you’d smashed the bottles onto the floor. Sacred, important wine that you’d tossed aside like you’d thrown his blazer to the floor and the golden medallion on his breast. 
It filled his senses, blurred what little he could see, and he slid his cock on the curved line of your tongue again and again and again and again and again. 
Two fingers, soaked in your slick, abandoned in teasing your hole to ghost over your clit again. 
You’re so good. So good to him. So hot and heavy. So pretty. And you sound beautiful. Your muffled groans were like music. Like the music he’d listen to in the privacy of his home. 
He felt bliss. Heavenly bliss. 
His stomach lurched at the debauchery. How awful you were, how you made him feel alive in his own skin. 
And nobody had ever made him feel this way. And he loved it. Every second, even if his flesh warped and his organs twisted in loathing. For himself, for you, and those pretty lips wrapped around his cock. 
His hand carded over your hair with care. 
His fingers teased at your clit in horrible horrible circles that made your hips twitch towards his hand. You were grinding over his palm now in steady back and forth lines. 
So good. 
He couldn’t even think. Nothing but stupid moans pushed past his lips, and he was almost deep enough to reach the back of your throat. So, so close now. 
Your tongue was so hot it almost hurt. The noises, and the dripping of your saliva down to his thighs, made his hips squirm beneath your hands. Filthy. It’s all dirty here. 
He felt after this he’d have to scrub himself until his skin withered and only bone was left. 
You hummed. You pulled off of him again. When he mumbled a string of disappointed gibberish with his eyes squeezed shut in frustration, you whispered, “are you close, Reverend?” 
Heat crept up his thighs and down from his stomach. 
You thumbed the swollen veins and cooed at his slicking cock. “Are you?” 
“Finish this,” he whispered harshly. “Finish me.” He tugged on your hair gently, guiding you down toward his cock once more. 
Excitement bubbled in your stomach. 
Your tongue flattened against the head of his cock. Your spit slid down his skin as you buried him deep in your mouth. Maybe you pushed too far, because you gagged around the skin close to the base. 
Your nose just barely grazed the supple flesh of his lower belly. Your hand wrapped firmly around what skin you couldn’t reach. 
He’s delicious. He was so heavy in your mouth and warm and his cum smeared thickly over your throat. 
Sunday’s hips rocked forward as deep as he could possibly bury himself. You take him in and suck. The wet slurps of your tongue make his skin burn hotter. He feared he’d faint, or melt, soon. Like a candle. Like the votive candles upstairs in the–
His mind kept trapping himself of the main hall upstairs, and the thousands of eyes peering down at him. 
Drool and cum dyed your lips with a shimmer. You were growing more and more desperate and there was a concerning and lonely ache between your legs somewhere deep inside of you. Your lips sucked a tighter seal around his cock while you kept your tongue flat for him to slide his cock over it. 
Sunday’s fingers tightened in your hair. 
“You–!” He tried to tell you you were awful. This was wrong. This was disgusting, and vile, and you were just a wretched streetwalker tempting him for a thrill. 
He said nothing. He couldn’t. 
He stiffened up again, and his thighs locked around your head. 
And then, his cock jerked in your throat, and he came. 
A long and broken sob echoed in your ears. 
You held his hips still as he squirmed and wriggled beneath you, salt coating your throat in streams as his chest and stomach heaved with his heavy quickened breaths. 
His head was swamped with a haze, like a thick foggy mist clouding over his senses. 
His skin almost melted off of the muscle in his body. He felt like the countless votive candles still burning on the floor above, with the statue of Xipe, and the hundreds of eyes painted on the walls– again. His mind reeled back again. 
 Sweat dripped from his flesh like wax. 
Sunday held a vice grip on your hair. His other hand between your legs had stilled for the moment, though he could feel you still grinding onto the soaked material of his glove. 
“Good,” he mumbled. He was petting your hair. He swallowed hard to ignore the ache between his legs. “So good.” His words were slurred, and amidst the darkness, what he could see swirled into a muddied watercolour piece. 
He was drawing in sharp inhales that whistled through his teeth while you cleaned him up. Your tongue traced the angry red flushes and patches along the sensitive skin, following every drop of cum that had fallen past your lips. 
Sunday let go of your hair in favour of feeling his racing heart beneath his chest. It ached and thumped with need. 
He was sensitive. He’d been wriggling the entire time, but now his hips couldn’t keep still, and he couldn’t stop himself from following your tongue with his cock. 
His breathing stuttered loudly as he dragged the skin over your tongue. He wasn’t sure if he wanted you to open your mouth again, but at the same time, he was afraid he’d grow tremendously addicted, and you’d both remain there a lot longer than he would’ve wished. 
So, he pulled away, as difficult as it was. 
Guilt steamed in his stomach like a hot iron sliding over his belly and scorching his flesh. 
He felt you swing over between his thighs as your mouth, sticky with cum and spit, abandoned his cock and trailed kisses up his torso. 
Sunday’s free hand grabbed your chin when your lips bumped up against his jugular, pulling your mouth towards his. 
He tasted himself on your tongue, but he avoided it as best he could. His hand between your legs pressed firmly against your clit, and your body twisted and grinded and squirmed on his gloved palm. 
He almost felt bad. 
Almost.
A string of bubbled gasps and whispers of worship escaped your lips, but they fell on his deaf ears. The smell of wine was stronger here with your heart pressed to his. His thumb teased your clit as best it could with how you moved against him, and his glove was soaked in your slick. 
He was furious with himself, and yet he also found himself not caring as he did. Maybe it was you; maybe you were muddying his senses. Maybe he’d go home tonight and stab a blade through his chest and ruin the awful guilt-stricken beating muscle beneath his ribs. 
For now, as you had wished him to, he’d indulge. 
He’d take. 
Your fingers tightened their grip when they flew to his shoulders. The linen of his loosened shirt crumpled and wrinkled beneath your hands. There was a strain behind his arms as you pulled harder on him, pleading beneath your breath. 
“Was that enough for you, Reverend?” you whispered to him. Your lips were pressed against his. That same squelching sound between your legs, and Sunday could feel his cock hardening as it did the night prior. 
He said nothing. The air was thick with the scent of his skin, and yours. 
You felt the flutter of feathers brush along your cheek. 
“I’m–” 
Sunday swallowed when he felt your stomach jolt against him. “I know.” 
“I want your devotion, Reverend,” you admitted. How debauched to whisper things like that against his lips. He knew you wrong, and yet his heart raced at the thought. At the idea of disobedience. “I need you.” 
It was very well possible down here. No prying eyes, no other members of the church. 
Just you, and him, in the mellow darkness, rocking against each other. 
His fingers quickened and you almost cried. 
He feared then, and now, that you did receive devotion. 
Instead, to hide the burning shame in his stomach, which only grew between his legs, he rested his forehead against yours and sighed shakily. For a moment, there was the faint glow of his halo, and the distant sound of a bell toll. You just saw the outline of his hair. 
Your fingers brushed past his wings blindly.
They passed through the ring of light behind his head. You felt nothing but warmth on the pads of your fingers. 
“Go on,” he breathed. “Let go.” 
And you did. 
Your stomach pressed to his in a harsh arch and your nails raked upon and wrinkled the back of his dark shirt even further as you came. 
Bliss and sugar clouded your head like fog. 
His wings fluttered behind him in a panic when one of your hands hooked around the base of the clipped wing of the pair. You whispered his name like a prayer, and it hurt when he kissed you. It burned on his lips like flames, and he loved it. 
Too much. 
And yet not enough. 
Sunday felt you weakly try to crawl on top of him, but he pushed on your shoulders gently until you rocked backwards. He held you up as best he could on shaky legs as you both rose from the table. 
The wood was covered in sweat and condensation and heat, and Sunday couldn’t bring himself to tear his mouth off of you. Wine. Wine on your tongue like blood, and he couldn’t stop himself. 
Heat burned in his chest, and his stomach, and it steamed to his head and rushed up his neck in bubbled waves. 
He grabbed you by the collar of your crumpled shirt and pushed you against the table. He felt weak, his bones rattling beneath his skin and his blood boiling, and there was anger there, but also something else and it scared him. 
Perhaps you picked up on it. 
He heard you laugh, even as he forced your stomach further into the edge of the table. 
“Blessed Reverend, did you fall in love?” 
His blood ran cold. 
He couldn’t possibly call it that. He knew it wasn’t true for you, either. The way you looked at him threatened more than love. 
It can’t be love. He’s not allowed to love. 
His heart frantically raced in his chest. His fingers trailed from the back of your collar to the small of your back, and he pushed and pushed until he had easily bent you over the expanse of the table. 
He was panting. You could hear him somewhat close to your ear. 
“No,” he answered, but he sounded unsure. “But you did, didn’t you?” 
Another breathless laugh. You heard the jingle of his belt, and his gloved hands slid up the back of your thighs. He’d managed to wedge one of his legs between yours, but it didn’t nothing to quell your squirming. 
His touch was soft. Too soft to the point it tickled your skin with feather-light strokes against your legs. 
One of his hands wrapped around your front to feel blindly along your cheek. He grabbed your face tight, and he felt your heart thrum in your throat. 
You felt him roughly tug off your pants and they fell to a pathetic heap on the floor. You kicked them away, and they fell into the pile close to his discard clothes.  
“Spread your legs.” 
You were panting, laughing, as he squeezed your spit covered chin in his gloved hand. The soft and soaked cotton was rough, pinching against your flesh. His breath was so hot down your neck.
You let out a droning whine. 
He clicked his tongue, and the firm hand pushing you into the table pinched the back of your thigh. You cried out, and your leg twitched instinctively. 
“I will not ask twice,” he whispered into your ear, lips hot on your skin. 
Weak in the knees, and your stomach pressed hard and flat into the edge of the table, you shakily did as he said, hesitant with the warm hand that remained on the back of your thigh less he reel back and bruise it. 
He did not. 
He seemed pleased, though he did not voice it.
A gloved thumb exposed the sensitive skin between your legs, and you outwardly flinched forward on the table when his finger grazed over your sensitive hole. 
Cold. It’s so cold, and he’s slowly drawing circles around your entrance. 
You could feel yourself clenching, trying to entice him inside again. 
His thumb pushed into your cunt, and you let out a hum. You almost squealed when the tip of his finger brushed against your walls. 
“Is this not what you came here for?” Sunday asked. “To ruin yourself?” 
“I’ve already ruined myself,” you said meekly. His thumb pushed deeper to his knuckle, and you mewled. “Thank you, Reverend.” 
Ever the gracious Bronze Melodia, and despite your willingness to be pliant for him, he still asked for your wellbeing. To seek in your pleasure, because he knew no better. 
“And have you found the relief you’ve sought?” 
You didn’t want him to care, but there was a burning in your heart, because he did. 
You let out a throaty hum. “Almost.” 
You heard his teeth grind behind his lips, and his thumb abandoned your hole, smearing slick along your cunt. The soaked cotton caught on your clit and you moaned. “Filthy.” 
He’s so angry. Heat flared in his chest. 
You felt him burning, his thighs slick and trembling on the back of your legs. 
Impatiently, you canted your hips back into him, and he gasped out of shock and a shameful delight when your slickened cunt dragged against his cock. 
Your hips rocked against his again, skin sticking with sweat to his hip bones and he throbbed. His teeth gritted hard enough to almost crack his teeth. 
His hand moved from your chin to press flat on your stomach. 
It’s so hot. He could feel your skin radiating off of him. And it was overwhelming, like he’d been thrown into a sauna with no water for relief.
He wanted to fill you with cum. 
It hurt to think. He shouldn’t think. All he should do is fuck you until there’s no other man out there for you but him. 
And you can never have him. 
So he can keep you here and watch you pine and chase after him, and he’ll deny you every time. And make you ache and suffer for what you’ve done to him. 
But for now, the aching and twitching in his cock made his head spin every time he slid himself upon your slit. Back and forth and back and forth and–
It’s so hot. 
He felt his mind twisting and melting beneath his skull. 
Desperately, Sunday gripped the base of his cock and shakily guided the tip to your aching hole. His other hand abandoned the warmth of your stomach trapped against the table. 
You mewled when he stretched your hole as wide as he could with splayed fingers. A dribble of slick escaped you, and he could feel you clenching already. 
Your toes curled in your heels. One of your shoes comes off, and he feels the slide of the embroidered stockings against his leg. 
Those same stockings with that pattern he saw in every single embroidered table runner in the church, and at home, and it made his skin crawl. 
“You’ll let me enjoy myself, Reverend?” you whispered behind you. 
Sunday pressed you further into the table and rocked his hips against yours. “You’ll lay here and take me.” His tip kissed the entrance of cunt. And then, with one hard exhale, he slowly canted his hips forward towards your thighs. “That’s what you wanted.” 
You hummed and slackened against the table. 
Hot. He’s so hot inside of you as his twitching, creaming cock splits your hole wider. The veins run along the stretchy walls and slip further inside of you. 
He throbbed when you felt his hips press against your ass. 
Sunday was already panting, holding your hips in a tight grip that loosened as he bottomed out. You felt him bend over you, his stomach jolting against your back as he tried to hold you still. 
He was squirming, wriggling like a fish caught on a hook. You were so warm, and you dripped and squeezed around him, and he couldn’t possibly pull himself any closer to you. He wanted your skin to fuse with his in a tangled mess of grotesquery. He wanted you to assimilate and merge beneath his skin. 
This cannot be love. 
Possession flared inside of his stomach. 
He was trembling. His cock twitched with need inside of you, and you let out a moan.
“I’m–” He shakily exhaled against the nape of your neck. His face was burning with shame. 
You could feel it on your skin. “I’m right here.” 
He pressed inside of you deeper. Deeper, deeper, deeper. He wanted to press all the way to your womb and leave a permanent imprint of his cock that left you with an empty ache for as long as you lived. “This is wrong.” 
You hummed in acknowledgement. “But you love it.” 
And he does. 
Sunday slowly pulled his hips away from your ass. So slowly, and he felt one of his traitorous awful hands reach blindly for yours to hold it. You squeezed his hand in response. He held on tight. 
Then, he slammed back into you. 
He grew breathless almost immediately, and the air was knocked from your lungs. Your hips smashed into the edge of the table. 
The ache was good. 
You murmured praise, and his cock grew impossibly harder as he reeled his hips back and filled you again. 
He’ll take good care of you here. He knows as much. Your skin is so, so hot, and his cock is so warm and snug inside of you, and he felt his mind growing muddy all over again. 
Sunday rocked his hips quicker, his knee almost knocking against the table by your hips. 
