#eerie unusual sort of way
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no, by "weird" i mean "uncanny". i mean it's a "weird dog" in the same way one could describe a parrot as a "weird autoresponder". this is not Actually a dog any more than it is Actually a dead thing, but when it walks like a duck and winks and says "quack" clear as day, might as well call it a weird duck, no?
this guy was pretty strongly inspired by the character Coyote from Gunnerkrigg Court, who is also a weird coyote in the sense that he's some other thing, but he's called Coyote, and he looks like a coyote, and it's as good a presumed name as anything else. personally I wasn't impressed by the original comic nor its execution of the character, and it treads into territory I don't want to touch vis-a-vis trying to "respectfully" turn characters from Indigenous American mythology into characters for one's own storytelling and entertainment, but I liked the idea of a mischievous Not A Dog with magic powers and a knack for showing up just before everything else goes wrong lurking about in my creative repertoire, and I think I could do a character like GC's Coyote just as well as GC pulled it off, if not, frankly, better lol. never let it be said I do not create with ego first and skill second XD
i suppose by weird dog I could mean awesome weird dog, but [weird dog] comes first!
made a weird dog
#sorry for the essay lol i don't mean this in a 'how dare you say this' sort of way#i just love an excuse to get up on a soapbox#and this is a new character i'm cooking up so there's a lot more soup-per-capita vs concrete details thus far - but the Only actual#concrete detail i have is that they're a Weird in the sense of... like...#if you took the mythological concept of A Hyena really. or A Jackal Mythological Interpretation. and compared it to a real hyena or jackal#this is what you get when you subtract the two#a mythological Un-Hyena. An Un-Jackal#not the mythological figure nor the beast itself but something that treads in the cast shadows and cuts its shape from what is not shared#i would call it an UnDog but this is not the shadow between your dog and the mythological Man's Best Friend#this is a firelight watcher; this is a bone-snatcher who waits for your back to be turned. it sniffs the food in your hand and then bites#your fingers and leaves just to remind you that it is your friend by choice and only by choice and it will turn on you in a heartbeat if yo#give it cause. it has to be wild to have the dignity it has in my head and it has to be wild to have the sharpness#the only other concrete thing i have is that it passes from Alive to Dead and back with ease. It's a carrion beast. Simultaneously roadkill#and roadkill-eater and it only wears its flesh as long as it feels like it#<- i have been toying with using it/its pronouns as a Symbol Of Respect TM for a while and im probably gonna do that with this one#it's got better things to do than worry about the boundaries between human conceptions of gender and sex. look at it. it's dead and alive#at the same time and only acts one out by choice. this thing has access to the shrimp genders and probably only puts them on for fun#anyway thanks for the comment and the interest#i'm glad you like my awesome Weird Dog#i'm planning to animate something with it when i finish the essays i need to write for school#so i can show it stepping out of its skin and the way i imagine its eyes doing smudge-frame shit and appearing in transitions in a really#eerie unusual sort of way#can't see it in movement here because this is static so i just wanted to scribble the things down that i would remember about it#but i'm envisioning the eyes being sort of like the eyes in Felix Colgrave's legendary animation Double King#not tethered by anything except like the vague essence of what's inside#capable of coming out and rolling around like marbles#and maybe even acting like screws holding things in place. little pegs. 'Got my eye on you' taking on another meaning#i do want this to be a tongue-that-does-not-lie-but-certainly-misleads trickster after all#correction: just the eyes of the dead rat king
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âDIDNâT MEAN TO HURT YOU, I SWEAR!â
WIND BREAKER BOYS + ACCIDENTALLY HURTING YOU. ft. hayato suo, kaji ren, nirei akihiko, sakura haruka, togame jo, & umemiya hajime x f!reader.
filled request: âHi there i want to request something, asking Sakura, Ume, Nirei, Kaji and Suo to play fight and they accidentally hit you hard (If it's to many you can just do Suo and Kaji, no pressureeee)â
sfw. 3.2K wc. a/n: added togame! & tried to make suo & kajiâs xtra long since those 2 look like they might be ur faves <33
HAYATO SUO.
in the time youâve spent dating suo, you have never once managed to successfully sneak up on him. not even remotely close. itâs impossible to the point that youâve started to consider the fact that your boyfriend may have developed a sort of sixth sense since meeting you, an intuitive awareness of your presenceâ because as soon as you step within a three foot radius of him, his head is swiftly turning to face you, greeting you with an amused smile and a âthis again?â with that tone that has your eyebrow twitching all over again.
you continue to fiddle with the bottom of your shirt from where youâre hidden behind your apartment door, anxiously awaiting for the moment suo emerges from outside. your plan was nothing short of perfect, every little detail thought outâ and you were entirely sure of it this time.
you had given suo a copy of your key ages ago, so that he could come in at anytime without you needing to be there. a second check of your phoneâs messages has you mentally preparing yourself when you reread his âiâm coming~â text from exactly twenty minutes ago, and you smile to yourself. asking him to come by and babysit your cat while you went on a quick snack restock errand was the best excuse, and a part of you feels a little guilty for formulating such an intricate plan just to get a scare out of your boyfriendâ but it had to be done.
the sound of suoâs key wiggles inside the doorknob, your breath hitching in your throat when you hear the lock switch just a few seconds after, followed by the eerie creaking noise that your door always seems to make.
âiâm here,â suo sings out to no one in particular, his usual smile etched onto his face as he takes a peek inside. dark, and empty. nothing unusual, not that he was expecting anything out of the ordinary in the first place.
as soon as he takes a step inside, heâs going to take off his shoes first, and you jump on the opportunity. youâre quick to lunge at him the second his thumb slips in his shoe, aiming to launch yourself into his middle and crush him in a suffocating hug. you donât miss the way he tenses for a split second, eyes widening at the sudden movementâ mind immediately flashing to his first thoughtâŠ. an intruder?
he doesnât recognize you at first, your figure reduced to a blurâ and all he knows is that something is headed towards him. and fast. heâs moving on pure instinct, arm reaching for the closest thing to him at that moment: your arm.
you gasp when you realize just how agile your boyfriend really is. the truth isâ youâve never seen him fight, and he doesnât really talk to you about it. he has a habit of leaving all the details out, and you donât usually find yourself asking him about it after seeing the way heâs always coming out of fights unscathed. so sure. you knew he was probably pretty strong.
but you had no idea he was like this.
âw-wait!â you yelp when his foot comes to loop around your ankle, and youâre suddenly falling backwards. your hand desperately moves to catch onto somethingâ anything to avoid falling onto the floor, so you grab a fistful of suoâs shirt.
heâs clenching his jaw in shock when you roughly yank him down with you, the familiar sound of your voice registering a second too late, because the two of you are crashing onto the ground a second later, suoâs weight knocking the wind out of your chest.
thereâs a moment of silence as the two of you wince, your eyes fluttering open to meet with suo, looming over you with an expression youâve never seen on him before. genuine concern ⊠and what looks to be .. shock?
it takes you another moment to take note of the subtle warmth youâre feeling until you finally recognize it as suoâs hand thatâs currently cradling the back of your headâ and youâre at a loss as to exactly when or how he managed to do that in only a split second.
âiâm sorry,â suo chuckles sheepishly, âyou got me this time. i really thought you were an intruder.â
âbut did you hit your head? hard? are you okay?â he continues, other arm coming to pull you up and hold you against his chest. âtell me.â
âi think so,â youâre barely able to mumble, heat rushing to your cheeks at the realization that suoâs first thought wasnât to cushion his own fall, but to protect your head instead. ânot that hard though⊠i think. it doesnât hurt very much.â
suoâs gaze on you is suddenly much more noticeable, and youâre tearing your eyes away from him a second later, sneaking glances back and forth as he continues to search for any signs of pain.
none that he notices, and the way your lips are pressed in a nervous line is a good sign, at least. suo lets out a relieved sigh before heâs smiling again, as if you hadnât just spooked the sealed spirits out of him.
âletâs not do that again, okay?â
KAJI REN.
youâve never seen the night market this packed in your entire life.
itâs so busy that itâs almost suffocating, each breath taking double the effort from the way your body is being smothered between people as kaji leads you towards the food stands.
âthe best fried octopus youâll ever try,â your friend had saidâŠbut youâre seriously reevaluating you and kajiâs decision to come hereâ on the busiest night all summer to top it off.
it definitely wasnât the best idea the two of you have come up with.
youâve lost count of the amount of times youâve said the words âexcuse me!â and âsorry, getting through!â tonight. a part of you feels bad for your boyfriendâ because you knew kaji was way worse off than you, the scowl on his face running the risk of being permanently etched onto his face from the sheer intensity of his glare. the grip he has on your wrist is tighter than ever before, trying his best to weave his way through the crowd without losing you.
kaji knows his mood is worsening each time someone bumps into him, and twiceâ or even three times as much when he feels someone bumping into you instead. he can feel the way your body roughly jerks back from the impact, and it was stressing him out more than he could imagine. the possibility of losing you and leaving you all alone in an aggressive crowd like this was the last thing he wanted.
heâs so lost in his thoughts that he doesnât hear you call out his name the first time, or the second time. not even the third time. he doesnât hear your voice trail off a bit when you mention that his grip is starting to hurt a littleâ to maybe hold hands instead.
he didnât hear any of it.
kaji catches a glimpse of an emptier area, and heâs suddenly pulling harder at your wrist to lead you to it, not hearing you squeak out an âouch, that hurts!â
and it hurts badly, warm tears welling up in your eyes as you struggle to try and keep up with him. itâs only when he suddenly jerks you around a corner that youâre tripping over the curb, stumbling and crashing into his back with a loud âouch!â that he finally turns to take a look at you.
kajiâs eyes are widening at the sightâ your teary eyes peering up at him through wet lashes and your hand gingerly rubbing at your wrist. his words catch in his throat, barely able to sputter out an âare you.. okay?â
you shake your head quickly, lips tugging to a shaky frown. âyou were hurting my wrist, kaji.â
his chest feels tight.
kaji is quick to bring your hand in his, gently cupping your hand as he looks at your wrist, and the guilt is flooding through him all at once. the thought of hurting you has him grimacing, feeling physically ill just thinking about it, and itâs not long before his mind is racing through all the scenarios.
he didnât want to hurt youâ and he doesnât want to be someone you saw as ïżœïżœïżœdangerousâ either. your wrist was so delicate, and it was a terrifying reminder of his strengthâ because he didnât even realize that he was squeezing in the first place.
he truly had no idea.
âitâs okay,â your voice slices through the thick air, ripping him out of his thoughts, âi know you were stressedâ it was scary over there.â
âi was scared too, kaji.â
the gentle smile you give him is the only thing that can bring him this much comfort, he thinks. itâs enough to clear his head, his heartbeat settling down, and heâs ripping another lollipop open before popping it in his mouth, turning and kneeling onto the floor.
âyou can get on.â
even without his words, itâs a gesture youâre very familiar withâ so you donât hesitate for a second before climbing onto his back, arms circling around kaji as he lifts you up. thereâs a subtle pink dusting the tips of his ears when you press a gentle kiss to his head, thanking him for carrying you.
âitâs not a problem,â he grumbles, voice coming out low as a futile attempt to hide the excited thump of his heart.
âget comfy up there, because weâre not leaving this damn market until we get a hold of that octopus.â
NIREI AKIHIKO.
nirei swears that he had no idea that the pillow he had just thrown towards you a moment ago had buttons decorating the outside.
he really didnât know, and of course it was the only pillow that happened to land right on your face.
âiâm so sorry! are you okay?â his voice comes out frantic as he rushes towards you, terrified eyes watching the way you rub your eye and groan in pain. this was terrible, he was terrible. pillows were never supposed to cause you any pain.
âitâŠit hit your eye? iâm so sorry,â he repeats, hands coming up to do somethingâ wave around you in panic, because heâs not quite sure if he should touch you or leave you be. his hands hover just in front of your face, mind racing with potential ways he could help.
he jolts when you laugh a bit.
