#IMMMKIISIDIFNS. GENUINELY EXPERIECING COMPLETE AND UTTER MADNESS ?

[prettyboykatsuki]

feeling absolutely batshit insane rn .

𝚩𝐔𝐓𝐂𝐇𝚬𝐑𝚬𝐃 𝐓𝚶𝐍𝐆𝐔𝚬. 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝚶𝐍𝚬

“𝐨𝐡, 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞-𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 ��𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐯𝐨𝐰𝐬.”

You cannot lie in the presence of The Harmony, the great choir compels you to speak only truth. It does not help that Sunday can break your barbed tongue and leave your pride in pieces.

tags: 3.2k wc // inappropriate work relationships // abuse of power // sacrilegious themes // established dynamics // nsfw // petplay dynamics // bisexual reader// mention of incest// afab reader// // coercion // fingering // mentions of penetration // dacryphilia // mindfuckery // sunday is a FREAK //dead dove do not eat // this is kinda fucked up fr…..damn….

author’s note: happy birthday to my bestest friend 🫶🏼 @prettyboykatsukii - this is late as hell im so sorry pookie. sunday lowkey thinks he jigsaw who's gonna tell him.

When you first come to the Penachony, weathered and panicked the head of the Oak Family - Mr. Sunday was as much of angel as his visage. The halo upon his white hair was like a king's crown to you, it shined in your eyes like scraps of food do for a stray dog.

It's what you were, when you had first met Sunday and he would never consider himself a charitable man before looking into your wet, tearful eyes. You were accepted with much more ease than you thought - given an amicable smile and chilling sound of your name on Sunday's lips as he bade you a farewell. It was clear from that first interaction that your stay was not freely given.

You were put to work, swiftly and decisively as your tasks always where in line with your specialty of technology and hacking . The sword of which you wielded for the IPC, in where you served the Stonehearts to generate more wealth than you ever saw. It's the very sword you used to stab your employer in the back, and the blade that you fell on.

Now you wonder what is colder, the gold of his gaze or the steel of your sword as it pierces your spine?

The present is uncaring in your questions, letting them turn to ash on your tongue as you are brought back to the inescapable problem you are placed before. It's been only a month since you arrival to Penachony, a month where after years of being on the run you have built some semblance of a normal life.

Seeing Mr. Sunday was supposed to be a once in a life time chance, never to be repeated again but here you are. Like a mouse trapped in between the paws of indomitable lion who's skin is stronger than steel. You grip the arms of the chair with enough strength the veins in your hands show through the skin.

"Are you nervous?"

You don't say anything, keeping your gaze on the clean white tile beneath.

"You shouldn't be. You've been a loyal member of The Family," something sharp phases through the gold of his eyes, "like a stray dog that knows how well they have it now. Gratefulness isn't a quality most have these days. Wouldn't you agree?"

The question is heavy and hot with accusation like hot iron. For only a second does your gaze dare to meet his, and once you do it's like you are a deer enraptured by the dazzling lights.

"Yes, Mr.Sunday...I would say so."

Sunday smiles as golden as the sun.

"This most agreeable perspective of yours is why we have become fast friends, no?"

You don’t have many friends - not even during your time at the IPC, but there’s a chill down your spine that makes you agree. Your eyes are downcast and you do not dare to raise them. It's hard not however, no matter how much dread Mr. Sunday inspires in you he attracts your gaze like honey to vermin. Never once could you ignore the luster of beautiful things, divine things - it's the weakness Diamond exploited and you think yourself smarter than to fall for it one more time.

How wrong you are, how utterly foolish.

You feel like you have cotton mouth so you dare not speak, only nodding your head.

"And, it is because of our fast friendship I trust you will most amendable with answering a few of my questions - correct?" He asks you, a certain measure of assurances in his tone that makes you swallow the lump in your throat. You fight to find your voice and succeed, if only just.

"What type of questions-"

"Whichever I deem fit - that seems the most fair, wouldn't you agree? I am the one who allowed you in." Sunday speaks, picking at a nonexistent lint on his perfectly creased pants. It's difficult to come up with what to say in retaliate to that, so you say nothing and bow your head.

"Now, let us begin."

There was a change in the air, you feel like in the way the air brushes against your neck and the ache you feel in your robotic arm. The cold that nips at your nerves and the electricity that zaps at the humidity of your eyes. You have felt this once, just the once. When you had stayed, bearing witness to the Stonehearts delegation on the matter of adding another stone to their priceless collection. You recall Diamond and their brilliance and find that Sunday overshadows the former completely like the moon blocking sun.

"Oh Triple Faced Soul, please sear her tongue and palms with a hot iron, so that she will not be able to fabricate lies and false vows."

Once the words have let his full lips, you wince at the overstimulating pain your eyes are victim too as a rainbow like tinge takes over your vision. There is a heat to your hands and tongue, a ringing in your ears that almost drives you mad.

"I see you still have a glaring incompatibility with the memoria," He frowns as if this is something so greatly inconveniences him and not you, "No matter, that can be remedied in time. It is rather fortunate that I am as patient as I am."