So good. 
His bottom lip quivered. One of his hands dragged up from your hip and slid up beneath your ruined shirt. He pressed you down against the table as flat as he could. 
So wrong. 
He’s wrong. You’re wrong. You’re both sick, and ungodly, and corrupt. And you both belong to each other. He belongs to you. As depraved as you are, he feels he is worse. He wants to drag you to his bed and satisfy himself again and again, but he knows he can’t. 
So he takes you here, again and again and again. 
His cock buried itself impossibly deeper with every imprint he left inside of you. His tip kissed as far against your walls as it could, and his hips tremored with every grind of his hips against your ass.
He felt like a dog. Like some pathetic mutt mounting its mate. 
But that’s what he felt he was in that moment: pathetic, weak, and some mindless man with his brain in his cock. 
The bones of your hips were aching, snapping back and forth into the edge of the table, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care for the fire surging in your veins. 
Your body felt numb, like you’d been burned one thousand times over, and then had ice poured over you. 
It’s awful, and yet you felt so alive. 
Your hand was shaking in his when you murmured, “let go. Let me touch myself, sir.” 
His cock squeezed against a particular spot inside of you, and you couldn’t see straight. 
Your ears were ringing a tune you couldn’t place your finger on, and your clit throbbed with every brush of his cock against your walls.
In response, he held that hand he held still against your back. He silently allowed you the reprieve of his touch when your fingers curled around his thumb, and he did not pull away. 
The scratch of his shirt against what parts of your spine peaked through your pulled shirt. 
You shivered, even more so when his lips delicately lingered beneath your ear, and his hot breath fanned over your cheek. 
This is wrong. It’s wrong how good he feels. 
It’s wrong how you clenched around him, sucking him in impossibly deeper to the curl of your warmth around his cock. 
He fucked into you again. 
His tip was burning with need, and his stomach twisted and turned at the thought of it. Wrong, and filthy, and–
You let out another plea. “Le’ me touch myself, Reverend.” To hammer the nail in the coffin, you then murmured, “oh God.” 
It’s the need that made him crack. It’s the idea of just how tight you could be if you were to cum all over him. How he could watch that gorgeous spine unfurl in front of him, how a melody would spill from your lips only for him to hear. 
The sounds are disgusting, but somehow so invigorating. Wet and loud and so grotesque. 
Sunday breathed out, and he sounded excited. 
“You sought relief in me, you wretch.” he breathed into the nape of your neck. Sweat dyed his lips with salt. “Do it, then.” 
When he removed his hand from your wrist, he felt your knees buckle. He pushed your hips further upwards into the table, for if you both fell any closer to the floor, away from the sky, he was sure he’d never wake from this horrible dream ever again. 
Your hand slipped down your front towards your swollen clit. 
His cock fucked into you harder, chasing the feeling of your cunt squeezing around the sensitive flesh, struggling to pull tighter. So filling. It’s so good. It’s so good it’s shameful, and he understood in that moment why sinners confess to him in the booth, go home and use their wives, and then repeat this endless cycle of debauchery. 
As guilty as he felt, he sank his teeth into the exposed skin of your shoulder where your shirt fell. 
You’re so beautiful like this. 
Moaning and begging for more of him and covered in sweat. 
His halo was glowing. 
He swallowed the saliva building in his mouth when he pulled his teeth away from your skin. “You’re disgusting.” It’s weak, it’s pathetic, it doesn’t even sound like he believes it. 
Because you’re not. You’re like an angel, laid flat on the table, offering your very being to him. 
All you were missing was a halo—distantly, he knows you’d never receive one. 
You let out a squeak of laughter, breathless. Your hand stirs between your legs. You manage to crane your neck and make eye contact with him. His halo lit up his pretty, flushed face in a shimmer of gold. “Are you close?” 
His feathers fluttered at the question. His face grew brighter. 
Your cunt squeezed around him again, and he let out a gasp at the tightness. “Very.” He was embarrassingly close, and all you’d done was squish him tight inside of you. 
Your cunt squelched around his skin, and Sunday whimpered. 
You squelched against his cock as he drove in further, desperately chasing that heat the coiled tighter and tighter in his guts. 
He was afraid he would grow addicted to this. He was already growing addicted. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he gripped your hips tighter. 
Sweat stained his neck, and heat trapped beneath his ruined shirt. He’d have to burn his clothes. Plead for a new uniform entirely, and perhaps for salvation. 
If anyone found out about this. 
His stomach turned. 
His cock slipped out of you and he grunted. Sunday fumbled with himself trying to slot back into your twitching hole. “Stop wriggling.” 
Your cunt trembled as he stretched past your walls again. Your fingers tremored over your sensitive clit. “Haha. Of course, sir.” Breathless, slurred, beautiful. 
He could listen to you moan in his ear all day. 
His skin stuck to yours like glue, sweat and slick soaking his thighs as he pushed into your guts as deep as he could. 
As dangerous as the thought was, he wanted to fill your womb with his cum. His cock throbbed and throbbed and as he drew closer and closer to the edge, he fucked you harder and harder. 
He felt the heel of your shoe slide up against his thigh soaked in sweat. It was exciting how you treated him like a prince, and also like the dirt you stepped in with these expensive shoes. 
Sunday shivered behind you, his hands trailing over the curve of your ass up to the base of your spine. Pretty, pretty skin. So soft and dainty, and so warm and supple beneath his fingers. 
He didn’t deserve to feel like this.
He buried his lips into the nape of your neck again, gently brushing kisses along your sweaty skin. His tongue pushed past his lips, and he tasted salt and the lingering scent of your perfume. 
Sunday slammed his hips against your skin again. And again– and he felt he was losing his mind. His hands gripped your hips so tight you were excited to see the bruises he left on you in the morning. 
You were moaning and moaning against the table. 
One of your hands had balled into a fist and viciously smashed against the table. “Harder, priest. Make me yours.” 
“You are mine,” he reminded you coldly in your ear. Still, his hips made a resounding smack against your ass. 
Sunday moaned when he felt your walls twitch around him, so tight he felt as though his blood circulation was being cut. It made his head swim. He pawed at your back desperately. 
So close. 
You purred praises again as his cock head kissed that sweet spot inside of you, and your fingers drew sloppily around your clit. “Just like that, Reverend.” 
Sunday’s halo almost blinded you with how bright it was glowing. 
He wanted to mumble that he loved you. He wasn’t sure if it was the true, or if he was stumbling over his tongue with these disgusting falsities and delusions.
Like the delusions that played in his head of waking up next to you, crawling between your legs and tonguing at your cunt, pleading for relief while his cock stirred in his pants. 
“Let me fill you,” he pleaded quietly. “Please.” His tongue was watering, and he wiped drool off of his lips with his shoulder. 
He heard you sigh dreamily, cut off suddenly with another harsh thrust of his cock inside of you. 
He was twitching. 
So fucking close. 
Come on. 
Shame. Shame poured from every pore in his skin like pus. 
“Of course, sire. I’m yours.” 
In your final confession, Sunday’s chest heaved. His gloved fingers gripped your hips enough to still them entirely, staining the unmarred skin with dark bruises and blood. 
His cock twitched deep inside you, his mind twisted, and he came. 
He filled your womb, just like he wanted to, and he moaned so pathetically against your neck you cried out for him. His breath fanned over your sweaty skin as he trembled above you, hips smacking weakly against your ass as he emptied himself. 
“God.” It spilled from his lips. 
Blasphemous. Awful. He’ll never see the light of day the same again, 
He clawed at your hips, pressing you down into the table. 
His heart lurched when you squeezed around his sensitive, aching cock still buried deep into your cunt, drooling around the skin as you came again. 
He felt slick dribble past the rim of your hole, sticking to the soft supple skin of his thighs as he kept himself snug inside of you. 
Warm. 
He exhaled shakily. 
The praise you had whispered had gotten to his head. Heat swelled in his face, and Sunday swallowed thickly. 
After a moment, you sighed, just as wobbly as he was, and raised a hand to pull his chin down just enough for you to crane your neck to the side and kiss his cheek. 
You could feel his heart bashing against your back as his chest rested on your spine. Truthfully, you could’ve stayed this way with his slowly softening cock deep inside of you. 
He pulled out slowly, almost unwillingly, and he heard you hiss lowly. His cock slipped from your cunt, and his slit was still aching as the remaining cum bubbled and dribbled down the side. 
Sunday did nothing. 
He removed his hands from your hips and you finally pushed yourself up from the table. He heard the creaking of your bones and a sigh of relief as you stretched your skin. 
His heart was still racing. He felt nauseous. 
His gloves were sticky and tacky, but he still refused to touch your properly. 
He heard you shift, sitting up on the table and gliding a gentle, but firm hand up and down the stretch of his spine. His wings fluttered at the attention. 
His halo was still glowing, just enough for you to see that he was masking his guilt and staring far too long at the wall of the cellar. After what seemed like hours, he fumbled to pull his pants back on at the very least and attempted to straighten his rumpled shirt. 
In that time, he’d heard the clicking of your heels as you’d fussed to dress yourself as best you could without moving from the table. 
Devotion. 
Your hand was now soothingly rubbing his shoulder. 
His knees buckled. 
As he slowly lowered himself to the floor, he turned to face you and slotted himself in between your legs. This was devotion, right? His gloved hands slid up your thighs as you watched him curiously. His knees hit the floor first, and his lips trembled when he leaned forward, pried your thighs further apart, and kissed your clothed cunt until your hips twitched and you giggled. 
You playfully shoved his head away with a push to his forehead. 
Sunday rested his head against one of your thighs and continued to tremble. His face was still
coated in sweat. 
When your hand gently reached down to pet his hair, he shakily smiled. 
He’d find later after he finally pulled himself from the cellar and locked it, and trekked back up the stairs to the main hall, that the murals were not looking at him. The statue was still, just as silent as it had always been, with six eyes shut to the world with their unhearing ears and unspeaking mouths. 
All that would watch silently was a bird. A small, deep purple nightingale that watched from afar. 
For now he walked down the aisle after you silently, holding onto his coat and his white overthrow. The golden badge that usually rested on his breast weighed heavy in his hands like led. 
He did not dare to gaze at the walls. He held onto the key for the front door as if it would disappear from his grasp. 
It was cold outside, and the wind blew steadily as he shut the door behind him before securely locking it tight. 
He heard your heels stop. 
“Reverend?”
Sunday wanted to bark at you. What more could you possibly want from him? You’d taken everything, and now he knew he would go home like a ghost trekking a lonely path, fall into bed, and tremble all night as his fingers felt blindly for the waistband of his pants. 
Instead, he only hummed. He kept his hand firm around the giant brass knobs of the church. 
“Don’t fear Hell.” 
The words did not assure him, but for that moment amidst the wind, Sunday listened. 
He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, squeezing the sore muscles tight. 
He stiffened at how warm your skin was. How he desperately, desperately wanted to feel your lips on his again. 
He refrained. 
Sunday barely turned his head to look at you. 
“I will be there with you.” And that, you could promise. 
Daringly, you pressed a chaste kiss to his hair before you let go of his shoulder, and left. 
He only glanced away for a moment, but when he peered back down the street, you had disappeared, along with the faint clicking of your heels. 
Sunday’s shoulder remained warm long after you had let go. 
And that warmth remained present for every day that you did not return to him. 
But, distantly, with every service that he swears he sees your face, or the pattern of your stockings in the embroidery, he knows the fleeting feeling of your warmth is enough.
390 notes · View notes
stsgluver · 11 months ago
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Can I get a uhhh...hurt/comfort Choso drabble where he snaps at the reader? Maybe because he's worried about Yuuji or something?
𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐆𝐎 — kamo choso
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synopsis. choso's parent's relationship is struggling and he doesn't know how to handle it.
wc. 1.4k
tags. very slight angst, happy ending, yuuji is choso's 10yo half brother, choso and yn are 18-19, both went to the same school, yn is yuuji's tutor, possible ooc choso I've never written for him before
a/n. MY FIRST CHOSO WRITING!! you never specified an au so I did a post-highschool!au-ish. I hope that's okay <33 thank you for requesting!!
2k event
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“can’t you tell i’m busy?” choso uttered through gritted teeth, not even bothering to glance up at you from his sketchbook he was hunched over on his desk. you’d been trying to tell him about the sweet old couple you always saw at the cafe and hadn’t seen for weeks until today. the two of you had become invested in their wellbeing and you’d thought that had been something he would’ve wanted to hear about.
“oh, sorry.” you frowned at how unintentionally pathetic your voice sounded. despite his cold demeanour, choso was probably the, if not the, sweetest person you’d ever met. he was always doting on his younger brother and showing up at your day job unannounced to bring you something whenever you tell him you’re having a bad day.
for all intents and purposes, he was the blueprint, so for him to lash out at you for no explicit reason was the total polar opposite to his usual personality.
“sorry?” choso mocked, leaning his head back to push his hands through his hair which was still damp from showering. still, he seemed more preoccupied with the ceiling than his concerned girlfriend who sat cross-legged on his bed, “geto’s going to be pissed that i’m behind on these designs and you constantly talking in my ear is not helping.”
after graduating, choso had initially taken on an admin role at a small tattoo parlour in town. a couple of months into the role, the owner, geto, had offered him a proper apprenticeship. you’d met geto on a handful of occasions and, from how choso had previously described him, he didn’t seem like the type to be annoyed over a few incomplete designs. especially not considering the additional hours and effort choso always puts into that place.
“you invited me over choso,” you pointed out. it was a sunday and, while you usually have work in the evenings, you’d been given the day off due to staff sickness. your boyfriend’s first message had been to excitedly offer for you to come over and stay the night at his which of course you said yes to.
somewhere between sending you that message and you making the fifteen minute drive to his house, he had a drastic change of heart.
choso sighed, picking up a different pencil to continue his sketch. “well, now i’m uninviting you.”
the bluntness in his tone had you blinking back tears. it was the first time he’d ever been so intentionally dismissive towards you. you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response or an argument, if that was what he was after, and picked up your coat and left his room. 
you hadn’t needed to bring over any clothes or essentials since you’d come over so often his room had designated areas for your spare bits. as upset as he had made you, you weren’t about to scare him with a breakup threat because he was having a bad day and lashing out at you. 