âyou really picked the worst pillow,â your laugh comes out strained as you try and blink, vision spotted with dots from the hit youâve taken. ââŠitâs okay though.â
it takes you a couple more seconds to see nirei clearly, and you can tell that heâs absolutely devastated with just one glance, nervous hands finally coming to grab at your shoulders, keeping you still so he can inspect your eye.
âlet me see.â
heâs leaning in a bit, until his face is just a couple inches in front of yours. âi think um,â he squints a bit, ignoring the warmth rising to his cheeks from the proximity, âi think your eye looks fine.â
the guilt is still eating him alive. a part of him wishes that you had been the one to grab that pillow instead, because heâs certain he would have jumped on the opportunity to tank a hit from a buttoned pillow a thousand times before letting it hit you just once. straight in the eye. anywhere. it doesnât matter to him.
âit probably is,â you give him a small smile, âbut you still cheated. i won that fight.â
SAKURA HARUKA.
âi-i didnât know you were there!â
sakuraâs a complete and utter mess, and he genuinely didnât know any better. he didnât hear you creeping up behind him, so when your arms suddenly wrapped around his middle, his reflex was to jab his elbow straight behind himâ and it hit you square in the face.
he could feel his heart shatter into pieces when the sound of your yelp rang in his ears, jerking his body around only to see you stagger backwards, clutching your nose and peering up at him through those teary eyes.
sakura doesnât know what to do. youâre sniffling now, your arms reaching out to hug him a second time, your voice barely coherent as you start babbling with a shaky voice, the only words he could recognize being âi deserve a hug for that.â
heâs a complete mess. heâs stiff when he lets you wrap your arms around his middle this time, face flushed with red at the simple touch and his heart hurting at the sound of you sniffling against his jacket, hand coming to wipe at the tears welling up in your eyes.
itâs impossible for him to not think of the worstâ because he knows other guys wouldnât be making this kind of mistake. his friends wouldnât have elbowed you in the face in the first place. or at the very least, his friends would know how to comfort someone in this type of situation. he wants to kick himself for just standing there, words catching in his throat every time he tries and apologize.
âsorryâŠâ your voice is quiet, but itâs enough to yank him out his thoughts. âi shouldnât have scared you like that.â
it takes sakura a couple seconds before his mouth is falling at the apology. âhuh?â heâs dumbfounded, hands coming to grab at your shoulders, âi should be apologizing!â
his face erupts in a furious blush when you giggle at his reaction, thumb coming to swipe at the tears that have spilled onto your cheeks. itâs only then when he tugs you back into a tight hug, hand cradling the back of your head to hold you flush against him.
he thinks itâs because he canât stand to see you cry.
âo-oh?â you whisper against his chest. âthis is new.â
sakura chooses to ignore your little remark, clenching his jaw as he glares at your wall, gaze locking on anything except you. âi should be sorry,â he repeats again, his voice barely coherent with the way heâs fighting against his blush, âso you should just ⊠you know. tell me. when you want a hug..â
TOGAME JO. (pet name: doll)
âthatâs not right, doll,â togame coos from below you, lips tugging into an amused grin as he watches you struggle to master the self-defense moves that you asked him to teach you an hour ago. or maybe two. itâs normal for him to lose track of time when heâs with you anyway.
your boyfriend doesnât seem to realize that you donât have the same stamina he does. or the focus, because you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks againâ unsure if itâs because youâre embarrassed of your confused attempts at grabbing him, or if itâs the fact that heâs so casually sprawled out underneath you.
âyou listeninâ?â
you perk up, followed by a delayed nod. a little too obvious, but he doesnât say anything.
âyou grab me here,â his voice is gentle, guiding your hands back to hover over his body, âand then you pull. remember?â
and you nod again. but the sound of his voice, slow and steady, paired with the way heâs lazily propped up on his elbows to look up at you through tired eyes has your mind spinning all over again, instructions already going out your other ear as you try again and take a large fistful of his sweatshirt.
â..like this?â
he hums, lips tugging into a smile. âthatâs good, doll. now pull the way i showed you.â
and you doâ or you try to. you tug with all your strength, but you can tell he hasnât moved an inch. you can hear him hum in wonder above you, and thatâs all it takes for your eyes to slam shut as you jerk and pull with all your strengthâ and you feel some movement for the first time tonight.
âwaitâŠâ togame interrupts, but you donât stop, pulling and pullingâ not realizing youâve inched towards to very edge of your mattress. âwaitâ weâll fall,â he repeats with a little more urgency.
itâs a second too late when you realize it, eyes shooting open the second gravity tips the balance, and youâre plummeting backwards with a shriek. togameâs twisting his body to catch you as fast as he can, but the frantic movement has his fist connecting with your cheek before he grabs a hold of you, yanking you upwards and into him.
âfuck,â you wince, rubbing your cheek with the back of your hand as you huff. âthat hurt a bit..â
âsorry,â togame lulls, legs spread to have you seated right in front of him, âi was trying to catch you⊠didnât mean to smack you like that. are you okay..?â
his hands come to cup your cheeks, tilting your head up to look at the him. the familiar heat in your cheeks returns as soon as you lock eyes with him, because heâs so close. you can feel his breath fan against your lips with the proximity.
and heâs looking right at you.
ââm okay,â your voice is just above a whisper, âyou barely even grazed me, anyway..â
UMEMIYA HAJIME.
âwhen did you take that?!â
your arms shoot up to reach for umeâs phone, cheeks burning with embarrassmentâ because that had to be the most foul photo youâve ever seen of yourself. the sound of your boyfriend erupting into the loudest laugh youâve heard all day only has you seethingâ and heâs effortlessly holding his phone just out of your reach, as if to taunt you even further.
âyou donât need to know,â he grins widely, watching the way you shift your weight onto your toes in a futile attempt to reach his phone. âand itâs cute! you donât think so?â
âgive it!â you hiss, and you lunge forward to start pulling at the arm that has the phone, âiâm deleting it!â
âno way,â he retorts with a huff, but youâre pulling his sleeve with your full strength, and it catches ume off guard a bit, foot stumbling forward a step. heâs never seen you pull with all your mightâ so he just wasnât expecting it.
youâre lunging again before heâs regained his balance, and he shifts his weight backwards, lower back colliding with the table behind him. his phone slips from his grip too fast for either of you to react, and it lands on your nose with a sickening thud.
his laughter vanishes as soon as youâre letting out a pained yelp, hands coming to clutch your nose, squeezing the bridge to ease the pain.
âowâŠ.â you whimper, voice cracking a bit as tears start to flood your lash line. his heart breaks in two when he sees you sniffle, desperately blinking away the tears that threaten to spill as you check your hand.
no blood. just a lot of pain.
âiâm so sorry,â heâs hovering over you within a second, nervous arms fluttering just above your frameâ because he hasnât quite figured out what to do, and you look so fragile like this. he just doesnât want to break you.
â..are you okay?â he breaks the silence, âlet me see you.â
your face is buried in your hands when ume kneels in front of you, hands coming to gently tug at your wrists so you can look at him. âiâm sorry,â he repeats even quieter, worry flooding his expression when you tear your gaze away from him.
itâs your attempt at trying to get rid of the tears threatening to spill, but he doesnât know know that. his lips are tugging into a deep frown, eyes filled with worry as he tries to get you to just look at him again.
âlook at me, okay?â he whispers, âlet me see.â
a deep inhale, and youâre trying to make your voice come out steady again. âi think..i think itâs okay.â
your eyebrows furrow. âyou klutzâŠâ
the relief in his face is almost too obvious. heâs taking a sharp inhale, opening his arms to urge you to come for a hug. âi know,â he chuckles, âare you sure? youâre okay?â
you give ume a nod, ignoring the throbbing in your nose as your arms wrap around him, holding him close against you. âi think iâll be okay if you delete that.â
âno way,â he retorts, relieved that you're at least not crying anymore. "but i'll give you cuddles. deal?"
he's pulling you tighter against him before you even give him your answer, and his shoulders relax a bit when you finally nestle into his arms, leaning into his hold with a soft smile and a throbbing nose.
#wind breaker x reader#togame jo x reader#wind breaker fluff#wind breaker x you#togame jo fluff#togame x reader#hayato suo x reader#hayato suo fluff#suo x reader#kaji ren x reader#kaji ren fluff#kaji x reader#nirei x reader#nirei akihiko x reader#sakura haruka x reader#sakura haruka fluff#sakura x reader#umemiya hajime fluff#umemiya hajime x reader#umemiya x reader#sakura fluff#umemiya fluff#togame fluff#wind breaker headcanons#windbreaker x reader
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The Tour | w.a
Wednesday Addams X Fem reader
"People are like plants: itâs not the amount of light they receive, but the kind that determines if they bloom." - Anonymous
âI donât want to do it, Enid,â Wednesday hisses through gritted teeth, casting a cold look at the blonde in front of her.
âIt was my turn last year! Canât you do me this favor just this once?â Enid responds, her tone a mix of sweetness and desperation, her eyes pleading with her roommate.
I decide to look away, letting my attention wander around the roomâs decor. I had just arrived at Nevermore Academy, and the headmistress had assured me that someone would show me around. But it seems she had asked the wrong people.
I was born with two powers: super hearing and the ability to read minds. The latter I try to avoid as much as possible; it feels like invading peopleâs privacy. But with super hearing, thereâs no way to turn it off. All I can do is try to distract myself by focusing on something that captures my attention.
One of the main reasons I avoid using my powers is the discomfort of hearing what people think and say about you. Discovering what others are hiding can be devastating, and...
Oh, look. Thereâs a hand walking by itself.
I raise an eyebrow in confusion, but a slight smile escapes me at the unusual sight.
âIs something amusing you?â Wednesday Addams asks with a hint of venom in her voice. I look up, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment as her dark eyes lock onto mine with a chilling intensity.
Her body is rigid, her posture upright, and her head held high with an unshakable pride.
As soon as I meet her gaze, a strange sensation crosses my mind. Then, a phrase materializes in my thoughts: I donât like this girl. The feeling of discomfort replaces my initial embarrassment.
Enough, Y/N, I think to myself. Stop reading thoughts.
âSorry, sheâs just like that...â Enid interjects with a nervous smile, shooting a sidelong glance at her friend.
âNo, itâs fine,â I quickly reply, trying to mask my discomfort as I set my suitcase on the floor.
Wednesday huffs with a hint of annoyance and gracefully walks over to her desk. She grabs the bag that was on the chair and, before leaving the room, gives me one last look that makes me wish I could disappear. Then, without a word, she steps out of Ophelia Hall.
âI think you should follow her,â Enid suggests with a small smile.
I give her a small wave, almost as a thank you, and hurry to exit, trying to keep up with the small but surprisingly fast Wednesday Addams.
Wednesday walks ahead of me, her steps light but purposeful, as I try to match her pace. She doesnât look back or check if Iâm following, but her silence is a clear signal that she expects me to keep up.
Wednesday stops in front of a large wrought-iron gate that leads to a circular outdoor space. In the center stands an old and somewhat eerie fountain, with five paths branching off in different directions, forming a sort of pentagon.
âWelcome to the Pentagram,â she says in her usual flat, unenthusiastic tone. âThis is the heart of Nevermore Academy. From here, you can access all the main areas of the school... and encounter the different âcategoriesâ of students.â
I stop beside her, observing the area. Thereâs a strange energy in the air, as if something darker lurks beneath the seemingly tranquil surroundings.
Wednesday turns slowly to face me, her dark eyes boring into mine with an intensity that makes it hard to look away. âHere at Nevermore, weâre not all the same,â she explains, gesturing vaguely towards the paths around the fountain. âThere are vampires, of course. Theyâre not as charming as in the movies, but they consider themselves quite superior.â
She indicates one of the paths with a slight nod of her head. âThen there are werewolves... Enid is an example. Unlike vampires, at least werewolves have a sense of loyalty, though their pack mentality can be... irritating.â
Continuing, she shifts her gaze to another path. âMermaids,â she says, with a note of slight disdain in her voice. âTheyâre natural manipulators. They can control minds with their voices, but theyâre very appearance-conscious. Never trust a mermaid. They have a talent for deception.â
She takes a brief pause and then gestures towards another corner of the courtyard. âAnd then there are the Gorgons. Not exactly Medusas, but if they look you in the eye without their special glasses, you turn to stone. Literally.â
I watch her closely, trying to discern if thereâs a hint of irony in her tone, but her face remains impassive.