"What did you do to me?" Your voice is thin and face twisted in agony - it's a shame you miss at the cool smile on Sunday's face as he watches how you fail at trying to withstand the beginnings of the trial he aims to put you in through.

"As head of the Oak Family I have been blessed with unique abilities by our aeon. That's not so hard to comprehend is it? After all you've been in the presence of a aeon's power before." He explains calmly, hands folded neatly in his lap as he watches you from his seat at the desk in his room. You blink away involuntary tears and hiss out.

"How did you know about that?"

"About your past? Do you think the Family so welcoming to the point of complacency? I would never turn a blind eye to the details of all those that want to join - lest villains make use of this weakness and rot the wood from within." There's a steeliness to his words that makes you wince like a struck dog and you bow your head even bringing your chin to your chest to acquiesce to his words.

"What are you going to do to me? Going to try to trade me off to the IPC?" You hiss, tasting the salt of your own tears - when did you start to cry? As the ringing is only intensified.

"Maybe, if you fail my test." Came the measured response to your accusation. Through the teary film over your gaze you miss out on the way Sunday's hands tighten on the arms of his chair and the heated glint in his golden eyes. You glaring at him, eyes tinged a violet read with am attempted frown that ends up looking like more of a pout. You are a sight for sore eyes - and Sunday thinks of all the ways he can keep your misty gaze on only him.

"Fine," you say sharply as you hear the ringing turn into the edges of a harmonious choir in your ears. "Begin your fucking trial - ah!"

Strange and ravenous heat sears your tongue, like if you drank coffee straight from the boiling pot than letting it cool in your mug. Sunday as risen from his seat and stands in front of you now. Tall and looming with a displeased look on his face and the feathers by his head ruffled.

"Language." You whimper out an apology, sniffling away the tears that want to fall from the scorching of your tongue. He crosses his arms behind his back and you don't see how tightly his fist in clenched, impeccable white gloves wrinkling.

"The trial is simple. I will ask you questions and you will answer honestly."

You narrow your gaze at him, almost petulantly.

"And if I don't?"

A cool smile graces his handsome face, earrings clinking with the tilting of his head as he looks at you with the visage of utter benevolence, hiding the wickedness beneath the veil - "Then I will punish you for the crime of deceiving The Family."

The truth burns down your throat bitterly as you swallow the threat. The second shoe has dropped, and what a fool you were to think that your labor would be enough to pay off the debt for you have accumulated. Through out all your life you have learned so many lessons and bore the weight of so many lashings - each craved a fact of life into the marrow of your being that you never thought you would forget. That there is no true kindness in this universe, no mattered how glided the lips that utter the promise of salvation - you will never have it without paying with something of your own.

"So what? Do you want me to spill my guts out to you now?" Sunday answers your question with a elegant quirk of his lips before his eyes turn focused and narrowed.

"In a sense," He turns to look at the table where strewed across the appropriate oak wood where files - somewhere

on them you know your name is on there, written in more blood than ink. “We both know that the IPC circles Penachony like a predator does it’s prey. I merely wish to be insured of your loyalty to The Family and know what is you want from this place.”

(The dove turns, beak and talons sharpening into that of a raptor before you and the choir sings louder in your skull.)

“Now….WHAT DID YOU COME TO SEEK IN PENACHONY?” The ringing makes your skull shake in your skin and your teeth grind against each other so hard you can hear one tooth crack. The rainbow tinge to your vision swirls and you feel it, the overpowering presence of a aeon - Xipe, The Harmony is here. Here in this room, where you are pinned beneath their lidded gaze you cannot stop the words that spill from your lips as more salty tears and snot run down your face.

“I…wanted…to escape -“ You gasp out, each word like acidic bile on your lips as you gasp. The choir only grows, louder and louder and you wonder if you are going to bleed from your ears at this rate.

“ESCAPE FROM WHAT?” You hear his voice, sterner than it was before - no longer doused in pleasantries and platitudes. Your head aches and throbs, and you feel like you are going to vomit as you stutter out your honest answer.

“From the IPC -“you stop to sob and your vision fizzes like film being burnt, “Didn’t want to belong to them anymore.” The memoria in the air, in the room you are in swirls in your head and you see them - the visions of your childhood, of when you were poor but free and not chained to the desk where you slaved away for hours and days and months and years. The visage makes you ache, and you know you are crying in the terrible ugly way that makes you feel too vulnerable. The swirling rainbow in your eyes comes to a halt, the choir softens it’s singing and the pain in your head eases. It’s a hum now and the Xipe’s eyes which were barely open, close shut as before. THEIR presence is gone, no longer in the room.

All that is left is you and Sunday.

You feel something touch your face, blearily eyes blink to focus and you don’t realize it but it is Sunday - staining his gloves with the salt of your tears as he gazes upon your ruined face.

“You want to be loved. That is why you left isn’t it?” He asks and your lip trembles when the realization hits you. He knows - he saw the same swirling visions of a life you lost, one where you had a family and a name and a home. He saw that you lost it and in the labyrinth of grief you fell prey to the lies of the deceiver like so many do. You wonder if Sunday pities you, Sunday wonders if you can tell how much he covets you now - more than ever.