“yn!” yuuji’s bright voice spooked you from your thoughts as you made your way down the stairs and you had to quickly wipe away any tears so as to not worry your boyfriend’s ten year old brother. choso’s golden personality was hidden by dark hair and an introverted front whereas yuuji’s was clear from his pink hair to his loud voice. “are you leaving already? you haven’t even tried my pancakes yet!”
one of yuuji’s incentives to attend the lessons that he didn’t like (ie. anything that wasn’t sport) was for him and choso to make homemade pancakes together. it was a weekly thing that you usually missed because of work and yuuji had been jumping up and down when he had found out you’d be there this evening.
your heart broke a little more at the fact you’d now be upsetting him.
“sorry yuuji,” his little face dropped slightly, bounce in his step gone as he clasped his hands together. you gently rubbed his shoulder, “i’ll be here for friday?”
yuuji scrunched up his nose. “that’s so long away!” it was also the day he’d be sat at the kitchen island with you for several hours doing catch up on his classes.
yuuji was the reason why you and choso had reconnected after graduating school – because when you agreed to tutor a student how could you have known that itadori yuuji was kamo choso’s little brother? you’d never been close in school so you hadn’t even known he had any relatives.
“i’ll bring you a treat,” you promised, making your way out of the house after saying a quick goodbye to his parents. 
the pouring down rain coupled with the ever flowing tears that stained your cheeks meant you had to stop your car several times on the way home just to ensure you wouldn’t crash. each and every time you checked your phone to see if he’d sent you a message, apologising and asking you to come back (which you would have in a heartbeat). there never was.
you didn’t see choso for the rest of the week – not until friday, your usual tutoring session with yuuji. 
he had messaged you a couple times, asking about your day and sending you several pictures of tattoos he had done himself which you always responded to quickly. but the conversations were short and filled with unanswered questions.
most days that you didn’t sleep around his, the two of you would call until one of you fell asleep. for the last five nights both of you had made excuses for why you couldn’t call. 
your relationship was still fairly new and this was the first spat that you had had. neither of you really knew how to cope with the aftermath or even the initial falling out. you missed your boyfriend, though, and you couldn’t avoid this forever.
“is yuuji here?”
you’d knocked twice before the door had been opened by choso. he looked just as tired as you felt (you’d done your best to cover it up with a bit of concealer and highlighter), and his shoulder length hair was messily framing his face. the hoodie he wore was a matching one that you had still hung up in your wardrobe at home.
“no,” choso shook his head, “he’ll be back from fushiguro’s kids in about fifteen.”
yuuji had spoken about megumi a lot to you – his best friend in the whole world, he’d described him as. he told you he’d bring him around one day to meet you.
“okay,” you said slowly and there was an awkward silence that settled between the two of you. on a friday night whilst you were with yuuji, their parents went out for their weekly date night, so right now it was just choso in his house and you at the doorstep. you take a step back, “i can just wait in my car till–”
“i think my parents are splitting up,” choso said quickly – almost too quickly for you to understand – and his eyes dropped down to the ground below, avoiding your worried gaze. “friday date nights are now for marriage counselling,” he continued when you didn’t say anything, still in shock from the confession, “jin… he’s a good guy, but my mum is stressed with work and–”
“and she’s taking it out on the people closest to her.”
choso picked his head up and there was an unspoken understanding that that was what had happened on sunday. he looked guilty as he nodded.
choso and yuuji were half brothers – choso’s dad had up and left when he was only a couple of years old and his mum had had to single-handedly rebuild their life. he didn’t want yuuji to have to experience any of the hardships he did in his broken family.
“i’m sorry for hurting you. i don’t want to lose you too,” your boyfriend apologised and you made the first step on closing the gap to wrap your arms around his waist. he smelt like home, you realised, nestling your face into his hoodie, and you didn’t want to go five whole days without him again.
you lifted your head up to press one kiss to the corner of his lips, “we’ll get through this together, no matter what happens.”
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wobster109 · 10 months ago
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Dissecting the post-Sunday conversation between Ratio and Aventurine
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This conversation is not, as many are interpreting, proof of Dr. Ratio's loyalty.
It couldn't be: they are still in the dreamscape, where the Family's eyes and ears are everywhere. No, this is a post-mission debrief, heavily encoded and disguised as a quarrel.
Dr. Ratio: You look pale. Or, is that also part of your act? Aventurine: Didn't think you'd have the nerve to show yourself. Dr. Ratio: I thought this was exactly what you wanted. After all, I faithfully fulfilled my duties as you instructed. Dr. Ratio: Just tell me if you can't hold on any longer. Aventurine: So, the "genius" of the Council of Mundanites wants to be my undertaker now? My… what an honor.
First part of the convo. Aventurine is playing his part perfectly. He’s acting angry and hurt: Ratio you rotten betrayer.
Interestingly, Ratio is slipping. Are you ok? Tell me if you can’t hold on. It almost sounds like he's a bit unsure about what happened. "I thought this was what you wanted", like he's asking for reassurance in some form.
Aventurine has to work hard to drag Ratio back on-script. "Have you forgotten, Doctor? You betrayed me." It's a hint and a reminder: stick with the plan, Doctor!
Dr. Ratio: Yes, and I'm pretty sure the people at the Strategic Investment Department would love to be notified of your death in due time, but let's not forget you won't be seeing them, because I'm the manager of this task. Aventurine: Great, then tell your people that Aventurine is ready to go in seventeen system hours.
Ratio asks for instructions (disguised as a taunt), and Aventurine provides them. I'm not entirely sure what instructions were given. It seems to be What should I tell the IPC? / Here's what you tell them.
Aventurine: My conversation with Sunday convinced me that there's a traitor in The Family, and that they hold the secrets of Penacony… So, I took the opportunity to set everything in motion. Aventurine: I even managed to recover the gift money. Things haven't gone this smoothly since I walked through the doors of The Reverie… Now, I'm only one step away from victory. Let's just wait and see.
Confirms that everything is on track. I believe the line about the gift money is actually him confirming that he has the aventurine cornerstone.
Dr. Ratio: Sounds like a very elaborate way of saying that you failed. Aventurine: That's all I can say. Have you forgotten, Doctor? You betrayed me.
This sounds like a bit of a warning from Aventurine. Remember we can't say too much here.
Dr. Ratio: You've got a lot of nerve — how exactly do you plan on completing your task while you're hands are tied by The Harmony? [...] Dr. Ratio: That's true, but what's your plan? Did you conceal an Orbital Support beacon in that gift money bag?
This is interesting. Ratio doesn't know the full plan! I imagine he's tremendously on edge. He's fishing for info, again disguised as taunts, specifically info about how Aventurine is going to get himself out—but of course, Aventurine can't say it out loud, not in the dreamscape.
Ratio is at the breaking point.
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Dr. Ratio: Fine. Here, take this. Open it when you're on your last legs. You'll thank me.
YES this is what I was waiting for, the moment when his whole voice changes! His usual tone is very much like giving-a-speech. He pronounces each word and syllable with precision, and clearly enunciating all the ending consonants.
Not here though. It's all grumbles. I think this might be the first time we're seeing cracks, and the personal Dr. Ratio is showing through instead of the public-speaking one.
Aventurine: You catch on pretty fast, Doctor.
He caught on that he was supposed to play along and not say anything that outright gives the plan away. (In my opinion he was pushing it a bit.)
I wonder if that's why he pulls the sudden disappearing act. He's slipping up, and/or bad at saying good-bye. Can't trust himself to get another word out. 🥺
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venus-haze · 1 year ago
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Watch Honey Drip, Can't Keep Away (Soldier Boy x Reader)
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Summary: America’s golden son can't keep his eyes off of you, almost like he wants to devour you whole...or something like that.
Note: Female reader, but no descriptors are used. This is kind of in the same universe as She’s Out To Please, She Pouts Her Best. I know generally men in the ‘40s, let alone Soldier Boy of all people, wouldn’t really consider going down on a woman, but it’s my fic and I get to decide he eats out. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 2k
Warnings: Period typical misogyny, power imbalance. Explicit sexual content involving masturbation and oral sex (f. receiving). Do not interact if you’re under 18.
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“Which city are we going to next?” you asked, finally comfortable in the swanky hotel room in Chicago you were roomed in with three other girls from the troupe. Soldier Boy’s Sparkling Sweethearts. People came from miles around to show their patriotism–and get a look-see at the acts. If it weren’t Soldier Boy, it was you and the other Sweethearts. Something for everyone, really. Even in places like–
“Wichita.”
A collective groan filled the space, littered with makeup and dresses that’d inevitably shoved into suitcases in a hurry the moment of checkout. There were more important things to worry about than being organized.
“Better than wherever the hell we were last week. Couldn’t get enough of us on Saturday, and then nearly ran us out with pitchforks after the preacher was through with them Sunday morning.”
“I’m going down to the bar while we’re still in a hotel that has one,” you said. “I’ll be back later.”
“Not if Soldier Boy’s there.” A giggle tore through the room. “Did you see him earlier? He looked like he could eat you alive.”
You weren’t even supposed to have been up there with Soldier Boy during his act, a routine that showed off his powers and preceded his usual rousing speech to get the American public to open their hearts and wallets to the war bonds drive. But Darla had broken her leg while ice skating on a day off in Milwaukee, and Soldier Boy had specifically asked for you to fill her spot.
Your role involved memorizing a few lines from a script and looking pretty while Soldier Boy understandably took the lead, but your “rehearsal” just hours before was little more than going through your lines once before Soldier Boy poured you a shot to “calm your nerves” and spent the following fifteen minutes fucking your mouth before sending you off to get ready for the show. 
Walking up on that stage again after your usual routine with the Sparkling Sweethearts was nerve-wracking. Though you knew what to expect, you still felt like your heart was going to pop out of your chest every time he lifted you above his head or tossed you up in the air and caught you, to the raucous applause and cheers of the Chicagoans and celebrities who’d packed the theater to see him.
“Betty Grable’s in town, so I think she’s the main course,” you said as you left, closing the door behind you and leaving your coworkers to tease you in private.
Among the various hobbies you’d taken up since becoming a Sparkling Sweetheart, people-watching in hotel bars was one of your favorites. He would almost always be there too, an otherworldly presence with an abundance of movers and shakers rotating in his orbit, unable to resist the pull of America’s golden son.
Some of the girls in the troupe didn’t care for him, found him too brash and handsy. You could think of at least one who’d been unceremoniously replaced after loudly complaining one too many times. No one really knew what the extent of his powers were, but after that incident, you suspected enhanced hearing might be among them. Or someone was just a snitch. 
When you stepped into the bar, a quick scan of the room revealed Betty Grable to be nowhere in sight. You didn’t see Soldier Boy either, until a deep voice wrapped around you like velvet.
“There’s my girl.”
“Who, me?” you asked teasingly.
“‘Course you are, honey.”
“Because I heard Betty Grable’s in town—“
He scoffed. “That broad? Who needs her?”
Your chest filled with pride at his statement. She was the pin-up girl of choice for every GI in Europe and the Pacific. Well, almost all of them. His arm settled around your waist as he told the bartender to give you whatever you wanted. The overhead lights in the bar were nice and low, you felt warm beneath Soldier Boy’s gaze. Being the object of his attention always carried weight. He was the world’s first superhero, after all. A living legend. Plenty of other women he could be spending his time with besides you.
Pressing your lips to his cheek, you whispered a ‘thank you’ for the drink, taking in the way he licked his lips, his handsome face so close to yours, still under the slight cover of the shadows. Whoever decided a helmet that covered half of his face would be part of his costume needed serious help. 
“Y’know, if you hadn’t come down here, I might’ve gone up to your room and dragged you out,” he said, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “It’s like you were shakin’ your ass just for me on that stage.”
“It’s called shimmying, and I’m glad you liked it.”
“I was thinking, how about you replace Darla for my act?”
“Permanently?”
“Sure, we’ve got great chemistry,” he said, squeezing your hip, “on and off stage.”
As the night progressed, your conversations with Soldier Boy were interrupted by the slew of people who recognized him, excitedly introducing themselves and asking for a few minutes of his time. He graciously accepted with a ‘You don’t mind, right honey?’ And you shook your head, watching him humor politicians, business moguls, and socialites.
You smiled when the latest one had made their departure, tilting your head the slightest bit. “Do you even remember what my name is?”
“Honey suits you better,” he said, his tongue darting out between his lips. “Bet you taste like it too.”
“You sure?”
“Only one way to find out.”
“I guess so.”
He pressed a kiss to your temple, passing you his room key. “You go make yourself comfortable while I close out my tab.” 
As if he’d even be paying for the drinks himself. It’d probably be billed to the Department of Defense, or that strange company that sponsored the tour. You didn’t pay much attention to who was signing your checks, just that they cashed out when you brought them to the bank.
You balked at his hotel room, far more space than a single man could possibly need. Then again, he rarely spent his nights alone. 
Comfortable. Ridding yourself of your clothes, you climbed into the giant bed, pulling the covers just over your breasts. As you laid back on the plush pillows, you recalled earlier that day when he had swatted your ass as you walked off stage after your act with him was finished, playing it off as a joke to the crowd who cheered and whistled. The simple yet slightly painful gesture had gone straight through you, however, and you worried that there’d be a noticeable wet spot on your satin panties when you and the other Sparkling Sweethearts returned for one last routine to close out the show, your high kicks telling on you.
Biting your lip, you glanced at the door and slipped a hand between your legs. He had only said to make yourself comfortable, nothing specifically about waiting. Gently prodding two fingers against your pussy, you weren’t surprised to find that you were wet already. Your eyes fluttered shut as you pushed your fingers inside, thinking about how his hands felt on you earlier. Strong and steady, big hands that could break you so easily but didn’t.
“Couldn’t wait?” He stood at the end of the bed, fully clothed with his arms folded over his broad chest as he pinned you in place with his disapproving glare.
You gasped, pulling your hand from between your legs. “I was just–”
He clicked his tongue at you, though his eyes betrayed his amusement. “My fault for keeping you waiting too long, doll.”
Soldier Boy joined you on the bed, pulling back the covers you’d pulled over your bare body. He pressed his lips against yours, kissing you with an overwhelming fireceness as he groped your breasts, squeezing down your stomach to your hips and finally your thighs. His lips followed that same path, kissing and biting along your skin that suddenly felt feverish beneath his touch. Still, your pussy ached for him, especially since he had walked in while you were pleasuring yourself, but he wasn’t paying any mind to it.
Until he dipped his head down, licking your wet cunt. In your shock, you pushed your thighs together, as if his intrusion were unwelcome. 
His strong hands held your legs apart, gently squeezing the tender flesh. “I jerked off thinking about this earlier, but nothin' like the real thing, huh?”
You let out a shaky breath, eyes focused on the ornate ceiling. Gold leafing, a Renaissance-esque painting, surely Soldier Boy didn’t care much about that. 