âFinally, there are those who donât fit into any specific category,â she concludes, looking up at the dark sky above us. âThe anomalies. People like me.â
âWhat do you mean by âanomaliesâ?â I ask, intrigued.
Wednesday stops and turns to face me, her black eyes shining with an intensity that makes it difficult to look away. âAnomalies,â she begins, âare people who donât fit into the predefined groups of Nevermore. They donât fall into common categories like vampires, werewolves, or mermaids. They are... different in ways that our classification canât always explain.â
She looks at me with an expression that suggests how little she understands my curiosity. âThey are individuals who possess unusual abilities or characteristics that defy the usual labels. Some may have strange powers, while others simply donât conform to expectations.â
Her words leave me with a sense of wonder and a touch of unease. âSo, students who donât belong to any of the main groups are considered anomalies?â
âExactly,â Wednesday confirms.
I remain silent for a moment, reflecting on what she has said. âThen I suppose I belong to this group.â
Wednesday gazes at me with attentive eyes. Thereâs a subtle shift in her expression, as if my question has finally piqued her interest. âWhat powers do you have?â she asks, her voice softer, almost interrogative.
My heart beats a little faster. Iâve never liked talking about my powers, but I canât avoid this conversation. âI can... hear thoughts. And I have super hearing. Though I try to avoid using telepathy, out of respect for othersâ privacy.â
As soon as I say this, I notice a slight stiffening in Wednesdayâs shoulders. Instinctively and somewhat awkwardly, she raises her hands, bringing them near her head as if to build an invisible barrier around her mind for protection. The gesture is oddly endearing, a contrast to her usual unflappable demeanor.
âAre you reading my thoughts right now?â she asks, with a calm exterior, but her guard is clearly up.
âNo!â I reply quickly, also raising my hands as if to demonstrate my innocence. âI never do it intentionally... unless itâs an emergency. I really do respect other peopleâs boundaries.â
Wednesday watches me for a long moment, scrutinizing every detail of my face as if trying to decide whether to trust my answer. Then, slowly, she lowers her hands, although she still seems cautious.
âItâs... an annoying power,â she comments finally. âItâs not very common here. Nevermore students tend to be very protective of their secrets.â
I lower my gaze, feeling embarrassed. âI know. Thatâs why I try not to use it.â
Wednesday gives a small nod of approval and, without adding anything else, turns and begins walking towards one of the paths in the Pentagram. After a few steps, she stops and looks back at me.
âAre you going to stand there staring all day, or do you plan on following me?â she asks in her flat tone. âThe tour isnât over.â
I take a deep breath and hurry to follow her. It seems that Nevermore still has many secrets to reveal... and Wednesday has no intention of slowing down for anyone.
Wednesday continues to lead me through the corridors of Nevermore, passing by groups of students chatting or hurrying to their destinations. She doesnât seem to notice anyone around her, walking with a decisive and assured stride, expecting me to follow without question.
After navigating various narrow passages and dark staircases, we finally arrive at a pair of imposing dark wooden doors. Wednesday opens them without hesitation, revealing a vast hall filled with towering shelves brimming with books that seem as ancient as the school itself. The soft light adds an almost mystical touch to the environment.
âThis is Nevermore's library,â Wednesday says in her usual flat tone. âA place many students use as an excuse for making out in hidden corridors or, worse, for reading poorly-written romance novels.â
I canât help but smile slightly. âThatâs not really my genre,â I reply, admiring the massive collection of books. âI prefer something more... stimulating. Like mystery or horror.â
Wednesday stops abruptly and turns toward me, with a slightly curious expression. Her dark eyes scrutinize me as if trying to determine whether Iâm serious or just trying to impress her.
âInteresting,â she murmurs with a faint smile.
She gestures for me to follow as she makes her way through the library and heads toward the exit.
âSo,â she begins in a measured tone, âif you prefer mystery and horror, who are your favorite authors? I hope you donât just name the usual clichĂ©s.â
I sense that sheâs testing me, seeing if I truly have an authentic knowledge of those genres. I think for a moment and then answer confidently. âShirley Jackson, for example. Few manage to capture the hidden horror in everyday banality like she does.â
For a moment, I see something change in Wednesdayâs expression. Itâs uncommon to see her surprised, but it seems that the name I just mentioned has struck a chord with her. Her lips curl slightly into a barely perceptible smile.
âShirley Jackson,â she repeats, as if savoring the name. âFinally, someone with good taste. We Have Always Lived in the Castle is a masterpiece of unease and despair.â
I canât help but feel a bit satisfied for having passed her test. Wednesday continues to observe me for a few more seconds, then turns and resumes walking. Although she doesnât say anything, thereâs a new dynamic between us, a sort of mutual respect that wasnât there before.
âFollow me,â she says finally. âThereâs still much more to see.â
Wednesday continues to lead me through the school with her determined stride, guiding me down a long corridor that leads outside. We cross the courtyard and head toward a separate building, surrounded by climbing plants and well-tended shrubs.
âThis is the greenhouse,â Wednesday says as we open the glass door. Inside, the greenhouse is a tangle of exotic plants, some with an unsettling appearance, with flowers in unnatural colors and leaves that seem to move on their own. âHere, the rarest and most poisonous plants are cultivated. Mortality biology, as I prefer to call it.â
As we observe a plant with leaves that shift slightly as we pass, Wednesday turns to me. âThe greenhouse is managed by Professor Thornhill. Many people like to spend time here, but only a few truly understand the lethal potential of what grows here.â
I nod, a little intrigued and a little unsettled. The air is thick with intense scents, some sweet, others sharp, but all decidedly... strange.
Wednesday doesnât linger longer than necessary. âLetâs go,â she says, quickly exiting as if the greenhouse is just one of many stops of the day.
After a few minutes of walking in silence, we arrive at the Nevermore gymnasium. We enter, and the atmosphere changes dramatically. The room is vast and well-lit, with walls adorned with ancient swords and shields, and fencing equipment neatly arranged. Some students are engaged in intense fencing sessions, maneuvering their swords with extraordinary skill, while others are working out with exercises that combine agility and strength in almost supernatural ways.
âThe gym,â Wednesday says with a tone that reveals her disinterest. âHere many seek to refine their combat and fencing skills. Itâs a place of competition and discipline. Personally, I prefer to exercise the mind rather than the body. However, if you like the idea of facing others in duels and tests of strength, this is the place.â
I watch the students training fervently, their swords glinting under the fluorescent lights, and the fluid and precise movements of their techniques. It seems like a dynamic and competitive environment, very different from the other areas of the school.
Wednesday continues to walk, passing by the ongoing training. âItâs not my ideal environment, but every corner of Nevermore has its purpose,â she adds, casting a distracted glance at the room. âDonât worry if it doesnât seem like your kind of place. Many students feel at home here, but there are others who prefer different spaces to express their abilities.â
Although this part of the school is vibrant and full of energy, itâs not the kind of place where I would feel comfortable. But, as Wednesday says, every place has its role, and Nevermore seems to have a spot for every type of person.
Wednesday gestures for me to follow her again, and we head toward another room. As we enter, the smell of food immediately hits us. The large space is crowded with students talking among themselves as they line up to get food or sit at long tables.
âThe cafeteria,â Wednesday comments, observing the environment with an almost disgusted air. âWhere the common people eat and socialize. If youâre lucky, you might find a quiet corner. But donât expect much in terms of culinary quality.â
I canât help but chuckle at her comment. The chaotic atmosphere of the cafeteria makes me feel a bit uncomfortable, but at least itâs warmer compared to the greenhouse and gym.
âWe wonât stay here,â Wednesday says quickly, leading me out again. We move toward a quieter, more serene part of the school.
Wednesday guides me down the corridors of Nevermore, her pace steady and unyielding. âSo, youâve seen almost everything,â she says, breaking a silence that had only been interrupted by our footsteps. âIf you have any other questions, nowâs the time.â
Taking advantage of her openness, I ask, âIâve noticed that everyone wears the purple uniform except for you. Why?â
Wednesday raises an eyebrow and gives me a scrutinizing look. âThe purple uniforms are standard for all students at Nevermore. They represent a sense of belonging and uniformity. However, my black attire is a personal choice.â
Her answer seems a bit cryptic, so I continue probing. âBut is there a specific reason you wear black? Itâs not a rule, is it?â
Wednesday smiles slightly, an expression that could be interpreted as a kind of personal satisfaction. âBlack is a manifestation of my style and preferences. Itâs not so much a rebellion against norms as it is a statement of individuality.â
âI see,â I say, reflecting on her comment. âSo itâs a conscious choice that reflects your personality.â
âExactly,â Wednesday replies with a tone suggesting that the conversation might be closing there.
âDo you know where your room is?â Wednesday asks, raising her gaze with an impatient question.
I raise an eyebrow and reply with a subtle smile, âItâs practically yours.â
Wednesday looks at me with intensity, as if evaluating my answer. âI know, but I have to go somewhere else, and Iâm not sure if you know how to get there.â
âI can find it,â I say calmly. âThanks for the tour.â
As I look at her, I notice her eyes fixate on me with a penetrating intensity. I take a moment to observe her closely. Her figure is petite and slender, but she exudes a presence that fills the space around her. Her black hair is neatly styled in two braids that fall down her back. Her pale face is dotted with subtle freckles that seem to peek timidly above her nose and on her cheeks. These small details add an unexpected dimension to her austere beauty.
Her dark eyes are like two deep wells reflecting an eerie light, and her thin, well-groomed eyebrows accentuate her detached expression. She wears the black school uniform, which fits perfectly with her elegant figure and stern demeanor. Her movements are fluid and measured, imparting an aura of control and authority.
In her mind, I catch the thought: I donât know if sheâs reading, but this girl is really interesting. My cheeks involuntarily flush.
Wednesday, noticing my embarrassment, tilts her head slightly to the side and adds with a faint smile, Sheâs cute when she blushes
I try to look away and calm the redness on my face, feeling a mix of embarrassment and curiosity. âAgain, thanks for the tour,â I say, trying to keep my composure.
Wednesday gives a nod of approval and resumes walking, leaving me with thoughts about her words and the impression of how Nevermore can be both fascinating and enigmatic.
#jenna ortega x reader#jenna ortega#jenna ortega x you#jenna ortega x y/n#jenna ortega x fem!reader#wednesday addams x reader#wednesday x you#miércoles addams#wednesday addams x you#jenna marie ortega#jenna ortega imagine#tour#wednesday x y/n#x y/n#y/n
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hands on â 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.
The church had always been beautiful. A place of worship, fairness, mutual happiness. Itâs 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.Â
He was so angry.Â
Heâd 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.Â
He was so angry at his traitorous hands when they wandered below the waistband of his pants. Heâd been trying to sleep, tossing and turning for hours, desperate for some sort of distraction. Heâd retrieved a glass of water, heâd 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.Â
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.Â
Vile.Â
Thereâs 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.Â
It is a beautiful statue, sure, but Sunday would have preferred another God to watch over instead.