His thumb rubs away a tear streak and his eyes - golden like the moon on your home planet glow hot.

“You have passed my trial, and for that you have earned a reward for your endurance. Would you like that?” Sunday asks and you nod limply. You would take anything after that, anything would be better than being a tortured by an aeon. There is a gentleness in how he is handling you now, even going as far as to cup you chin in his palm like you are worth the delicate care. Like you are something to treasure. It feels nice, you lean into his touch blissfully.

“Words. I need words.” Sunday does not falter, even as his heart tightness as the sight of your obedience leaves him wanting.

“Yes. Yes please - anything after that.” The words are stumbling out your mouth and there is a haze in your eyes that makes something in him stir at your desperation. He pulls his hand away and you whine like a dog not yet done being caressed. You are silenced by the words he commands of you.

“Remove your pants.” Your hands are shaky but you obey, like a mutt being taught a new trick. You only manage to undo them, and bringing them down to a little past your knees before Sunday touches you. He still as the gloves on - now wrinkled and stain with your tears from where he had cradled your face with the tenderness of a lover. The gentle caress had been enough to excite you, it’s been years since you have been touched to softly, so gently - you had forgotten what it felt like. His hand goes to your thigh and squeezes the flesh with his thumb rubbing at it softly when he feels you tense beneath him.

“Be at ease,” his voice is melodious next to your ear as he brings his lips to your cheek. “Take your reward with grace, and keep behaving - you might find a beautiful song in your future. I know well how much you enjoy music.” Beautiful white hair and emerald eyes appear in your mind and you don't miss out on his amused huff at the flush on your face at the thought.

Whatever you were about to say dies on your lips as you moan lowly at the feeling of his fingers pressing against your clothed cunt. Just the feeling of them is enough to make you fidget - body still on overdrive from before and in return you are earned a hand grasping your thigh and pinning you in place beneath him.

“Take your reward. I am not fond of repeating myself.” He orders you, tone sterner than before and you hear him make the clicking sound of pity as he takes in how a merely caress is enough to make you tremble. He keeps petting you, with gentle and even strokes as you moan his name softly - until you feel how your cunt soaks through your underwear enough that Sunday can see the shape of your clit. You whine when you feel his thumb press against it and spread your legs for him without being told to when you feel the circles he rubs into it.

“Well done, good pet. I much prefer you like this.” He utters, transfixed and focus on the wet look of pleasure on your messy face. Your mouth drops open and any hint of that harden criminal that you are falls apart exposing yourself to how desperate you are. Sunday can see the way you shudder at his praise than his touches and he rewards you by pulling your underwear to the side and exposing your center to the cold air of his office. You whine but he hushes you, and slides his fingers down the mound of tacky curls at your pubic bone and slips a still gloved finger inside of you.

You keen and it reverbs in his office like an opera house.

“Noisy thing you are - you’ll ruin my gloves.” Sunday speaks but you are not listening, eyes cast down to where his finger disappears inside of you and staining the white satin blend of his gloves a dark gray with your slick. Your hands grip at the arms of the chair, your metal hand making the wood creak and dent as he slips in another finger inside, going in deep to press against the bundle of nerves at your upper wall. You mewl his name, the polite honorific of mister in front of it like always makes the tent in his pants more obvious to you as you keep your gaze on his bulge. You flutter around his fingers the longer you stare it and your mind wanders with all sorts of dazed and lustful thoughts.

Would his cock be as beautiful as the rest of him? Would flush the same way his ears are right now? How would it feel inside of you - oh, you want it inside you so badly. Even more so you want to watch it bob against his stomach with you inside of him, flushed and leaking against his stomach as you service Mr. Sunday for letting you stay, for being so kind to you -

You cum at that final thought, gasping his name and letting your fist hit the side of the chair weakly as your body coils around the pleasure flowing between your thighs and down onto your seat. Your body feels lax and weightless as you slump into the chair, looking at him with a hazy look on your face. Sunday looks at you with what is your approximation of tenderness and vicious satisfaction. He pulls his fingers out, removes his glove and pockets the stained fabric into his coat. His bare hand brushes some hair away from your neck, thumb on your pulse as he nudges his head to a door in the corner of the room.

“You have given me what I wanted and in return I will give you what you want - a place to belong to, one carved solely for you at my side. You are mine now, do you understand?”

The “yes” you say tumbles past your lips before you can think it. You crave it now you think, more than ever. More than you have ever wanted before you. You are riding a high you think, as you pull up your pants and walk past Sunday to go into the door he pointed you out to you.

You don’t think you ever want to sober up, your hand grips the doorknob and you look back at him over your shoulder - eyes still glassy post orgasm and a hungering in your stomach for more of his touch and his command. The door opens and you swallow around your thoughts. The night continues with more pleasure, more touching and Sunday is going to spoil you rotten you think as you lay his stained bed sheets shuddering from the shocks of pleasure in your heightened system.

‘Yes’, you think as you feel something go around your neck and feel the cool press of a tag against your clavicle. ‘This is what you came to Penachony for.’