“Eyes on me, honey. You got that?”
Immediately, you looked at him, his blazing green stare burning through you until you nodded. He wasted no time in burying his face between your legs, his tongue flicking against your clit with such force that you realized you had no idea what getting eaten out by a superhero would actually entail. 
He lapped at your pussy with an insatiable fervor that made your legs shake beneath his steady grip. Your moan caught in your throat when he plunged his tongue deeper into you, his nose brushing that sensitive bundle of nerves he’d already teased. 
A whine tore from your throat when he pulled away for a moment, smugly admiring your glistening sex. His lips appeared coated in your juices, and you nearly came at that sight alone.
“Fuck you’re soaked,” he growled appreciatively. “This all for me?”
Who else? As if any other man could make you feel pleasure so intensely, as if that were yet another superpower of his. For a moment you bemoaned a possible future of unsatisfying sex with some regular old Joe–not America’s hero, its fucking sex symbol. But all you could manage was a weak, “Yes.”
Satisfied with your response, he closed his plush lips over your clit, sucking on it like he was pulling from a cigarette, your arousal burning deep in his lungs. You grabbed at the sheets, digging your hands into them as you grind your pussy against his face. Your eyes fluttered shut for a split second, shooting open when he smacked your thigh. Eyes on me.
“Fuck—Soldier Boy,” you moaned. “‘m close.”
He growled against you, the vibrations from his throat edging you closer to orgasm. His inhuman stamina meant he hadn’t given you much of a break since he lowered his face between your thighs. He’d been content to tease you for a while, but he seemed more focused, intentional with the way he ate you out, his attention especially focused on your clit. 
You could feel it, that tightness in your abdomen that was about to snap. Involuntarily, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were on that stage again, in his big arms, bright lights blaring as you stared dreamily at him. Then he threw you in the air, higher and higher until you came back down and–
“Soldier Boy, oh my god–don’t fucking stop,” you pleaded, riding out your orgasm on his face.
His hands held down your bucking hips, your ecstasy overpowered by his determination to bring you over the edge until you were an incoherent mess, muscles aching at the exertion of each orgasm despite him doing all of the work. Light-headed, seeing stars, you reached down, tugging at his hair. That was it. You were tapping out. Mercy.
He granted such, though he pressed sloppy kisses to your inner thighs, nipping at the tender skin. All you could give him was weak moans in return. If you expected to be able to go anywhere else the rest of the night, he’d made damn well sure you couldn’t so much as move from his bed. Maybe that was the idea.  
Your breath caught in your throat when he lifted his head, wiping his glistening lips with the back of his hand, though the evidence of your orgasms was still all over the rest of his face. He kissed you, the foreign taste of yourself filling your mouth, sending a deliciously obscene rush through you. His mouth broke from yours, just for a moment, as he whispered your name against your lips. You realized you didn’t actually know his.
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stxneflxwers · 1 day ago
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I saw your post and came running 👀 I've been thinking about this since the end of December bc I really did not get into the holiday spirit until after it was over lmao BUT for any characters you want to write for: what are they like during the holidays? What traditions do they like to do? What gifts do they give you?
(Extra ideas you can take or leave if it helps your inspiration at all — How does Aventurine feel when you tell him you don't need any of those expensive gifts, just time with him? How does Sunday react when you sit him down to tell him he's stressing himself out too hard trying to find a perfect gift for you and that all you want is for him to be happy? How does Dan Heng respond when you tell him that the only gift you want for the holidays is him?)
^ I've just been rotating the hsr boys in my head all day at work lol so I have a lot of Thoughts™
gift of love.
summary. the greatest gift of all is his love.
a/n. tysm for the request!!! i decided to settle with gift-giving ideas you offered, since it sounded interesting and cute!! im just gonna stick with aven and sunday for this tho... i wanna test how sunday writes for me.
characters. aventurine. sunday.
cw. first time writing for sunday (this is more of a test with how much i enjoy writing him, sry for any OOC-ness). gift-giving. all lowercase. established relationship(s). PLS NOTE THAT I HAVEN'T DONE THE NEW TRAILBLAZE MISSION STILL CUZ I'M A LAZY MFER...SORRY.
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aventurine.
tries to be soooo sneaky about figuring out what you like as gifts. he wants all of his gifts to be a surprise, after all! it doesn't work. you see right through his game plan. he's a smidgen disappointed (with himself), and might be a bit surprised depending on the kind of person you are.
he still ends up showering you in expensive gifts of things you enjoy. he tries to find the most expensive edition of any of those things even though he, of all people, should know that expensive ≠ well-made. you have to tell him to chill out.
he immediately believes you're angry with him (why wouldn't you be?). but you're not, and you can see the panic flash in his eyes for the tiniest of moments. you sigh softly with a wary smile. you briefly give him some space before talking to him about it.
you tell him that all the most expensive gifts in the world are nothing in comparison to quality time together. you remain patient with an open-mind and a listening ear – you know he needs a wealth of both. you make sure to tell him you miss him.
his mouth hangs open in silence when you tell him that, for once he's at a loss for words. his mouth closes and he smiles. he takes you into a soft hug and whispers, "i miss you too."
he makes an evident effort to be around you more often when he does have the time. you know, instead of wasting half of it out in the casino.
and it makes all the difference.
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sunday.
the most perfectionist to ever perfectionist. stop him before he literally keels over from stress.
thankfully, you notice how weary he's been. and you ask him what's wrong. because at this point – everyone knows, everyone notices how he's been stuck in his head (more than usual). he frets over little things, as usual. but now he seems almost snippy. birdie is cranky.
when he eventually gives in and confesses that he cannot find the "right" gift for you, you're smiling and shaking your head. you give him a very long moment of silence, testing him – seeing if he catches on what you'll say next.
he doesn't catch on "quick enough", much to his dismay. perhaps he hasn't adjusted to your praises and reassurances...yet.
you tell him that the greatest gift of all would be for him to be happy. to be relaxed. to be in the moment. you throw in a little whisper, "maybe by my side, too."
he's silent – his mind running amok with what to say next. he settles for an awkward yet genuinely affectionate, "thank you..."
and then he asks for your forgiveness once he collects himself. you laugh softly and forgive him, you've gotten used to him asking for your forgiveness rather often. only yours, though.
at some point, you're going to need to tell him that forgiving himself is far more important.
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holymarymotherofsmut · 1 month ago
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Summer Heat
Summary: You’re stuck heading into the office on a Sunday on the hottest day of the year, so you forego your usual business attire and show up in something more comfortable. The only problem? Your hot boss, Higuruma Hiromi is also working overtime. Can you handle the heat, the pressure, and Higuruma’s weird behavior?
wc: 8.3k
A/N: I wrote this on a miserable Sunday over the summer where I was too hot and had to do some work (luckily from home). I’ve been fussing over it but the temps are getting lower where I live and I was dreaming about warmer days with later sunsets.
Anyway, this is the first fic I’ve posted in like fifteen years! I feel like it’s too long and could use more editing, but I feel more strongly that the Higuruma girlies don’t get fed nearly enough so I’m doing my part 🫡
The only thing worse than having to go to work on a Sunday was having to go to work on a Sunday that’s also slated to be the hottest day of the year. The thought of putting on your usual pencil skirt and blouse made you want to peel your own skin off.
Then something occurred to you.
No one ever came in on Sunday. Not the power hungry new associates, hoping to stand out. Not the assistants, always drowning in more work than they could reasonably finish, but still did nonetheless. Not even your workaholic boss, Higuruma Hiromi, came in on Sundays.
You felt a guilty thrill, riding the train to the office in just some bike shorts and a tank top. There was no chance of anyone else being there, especially not as early in the morning as you were going, but the idea of getting caught still sent an anxious tingle up your spine.
The air conditioning in the building was almost enough to make up for the mountain of paperwork you needed to review before you could have what precious little remained of the weekend to yourself. You had your own office, whose closed door had trapped the AC since you left on Friday, an icy cold reprieve from the scorching temperatures outside.
As expected, there’s no sign of anyone else in the building today. You leave your door open anyway, hoping to hear anyone who might happen to come in before they find you.
Feeling a little more confident, you put on some music, keeping the level low even with the empty halls. You sang along quietly, occasionally gripping your pen as a microphone to belt out particularly good bits. You were lost in your performance enough that you didn’t notice someone else had arrived at the office.
It’s a muffled chuckle that makes you realize you’re not alone. Your eyes open, shooting to the door where your boss, the law firm's youngest partner, Higuruma Hiromi, is watching you. He has one fist raised to cover his mouth, trying desperately to suppress a laugh.
“Fuck!” You shout in surprise, scrambling to turn off the music.
“Please, don’t let me interrupt,” he says with a good natured smile, still chuckling a little. “I didn’t think anyone else would be here today and then I heard you.”
At the same time, you were trying to explain. “Please, I’m so sorry. I know I’m dressed wildly inappropriately for the office. I really didn’t think anyone would be here.”
He visibly stiffened, finally looking at your outfit. Your breasts spilled out of your top, shining with a thin sheen of sweat just from the brief walk from the station to the office. He could just see a sliver of thigh over the desk where your shorts ended before your legs disappeared under the desk. His smile disappeared and was replaced with an almost pained expression, one you read as thinly veiled disgust.
“I’ll run home and change. I’m so sorry,” you rushed out, standing up behind your desk and fumbling for your bag.
“What?” His big eyes met your panicked ones for a second. “No, don’t be silly. No one else is here, and I’ll be in my office all day.”
You paused, bag still in hand, brain screaming for you to leave and never come back to the office again. “Are you sure?”
“You won’t even know I’m here,” he said with a tight-lipped smile.
He stood there staring at you, not moving until you set your bag down. Once he was satisfied, he gave you a quick nod and turned on his heel out of your office. You knew it was probably your imagination, but you could have sworn he was half-running back to his office.
Higuruma vexed you. That was the only way you could put it. He was generally so kind, so ready to explain something, or to help you work out an argument. He never questioned when you needed time off, he never asked you to stay and work overtime. And being that handsome certainly didn’t hurt. All of this only made you more desperate to impress this man.
The only time he was ever anything other than a perfect gentleman was when you wore revealing clothing. You didn’t have evidence of anything, and it sounded insane even to you, so you hadn’t shared your suspicions, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that was the problem.
The first time it happened, a client had accidentally spilled coffee down the front of your dress, and you didn’t have time to run home and change before you needed to be in court. You had grabbed the spare set of clothes you kept in the bottom drawer of your desk and hoped for the best.
The clothes had been shuffled from one temporary legal job to the next while you were finding your footing after law school, and you’d never had occasion to use them before, so you weren’t terribly surprised to find them a little tight.
You had started eating more, now that you weren’t a literally starving law student. Your figure had filled out, and it showed when you tried to squeeze into the years-old pencil skirt and button down blouse, but you had no other choice. As you tried to secure one more button on the top, trying to retain some level of modesty, your breasts rebelled and you heard the button ping against the mirror.
You were assisting Higuruma in court that day, and immediately things started to go poorly. You had arrived at his office, your blouse undone a button below where it should have been, trying desperately to hide in your coworker’s blazer she’d let you borrow to try to cover yourself a little more effectively.
“You weren’t wearing that earlier,” he had blurted out, taking in the much tighter outfit you had appeared in.
“Sorry. Someone covered me in coffee and this was all I had,” you said with an apologetic wince.
“It’s fine,” he said, waving his hand and looking back down at the papers on his desk intently. “I’m just finishing something up. Can I meet you down by my car? The keys are in the pocket of my jacket just there.”
He didn’t even look up at you as he gestured to the coat rack where his suit jacket hung. You felt a little like you were being dismissed. You took the keys with a frown and made your way down to his car.
He appeared not even a minute later, making you wonder if he just didn’t want to be seen walking with you. He ignored you the whole ride to the court house. Okay, not really - he chatted with you, a little more stiffly than usual, but with a friendly tone. But he didn’t look at you once during the drive. You appreciated him keeping his eyes on the road, but this felt deliberate.
His cold behavior continued for the rest of the day. All throughout the hearing, when he was driving you to the station, all day, he only looked at you if he absolutely had to. The only thing you could think was that he was embarrassed to be seen with you looking like that.
You had returned to the office the next day in long, loose pants and a shapeless sweater, shame still lingering. You replaced your emergency clothes with ones that fit properly. Higuruma went back to being his normal self.
The second time you had noticed it was at the office Holiday party. Everyone had shown up in fun cocktail attire, and you had gotten so many compliments on your dress. Burgundy velvet, long sleeves, and an open neckline that showed off your shoulders without revealing too much cleavage. A happy medium of sexy and office appropriate, or so you’d thought.
After greeting Higuruma on the way in, you didn’t see him for the rest of the night. You had been hoping to chat with him - you were still relatively new and you wanted him to know you were up for any challenging cases he had to throw at you. But every time you’d spot him, in the time it took you to extricate yourself from the conversion you were in and make your way to where you’d spotted him, he was gone.
He had left the party early, and you had left feeling rejected. You couldn’t figure out what you’d done wrong. You could only hope that you could work your way back into his good graces before he decided to fire you.
Only, there was no need to work your way back into his good graces, as it turned out. He was at your desk first thing the next morning, explaining the new defense strategy he had cooked up, sounding hopeful about the case for the first time since he’d taken it on.
If twice is a coincidence and thrice is a pattern, today solidified your belief that it was clothing related. You frown, thinking about how kind you always thought Higuruma was. If he was going to act this way over some clothing, maybe he wasn’t worth putting in the effort to impress.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the smell of coffee drifting from down the hall. You had long finished the cup you brought from home and were craving another. Hesitantly, you made your way to the kitchen, unpleasantly surprised to find Higuruma had beaten you there.
You hesitated in the doorway, debating going in, but his dark eyes found you before you could make a decision.
“Oh, hello again,” he said mildly, immediately turning back to the cupboard. It was too fast to have not been intentional, but he tried to cover it up by opening the cabinet with the mugs, the ends of his slicked-back hair swaying slightly as he surveyed the sea of identical mugs. “I assume you’re here for coffee?”
Before you can answer he pours you a cup, gesturing to it, still not looking at you.
“Thank you.” You say it looking directly at him, hoping to leave him no choice but to finally look you in the eye. And he does, for a fleeting moment. You think you see heated red cheeks as he mumbles something about having work to do and breezes past you out of the kitchenette.
You frown down at the steaming mug in front of you. He didn’t have to like what you wore but he didn’t need to be so dismissive. You decide to have a little fun with him today. If you have to be in the office, and you have to deal with his attitude, at least you can make him squirm.