Perhaps it was for the best.Â
In the preparation of the morning service, Sunday was unusually quiet. Staff piled in silently, bidding their greetings, and even Robinâand, bless her gentle heartâwas reticent, her lips pulled together into a thin line. The choir practised, and it was the only sounds he heard that morning.Â
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.Â
Itâs supposed to be blood. It feels dastardly eerie to offer a piece of THEM to those undeserving of such.Â
Instinctively, when his gaze met the statueâs, his gloved hand raised and clasped the golden charm at his chest tightly.Â
Sunday felt a tap on his shoulder.Â
âThe congregation is prepared,â Robin said to him. She tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. âAs per usual.âÂ
He hadnât taken his eyes off of the statue. âGood.âÂ
âAnd there are people coming in now,â she continued, nodding towards the door that led out to the lectern. âItâs almost eight.âÂ
âThank you.â
She stopped, eyeing him warily.Â
âThereâs something bothering you,â she commented quietly. âYouâve been on edge since last night. Did something happen?âÂ
Sunday finally turned to look her in the eye. His face remained expressionless, though his tone held a hint of warning. âIâm fine, Robin. Please. Donât worry about me.â Â
âBrotherââÂ
âRobin.â 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. âPlease. Enough.âÂ
Defeatedly, her shoulders sagged. She wanted to tell him, as she had so many times beforeâso many timesâthat she was there for him. Sheâs always been there for him.Â
Robinâs lips twitched into a soft, but crushed smile. âOkay.â She stared down at her shoes. They were slightly scuffed at the sides. âOkay, I⊠Iâll get the choir started.âÂ
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.Â
She said nothing.Â
àłàŒ
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.Â
He always valued honesty.Â
âGrace be to thee, and to your kinship.â The sunlight was burning into the back of his halo. âAnd, weary sinners, hold your heads, as THEY will shine light down upon you, and forgive all of your transgressions.âÂ
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.Â
The pattern was eerily similar to the stockings you wore that night.Â
He dreamed of you.Â
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.Â
He remembered your voice as if you were truly whispering in your ear at that moment.Â
Youâre 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 heâs been gripping the paper.Â
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.Â
He knows, he told himself. He knows what he did all those nights ago.Â
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. Sundayâs hands were trembling around the handles.Â
âReverend Sunday?â one of the priests asked gently. âAre you alright?âÂ
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.Â
There was already a line forming down the aisle.Â
He is loved.Â
âGoâŠâ He hoped his voice was steady. It should be, for heâs said these exact words everyday for almost a year now. âEat your food with gladness.âÂ
He is good.
The spoon shook in his hands as he offered it to one of the churchgoers.Â
The next person stepped up. The priest on the right grasped their chin gently with the red cloth. Sunday offered another spoonful of wine.Â
They were replaced with the next person.Â
He is loyal.
ââŠAnd drink your wine with a joyful heart.âÂ
The next. And the next. And the next.Â
Routine. Stagnant, maddening, routine.Â
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.Â
He is faithful.Â
ââŠFor THEY have alreadyââÂ
His heart faltered when he looked up again.Â
The wine spilled from the spoon. He almost dropped the gold onto the floor.Â
The breath that escaped his lips was shaky.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
Perhaps it was the distasteful attire youâd chosen for the ceremony that had garnered the staring.Â
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.Â
He could taste it on his tongue.Â
Sunday quickly dipped the spoon back in the wine when one of the priests moved to hold the red cloth beneath your chin.Â
He swallowed. ââHave already approved of what you do.âÂ
The spoon slipped between your parted lips.Â
The other priest wiped your mouth with the cloth. It was like velvet on your lips.Â
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 smileâand sharp canines poked over your bottom lipâbefore 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.Â
His heart was racing beneath his chest, like a bird hitting its wings against the confines of its cage.Â
Heat clammered and sweltered up his neck. He ignored that, too.Â
àłàŒ
He canât.Â
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.Â
He felt too big for his clothes. His skin doesnât feel like itâs his. Itâs hot. Itâs just so hot and his skin felt as though it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper. His breathing was shaky and uneven.Â
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.Â
Sometimes, he was convinced it moved when no one was looking.Â
Maybe thatâs just paranoia. It all is, isnât it? Heâs always been scared of little things. Things with eyes, like dolls, and portraits, and people, and Gods. Not THEM. Never THEMâdeep down, he did fear THEM. But he knows he is loved. Otherwise, he would have been abandoned.Â
The murals are watching him.Â
The walls are warping the longer he stares. The halos behind the figuresâ 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.Â
Heâs still thinking of you.Â
Itâs horrible. Itâs wrong. His eyes sting, though heâs not sure if it is exhaustion, or if he will cry again. But he canât cry. He had wept silently in his bed the night prior because he couldnât sleep. And itâs hard to sleep when the house is silent, but thereâs 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. Itâs 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 behindâand of course youâre behind, because if he were to turn around, heâd see something ugly.Â
Heâd see nothing.Â
Itâs all in his head.Â
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.Â
The feeling weighs on his chest like gold.Â
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.Â
And one night, with what he feels are your teeth buried in his throat, he sings that he loves you, and he grows cold.Â
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.Â
He canât love you.Â
Itâs not love. Love is warm, unfamiliar, and new, and he hears tales of how comfortable it is.Â
Itâs wrong to feel this way.Â
He removed himself from the confessional. His legs felt weak when a hesitant breath left his lips.
âItâs like a weight⊠isnât it?âÂ
Sunday froze. Heâd never felt so cold before. His spine snapped straight like itâs was crafted of metal, and something horrible hooked within his stomach, hard and aching, like heâd swallowed lead.Â
He heard you swallow.Â
He didnât dare turn around, fingers trapped on the pages of printed hymns he was about to put away.Â
âItâs persistent.â He heard the telltale sign of your clothes moving. âYou feel it, too.âÂ
He was afraid of what he would see when he turned around.Â
He does. âI donât know what you speak of.â He then turned, eyes glaring and face alight with anger. âIf you know well, you will turn and leave. Donât come back here.âÂ
His shaky inhale gives himself away.Â
He isnât sure if youâre real. For his sake, he hoped you werenât.Â
Sunday held the key tight in his bandaged hand.Â
âYou should feel guilty.âÂ
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.Â
Ungrateful.Â
He wonât voice it. He will say nothing. This is not his fault; it canât be his fault.Â
And he still feels it is his fault. But this all happened because of you. And heâs been trapped inside his head for all these nights because of you. Itâs all you.Â
âShould I?â he asked quietly. He watched your face twist. âOr should you?âÂ
âIs it not your job to help people like me?â you tried. You felt blood rise up your neck and settle in your face. You werenât sure whether it was because he was still the most beautiful man youâd ever seen, or if your frustration was climbing further and further towards your heart. âI thought you could help me.â
You had promised to fix him as well.
If anything, he felt even more broken than he had ever been.Â
Sunday breathed out shakily.Â
The bandages around his hand were beginning to dye a dark red like the wine he had fed you.Â
He swallowed hard. You saw his throat move.Â
âFix this, Reverend. Fix me.âÂ
His voice faltered when he whispered, âI cannot fix what is beyond repair. I cannot give you anything more than I already have.âÂ
âThen take me.âÂ
There was silence.
He felt his heart drop into his stomach.Â
Sunday glanced towards the door of the church and tried to control his breathing. âI canât.â He shook his head slowly. He canât bring himself to look into your eyes. âWe canât do this again. It will fix nothing. It will make everything worse.âÂ
Your legs trembled. You felt your heart stop in your chest, and it hurt.Â
And you were so angry.Â
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.Â
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.Â
You wanted to touch him. You wanted to feel his skin on your hands, and you wanted to hear him again.Â
You swallowed your pride, and then you uttered, âplease, sir.âÂ
Sunday exhaled sharply through gritted teeth.Â
âNot only are your hands sullied with filth, but you are also disobedient.â He still cannot bring himself to look at you. He didnât want to. He was afraid heâd succumb to your whims if he did. His hands were trembling, fingers weak and almost as if they would snap off from the knuckles. âI told you to never come back here.âÂ
You almost looked offended.Â
âI donât come here willinglyââÂ
âI know what you are.âÂ
Sundayâs fists clenched by his sides. The wings beneath his ears had stiffened, feathers bristling like cacti.Â
âI know what you do.âÂ
You said nothing. If anything, your eyes were transfixed on the statue behind him.Â
âYou find reverent men, and you ruin them.â He turned, then, but his eyes didn't meet yours. âTell me: are you proud of yourself?âÂ
âNever proud, sire,â you admitted. Then, you bowed your head. âThough I will say, I do hope you enjoyed yourself last night.âÂ
He inhaled sharply, and the corners of his lips twitched upwards.Â
There, you dared to reach forward and trace your thumb along the bandages of his wounded hand.Â
And he let you.Â
He did not flinch away, nor did he tell you to leave again.Â
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.Â
Sunday sighed, defeated.Â
Your hand was so warm. And despite the disgust and the swamp he felt bubbling in his guts, he felt as if heâd known you his entire life.Â
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.Â
Sunday, at that moment, felt no shame in what he had done to himself that same night.Â
If anything, it pleased you, and that lit his skin on fire. A nice warmth buried itself in his stomach.Â
âHow dare you come back here.â 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.Â
You donât seem the slightest bit apologetic.Â
Instead, your lips stretch into a small smile.Â
âI blame you,â 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.Â
He blamed himself, too.Â
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.Â
Sundayâs 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.Â
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.Â
Sunday could feel your heart clammer against his own, and he felt as though you couldnât have been any closer to him.Â
A tick in time, a short moment of weakness, and one heâll regret when he goes home and struggles to sleep again, but his hand abandons your grip. He tries his hardest to resist. He shouldnât have ever let this happen again. Â
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.Â
His hands rested on your hips. They did not move. They did not wander. They were frozen on your skin like ice.Â
You tasted of the wine heâd given you.
It was strange, sweet, and it made his face flush the same colour as the blood on his hand.Â
âBlessed Reverend,â you whispered against his lips. âHow will you sleep tonight?âÂ
Your nose brushed against his. His feathers rustled when your breath and the scent of wine curled around his cheek.Â
âI wonât,â he admitted. Itâs quiet. You barely heard it. âI will toss and turn.âÂ
You fluttered your lashes at his answer. He felt your lips stretch into a smile.Â
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.Â
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.Â
When he fluttered his eyes open, sick from the taste of wine on his lips, he saw one thousand eyes staring down at him.Â
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.Â
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, heâd notice the crack of a pupil beneath the stone eyelids.Â
Your hand was on his stomach now, thumb following the central curve of his belly down beneath his navel.Â
When your thumb hooked beneath his belt, his fingers wrapped around your wrist before you could dip any lower towards his thighs.Â
âNot here,â he pleaded softly against your lips.Â
He swallowed hard.Â
âWhere do you suggest we go?â you asked. He almost didnât hear you. There was implication in your voice.Â
He hated how warm he grew in his chest, but he knew it was wrong. So wrong, and itâs horrible.Â
âYou will not clamber into my bed tonight,â he whispered to you. That he knew for sure.Â
You shook your head slowly. âI want you to take me here.âÂ
His stomach churned. It was as if heâd 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.Â
Instead, he stupidly gaped at you.Â
His eyes flitted up to the statue of Xipe. THEIR eyes remained closed, all six of them, and the expressions held still.Â
Sometimes, he was convinced the statue was alive.Â
Perhaps that was just paranoia.Â
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 youâd disappear, as he once again, grew uncomfortable in his own skin and clothes.
Fitting to be furthest away from the sunlight.Â
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.Â
Sundayâs breathing grew heavy as the door unlocked and creaked open.Â
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 wasnât much out on display.Â
Fittingly so, it was dark, and there were no windows.Â
Your shoes clicked against the tiled floor.Â
Itâs dark. So dark you can barely see him, but he keeps a firm grasp on your wrist as you step into the room. Itâs not too cold, surprisingly. It does not smell of mould or abandonment; perhaps they take good care of this place.Â
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.Â
âIt is safer here,â Sunday whispered in your ear. You knew he locked the door. His hands squeezed your shoulders.Â
âI believe you,â you told him.Â
Sunday hummed at your words, and his lips brushed against the side of your neck. His breathing remained unsteady.Â
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.Â
His body is warm against yours.Â
He finds it in himself, wherever he hides himself away, to kiss you then. Maybe because itâs dark. You can just make out the outline of him, and whatever light creeps through the bottom of the door is enough.Â
âI came for you, sire,â you said. âUse me as you wish.âÂ
Sundayâs lips bumped against your neck. âYou cannot whisper depravity into my ears.âÂ
âYou brought me down here for a reason,â you answered him. Your fingers slid down his throat and you thumbed over the top button of his shirt. âI say what I want.âÂ
âYou are filthy.â And he kissed you again. Fury flared in his stomach like fire.Â
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.Â
You managed to pull the white blazer off of his shoulders, and though he couldnât 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.Â
You hummed pleasantly as you drew him back against your lips.Â
The wings around his waist were a nice surprise. You hadnât 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.Â
He knew the blackened feathers were ugly and uneven and clipped to the very edge, but you didnât seem to mind. In fact, your fingers flitted over the base gently, a soft caress of your hand that made the feathers bristle.Â
Your lips were so soft. Despite wandering hands, you were so gentle. It made his stomach churn, but his heart stammered in his chest.Â
The feathers rustled. You heard them. They reminded you of a pigeon shaking out its wings.Â
The table was just next to your hip.Â
You moved away from his lips for just a moment.Â
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 Sundayâs grip tightens on your hips.Â
âWhat are you doing?!â He asked with horror strewn about his face, though you couldnât directly see it. It was very well and obvious in his voice. âWhy would youââ
You silenced him with your fingers pressed to the cupidâs bow of his lips. âLay on the table, Reverend.âÂ
âAre youââÂ
âLay down.â 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.Â
Sundayâs 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.Â
Sunday trembled for a moment.Â
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.Â
His skin prickled when your lips grazed his neck.