Around noon you headed down to his office. You’d hiked up your shorts a little, just enough that it was debatable if you’d done it on purpose or if they had just ridden up from walking. Your top was already cut fairly low, but you tugged it down anyway, allowing another inch of cleavage to peak through.
The door to his office was slightly ajar, but you knocked on the wood anyway, polite even when your ultimate goal was to torture him a little. A distracted, “Come in,” came from inside, so you pushed the door the rest of the way open.
“I was just going to order some lunch,” you began, leaning against the door frame casually, knowing the angle would make your legs appear longer. “Did you want anything?”
Your plan was working. When he finally glanced up from the document he’d been poring over, his face went a shade paler. His eyes were locked onto your legs, traveling up the length of them before he remembered himself and snapped them up to meet your gaze.
“I’m fine, thank you,” he replied in a clipped tone, immediately looking back down at his work.
“Are you sure? You really shouldn’t skip lunch.” You frowned, standing up straight and crossing your arms. You might have been toying with him, but you also spent a good part of your regular work day worrying about the man also. He was here early, always the last to leave, and you knew for a fact that he frequently skipped meals in favor of working on a case.
The genuine concern in your tone made him look back up at you curiously, in turn making you realize that you’d strayed from your original goal. You uncrossed your arms, breasts jiggling with the motion, drying up whatever retort Higuruma had lined up on his tongue.
“I brought lunch today, but I appreciate the offer. Feel free to charge it to the company account though, since you’re working on a Sunday.” His tone was polite, the offer kind, but it was clearly a dismissal. Again, his eyes immediately went back to studying the words on the page in front of him.
With a shrug you turned on your heel, not catching the way his eyes followed your ass as you walked away, or the way he shook his head in annoyance at himself after you had disappeared.
Around two, he saw a blur of movement as you left the office, the tell-tale ding of the elevator confirming his suspicions. He let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t know how much longer he could be in the office with you looking like that.
Higuruma thought of himself as a good, ethical man. He was someone who always wanted what was just and fair to be done. He paid his parking tickets on time, he tipped 30% or more even when it wasn’t expected, he didn’t even jaywalk.
And he definitely didn’t hit on his subordinates. No matter how beautiful, or intelligent, or witty they were. No matter how kind they were, no matter how they fussed over him, no matter how much his cock twitched when he saw even an inch of skin he wasn’t expecting.
No, Higuruma would never make the first move, no matter how sure he was that you felt the same magnetic pull between you.
He was still thinking about you when the elevator dinged again, indicating someone’s arrival. He frowned - who would be coming in at this hour on a Sunday?
You.
You hadn’t left, apparently. You had just popped out to the corner store for a snack. In one hand you had a small plastic bag, heavy with a drink and what looked like a couple of onigiri. Your other hand was holding a popsicle up to your mouth.
He prayed that you’d just keep walking past his office, but god was not on his side today, it seemed.
“Here,” you said before putting the popsicle in your mouth, holding it there while you used your now free hand to rummage around in the bag. You produced an onigiri and tossed it at him. He barely managed to catch it, fumbling it a little in his hands. The label said it was spicy tuna, his favorite.
“What’s this for?” He asked, one eyebrow raised. He tried to keep his eyes on your face, which was hard when you were sucking on the popsicle that way. How many times had he imagined you looking at him with your mouth full of…
“For playing baseball,” you responded drily. “What do you think it’s for?”
“I told you, I was fine,” he protested, holding the food out to you uselessly.
“I know you didn’t actually bring lunch,” you said with a scowl. “Eat.”
While the popsicle was out of your mouth, it melted enough to send a drop of red syrup dripping onto your right breast. You swiped at it with a finger and popped the digit into your mouth, then you licked up the side of the popsicle where the errant drip had come from.
He’s not sure he’s ever been harder in his life.
“Thank you.” He said stiffly, suddenly very interested in the wrapper of the onigiri in his hand. “I have some work I need to finish up. Is there anything else?”
You scoffed quietly, and he almost broke and looked up at you, but he instead turned to pretend to rummage in his desk for something.
“No, that’s all Mr. Higuruma,” you replied, matching the formality and stiffness of his tone. He heard your angry footsteps retreat down the hall, only allowing himself to let out a sigh once he heard your door shut just a little too loudly. He put his head in his hands, aware that he had upset you somehow. He had been too focused on not showing his attraction to you, not letting you in on his shameful secret, that he completely missed whatever he might have done to deserve such a reaction.
He’d have to talk to you later, but right now he needed to get his emotions and his dick under control.
You’d had a shockingly productive day, all things considered.
Really, you had thrown yourself into your work to try and forget about Higuruma making you feel… well, you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was you were feeling. At first you thought it was just anger at his dismissive behavior, but under the anger was deep embarrassment. It was the sting of romantic rejection, something you hadn’t considered when you started this little game.
You were attracted to him. You had always been able to admit that. But he was a good man, you thought, far too good to ever do something as scandalous as date an employee. Part of you had maybe hoped that it wasn’t anger but attraction on his part too that made him act so odd around you sometimes.
But you’d proven to yourself once and for all that it was, at the end of the day, disgust and annoyance with you as a person. You could continue to be professional - you were an adult, you had learned how to compartmentalize. But maybe you needed to keep your distance for a while.
This is how you ended up sitting in your office at 7 p.m., sun sinking slowly, casting your office in a wash of orange. You’d wrapped up everything you wanted to do plus a little extra in the hopes of avoiding Higuruma on your way out. You hadn’t heard him leave yet, but surely he had to be gone by now.
As it turned out, you had no such luck.
Two soft knocks sounded from the door. You lifted your head from where you’d had it resting on your arms as you tried to gather the strength to get up and brave the outside world. Higuruma was peering at you through the window to the side of your door, brow creased with concern.
“Come in,” you croaked out, throat sore from holding back tears. You refused to cry at the office.
“Are you alright?” He was talking before he had even taken a step into the office, walking toward you.
“I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache,” you lied, unable to hide the exhaustion in your voice.
“You should go home,” he pressed, hovering a few feet away from your desk, hands lifted like he wanted to help, but they dangled there uselessly as he realized he didn’t know how.
“I will. Did you need something?” You didn’t mean to be so short with him, but he was the last person on earth you wanted to talk to right now.
“No, I just…” He started a sentence, then paused, studying your face. He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. When he opened them, his dark irises were fixed on yours in determination. “I feel like I upset you earlier, and I wanted to come and apologize.”
“No apology necessary, Mr. Higuruma. You haven’t done anything to upset me.” Another lie, bitter as it rolled off your tongue.
He said nothing, but continued staring at you, as if waiting for you to reveal the truth. You couldn’t stand to hold his gaze, your eyes shooting down to the documents in front of you. You started to rearrange the papers on your desk, just to have something to do with your hands, praying he didn’t notice your fingers shaking as you did.
He stepped forward, hands now moving with purpose to take the papers from you and set them down, forcing you to look up at him again.
“Please tell me what I’ve done wrong,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me. I’m willing to learn, I promise.”
“You want the truth?” You asked defiantly, suddenly ready to teach him the meaning of the phrase ‘be careful what you wish for.’
“Please,” he repeated. His melancholy gaze stayed on your face, giving him the appearance of a hound dog trying to understand why its master was angry.
“You need to get over whatever your hangup is with revealing outfits,” you said, crossing your arms, now meeting his stare with intensity he hadn’t expected. “It sucks that you treat me one way when I’m dressed modestly and another way when I dare to have a little more skin showing.”
“Is that… is that what you think it is?” He asked, suddenly a little amused. He had come in here ready to be scolded for ogling you, for making you uncomfortable with his obvious and unwanted attraction.
What a fascinating turn.
“Well… what else could it be?” You asked, scrunching your brows together in confusion.
“Let me put it to you this way,” Higuruma began softly, a half-smile playing around his lips. “Have you seen what Lisa the receptionist considers work appropriate?”
You cringed internally at the thought. Lisa, the receptionist who apparently didn’t need to sleep at all. She regaled you all with her tales of weeknight clubbing, and her taste in clothes showed it. Her skirts were short, her heels were high, and if she wasn’t showing cleavage, you could safely assume that it was because of hickies she didn’t want anyone to see (though she would absolutely show you without prompting if you had the misfortune of being in the bathroom with her at the same time).
“I mean, she looks fantastic,” you argued weakly, understanding where this was going.
“She does,” he agreed. “Have you ever seen me treat her differently because of what she was wearing?”
“Well… No,” you admitted, feeling your case fall apart in your hands.
“So why would you think that I’d treat you any differently?” He asked, still trying to get to the root of your anger.
“Because you do! Because whenever I wear something even slightly more scandalous than a pantsuit, you ignore me! It’s like I’m not even there!” Traitorous tears gathered along your lashline, threatening to spill down your cheeks. “Is it because you just don’t like me personally? Is it something I’ve done?” You voice wavered, breaking on the last word.
“Oh dear,” Higuruma said, mostly to himself, it seemed. “I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?”
“What are you talking about?” You sniffled, resisting the urge to grab a tissue. Somehow that felt like one pathetic step too far.
He said your name with a quiet fondness you hadn’t been expecting. “It’s not anything you’ve done, and it’s not your clothes. It’s my fault. I’ve been worse at hiding my feelings than I thought, it seems.”
“What do you mean?” You insisted. “If it’s not the clothes, what is it?”
He made his way around your desk, kneeling down penitently in front of you on the floor. He looked up at you with a sad smile. “Forgive me. In trying to conceal my attraction to you, it seems I’ve been terribly rude.”
Your ears fill with the sound of your own blood rushing through your veins, so loud that you almost miss what he says next.
“I completely understand if you don’t want to work with me any longer. I can rearrange the cases and make sure you don’t have to work on mine. I’ll keep my distance.” His gaze falls to the floor, shoulders following downward as he finishes.
“Higuruma,” you say breathlessly, hoping he’ll look up at you again. When he doesn’t, you lean forward in your chair, hands cupping his cheeks and making him look. There’s fear and longing and sadness all mixed together in his expression. His under eye circles even seem to have darkened in the time it took him to make his confession.
But there’s also kindness in those eyes. A desire to do what’s best for you and everyone else, no matter the personal cost to him. His proud nose casts a shadow on his face, half of it warmed by the golden light creeping through the window. He looked like a painting, a portrait of a man burning with desire just under a placid surface.
“What if I don’t want you to keep your distance?”
It’s a simple question. He has a law degree. But still he can’t quite parse what you’re saying. His brain short circuited the minute you put your hands on his face.
“What does that mean?” He whispered.
“It means…” You pause, carefully considering your words. “It means that maybe what got me so upset earlier was the idea that you would never want me the way I want you, Hiromi.”
Just as he thought he was getting his feet back under him, you’ve knocked them out again. It’s not just the idea that you want him too - he’d never heard you say his first name before. He’d never even allowed himself to imagine it. The way your tongue wrapped around it, tasting the syllables for the first time had him ready to combust.
“Say that again. Please.” He was breathless already, face warming under your palms.
“I want you,” you repeated, your gaze moving between his eyes and his lips, like you couldn’t decide where to look.
“Say it properly,” he begged, hands reaching up to take your face in his hands.
It took you a moment to understand the request, distracted by the way his thumbs rubbed against the apples of your cheeks. You were leaning down in your chair, and he was sitting tall on his knees, your lips mere inches apart.
But you got there eventually. “I want you, Hiromi,” you said again, both of you already moving to close that final distance.
The kiss was better than you ever could have fantasized about. His lips were warm and soft, immediately parting against yours desperately. His hold on you was firm, clutching you close. Your right hand migrated to the back of his head, digging into the dark hair there and pulling him closer.
His tongue darted out, swiping your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You sighed into the kiss, allowing him to push his tongue further, moving against your tongue like it was the last time he’d ever kiss someone.
You broke apart breathlessly, cheeks aflame. Your lips shone with a mix of your saliva and his, making him kiss you again and again, unable to stop himself now that he knew you wanted this too.
Your hands tugged desperately at his shoulders, pulling him to you. You made to kneel down on the ground with him, eager for more, but he stopped you. You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him he’d tortured you this long, he could kiss you for another few minutes, but one look from him silenced you.
“Sit on the desk,” he commanded. You followed his directions, pushing aside your carefully-sorted piles haphazardly. He stood up and took his place between your parted thighs, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you to the very edge of the desk. You could feel his cock behind his trousers, hard as iron, pressing between your legs. You both gasped at the contact. The bike shorts might as well not have been there, for all they did to shield you from the blinding pleasure as he rutted against you desperately.
He leaned over you, caging you in, making you recline on your elbows as he continued to kiss you stupid. Breaths were taken in gasps, or while pressing your lips against each other’s necks, hot breath tickling sensitive hairs and sending you both into a frenzy all over again.
Hiromi broke the cycle, kissing down your neck, pulling the tanktop down to expose one perfect breast to him. He had never been a greedy man, never taking more than he needed at one time. His tongue flattened against your nipple, dragging slowly upward until the tip just caught on your hardening bud. He flicked his tongue with practiced ease, both of your nipples immediately standing at full attention, a fact he confirmed with his nimble fingers, tweaking the flesh beneath the thin top.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a satisfied smile. He knew he should stop. He’d gotten what he wanted. What if someone came in? What if there were cameras watching this whole thing? You had all the time in the world for this, why not wait until he could get you in private?
It wasn’t enough, he realized. He didn’t just need you here and now. He needed you to know you were his and he was yours. He needed to make up for lost time and avoidable heartache at his hand.
He had never been a greedy man, but you made him want to be. And now he needed to atone for his deadly sins.
He abandoned your breasts, both now popping out of the top of your shirt, slick with his spit, bruises blooming in the shape of his mouth against your soft skin. He began his descent again, sinking to his knees once more. He kissed along your ribs, pushing your shirt out of the way so he could mouth at the soft plush of your stomach, kissing and licking in a straight line from your naval down, down down.
He was tantalizingly close to his goal. Just as his lips were about to make contact with the outline of your pussy against the shorts, you stopped him with two hands in his hair.
“Wait,” you said breathlessly, gasping for air. Your head was spinning with desire, but not so much that you’d lost all sense.
“What is it? Do you not want this?” He panicked, standing up and taking a step back, hands up as a show of no ill intentions.
“No, I do,” you reassured him. “Very much so. But um, these shorts aren’t super breathable.”
He knew there was a reason you were bringing this up, but his mind was blank, focused solely on how he’d almost gotten to taste you after endless months of fisting his cock to mere fantasies. His face contorted with confusion, head cocking to the side as he tried to puzzle out your protest. You’d need to spell it out for him.
“I mean,” you started, cheeks flaring with color. “That I’m probably kind of sweaty down there. We can do that another time, I still want to do other-”
He cut you off mid-sentence with a relieved chuckle moving toward you once more. “That’s what you’re worried about? I thought you’d changed your mind.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but he silenced you with a dizzying kiss, making you forget what you were going to say entirely.
“I’ve been thinking about you for too long,” he whispered, lips moving down your cheek and toward your ear to finish his thought. “Do you really think I’m going to let a little perspiration stop me?”
With that he slid one hand to the waistband of your shorts, pressing his palm flat against your belly. Just the very tips of his fingers dipped beneath the elastic. His eyes searched your face for any hesitation. Instead he found flushed cheeks, wide-eyed adoration, and a small nod.
He wasted no more time, pushing his hand under your shorts and panties, long middle finger immediately finding your clit and massaging it experimentally. You moaned loudly, head thrown back as he finally touched you where you’d been dreaming about. He sunk his hand down lower, fingertips just curling upward to brush at your entrance. You squirmed, hands gripping at his lapels as he leaned over you, teasing you, leaving sloppy kisses wherever his mouth could reach.
“Hiromi,” you panted, embarrassed at how tightly wound you were with so little foreplay.
Understanding the need lacing your tone, he removed his hand from your shorts, earning him a little whine of protest.
“Shhh,” he hushed you softly, lips pressing featherlight kisses to your neck as he peeled your shorts down, panties coming along for the ride. “Let me take care of you.”
He knelt before you again, taking a moment to palm his aching cock through his trousers, readjusting to give himself some kind of relief. Your knees had fallen shyly closed, afraid he might be able to see how a second heartbeat was now throbbing between your legs.
When he looked back up at you and noticed your embarrassment, he tsked quietly under his breath, bringing his palms up to the outside of your knees, caressing the skin there tenderly before moving them to your inner thighs. You provided no resistance as he pried your legs apart, enraptured by his face. He looked like he was opening a present.
His gaze fell to the sticky sheen between your thighs, pink tongue darting out involuntarily to wet his lips. He blew gently on your exposed cunt, savoring the way you twitched sensitively at the slightest stimulation. In a great show of willpower, he wrenched his eyes away from the heaven that awaited him between your thighs, focusing on your face. His breathing was shallow, hair mussed, pupils blown wide, the tips of his ears burning red.
With shaking hands, he grabbed the end of his tie, stuffing it between the fourth and fifth buttons on his shirt. You’d seen him do it countless times at lunch but you’d never thought of it in such a filthy context.
“I have never meant this more sincerely,” he began earnestly. You half expected some new confession, head dizzy with the possibilities. But his wet lips broke into a wicked grin as he finished his thought: “Itadakimasu.”
Humbly I receive.
You hadn’t finished processing the absolute filth that just came out of his mouth when his tongue met your clit. Like when he started on your nipples, his tongue was flat as it dragged slowly up your slit. You swear you’re so sensitive you can feel every ridge of every taste bud as he continues his slow lick.
And then the tip of his tongue is flicking upward, pushing your clit around in its hood. There’s no one else in the office, but you’re worried the moan you let out will reverberate off the walls for days, letting everyone know what you were doing in here with your boss.
He continues his assault with vigor. His tongue is everywhere, never staying in one place long enough to get used to it. He prods at your entrance, slipping just the tip of his tongue into your squeezing hole. Then he’s sucking your clit into his mouth, shaking his head back and forth, up and down as you come apart on the desk above him.
It’s all you can do to clutch onto his hair. He goes down to lick up the wetness creeping down, threatening to drip onto the desk, in the process catching the hooked tip of his nose on your sensitive button. One hand gripped the edge of the desk, the other holding him in place as you try not to cum immediately.
Hiromi could feel you holding back. “Don’t be stubborn,” he said, pulling away for a moment to kiss your thighs, smearing wetness all over them.
“You hurt my feelings,” you panted back. “Made me feel like I did something wrong. You’re going to have to work harder than that.”
In truth, you weren’t sure you could handle more before you imploded from pleasure. But the smirk he gave you from between your legs, the determination that hardened his eyes, they made you want to try to hold out just a little longer.
“Your wish is my command,” he said with a shrug.
His hands, which had been wrapped tenderly around your thighs as he devoured you, suddenly changed positions. He pushed one thigh open abruptly, spreading you for him even further. His other hand had come up to his mouth. He slowly put his middle and ring fingers in his mouth, withdrawing them and holding them up so you could admire the orange light reflecting off of his spit-slick fingers.
He kept his eyes fixed on yours as he lowered his fingers to your waiting pussy, burying them to the knuckle in your warmth. Your teeth sank into your lower lip, trying hard not to be the first to break eye contact. He moved his fingers in and out slowly a few times.
Suddenly he curved his fingers upward, pressing on a spongy spot that had you seeing stars. Your head shot back, eyes closed, arching into his touch. He chuckled before lowering his head again, sucking your clit into his mouth, fingers still assaulting you from the inside.
It was all too much. You tried to say his name, but all that came out was a broken cry as heat pooled in your belly. You felt like a star collapsing in on itself under its own weight, the overwhelming pleasure condensing into a single spot. And then, like all dying stars, you were reborn. The warmth spread back out to your limbs as you trembled against him, your walls clenching tightly around his fingers as he worked you through each wave of your orgasm.
When you were done, he removed his fingers, standing up to kiss you once again. His clean hand found the back of your head, urging you to taste yourself on his lips.
“I’ve never cum that hard in my life,” you panted raggedly, resting your forehead against his.
He nuzzled his nose gently against the side of yours. “Always happy to be of service.”
Having caught your breath, your hand reached down between his legs, eyebrows shooting up at the generous bulge. Experimentally, you rubbed his erection. He bucked his hips into your touch, groaning and clutching at your hips.
“It’s your turn,” you whisper seductively, planting a kiss on his cheek.
“I need to be inside you,” he said bluntly, desperation barely contained. “Please.”
“Then why are you still wearing those?”
He needed no further instruction, kicking his shoes off, along with his black pants and the underwear beneath.
“Oh my god,” you gasped involuntarily.
“What?” Hiromi asked with a frown, looking down at his exposed member. He examined it, wondering what was wrong.
“It’s… Hiromi, you’re beautiful,” you responded, eyes sparkling. Your tone was sincere, full of wonder. You felt lucky that you got to see him like that,l.
“Stop that,” he said. The sunset had now shifted to soft pink hues, making it impossible to tell if he was blushing.
“I mean it,” you insisted. You reached a hand out, taking hold of him and gently pulling him closer to you. He followed without complaint. There was a faint, wet squelch as his fat head slid against the wetness that had only grown between your legs, and you moaned in unison.
“Don’t tease,” he gasped.
You were rocking your hips shallowly, passing the sensitive underside of his tip over your clit over and over again. He bit down on the inside of his cheek hard, hoping the pain would distract him and keep him from spilling all over your mound. He couldn’t stand the embarrassment of cumming before he’d even gotten inside you.
“Need you, Hiromi. Please.” You pleaded with him as if it wasn’t your fingertips keeping him pressed against you just so, like you weren’t the one torturing both of you.
“C-condom?” He asked. Even as his hand batted yours away, lining himself up against you, his final neuron reminded him of the very real possibility of pregnancy and disease.
“I need to feel you,” you gasped. “Please. I have an IUD. I haven’t been with anyone since my last screening and it was clear. Hiromi I need you to fuck me right now, please, just-”
One second you were begging for him, the next you were so full you thought you might burst. He had seated himself inside of you in one fluid motion, his mouth and fingers having prepared the way. Even so, there was a foreign stretch, stinging and delicious, that you’d missed after all these months alone.
“Hiromi,” you whined, grabbing onto his arms. They were planted on the desk, supporting his weight as he tried to process the feeling of finally being inside of you. You looked down at where you met, the thick thatch of hair on his pelvis just pressing against your clit. You knew that if you rocked your hips just a little, you could grind on it and-
“Stop.” The word came out through gritted teeth. “Unless you want this to be over very quickly, just… give me a second.”
You warmed with pride at the reminder of what it was like to feel wanted. Maybe the light of the sinking sun had you seeing la vie en rose, but every part of Hiromi’s body showed how much he ached for you.
You saw it in the clenching muscle of his jaw, working overtime as he struggled to contain himself. You saw it in the indents in your thighs where his fingers dug in, desperate to keep a hold on you and his sanity. You saw it in his soft belly, tensing with the effort of keeping his hips still inside of you. To be so wholly desired by him after convincing yourself he hated you, it was almost better than any pleasure he could offer you.
And then he started moving his hips.
He started slowly at first, pulling out almost all the way and pushing back in. Like waves on the sea, his movements were steady and consistent. Each stroke came with a crash of hips, pleasure spreading over your bodies like fine ocean mist.
You looked up at him, kiss-bitten lips hanging wide in a soundless moan, too overwhelmed to even make a sound. Your eyes were big and wet, silently pleading with him to keep going. You spread your legs wider, bucking your hips up weakly against his, taking him even deeper.
Something in him snapped and he pushed all the way in, deeper than you even thought possible. From this position, he draped your legs over his arms, hands slipping around your back to hold you by your waist. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, holding yourself up for him. He gave your waist one last gentle squeeze before he started fucking you in earnest.
He was pistoning his hips against yours, in and out, in and out. He was only pulling back a few inches, but you were angled in such a way that every time he slammed back into you, he brushed against that sweet spot deep inside of you. He pushed a series of staccato little moans out of you, or maybe it was one long moan broken up as he drove the air from your lungs with every snap of his hips.
“Baby, I’m so close,” you whined breathlessly, one hand coming between the two of you to play with your clit, hoping to get you the rest of the way there before he finished.
“I told you to let me take care of you,” he said in faux annoyance, batting your hand away. He licked his thumb, as though you were lacking in lubrication, and lowered it, drawing tight, fast circles against your clit.
Instantly you tightened around him, sucking him in even deeper as you moaned and writhed.
“Oh god. I’m gonna cum. Please come with me, Hiromi, please. Please.” You continued to babble as you finished, just barely keeping your eyes open long enough to watch Hiromi’s face as he followed you off the cliff. He pumped deep into you several more times, spilling his seed against your cervix, twitching over and over again until he was spent.
When he could think again, he pulled you close for a kiss, barely containing a hiss at the overstimulation at the movement. You kissed him back with teeth and tongue and passion.
“Still think I hate you?” He asked as he broke away, smiling in happiness and exhaustion.
“Jury’s still out on that one,” you replied with a sniff. “I think you still have to prove to me beyond a reasonable doubt that you like me.”
“I need a short recess, but I’m happy to give you another oral argument. Plead my case a little more.” He pulled out of you, ready to kneel again and clean up the mess he made. Anything to prove to you that he was serious.
“I think the defense also needs to rest,” you laughed, wiping sweat from your brow. “Can I ask one favor, though?”
“Absolutely anything,” he replied, planting several kisses on your forehead as you giggled.
“Can you give me a ride home? I know it’s out of your way, but I don’t really want to take public transportation like this.” You gestured down to your thighs, still sticky with your combined efforts, and your shorts, which would surely show such a wet stain. You smiled up at him bashfully, working your lip nervously between your teeth.
“I was offering to lick my cum out of you and you’re worried I’m going to say no to giving you a ride home because it’s a little out of my way?” He asked with a chuckle.
“On second thought, I’ll take my chances,” you responded, blushing furiously.
“Hey, come on. Surely you don’t still have doubts after what we just did?” He leaned in close again, pressing his lips to your forehead as you burned with embarrassment.
“Everything just changed so fast,” you murmured, closing your eyes and basking in his touch. “I don’t know what we are. I don’t want you to think you owe me anything.”
“I think at the very least I owe you a ride home and a warm meal,” he began, pulling away and producing a handkerchief from the inner pocked of his suit jacket. He wiped away the worst of the mess covering your inner thighs. He let himself be selfish, savoring the sight of his cum leaking out of you for a brief moment before continuing to dress you, pulling up your underwear and shorts with a tenderness that made your stomach flip.
He stepped aside to allow you to stand, folding the handkerchief and using the clean side to (begrudgingly) wipe away the remnants of your arousal that still stuck to his fingers and face. With clean hands, he pulled up his own pants, securing the buckle before turning to ask if you were ready to go.
The question died in his throat as he appraised you. Your hair was tousled, shirt still askew, and he could see the wet spot forming between your legs where he was dripping out of you. His cock sprang back to life at a speed he hadn’t known since he was much younger.
“I was serious, you know,” he said throatily, the sultry tone causing you to freeze in place. You looked at his face, then followed his eyes between your legs where the fabric darkened with moisture. “Let me clean you up before we go.”
“Hiromi,” you chastised him unconvincingly, your sore, sensitive cunt already pulsing again between your legs, begging you to give in to this wild man’s demands.
“Fine, fine,” he said sulkily, turning away from you to regain his composure. He knew his erection wouldn’t subside, not as long as you were within ten feet of him, but he could at least get himself a little more under control. He smoothed his hair back, keeping the tremor out of his voice through sheer willpower when he spoke again. “I would like to alter the list of things I owe you, though.”
“You don’t owe me anything, you silly man. I told you that,” you laughed, swatting at his arm as you passed him on the way to the door. “But go on.”
He grabbed your arm, turning you back toward him. In the same motion, he moved forward, pushing you back against the closed door. His chest was flush against yours, his still-hard cock pressing dangerously against your belly.
“I owe you a ride home.” He kissed your forehead. “I owe you a warm meal.” He kissed your cheek, then moved his lips next to your ear. “And I owe you at least one more orgasm.” He sunk his teeth into your earlobe, relishing then whine you couldn’t keep contained.
“Absolutely filthy,” you groaned, pressing the back of your head against the door. “No use arguing with a lawyer like you, I suppose?”
“None at all, I’m afraid,” he said with a genuine smile, pressing his lips to yours one final time before opening the door, taking your hand, and pulling you toward the elevator like a giddy schoolboy.
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catboybiologist · 7 months ago
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AHA! Did you REALLY think that being in the backcountry with no signal would stop me from tummyposting?
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...well, then, you're right. This is a scheduled post. Hi, this is Sunday Sierra!
Tbh, I'm not sure how much I like this pic- it gives lanky masc cryptid vibes. But y'know what, I fuck with that sometimes.
I love the high Sierra so much. The dry alpine forest is incredible, and this spring, water is oozing from every crack, spring g forward ferns and wildflowers denser than I've ever seen them before up here.