This is wrong. So wrong, andâ
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.Â
All the while, anxiety stirred in his stomach like some roaring beast. This was wrong, to be beneath you like this, where heâs not taking what he wants, where heâs not in control. This is wrong, wrong, wrongâÂ
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.Â
He stiffened, and his hand instinctively came forward to pull his skin free from your teeth.Â
He felt his eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness. So, so slowly.Â
Sunday inhaled, and his voice trembled, so he kept his lips shut.Â
You spoke, âdonât resist. Enjoy it.âÂ
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. âHow can IââÂ
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.Â
âDo I make you anxious?â He heard you giggle close to his ear, and your lips smoothed over the base of one of his wings.Â
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 couldnât sleep, andâÂ
Nothing but a moan pulled from his lips when your hand finally freed his cock from his pants.Â
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.Â
His face grew impossibly hotter than before.Â
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.Â
The horrible rhythm of your hand against his was so good, and he wished he could just disappear right then and there.Â
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.Â
If you commanded him to take, then he would ensure you wouldnât leave this very room until youâd given him everything you had to offer.Â
Heat sweltered between his legs, surging like flames licking up his skin.Â
He wanted to speak. He wanted to order; he wanted to bend you over the table and take what was his.Â
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.Â
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 youâd started, and now he only found it in himself to moan and moan over and over again beneath your hand like some dog.Â
Wrong.Â
He felt your lips trail down his neck.Â
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.Â
Your teeth pulled at the taught skin below his jaw.Â
âDonât leave marks,â he breathed. He swallowed, and you followed the shape of his jugular with a graze of your teeth.Â
This is awful,
His stomach churned. He feared heâd throw up with shame.Â
Sunday was panting now, nails digging into your scalp. His teeth gritted and grinded behind his lips. He canât do this. He canât, he canât, he canâtâÂ
Sunday managed to sit up shakily.Â
âPutââ Another moan escaped his lips, followed by a trail of laughter at how ridiculous this was. âPut your mouth on me.âÂ
âIs that what the High Priest wishes?â Your lips followed along the soft skin above his collarbone. âHe wants his dick sucked by a âwhoreâ on the streets? Will that satisfy you, Reverend?âÂ
Anger flared in his chest. His hand moved from behind your scalp to grasp your chin firmly. âYou will do well to remember you are here to please me.â
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. âOf course, Reverend. Thank you.âÂ
 He let go of you.Â
As obscene as it was, his hand twisted into your hair again and pushed your face towards his lap.Â
This was only slightly better. How he could pull and tug you where he wanted. He was here to take; isnât that what you said?Â
Still, it was obscene. Grotesque. Disgusting and muddied and itâs 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.Â
It would be what you both deserved.Â
He felt your tongue first. Awful thing, your tongue. If heâd had it his way, it would have been torn from your mouth the second you stepped into his church this morning.Â
It didnât 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.Â
He did not.Â
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.Â
Your lips pressed a dainty kiss to the tip of his cock before they then wrapped around the head.Â
Hot. Thatâs what it was. Sweltering, sweaty, sickening humidity crawling up his neck, like one thousand bugs twitching and writhing upon his skin.Â
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.Â
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.Â
He couldnât imagine how dishevelled and improper he looked.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
He was more or less hesitating.Â
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.Â
Itâs so hot.Â
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.Â
You would let him. You had promised him youâd let him take and take and take until there was nothing left of you.Â
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.Â
Instead, he searched for a distraction. âComeââ His breathing stuttered. âCome here.âÂ
You pulled off of his cock.Â
You hummed curiously.Â
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.Â
But still, you managed, âyou donât have to touch me, sire.âÂ
âI want to hear you,â he whispered.Â
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.Â
He wouldnât take the gloves off. He couldnât.Â
The feeling of the scratchy cotton against your clit sends you into overdrive.Â
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.Â
His hips remained still.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
His thighs began twitching.Â
âOhâŠâ Itâs breathy and light and warm, what spilled from his mouth. His fingers pushed back what strands of hair had fallen in your face. âYouââ Words didnât escape his lips properly, and all that tore from his throat was a dreary and miserable whine.Â
You keened over his fingers. The cotton was good, though now his palm was soaked.Â
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.Â
You squeezed around his finger, drawing him in further.Â
Your lips were growing desperate around his cock, tongue flitting out again and again to taste the cum that streamed from his slit.Â
âIââ Oh, God. The room was spinning. âI canâtââ His stomach heaved when your tongue grazed along the swollen vein before you drew backwards and licked harshly along his dripping slit. âI canâtââÂ
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.Â
You learned quickly that Sunday preferred your mouth and tongue remain relatively still and open for him.Â
He preferred to control how he fucked into your throat, holding onto the back of your head as gently as he couldâyou dutifully ignored how his nails stabbed into your scalp.Â
It was easier for him now to take what he wanted.Â
Youâre so wet. He could hear it, even if he hadnât even bothered to strip you of your pants. Itâs obscene, and his cock hardened even more at the sound.Â
His rhythm remained the same. Heâs quick, much unused to the wet heat soaking around his cock, and more so worried about how the head rubs along your tongue.Â
But youâre so obedient like this. So pliant and warm with his hand between your legs teasing that gaping and soaking hole. And itâs so warm and hot and yes, yes, yes, come onâ
âThis isââÂ
Your eyes fluttered open to acknowledge him.Â
His thighs twitched around your head.Â
He let out a shaky gasp.Â
His hand loosened around your skull. You drew back only just and mused a simple, âtake what you need.âÂ
He needed you.Â
He smelt wine from how youâd smashed the bottles onto the floor. Sacred, important wine that youâd tossed aside like youâd thrown his blazer to the floor and the golden medallion on his breast.Â
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.Â
Two fingers, soaked in your slick, abandoned in teasing your hole to ghost over your clit again.Â
Youâre 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 heâd listen to in the privacy of his home.Â
He felt bliss. Heavenly bliss.Â
His stomach lurched at the debauchery. How awful you were, how you made him feel alive in his own skin.Â
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.Â
His hand carded over your hair with care.Â
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.Â
So good.Â
He couldnât 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.Â
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. Itâs all dirty here.Â
He felt after this heâd have to scrub himself until his skin withered and only bone was left.Â
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, âare you close, Reverend?âÂ
Heat crept up his thighs and down from his stomach.Â
You thumbed the swollen veins and cooed at his slicking cock. âAre you?âÂ
âFinish this,â he whispered harshly. âFinish me.â He tugged on your hair gently, guiding you down toward his cock once more.Â
Excitement bubbled in your stomach.Â
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.Â
Your nose just barely grazed the supple flesh of his lower belly. Your hand wrapped firmly around what skin you couldnât reach.Â
Heâs delicious. He was so heavy in your mouth and warm and his cum smeared thickly over your throat.Â
Sundayâs 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 heâd faint, or melt, soon. Like a candle. Like the votive candles upstairs in theâ
His mind kept trapping himself of the main hall upstairs, and the thousands of eyes peering down at him.Â
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.Â
Sundayâs fingers tightened in your hair.Â
âYouâ!â 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.Â
He said nothing. He couldnât.Â
He stiffened up again, and his thighs locked around your head.Â
And then, his cock jerked in your throat, and he came.Â
A long and broken sob echoed in your ears.Â
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.Â
His head was swamped with a haze, like a thick foggy mist clouding over his senses.Â
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 wallsâ again. His mind reeled back again.Â
 Sweat dripped from his flesh like wax.Â
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.Â
âGood,â he mumbled. He was petting your hair. He swallowed hard to ignore the ache between his legs. âSo good.â His words were slurred, and amidst the darkness, what he could see swirled into a muddied watercolour piece.Â
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.Â
Sunday let go of your hair in favour of feeling his racing heart beneath his chest. It ached and thumped with need.Â
He was sensitive. Heâd been wriggling the entire time, but now his hips couldnât keep still, and he couldnât stop himself from following your tongue with his cock.Â
His breathing stuttered loudly as he dragged the skin over your tongue. He wasnât sure if he wanted you to open your mouth again, but at the same time, he was afraid heâd grow tremendously addicted, and youâd both remain there a lot longer than he wouldâve wished.Â
So, he pulled away, as difficult as it was.Â
Guilt steamed in his stomach like a hot iron sliding over his belly and scorching his flesh.Â
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.Â
Sundayâs free hand grabbed your chin when your lips bumped up against his jugular, pulling your mouth towards his.Â
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.Â
He almost felt bad.Â
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.Â
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 heâd go home tonight and stab a blade through his chest and ruin the awful guilt-stricken beating muscle beneath his ribs.Â
For now, as you had wished him to, heâd indulge.Â
Heâd take.Â
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.Â
âWas that enough for you, Reverend?â 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.Â
He said nothing. The air was thick with the scent of his skin, and yours.Â
You felt the flutter of feathers brush along your cheek.Â
âIâmââÂ
Sunday swallowed when he felt your stomach jolt against him. âI know.âÂ
âI want your devotion, Reverend,â 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. âI need you.âÂ
It was very well possible down here. No prying eyes, no other members of the church.Â
Just you, and him, in the mellow darkness, rocking against each other.Â
His fingers quickened and you almost cried.Â
He feared then, and now, that you did receive devotion.Â
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.Â
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.Â
âGo on,â he breathed. âLet go.âÂ
And you did.Â
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.Â
Bliss and sugar clouded your head like fog.Â
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.Â
Too much.Â
And yet not enough.Â
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.Â
The wood was covered in sweat and condensation and heat, and Sunday couldnât bring himself to tear his mouth off of you. Wine. Wine on your tongue like blood, and he couldnât stop himself.Â
Heat burned in his chest, and his stomach, and it steamed to his head and rushed up his neck in bubbled waves.Â
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.Â
Perhaps you picked up on it.Â
He heard you laugh, even as he forced your stomach further into the edge of the table.Â
âBlessed Reverend, did you fall in love?âÂ
His blood ran cold.Â
He couldnât possibly call it that. He knew it wasnât true for you, either. The way you looked at him threatened more than love.Â
It canât be love. Heâs not allowed to love.Â
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.Â
He was panting. You could hear him somewhat close to your ear.Â
âNo,â he answered, but he sounded unsure. âBut you did, didnât you?âÂ
Another breathless laugh. You heard the jingle of his belt, and his gloved hands slid up the back of your thighs. Heâd managed to wedge one of his legs between yours, but it didnât nothing to quell your squirming.Â
His touch was soft. Too soft to the point it tickled your skin with feather-light strokes against your legs.Â
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.Â
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. Â
âSpread your legs.âÂ
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.Â
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.Â
âI will not ask twice,â he whispered into your ear, lips hot on your skin.Â
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.Â
He did not.Â
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.Â
Cold. Itâs so cold, and heâs slowly drawing circles around your entrance.Â
You could feel yourself clenching, trying to entice him inside again.Â
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.Â
âIs this not what you came here for?â Sunday asked. âTo ruin yourself?âÂ
âIâve already ruined myself,â you said meekly. His thumb pushed deeper to his knuckle, and you mewled. âThank you, Reverend.âÂ
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.Â
âAnd have you found the relief youâve sought?âÂ
You didnât want him to care, but there was a burning in your heart, because he did.Â
You let out a throaty hum. âAlmost.âÂ
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. âFilthy.âÂ
Heâs so angry. Heat flared in his chest.Â
You felt him burning, his thighs slick and trembling on the back of your legs.Â
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.Â
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.Â
His hand moved from your chin to press flat on your stomach.Â
Itâs so hot. He could feel your skin radiating off of him. And it was overwhelming, like heâd been thrown into a sauna with no water for relief.