Too tired to tag every since I usually have to dig through and remember who to tag, so I'll just tag the GOATs @lilithtransrights and @xenasaur this week.
My tummy is for all my followers anyways <3
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fiapartridge · 7 months ago
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will smith dating hughes!sister headcanons! ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪
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🕊 - 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: will smith head canons! <3 🕊 - 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: not proofread, all sfw
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💌 - 𝐇𝐄'𝐋𝐋 never tell the guys, but his favorite thing to do with you is wear face masks and watch romcoms. sure, at first you had to really coax him into doing it, but as time went on, he would literally wait for sundays (which is the day you two usually did it) to come.
"i'll get the movie ready, you go grab the masks," he would say before kissing you on the forehead and gently pushing you toward the bathroom.
💌 - 𝐇𝐄 has a drawer at your place just for his clothes. he also leaves a bottle of cologne at your apartment so you can spray it on his hoodies in case he's on a roadie and his clothes are losing their smell. you probably wear his clothes more than he does but he doesn't mind. he loves seeing your tiny frame get swallowed in all of the fabric, especially in his t-shirts.
💌 - 𝐘𝐎𝐔 are his personal stylist. his friends would always dog him for getting styled by you, but tbh his outfits have gotten so much better ever since you guys got together - even the fans have noticed.
💌 - 𝐎𝐍 that note, the fans have no idea you guys are together. it's not like he's embarrassed of you or is like actively trying to hide you from the public eye, he just never posts unless it's like for a brand deal or he's announcing something to his followers. you post him all the time, but you have a small, private instagram account filled with friends and family. most of the time, the comments are just your brothers clowning your guys' relationship or the bc hockey team talking about how much a simp will is for you.
💌 - 𝐌𝐀𝐉𝐎𝐑 napper/cuddler. he cannot go to sleep without you in his arms. like if you guys are in the same bed and you're far apart from him, he either thinks he did something wrong and is apologizing profusely throughout the night, or that something is wrong with you in which he is doing the most to make sure you're okay.
"do i need to turn up the ac? should i remove some blankets? why don't you want to cuddle with me?" he is a baby.
💌 - 𝐇𝐄 makes playlists for you ALL THE TIME for every single occasion. he has a "love of my life" playlist for when he's feeling extra lovey dovey, a "pls don't be mad at me anymore, i'm so so so sorry" playlist for when he fucks up (which is rare but happens), a "y/n/n" playlist for when you're in the car with him -> it's your fave songs that has also become some of his fave songs (lots of taylor swift and sabrina carpenter), and a "gains with my hot gf" playlist for when you guys are working out together, which is much less intense than his normal workouts but still makes you work up a sweat.
💌 - 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐆 off that last note, you love working out with him. he's the best personal trainer. he'll hype you up, push you harder but not too hard because he still knows your limits and your body, will do every single workout with you, and it's also a plus to just watch him work out iykwim.
💌 - 𝐘𝐎𝐔 over think soo much!! and he's like relax, we're fine, we're okay, you're not annoying me, you never annoy me, it's impossible to annoy me because he just loves when you're around him and when you're talking. like he will literally put down his phone and just listen to you talk for hours. you never have to feel clingy with him because he just always wants you. he's always reassuring you <3 his texts are the cutest 📲📲📲 :
will: stop overthinking bub will: we are ok will: i love you will: i'll be over in 10
💌 - 𝐇𝐄 loves when you have your hands in his hair. like he will literally grab your hands and bring them to his hair. like he loves that shit. like brushing it with your fingers, braiding his tiny strands, or just playing with it like he doesn't care-- he just loves it.
💌 - 𝐇𝐈𝐒 love language is physical touch and words of affirmation!!
physical touch! he loves holding your hand, having his arm around your shoulder, hugging you, kissing you, just touching you whenever he can, even if it's just having his hand on your thigh or something. your brothers ! hate it ! they always pretend to gag if they see him touch you lol, but mama hughes always shuts their shit down and tells them that you're a grown woman that can make her own choices. i love mama ellen <3
words of affirmation! he will tell you he loves you every second of every single day. he loves telling you that you're pretty, especially when you feel the opposite. he just worships you. like you're literally a goddess to him. ⭐️ "i'm happy when you're around," he would whisper into your skin when you're cuddling in bed. ⭐️ "you are the prettiest girl i've ever seen." ⭐️ "fuck, you're hot." & he would have the most shit-eating grin everrrr. like he can't believe that he gets to be with you type shit.
𝐀𝐋𝐋 in all, someone let will know that i'm here and single and ready for him whenever he's free and available <3 thank you <3
-fiapartridge
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flowery-mess · 3 months ago
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Midnights of October🍁🧡🎃
october 14th
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Noah comes home from tour to reader and baby girl
warnings: parenthood, Noah having daughter
author's note: to be honest I probably didn't think this through, because if I post at midnight from Sunday to Monday, then in US time zone it's still Sunday and I said I'm going to post on Monday, so for it to makes sense you'll need to be in the same/similiar time zone, which is central european time hehe. Enjoy! Feedback is welcomed!🧡
taglist: @concreteangel92 @lma1986 @sorrowsofsilence (let me know if you don't want to be tagged, it's based on my original post😊)
Midnights of October masterlist
*
based on this request
Oh CUTE
You and Noah agreed that picking him up at the airport is not a good idea, unnecessary attention from fans is the last thing you want, so since you two became a thing you'd wait for him at home
Noah always loved coming home to you, but it became even more emotional since having his little daughter waiting for him too
He always leaves his bags and stuff in the car, knowing he will need both of his hands empty when you two attack him with cuddles
You and your daughter watch the flight radar on your phone, then Noah's location on findmy, so when you see him pulling in your driveway you can go greet him
Opening the door for your little one is like letting some wild animal out, she always sprints to Noah laughing and yelling 'daddy daddy'
The whole neighborhood knows Bad Omens tour is over, thanks to your daughter
Noah picks her up in his arms and she immediately starts giving him kisses all over his face
And even tho he enjoys affection from his little one, his eyes immediately look for you
When you get to the two of them you get dragged in the family hug and you feel Noah relax, knowing that he's home with his little family
Your little girl is very excited that Noah is home, but after she's done with the hugs and kisses, she goes 'did you get me some gifts daddy?' with her face like this 😇
And of course Noah got some gifts
Noah always gets her magnet from every city they visit, she collects them on her board in her room
One time Noah also brought her lightning globe from Europe, so when he's away you can show her in which country or city he's in
She always pounts her finger in the location and says 'hi daddy' and waves her little hand, like Noah could see her
So she always gets tons of magnets, and then things that Noah 'saw and thought of her so he couldn't left them there' like toys or clothes
Those gifts have her attention for enough time for you and Noah to unpack his things, catch up on everything, make dinner and then set up your living room for family movie night
That became a tradition for days when Noah comes back
Your daughter gets a pass for later bed time, can pick a movie and have some snacks
She usually falls asleep 10 minutes into the movie, but it's the thought that counts right
Your daughter loves cuddles from both of you, so you three are always in some weird position that feels comfy for all of you
And as much as Noah loves catching up with his daughter, he's always happy when she falls asleep so you two can catch up in the bedroom😉
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theskit · 2 years ago
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Stickers AU
Important!!!
On the mobile app, direct linking gets rid of the readmore cuts!
If you came here via direct link, or wish to use the direct links to another part of the story, and DO NOT want to spoil the surprise stickers, please click on my blog name to go to the actual post after using the link.
Also, due to the apparent shadow banning of people with long tag lists, I will make a master post that people can subscribe to for updates.
Part 10
Master Post
《Prev
Red Hood and Nightwing coming to the cave on Sunday night with tales of their own encounters with the sticker kid had unfortunately not given them as much to work with as Tim had hoped.
Jason was tagging along more to hear about their encounters and to see the rest of the stickers than providing much in the way of evidence himself, what with having his helmet cams and comms shorted out for the duration of his encounter and not bringing his own sticker with him.
There was some friction when Batman and Robin made it back to the cave, it being a fairly slow evening for Gotham with no sign of the kid, which made sense if he'd gone all the way to Bludhaven to bother Nightwing.
Bruce had wanted to compile all the evidence together, and while Dick had been obliging, after they'd gotten the frankly hilarious sticker off of him, Jason had promptly refused to hand his over. Much like Damian, he'd claimed it as his own and would hear nothing else about it, only providing a picture of it after a lot of coaxing from Dick.
The corrupted audio/video file had also been less than helpful. Besides a flurry of green-tinted gray static snow and laughter so distorted it almost sounded like screaming, there was nothing else recoverable.
The sheer degradation of the files was actually impressive. That was either very good tech, or a very strong meta ability. Either way, they needed to find this kid and figure out what was up with him.
Dick at least had managed to both lay eyes on and semi-converse with the kid, though that was also bringing up questions. Such as: how did he get out of a dead-end alleyway? Which, while similar to the disappearing acts he'd pulled in Gotham, those had at least been on rooftops with clear, if possibly inadvisable, access to escape routes all around. As well as the question on why the kid was wearing a blood stained hoodie.
Yes, they had figured he'd injured himself to some degree last night, but why hadn't he changed out of those clothes? Did he not have access to more? Was the kid in a bad living situation here in Gotham instead of having come in with the rest of the out of towners for the ghost hunting convention and the stickers were something unconnected to him that he'd somehow gotten ahold of?
If that was the case, they might be looking at some sort of meta trafficking escapee, since the boy's accent very much labeled him as not a native Gothamite and most people would not move here with a meta ability with Batman's supposed dislike of metas in Gotham. A stance Bruce had taken more to discourage metas from possibly getting targeted by the revolving door of Gotham's Rouge gallery than any real prejudice.
Despite everything, the convention was still their best lead, so it was decided they would go investigate as civilians tomorrow for the last half-day it would be held and try to find more clues.
The description of a short, young male, with blue eyes and dark hair, an echoey voice, possibly still wearing a bloodstained hoodie, was not a lot go to off of in a crowd of hundreds. Maybe they would get lucky and find where the stickers came from, which might give them more of a lead.
Bruce was reconsidering the effectiveness of coming to the convention as Brucie Wayne instead of the small time criminal Matches Malone, regardless of how that may have effected that alias, as he was accosted by another non-gothamite.
Bruce had forgotten how those outside of Gotham tended to act around celebrities. People native to Gotham usually had a strong mind-your-own-business attitude regardless of where on the social scale they happened to fall.
Smiling for yet another photo, Bruce hoped his slightly-less-widely-recognized children were having more luck moving around the convention to check for leads, having abandoned him to fend for himself after the third photo ambush.
Coming on the last half-day might have also been a miscalculation, even if they hadn't had much of a choice with the timing, as it seemed to make people even bolder, knowing they would leave the city in a few short hours.
Dick was having fun roaming around the convention. Seeing all the booths set up with either crystals, tarot cards and other mystical odds and ends or EMF meters, magnetic field detectors and more scientific equipment for ghost hunting.
It all mostly went over his head, but it was interesting to talk with different people and hear all the differing accounts and history, both historical and personal, behind their choice of what equipment or mystical dodad worked best.
He'd even seen a few people cosplaying as The Ghost Busters, and he swore he'd seen a couple in full hazmat suits for a moment before he lost them in the crowd.
He had forgotten how interesting conventions could be when they weren't constantly crashed by Rogues. Dick would have to try and find time to go to more of them. The eccentricities on display reminded him fondly of all the different personalities you could find in a circus.
Damian scowled as he made his way through the crowds. This was ridiculous. There was no practical use for most of the things displayed in the various booths, as most wardings against Pit demons needed to be cast by those with magical or mystical bloodlines as far as he was aware, and to date there was no known scientific way to capture or quantify Pit demons.
Most of the 'evidence' provided by both sides was also suspect. Generally involving blurry photographs and 'spooky vibes'.
There was also a marked dearth of younger people in the crowds. Mostly consisting of small children accompanying their parents with few teenagers, such as a redhead female approximately his age he'd spied a time or two due to the eye catching color of her hair, to be seen.
Jason had decided to leave the convention a little early. Despite the fun he had watching Bruce get mobbed by out of towners with his Brucie mask on, something about wandering the crowds was riling up the Pit.
Maybe it was the crowds themselves, all those people blatantly not from Gotham, who *did not belong* here. Or maybe all the talk of death and ghosts and what came after, but *something* had his aggression ramping up out of the blue as he made his way around the convention.
Randomly feeling the need to punch something wasn't exactly new, but the sheer number of times he'd started seeing green out of nowhere was worrying, so he'd called it quits.
He'd check in with Dick later to see if any new leads had been found.
Danny breathed a sigh of relief as Jazz came to collect him. Everything was already packed up in the RV and it was time to grab whatever he wanted for the ride back as their parents wanted to get ahead of the leaving crowd.
He'd been feeling something wandering the convention for the last few hours. Not quite enough to set off his ghost sense, but definitely at least ghostly-adjacent.
He'd been doing his best to navigate away from the feeling any time it drew near, not wanting a fight to break out between him and whatever territorial spirit had decided it was a good idea to haunt ghost hunters.
Hitting up a nearby coffee shop for a hilariously named Deathwish coffee and a pastry for the road, Danny saw a guy wander in, take in the line almost out the door, and nearly fall into a seat instead.
Holding his head in his hands, it looked like the guy was almost nodding off where he sat. Poor dude had eyebags darker than Danny had the time Technus, Skulker, Ember and a swarm of Blob ghosts had all decided the night before a major test was a great time to invade Amity with their shenanigans.
Taking pity, Danny ordered a second coffee, handing it to the guy with a little surprise attached before heading out. Hopefully it would brighten his day a little.
"You look like you could use this."
Tim glanced up from his seat at the coffeeshop table as a younger teen placed a large coffee cup and a few napkins down on the table.
The other boy was out the door before Tim could even fully process that some kind soul had taken pity on him and saved him from having to stand an eternity in line before getting his hands on the much needed caffeine.
Blessing whoever it was silently, Tim took a large swallow, closing his eyes a moment as the strong coffee helped kick his brain back into gear. Ahh, Deathwish, my beloved, hallowed be thy beans.
Standing up, he grabbed the couple of napkins to take with him, feeling an odd stiffness to them. Shifting the top napkin out of the way, Tim boggled at the sticker staring back at him for a moment before bolting out the door.
Looking around frantically, he was just in time to see the boy on the other side of the road, getting into a frankly absurdly proportioned vehicle before it sped down the street, barely keeping from sideswiping at least three other cars before careening around a corner and out of sight.