He wanted to fill you with cum.Â
It hurt to think. He shouldnât think. All he should do is fuck you until thereâs no other man out there for you but him.Â
And you can never have him.Â
So he can keep you here and watch you pine and chase after him, and heâll deny you every time. And make you ache and suffer for what youâve done to him.Â
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 andâ
Itâs so hot.Â
He felt his mind twisting and melting beneath his skull.Â
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.Â
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.Â
Your toes curled in your heels. One of your shoes comes off, and he feels the slide of the embroidered stockings against his leg.Â
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.Â
âYouâll let me enjoy myself, Reverend?â you whispered behind you.Â
Sunday pressed you further into the table and rocked his hips against yours. âYouâll lay here and take me.â His tip kissed the entrance of cunt. And then, with one hard exhale, he slowly canted his hips forward towards your thighs. âThatâs what you wanted.âÂ
You hummed and slackened against the table.Â
Hot. Heâs 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.Â
He throbbed when you felt his hips press against your ass.Â
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.Â
He was squirming, wriggling like a fish caught on a hook. You were so warm, and you dripped and squeezed around him, and he couldnât 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.Â
This cannot be love.Â
Possession flared inside of his stomach.Â
He was trembling. His cock twitched with need inside of you, and you let out a moan.
âIâmââ He shakily exhaled against the nape of your neck. His face was burning with shame.Â
You could feel it on your skin. âIâm right here.âÂ
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. âThis is wrong.âÂ
You hummed in acknowledgement. âBut you love it.âÂ
And he does.Â
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.Â
Then, he slammed back into you.Â
He grew breathless almost immediately, and the air was knocked from your lungs. Your hips smashed into the edge of the table.Â
The ache was good.Â
You murmured praise, and his cock grew impossibly harder as he reeled his hips back and filled you again.Â
Heâll 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.Â
Sunday rocked his hips quicker, his knee almost knocking against the table by your hips.Â
So good.Â
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.Â
So wrong.Â
Heâs wrong. Youâre wrong. Youâre 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 canât.Â
So he takes you here, again and again and again.Â
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.Â
But thatâs what he felt he was in that moment: pathetic, weak, and some mindless man with his brain in his cock.Â
The bones of your hips were aching, snapping back and forth into the edge of the table, but you couldnât bring yourself to care for the fire surging in your veins.Â
Your body felt numb, like youâd been burned one thousand times over, and then had ice poured over you.Â
Itâs awful, and yet you felt so alive.Â
Your hand was shaking in his when you murmured, âlet go. Let me touch myself, sir.âÂ
His cock squeezed against a particular spot inside of you, and you couldnât see straight.Â
Your ears were ringing a tune you couldnât 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.Â
The scratch of his shirt against what parts of your spine peaked through your pulled shirt.Â
You shivered, even more so when his lips delicately lingered beneath your ear, and his hot breath fanned over your cheek.Â
This is wrong. Itâs wrong how good he feels.Â
Itâs wrong how you clenched around him, sucking him in impossibly deeper to the curl of your warmth around his cock.Â
He fucked into you again.Â
His tip was burning with need, and his stomach twisted and turned at the thought of it. Wrong, and filthy, andâ
You let out another plea. âLeâ me touch myself, Reverend.â To hammer the nail in the coffin, you then murmured, âoh God.âÂ
Itâs the need that made him crack. Itâs 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.Â
The sounds are disgusting, but somehow so invigorating. Wet and loud and so grotesque.Â
Sunday breathed out, and he sounded excited.Â
âYou sought relief in me, you wretch.â he breathed into the nape of your neck. Sweat dyed his lips with salt. âDo it, then.âÂ
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 heâd never wake from this horrible dream ever again.Â
Your hand slipped down your front towards your swollen clit.Â
His cock fucked into you harder, chasing the feeling of your cunt squeezing around the sensitive flesh, struggling to pull tighter. So filling. Itâs so good. Itâs so good itâs 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.Â
As guilty as he felt, he sank his teeth into the exposed skin of your shoulder where your shirt fell.Â
Youâre so beautiful like this.Â
Moaning and begging for more of him and covered in sweat.Â
His halo was glowing.Â
He swallowed the saliva building in his mouth when he pulled his teeth away from your skin. âYouâre disgusting.â Itâs weak, itâs pathetic, it doesnât even sound like he believes it.Â
Because youâre not. Youâre like an angel, laid flat on the table, offering your very being to him.Â
All you were missing was a haloâdistantly, he knows youâd never receive one.Â
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. âAre you close?âÂ
His feathers fluttered at the question. His face grew brighter.Â
Your cunt squeezed around him again, and he let out a gasp at the tightness. âVery.â He was embarrassingly close, and all youâd done was squish him tight inside of you.Â
Your cunt squelched around his skin, and Sunday whimpered.Â
You squelched against his cock as he drove in further, desperately chasing that heat the coiled tighter and tighter in his guts.Â
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.Â
Sweat stained his neck, and heat trapped beneath his ruined shirt. Heâd have to burn his clothes. Plead for a new uniform entirely, and perhaps for salvation.Â
If anyone found out about this.Â
His stomach turned.Â
His cock slipped out of you and he grunted. Sunday fumbled with himself trying to slot back into your twitching hole. âStop wriggling.âÂ
Your cunt trembled as he stretched past your walls again. Your fingers tremored over your sensitive clit. âHaha. Of course, sir.â Breathless, slurred, beautiful.Â
He could listen to you moan in his ear all day.Â
His skin stuck to yours like glue, sweat and slick soaking his thighs as he pushed into your guts as deep as he could.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
He didnât 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.Â
Sunday slammed his hips against your skin again. And againâ 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.Â
You were moaning and moaning against the table.Â
One of your hands had balled into a fist and viciously smashed against the table. âHarder, priest. Make me yours.âÂ
âYou are mine,â he reminded you coldly in your ear. Still, his hips made a resounding smack against your ass.Â
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.Â
So close.Â
You purred praises again as his cock head kissed that sweet spot inside of you, and your fingers drew sloppily around your clit. âJust like that, Reverend.âÂ
Sundayâs halo almost blinded you with how bright it was glowing.Â
He wanted to mumble that he loved you. He wasnât 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.Â
âLet me fill you,â he pleaded quietly. âPlease.â His tongue was watering, and he wiped drool off of his lips with his shoulder.Â
He heard you sigh dreamily, cut off suddenly with another harsh thrust of his cock inside of you.Â
He was twitching.Â
So fucking close.Â
Come on.Â
Shame. Shame poured from every pore in his skin like pus.Â
âOf course, sire. Iâm yours.âÂ
In your final confession, Sundayâs chest heaved. His gloved fingers gripped your hips enough to still them entirely, staining the unmarred skin with dark bruises and blood.Â
His cock twitched deep inside you, his mind twisted, and he came.Â
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.Â
âGod.â It spilled from his lips.Â
Blasphemous. Awful. Heâll never see the light of day the same again,Â
He clawed at your hips, pressing you down into the table.Â
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.Â
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.Â
Warm.Â
He exhaled shakily.Â
The praise you had whispered had gotten to his head. Heat swelled in his face, and Sunday swallowed thickly.Â
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.Â
You could feel his heart bashing against your back as his chest rested on your spine. Truthfully, you couldâve stayed this way with his slowly softening cock deep inside of you.Â
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.Â
Sunday did nothing.Â
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.Â
His heart was still racing. He felt nauseous.Â
His gloves were sticky and tacky, but he still refused to touch your properly.Â
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.Â
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.Â
In that time, heâd heard the clicking of your heels as youâd fussed to dress yourself as best you could without moving from the table.Â
Devotion.Â
Your hand was now soothingly rubbing his shoulder.Â
His knees buckled.Â
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.Â
You playfully shoved his head away with a push to his forehead.Â
Sunday rested his head against one of your thighs and continued to tremble. His face was still
coated in sweat.Â
When your hand gently reached down to pet his hair, he shakily smiled.Â
Heâd 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.Â
All that would watch silently was a bird. A small, deep purple nightingale that watched from afar.Â
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.Â
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.Â
It was cold outside, and the wind blew steadily as he shut the door behind him before securely locking it tight.Â
He heard your heels stop.Â
âReverend?â
Sunday wanted to bark at you. What more could you possibly want from him? Youâd 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.Â
Instead, he only hummed. He kept his hand firm around the giant brass knobs of the church.Â
âDonât fear Hell.âÂ
The words did not assure him, but for that moment amidst the wind, Sunday listened.Â
He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, squeezing the sore muscles tight.Â
He stiffened at how warm your skin was. How he desperately, desperately wanted to feel your lips on his again.Â
He refrained.Â
Sunday barely turned his head to look at you.Â
âI will be there with you.â And that, you could promise.Â
Daringly, you pressed a chaste kiss to his hair before you let go of his shoulder, and left.Â
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.Â
Sundayâs shoulder remained warm long after you had let go.Â
And that warmth remained present for every day that you did not return to him.Â
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.
#sunday x reader#sunday x you#hsr x reader#hsr x you#honkai star rail x reader#⊠( after hours. )#⊠( the macrocosmos. )
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"No witnesses then?" Will asked as he entered Jack's office with Hannibal closely behind him.
Jack looked defeated. The whiskey bottle on his desk was the proof. He was probably waiting to call it a day and drown his frustration into a glass of whiskey.
"There is a witness. We brought him in but by the time we will interrogate him, our serial killer will have committed three other crimes."
"May I ask why we are not interrogating him now?" Hannibal asked.
"We need a translator. He doesn't speak English. Took the Bureau a few hours only to find one and he can make it here in a few days."
"What does he speak then? There's a high chance Hannibal speaks it." Will commented.
"I don't speak every language on earth, darling."
"I don't speak Lithuanian."
"Lithuanian?" Jack inquired.
"Aren't you Lithuanian, doctor?" Will asked.
"I am but I haven't spoken it in years. I doubt I can be of any help."
"So be it, then."
"Doctor." Jack started. Will and Hannibal recognized Jack's persuasive voice and Will immediately regretted opening his mouth. There was no way out now. "It would be of great help if we got the physical features of our killer. I am only asking you to try. It's the only way I will be able to sleep at night."
Hannibal looked at Will, then at Jack.
-
Jack and Will watched Hannibal from behind the glass of the interrogation room.
Hannibal spoke fluently with only few hesitations. There was something else that Will couldn't point towards. He felt bad about making Hannibal help with the case. When he had said he couldn't speak Lithuanian, Will knew he wasn't being modest about his skills. He had said that just because he hadn't wanted to speak Lithuanian.
Will detected some sort of awkwardness from Hannibal in the first few minutes but he masked it well. The discussion went smoothly.
Jack was nodding pleased.
"And he was saying he can't do it." Jack commented, paying so much attention to what was happening in front of them that one could think he was understanding every word. "We might catch this one by tonight, Will."
"Hopefully."
And they did. A bit later than what Jack had expected but Hannibal's report had been of great use.
-
"You caught him." Will said as the doctor was pouring him a glass of wine.
"You and Jack did."
"We wouldn't have without your help. It made a difference."
Hannibal said nothing, which was unusual and which reminded Will of his earlier eerie feeling.
"I'm sorry about making you do it. I figured you weren't comfortable."
"You didn't make me do anything. You know how persuasive Jack can get."
"How was it?" He wasn't sure wether Hannibal would want to talk about it.
"Quite an experience, I'd say. Words I have not pronounced in years. I might have made a lot of mistakes. Good thing you and Jack couldn't tell."
"It was more than a skill issue. Words have their way of taking you to certain places. And his accent was extremely authentic."
Will smiled softly. "I am sure your Lithuanian skills are better than mine."
Hannibal brought his glass of wine to his lips and smelled it thoughtfully.
"It took you down the halls of your memory palace."
"And it opened some locked doors."
"Did you manage to close them back already?"
"Not yet. I might linger in there for a while."
Will grabbed his fork and played with the sushi roll that was resting on his plate.
"It's something he said before leaving the interrogation room. He asked me why I can speak Lithuanian. I told him that I am, in fact, Lithuanian. He was very surprised by that. He said I didn't sound Lithuanian at all." Hannibal explained and took a sip from his glass.
"You don't have to keep to yourself." He said, sensing the amount of thoughts running through Hannibal's mind. "What else bothers you?"
"How did that make you feel?" Will asked genuinely curious and was relieved to see Hannibal cracking a smile. He knew Will hated that question.
"For a second it made me question what I am. The place you are born in doesn't define that. Nor does your family, be it dead or alive."
"Then nature and nurture have no power on the individual?"
"I wouldn't choose either. I would have said that they both have a role in defining who we are."
"Implying that you no longer believe that?"
"I kept reflecting on this subject while I was cooking. I didn't come to a satisfying answer. Then you knocked."
"And?"
"And here I was going to say something inappropriate. I can't now that you made this confession."
"And I found all the answers I needed. I see myself in you. And that is more than what Lithuania will ever mean to me. And more than what nature and nurture can explain."
"What was it?"
"Today I learnt that listening to you speaking Lithuanian does certain things to me."
Hannibal put down his fork and knife, his lips slightly parted. He didn't try to hide his surprise.
"Well." He said thoughtfully. "I had made up my mind I would never use it again after today. But this changes everything."
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âđŸđ âŽđđ âŽđ» đđ đœâŻđ¶đč, đâŽđđŸđđœđ.â
contains:LIGHT HORROR+LIGHT SMUT<3
summary:while on a late night walk back home after the club, i find myself suddenly hearing the sweet melody of an alluring voice luring me into the depths of a hidden alleyway.
WARNINGS:vampire!bill, drunk-curious!reader, eerie setting, pet-names, kissing, make-out session, dry-humping, trippy hallucinations.
notes:ive been in the fall/spooky mood lately, so i wanted to switch it uppp.this is my second attempt at writing this since tumblr deleted my entire progress yesterday ^_^.
god i shouldnt have drank all off those margaritas, in the club obviously they were fun but as im stumbling trying to figure my way home im regretting ever stepping foot into that place.
the night was dimly lit from the moonlight shining above, the wind was cool sure to make anyone shiver, the quiet sound of leaves ruffling were audible in the background.
i crossed my arms over my chest rapidly rubbing my skin trying to create any type of warmth, i hazily looked around in search of any indication of where i could be, only find myself lost with my destination home nowhere in sight.
defeated, i take a few more steps before sitting against a brick wall, taking a deep breath trying come up with some kind of solution.
"maybe i could call someone for a ride?"i thought to myself, quickly pulling the strap of my purse off of my shoulder and placing my bag into my lap.i dig around inside before excitedly pulling out my nokia 2780, opening it to only to find it completely dead.
i dont know what to do at this point, i dont know where i am, i dont even know what time it is, im freezing to death, im drunk as fucking skunk-
âcome here baby..âa deep voice suddenly whispered within the shadows.
i frantically look around trying to match the voice to something or someone, only to see the empty road ahead and not a single soul in sight.i slowly stand up from my position on the concrete floor, then anxiously turn the corner walking into a blood-curdling alleyway.
i continue walking deeper into this horrific darkness stopping dead in my tracks when i, not even in a blink of an eye see a tall figure appear in the middle of the path, its red glowing eyes piercing into my own.
âdont be scared, i wont hurt you.âhe cooed, magically teleporting right infront of me.
his features were otherworldly, his gaze captivating and hypnotizing, his makeup dark, his skin pale as snow.
he was supernaturally beautiful.
âw-what are y-you?âi muttered, rapidly blinking my eyes trying to figure out if i was just imagining this or if this was real life.
âdont worry about that, for now-â
he paused taking a step closer, his face now not even an inch away from my own, his icy-hands interlinking with my own, his thumb grazing over my warm-blooded skin.
âkiss me doll.â
he then leans in capturing my lips into a passionate kiss, he lets go of my hands now pulling me into his tight grasp before slamming me against a nearby wall.i moan into his mouth, his simple words and beauty trapping me in a hypnosis.
i take the opportunity to tangle my arms around his neck, taking in the unusual metallic taste of his feverish lips, his tongue aggressively raveling with my own, his flavor so addicting and irresistibley delicious.
he begins to repeatedly ram his hips into my own, seeking any sort of relief from the tension bulging through his restricting pants, his clothed cock grinding against my tender pussy.
we continue indulging in each-others lust, he had enchanted me with the most powerful spell but i was too compelled to snap out of it, utterly drowning in his trickery.
he abruptly slows down giving me one last gentle peck before slightly pulling away, his eyes staring into my soul, he wasnt breathing, he didnt even blink once.
i gasp awake, jumping up from my bed, drenched in sweat, still dressed in my clothes from the club and-
a throbbing ache in my neckâŠ
THE END
#tokio hotel#tokio hotel smut#tokio hotel x reader#bill kaulitz#bill kaulitz smut#bill kaulitz x reader#tom kaulitz#tom kaulitz smut#tom kaulitz x reader#georg listing#gustav schÀfer#Spotify
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Kinktober Day 12 - Siren!Miguel
Prompt list
CW: Nsfw, siren Mig, M!Reader, marking
Note: Iâm having a really hard time doing anything today so it might not be that great. I am somewhat proud of it tho and it is very fitting for today since Iâm so close to 500 followers :3
Mythical creatures like vampires and werewolves never scared you, even as a child when your older sibling would tell you ghost stories. Perhaps you just grew used to the eerie feeling that the tales gave off.
In turn this made you into quite the brave young man. Nothing seemed to frighten you too much, with the occasional exception of actual real world consequences. Youâd just laugh and shake your head at the stories, they couldnât be real.
So when you found yourself heading to a cave in a remote part of the beach, it wasnât unusual. Thereâs nothing scary other than the fact that you walked so far from people. That was until you heard it.
A smooth voice glided through the air and into your ears, entrancing you and willing you forward. That was indeed freaky, it felt like you had lost control of your body, like you were being pulled to the cave.
You had heard tales of sirens previously, but they were just that, tales. Stories made up by men bored on their boats. One in your area was pretty popular though, of a male siren by the name of Miguel. You never believed it before, and part of you desperately didnât want to start now.
You soon found yourself deep in the darkness of the rocky walls, the only light left being form the entrance far behind you. You could hear the water moving around you, now waist deep, unable to see.
Something almost scaly feeling brushed against your leg. You pulled back, expecting some snake or other reptile. When you looked down you could make out the vague silhouette of something coming out of the water. You squinted, trying to see what it was.
As your eyes adjusted to the dark you could finally see it was a man. A very handsome man⊠Blush spread across your cheeks, your mind forgetting about how weird this all is for a few moments. Before you could do or say anything he retreated back into the water.
You tried to follow him with your eyes, but couldnât see into the water with how dark it is. You then felt two hands grab your waist and pull you down. They didnât pull you under the water, just enough so you were on your knees, your once dry shirt now wet.
âItâs been awhile since anyone so handsome came by~â A smooth voice whispered in your ear, making you blush more. You could feel something large and hard pressed against your clothed ass, knowing what it is almost immediately.
The mysterious stranger moved his hands down, one making its way to your crotch and groping at the bulge in your trunks. You let him slide his hand into the fabric, letting out a small moan as he stroked your cock slowly. He seemed very pleased with that and removed his hand.
You felt him yank your trunks down, your skin now exposed to the water, his cock now against your bare ass. Your own hand brushed against his hip, and thatâs when you felt the same scales you felt before. You initially freaked out, thinking you once again touched a reptile of some sort or a fish, but then you felt the scales transition into skin. You slowly realized the reality of this, he was a siren, and most likely the âMiguelâ people would talk about.
Your thoughts were cut short when you felt the tip prod at your entrances, replaced quickly by those previous thoughts of how hot this all was. Hey you didnât mind a random hookup with a stranger, and the mystery of all this was exciting. You let out a low moan as he started to push into you, his hands gently holding your hips as he guided himself.
Miguel was slow at first, letting you adjust to his size once completely inside you. Your cock was hard under the surface, spilling precum into the water already. He kissed along your neck and jawline, being gentle as he started leaving little marks on your skin. He then started to move his hips, thrusting into you at a steady pace.
You covered your mouth with your hand, a desperate attempt to muffle your moans. It felt so good, and heâs so much bigger than any man you had previously been with. His hands moved from your hips and up your torso, feeling your soft skin as his pace quickened slightly. He trances every curve of your body with his fingers, admiring every detail.
His touch drove you crazy, leaving a warm feeling where ever his skin had met yours. He started to thrust harder, slamming into you and encouraging you closer to release. You let out gasps and moans as he did so, feeling a familiar knot form in your gut.
Miguel bit at your neck, as if he were marking you as his. That sent you over the edge, the pain of his teeth mixing with pleasure was too much. He felt you tighten slightly around his cock as you spilled cum into the water, you panting and whimpering as you did so. He loved those sounds, you sounded so desperate to him, so beautiful.
It wasnât long before he came inside you, feeling your ass with his seed. His thrusts didnât slow as he fucked his cum deeper into you. You moaned and whined a little in protest, feeling slightly overstimulated from so much pleasure.
He finally pulled out and holds you onto some flat rocks above the water near the entrance. You could see his face better, damn heâs hot. Well, you already knew that but still. Seeing his face in the light was almost enough to get you hard again.
With the added light you could see his tail under the water. It was beautiful, shimmering in the sunlight. How could anyone be afraid of this? Heâs gorgeous, and you you definitely be returning to this beach often.
âââ
Idk if anyone wants to be tagged since itâs an M!Reader but here you go anyway haha
@6thhokageswife @zaunsin @famouscattale @m4dyy @thedevax @migueloharastruelove @queerponcho @lynnxnnyl
#miguel o'hara#across the spiderverse#atsv#atsv miguel#miguel oâhara x reader#miguel oâhara smut#miguel oâhara kinktober#miguel oâhara x male reader
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đȘ© Disco Snow
A/N: soft, groovy seventies Harry.
C.W: DRUG USE. Just my usual nasty shit. Rough, spanking, choking, drug use, spit kink.
Word Countâ6.8k
Enjoy x
* * *
Miami 1977.
Chemicals.
Blow.
Tangy, burning, and exciting.
They infiltrate your mind as you bend over the marble countertop in your kitchen.
You slowly come to a stand, wiping your left nostril. You feel your nose tingle and seep into a numbness you know will soon mirror in your throat.
Amber gently bumps your hip, taking the rolled-up bill from your fingers and smoothing out the line of powder laid out for her. She snorts it with a sigh of relief, straightening and flicking a smile your way.
"Feels groovy, huh?"
You roll your head back with a grin, feeling the buzz in your veins already. "So good."
"Let's go, disco chic!"
Miami. A bustling city with a nightlife that thrills you. A deep contrast to the person you are during more acceptable hours.
For tonight, you switched out your sleepwear for your favourite orange bell-sleeved mini dress. Your feet are settled into your white knee-high platform boots.
Amber's done your makeup in hues of emerald green, and orange lipstick to match your attire. She fiddles with the hem of her blue mini dress as you hail a cab to the curb and set on your way to the club.
The Hall of Mirrors.
A club infamous for its disco music, great alcohol, and acceptance for anyone. It's where you frequently go to have a good night, much like most in the city. It's where anyone of any sex could go and rely on the building to hold their secrets. Withhold judgment.
The Hall of Mirrors is no stranger to your secrets. To your nights of sneaking down dark hallways and slipping to your knees for a man, or into a supply closet to taste a woman on your mouth. Tripped out on pills or lines of snow.
The music calls to you before you even go in. The bouncer knows you well, allowing you entry without so much as a second glance. The club is packed, which isn't unusual. The collection of disco balls hang from the ceiling, the strobe lights reflecting tiny fragments of light from them. They bounce across every inch of skin, every section of the walls. The pattern heightens your sense of lucidity, red, pink, and purple semi-circular wallpaper that you know will begin to distort as the night progresses.