Well, he thought as he glanced from the sticker to where the vehicle had disappeared, at least something that... distinctive, should be easy to track down...
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@mygood-bitch99 @stargazer-luna @easily-broken-by-emotion @dolfay @britcision @cyber-geist @is-this-even-relatable @alcorbearson @fisticuffsatapplebees @thegatorsgoose @my-mom-calls-me-rat @some-rotten-nest @crystalqueertea @meira-3919 @wandererofthestars @seraphinedemort @bjurnberg @blep-23 @stargirl1331 @bianca-hooks123 @addie-lover-of-stories @pickleking8 @iconicanemone @sarina-elais @mur-ururu @sailor-goddess @dragonfirefeather @nutcase8691 @ravenpainter @liandrin @jaguarthecat @russetfur1128 @purefrickingspite @oakskull @vythika96 @molasses-being-slow @satisfactionbroughtmeback @serasvictoria02 @tkiesai @breesperez139 @dhampir-princess @redhoneysugarorange @gildedphoenix @iglowinggemma28 @f4nd0m-fun @therandomartmaker @mandyne-1001 @learning-to-fly-on-my-own @solarisaetherlumine @zeldomnyo
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lotusbxtch · 9 months ago
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Sunlight
Song: Sunlight Character: Joel Miller
Pairing: Joel Miller x gn!Reader Summary: Joel Miller has avoided love, pushed it away at the first sight to stay in the darkness. But then he meets you, and he wonders if he was wrong after all. Word Count: 578 Rating: Mature, mentions of smut Warnings/tags: post-outbreak, takes place in Jackson, vague mentions of smut, angst, Joel hates feelings, everyone loves Reader, grumpy sunshine trope incoming, heavy use of Hozier lyrics, no use of y/n, not beta’d
a/n: This is my entry for @wannab-urs Hozier Drabble Challenge! This felt like the perfect pairing for the song, so thank you Gin! Hope I did it justice.
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Ever since the outbreak, since losing Sarah, Joel has shunned the light of love of any kind. He preferred to stay in the cool, detached predictability of a life without it. It was dark, but it wasn’t dangerous for his heart. That was, until you showed up in Jackson.
A veritable ball of light, you charmed everyone in the settlement. Your bright smiles, cheerful demeanor, and deep kindness easily helped you become a pillar of the community. You helped out in any way you could, even if it was something on the more physical end, like construction. People asked you to teach them some of your hobbies: baking, knitting, painting. You helped every single one with a smile on your face. He knew you were nothing but goodness personified, and yet he shunned your light. He stayed cool and quiet, avoiding you just like he’d been doing for longer than he knew. Until one day, he witnessed your sunlight directed towards him.
It was a Sunday, and you’d snuck up on Joel on his porch late at night, strumming absentmindedly on his guitar, listening to the hum of night. Suddenly he heard “I didn’t know you played guitar!” come out from the dark bushes. He jumped slightly, startled, until you popped your head up, eyes shimmering with amusement. He sighed, disgruntled, and said, “Yeah, I don’t usually play for an audience.”
“How about an audience of one?” you suggested coyly, intertwining your fingers with each other, looking down and then back up at him expectantly but shyly. He searched your eyes, so bright. His defenses were screaming at him to be a jerk, to push you away as usual, but a small voice in him said, “play for them.” He swore it sounded just like Sarah. So he sighed, and situated the guitar in his arms. As he played, you slowly wandered up the steps to his porch, keeping your eyes locked on him the whole time. He finished the song and looked up, his breath catching in his throat. You had the most spellbound, enraptured look on your face.
“Joel,” you breathed, “that was so beautiful.”
He was at a loss for words, because he realized that for the first time, he was experiencing your sunlight for himself. He was lost to you, lost in your radiant sunlight, your bright effervescence of love and joy. And he realized he could not be without you for the rest of his life.
After that, he willingly drowned like a falling Icarus into the sea of your love, wax wings melting fast. He gorged himself on your light, drawn like a moth to the flame. You spent days in his bed over the next few weeks, the two of you unclothed most of the time, sighing and moaning and screaming in pleasure, learning about every cell in each other’s bodies. You bathed him in your sunlight, warming his weary bones, soaked in the cold rain of loneliness, bringing him back up to the surface. He let you crawl your way under his skin, living there, searing into his heart. Soon enough, you would rise with him each day, his home now also your home. 
He knew that love meant pain, meant hurt and suffering if it were ever taken away from him. But he was addicted to you, to your sunlight. He’d gladly put himself into a death trap for you, and he knew you’d do the same for him.
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starmocha · 9 days ago
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It's been a while since I've done my usual end of the year fic review (originally from LiveJournal), since I did take an unexpected writing hiatus for 1.5 years (mental health reasons and then RL emergency crisis). This is the first year I've deviated from writing Sess/Kag completely (still adore it and did try to write some stuff during that period of crisis, but had too much on my mind to focus). When I say Love and Deepspace has me in a chokehold... Inviting some writers to join me in this end of the year evaluation for all stories you've written for any and all fandoms. It's a good way to yap about your stories and writing process, but feel free to opt out. Absolutely no hard feelings. <3333 Also feel free to tag others or just join in if you like! (I also suggest making a new post, so people can like all of the writers 💖) Tagging some lovelies: @rose-tinted-kalopsia @unluckywisher @aeyumicore @irandial @callilypso
【 I will be linking stories on tumblr, but these can all be found on AO3 (loveppears) as well! 】
Total number of completed stories: 37
Total word count: 84,143 (give or take; I find AO3's word counts to be a little wonky. Also lowkey disappointed I couldn't add BOTDK's word count to this since it's sitting pretty at 38.3k words 😔)
Chronological Breakdown:
May »
calling your name | Dawnbreaker/MC | 1.5k words
June »
the day bleeds into nightfall | Zayne/MC | 1.2k words 12:30 PM Checkup | Zayne + Son | 767 words never the same | Rafayel/MC | 2.2k words
July »
call me master (and i’ll call you mine) | Sylus/MC | 666 words | mdni Mirror, Mirror | Sylus/Reader | 750 words | mdni fly to you like birds do | Sylus/Reader | 2.6k words | mdni tag, you’re it | Sylus/Reader | 2.4k words | mdni you are my favorite mistake | Sylus/Reader | 2.1k words | mdni Unhelpful Company | Sylus/Reader | 100 words Time-Out | Xavier + Daughter | 503 words Rock-a‐Bye | Sylus + Daughter | 1.1k words Caller ID | Sylus/Reader | 930 words Crow in the Bedroom | Sylus/Reader | 666 words yours & mine | Sylus/Reader | 100 words | mdni would you still love me if i was a worm? (and other thought-provoking questions) | Sylus/Reader | 2.1k words
August »
pain is all you'll find | Sylus/Reader | 630 words but if it's forever, it's even better | Sylus/Reader | 4.6k words | mdni and we'll chase after shooting stars | misc. | ongoing indefinitely (ao3 only)
September »
I For You | Zayne/Reader | 3.3k words | mdni it was always you | Sylus/Reader | 10.6k words | mdni Relentless Conqueror | Sylus/Reader | 1.7k words | mdni
October »
Elysium | Sylus/Reader | 16k words | mdni Hide-and-Seek | Sylus + Daughter | 1.2k words Little Dino | Sylus + Daughter | 2.5k words
November »
Carrot Cake | Zayne + Son | 1.2k words Bride of the Dragon King :: Prelude | Sylus/Reader | 465 words want me, need me, love me | Sylus/Reader | 1.5k words | mdni
December »
Sunday Reset | Sylus/Reader | 4.3k words to: my true love | Sylus/Reader | 1.6k words do you want to build a snowman? (it doesn't have to be a snowman) | Zayne/Reader | 1.6k words in a gingerbread house built for two | Rafayel/Reader | 1.9k words you shine like the stars, you light up my heart | Xavier/Reader | 1.7k words ‘tis the damn season and deck them goddamned halls | Sylus/Reader | 1.8k words you're the only one, my love | Zayne/Reader | 1.7k words and this year i promise | Rafayel/Reader | 1.2k words meet me at midnight | Sylus/Reader | 950 words | mdni
Overall Thoughts:
Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted?
Definitely a lot more! As mentioned, I did take a 1.5 year writing hiatus due to RL reasons, so it's kind of astounding that I managed to slip back into writing again after so long and found a steady rhythm. I've noticed my rate of putting out stories (especially to my standards) has been one per week, if not biweekly, which beats my previous years of one per month if I'm lucky lol We are not addressing the elephant in the room that my speed/motivation started with all all of the horny Sylus smut in July 🧍‍♀️
What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? 
Love and Deepspace lol I have written Reader fics for another otome game (Several Shades of Sadism) before, but that was a few years ago and was the only otome game I actually felt inspired for. LADS surpassed that, because, what 37-ish stories in just eight months??? 😭😭😭
What’s your own favorite story of the year? 
Teehee. I can never pick one, so let's go with top five, in no particular order: - fly to you like birds do - would you still love me if i was a worm? (and other thought-provoking questions) - it was always you - Elysium - never the same Maybe an extra special mention for Sunday Reset, my birthday present to myself and the fandom <3333
Did you take any writing risks this year?
Writing Elysium (and Bride of the Dragon King) felt like a risk since they're so goddamn long (especially the latter...).
Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? 
For the love of god, give me the attention span to finish all of those series I've promised 😔🫶
From my past year of writing, what was…
My best story of this year:
I feel like Elysium and it was always you can be tied for best story.
My most popular story of this year: 
OK, this one is a little tricky to determine. fly to you like birds do has the most kudos & bookmarks on AO3 (1,157 kudos, 132 public bookmarks currently), but not as many interactions on tumblr. would you still love me if i was a worm? (and other thought-provoking questions) is my third popular story on AO3, but I think it got dropped to also third on tumblr it was always you is the most popular on tumblr, but it's at fourth standing on AO3 (although it seems to have been steadily rising in standing recently). I'll probably go ahead and say it was always you is my most popular story at the moment. But, um, you guys do realize this is part 2, right???? Why does it have more interactions than part 1 now 😭
Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:
never the same - I don't really write Raf (I'm a coward), but I am quite proud of this one, especially since it was earlier in the year when I was trying to get back into writing again.
Most fun story to write:
Crow in the Bedroom and would you still love me if i was a worm? (and other thought-provoking questions) - I love clowning on Sylus lmao
Story with the single sexiest moment:
Um.....a moment??? Idk....but people seemed to enjoy both but if it's forever, it's even better and it was always you (aka the Sylus breeding series 👁👄👁) ...........part 3 is coming....it is....I promise
Most “holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you” story:
People seemed to think both the day bleeds into nightfall and never the same (same series) were pretty fucked up, but if you've read my older stuff in other fandoms, this was just on brand behavior of me lol ...I actually need to write Xavier and Sylus' parts now too....and...Caleb, I guess........fuck. orz
Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters:
never the same - this was around the time Rafayel's myth came out and I absolutely adored his myth instantly.
Hardest story to write:
....Bride of the Dragon King. Not hard to write per se, but tedious to write because the document is now 100 pages long and every time I try to read through it, my eyes hurt, so I haven't been able to fill in the missing scenes or do a full read-over yet. ....but the other day I did print out all 100 pages to read and edit old-school. I am nothing if not committed to the bit 🤡
Biggest disappointment:
I'm just disappointed it's taking this long to finish BOTDK....and I suppose writing the epilogue for the Sylus breeding kink series since I keep getting distracted by other plot bunnies. Oh. And the Christmas series I was supposed to finish in twelve days. My own anemic body betrayed me at the worst time ever. 😒
Biggest surprise:
...I'm writing consistently? 🥹
Most unintentionally telling story:
but if it's forever, it's even better and many stories afterwards definitely exposed something about me...............
Highlights + Wrap-up:
5 Favourite Opening Lines:
1. This was weird. This was very weird. This was so very fucking weird. — Crow in the Bedroom 2. You were going to kill Luke and Kieran, you decided decisively, as you stood outside Sylus’ study, your hand wrapped around the doorknob, trembling uncontrollably and filled with anxiety worse than any other instances in your life. — to: my true love 3. She was coming home soon. — the day bleeds into nightfall 4. To you, every moment with Zayne felt like a present, always unexpected, always delightful, and every single one you cherished with all of your heart. — you're the only one, my love 5. Distantly, in the Celestial Realm where the immortals resided, the vast kingdom of the Dragon King was shrouded in nighttime for all of eternity, stuck within an eternal spring. — Bride of the Dragon King :: Prelude (I'll be honest. I find opening lines tend to feel very lukewarm, so I wouldn't say I actually have any favorites.)
5 Favourite Closing Lines:
1. In this moment, you also recalled the elders had long ago told tales of a paradise after life, but you wondered how there could be a greater heaven than the one on the grassland with your lover—your destined half. Sylus. — Elysium 2. The pieces of your lives fell into place, this picture of paradise becoming clearer with each passing moment. It was yours to keep, yours to hold. How divine. — it was always you 3. Sylus closed his eyes, and he rubbed his temple as he gritted his teeth again, wondering with irritation if he had just gotten cockblocked by a mechanical bird. — Crow in the Bedroom 4. One day, in a new lifetime, they will be together again. “For ‘tis Lemuria’s vow…” he murmured, stepping forward and letting his lips meet hers on the canvas. His eyes closed as he shuddered and sighed, his hand splayed over hers. A bond everlasting. — never the same 5. Set aglow, it felt like the two of you had slipped away to another world, to a dream where you and he played and waltzed among the stars, his hand firmly grasping yours, a silent promise that he would always hold onto you even when all of the stars burned out. — you shine like the stars, you light up my heart
5 Favorite Lines from Anywhere:
1. Normally, you were more than ready to bed the leader of Onychinus, because why the fuck wouldn’t you be? — Crow in the Bedroom 2. He gazed into your eyes, as if in awe at seeing the whole universe staring back at him, gifting him with the secret message of a distant star echoed across time and space that had been waiting to reach him. — you shine like the stars, you light up my heart 3. “We are meant to be, and were we not, I would rewrite the stars, to change the course of destiny and weave a new tapestry of fate to make you mine.” — Elysium 4. He knew he had stolen a piece of Heaven, already prepared and willing to pay the heavy price to keep what he had coveted. — it was always you 5. Soft, even breathing filled the room, and dreams of playful little dinosaurs and crows filled a little girl’s head as she slept peacefully, safe in her father’s protective embrace and surrounded by her cherished plushies. — Little Dino
Fic-writing goals for 2025: 
I have got to finish those goddamn series, fuck's sake...
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