And as if you need a reminder of how much you're dying for a drink, you taste the stark sugar slipping down your throat. With a grimace at the strong taste of it, you pull Amber to the bar.
Cameron, one of the bartenders, waves at you, mouthing your usual? You nod, pleased when she places two gin and tonics on the bar top in front of you and Amber.
It's all feels like a blur. It always does during the buildup. The drive to the club, the quenching of thirst with gin. The night doesn't truly start until you're on the dance floor.
"Bottoms up, chic!" Amber yells over the bass of the music.
You cheer your glasses together and down the contents. The ice clinks against your teeth, but your gums are so numb you barely feel it.
"Let's show these bitches who own the dance floor!"
The two of you squish and squeeze past dancers to get to the middle, soon finding a rhythm along to The Hustle. Unashamed, you yell out the words, swaying and throwing your best moves her way.
You can feel the effects start to energise your body. The way it seems to make you feel unstoppable, sexy, otherworldly.
You wrap your arms around Amber's neck, letting her turn in your hold and rub against you. In any other setting, this would harbour attention from others that one could only deem as judgmental. But not here. Not in the Hall of Mirrors. Here you are free and open.
It's a sensation of effortlessness. You feel limitless. One with the music, one with every soul in the building. After a parade of songs, you and Amber pull away from the dance floor and slip into the bathroom, refreshing the buzzing high in your veins before heading back out.
And then you see him. It's an eerie sort of feeling. It's a dance floor, it doesn't necessarily have the best lighting and there are so many people. But it's almost as if you're meant to see him. A flash of light illuminates his existence momentarily before the strobe fades away and appears elsewhere.
What you notice first are curls. Dripping waves parted in the middle of his head that spiral along his forehead, sticking to the skin with perspiration. A jeweled hand comes up to brush them away from his vision before he erupts in a dimpled smile at his friend. Even from here, you can make out the shape of his bunny teeth.
And then he spins in a circle and throws some finger guns. From there, your exploration veers south. A low-cut black tank top, exposing two swallows fluttering their wings against his chest, a cross pendant nestled safely between them.
His broad shoulders sport more ink and your eyes dart across every bare inch of skin and you spot a smattering of tattoos along his arms.
As if to contrast his more intimidating attire, from the hips down is bubblegum pink. Flared pants that hug his hips and accentuate the length of his legs. He lifts his leg, the bell-bottoms sharing a glimpse of his footwear. Patent black leather books with an impressive heel. Already so tall and towering, you admire how he's wearing them as a fashion statement and nothing more.
He holds his friend's hands, arching them high in the air before swirling his hips and yelling along to the song. His friend, lanky and shaggy-haired, pulls away and gives his best shot at the robot.
Amber clicks her fingers in front of you. "You good?"
You blink, steering your vision away from him and back to her. "Yeah, buzzing now!"
And you dance like no one is watching. You try to drive your attention away from the man who clearly hasn't seen you.
Sweaty. Hot. Snow.
Your body feels like a live wire, the music thrumming in your veins.
Your feet are throbbing but you don't care. Your vision floats back to the man and a sense of delight washes over you at the sight of him. He's closer to you now, bumping his hips to the song. Your brows raise when he grinds his bum up against a man's crotch.
Amber doesn't question when you inch towards him. It's subtle, and you keep dancing and swaying and singing.
You look up at him again and every cell in your body freezes. He's looking at you. And there's this moment when your eyes lock that the music fades. Like a bubble encases you and almost mutes it. It's very brief but still so staggering.
Suddenly, you're all bubblegum and curls.
His lips curl up into a devastatingly beautiful smile at you. He's still dancing, you're still dancing. But you're smiling at each other and suddenly bubblegum flares and chocolate curls are moving towards you. He slips past people and your dancing doesn't slow as he approaches.
Amber, so out of it and not picking up on the interaction, leeches to a man next to her and swirls her hips against him.
Up close, the man is even more stunning. Your eye line is at his chest and you spy a light dusting of hair and a film of sweat.
He grins down at you and your cheeks blush bubblegum.
"Who can do the best sprinkler?" He asks you, having to yell over the music. His accent is deep and wispy. Of course, the man with one of the most daring outfits in the joint would be British.
"Oh, it's definitely me." You offer with a sultry smile.
"Confident..." He nods, resting his hands on his hips. "I like that."
"What, you think you can out-dance me?"
He throws you a playful glare, waiting for the chorus of the song to drop before throwing his arm around in a sprinkler movement. His other hand around his head while the sprinkler, jeweled fingers, splay towards you.
And you can't help but giggle, hiding it behind your hand but the glint in your eyes is far too telling. His expression of pure joy dropping into one of unamused horror.
"Let's see it then, foxy."
You laugh, shaking your limbs out and showing off your best sprinkler move. He sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly. You wrinkle your nose and shrug your shoulders up at the piercing sound.
"We have a winner!" He shouts, hands waving through the air and alarming a few people around you. You lightly shove at his chest, your cheeks hurting from laughing so much. "Does the sprinkler queen have a name? The people need to know."
You feel very shy, suddenly. As if the influence of the power has been overshadowed by him. You give him your name, not missing the way his lips curl around the letters as he recites it to you.
"'M Harry."
Harry. Smooth. Bubblegum.
"It's nice to meet you."
His fingers come up to toy with the flared sleeve of your dress. "Love the threads."
You gesture to his pink pants. "Yours, too."
He clicks his tongue, grabs your hand, and spins you in a circle. "You flatter me. Let's throw some shapes, foxy lady!"
You grab his hands, encouraging him to shimmy with you. He's a great dancer. Tall and unashamed, moving his body without thought and doing the most ridiculous dance moves. You feel so hot and you're not sure if it's because of him, the dance floor, or the snow you snorted before.
Harry spins on his heels, forming peace signs with his fingers and waving them in front of his eyes. You mirror him with a grin and he admires the way the disco ball reflects off your face and ignites your beauty. He feels like he's been kicked in the chest. What started as a chill night out and a boogie became so much more once he saw you.
Your orange dress, tangerine and inviting. Your green eyeshadow, an exotic lagoon he's lost in.
He brings you closer, pressing you flush against his body and moving his hips with yours. His hands squeeze at your hips and if this were any other man, you'd be slapping his touch away.
But Harry is soft and colourful. Endlessly endearing. You can tell he's confident and sure of himself and that's probably the sexiest thing about him. Aside from his bare chest and tattoos. And his hair. And his smile.
"You skiing the snow tonight, little fox?"
You nod, your head feeling like a bobblehead on your neck. Your spine is tingling and the way he's looking at you is making every limb feel like jelly.
He grips the side of your neck, holding you close and resting his forehead on yours. It happens so quickly but he's so confident and you're so comfortable so you don't mind.
"Keep a lookout, yeah?"
You give him another nod. You're always so sure of yourself and now this one particular stranger is leaving you speechless. But what else can you say?
He slips his fingers into his tight tanktop to produce a small clear bag from the confines. He wiggles his brows at you and looks around you briefly before opening it up.
It's unlikely anyone would be sober enough to cause a problem with it. But he's more avoiding drawing attention to it because people will flock to him for a hit.
He thumbs the bag open, his eyes lifting to meet yours before he throws you a wink. Lifting the pendant sat between his defined pecs, he gathers a small mound of snow on the longest bar of the cross.
"Ladies first."
The chain being around his neck means he can only bring it so far to you. You lean forward, pressed right up against him, and nudge your face up so you can snort the prepared powder.
You sigh through a smile as it seeps into your bloodstream. It refreshes your high. Your energy unmatched as you start to dance to the music again. But this time it's right up against him, his core tucked up against you. Bubblegum and snow.
His hand reaches out to wipe a bit of excess power decorating the edge of your nose with a soft giggle. He gathers his own smidgen of power and snorts it before putting the bag away.
And then you're dancing. Your ass works in sweet little circles against his crotch and you rest your head back on his chest, looking up at him to let him know. Let him know that you feel him against you, growing for you.
Hard bubblegum.
Melting snow.
He twirls you, bringing his hands onto your shoulders and using his feet to find a beat with the music. More Than a Woman starts playing and you both let out excited yells. He pulls you into him again. He can't help but spin you so your ass is against him. He wraps his arms around you, your hands tangling with his where they meet at your chest.
When you start grinding back on him, his hands melt down to your hips to roll them back. Gooey bubblegum.
You watch him, his hair parted in the middle with curls falling down his forehead. He smiles down at you, a slow, lip curling, dimple encased smile. It's earth-shatteringly beautiful and when he licks his lips, you feel it resonate directly between your thighs.
His hand comes up, running up your sternum and to your throat. He can feel your heart beating under the skin, fluttering just as severely as his is. His fingers grip your chin and he leans down. His nose brushes yours and your ass presses deliciously firm against his crotch and then you really feel him.
Your eyes flicker from his, down the strong line of his nose and to his lips. Bubblegum pink, plump, and inviting.
He lets out a soft moan and then he's kissing you. It's soft at first as if gauging your reaction. Maybe he's seeing how you like it. If you want it rushed. If you want it slow and patient and controlled.
Your hand wraps around his neck to hold him there and you open your mouth to flick your tongue against his lower lip. His comes out to meet yours and he tastes phenomenal. Like vodka and cranberry juice and lust.
Harry turns you in his hold and grips your ass in two strong hands. He hauls you upwards until your center is against his. He's hard and even through his pants, you can feel the impressive size of him.
The chorus seems to mirror the newly found excitement in two souls. Climaxing and exciting. You're dancing as if it's your love language. Melting into one person and obsessed with how his body feels against yours.
You can't help but kiss him again, obsessed with the way his lips cradle your bottom one. The way he nibbles on it a little bit. The way he moans against you and screws his hips up to you.
Your eyes open to meet his and over his shoulder, you can see Amber giving you an enthusiastic thumbs up.
His finger comes up to brush your lower lip before he kisses you again with a needy hum. You're not even thinking when you grab his hand and pull him towards the bathroom. You only register his warmth and his arousal and how you want to be closer to it.
He can sense your urgency, and you're both high as shit, two pairs of boots clicking against the floor. You're giggling messes of arousal as you lure him towards the bathrooms and try to find an empty one. There's a powder room, which seems all too fitting. It's deep mint green, luxurious for such a small space. The walls are orange swirls that wave in your vision.
You drag him in and close the door, automatically flipping the lock but he raises a brow when you unlock it again. His curls are askew, your orange lipstick in smudges on and around his mouth.
"Risky move, little fox."
"Shut up."
You're kissing him again. You press him up against the sink, his dick hard against you. He moans as you suck on his tongue and pull him as close as you can get him. His arms wrap around you, his hands fisting the material of your dress at the small of your back. It lifts, scrunching up and exposing your ass.
He grips the bare skin on his hands, rolling your center up against his. His fingers dip between your cheeks, slipping forward until he's brushing your clothed cunt with his fingertips.
You release a soft whimper and roll your warmth along his touch. You're already so wet, you can tell. And so can he.
But before he can explore any further, you're dropping to your knees. Harry swears under his breath as you palm him through his bubblegum pants, so hard and ready for you. You stare up at him, his pupils dilated from the snow and from you.
You pop the single button and pull the zipper down, suddenly not feeling very patient. Your attempt to inch them down so you can play with him further is stunted.
"These are so tight."
He offers a sweet little laugh into the air, pulling his pants down for you, his rings clinking as he does so.
When you finally set your eyes on him, it's then that you feel intimidated for the first time. He's not wearing underwear and for some reason, that alone is already so fucking hot. He's huge. In every aspect. In width, in length. The tip of him is the same colour of his lips, a rosy hue deepening the more turned on he's getting.
You slide forward, wrapping your hand around him. He's silky, smooth, and hot in your palm. You drag your fist up, a drop of pre-come pearling at the tip. You flick your tongue out against it, tasting the saltiness on your taste buds.
Harry groans at the sight of you on your knees for him. He bends down, cupping your chin and angling you up so he can kiss you. He tastes himself on your tongue and he spreads his hand along your cheek, rubbing it with his thumb.
"Keep going."
His expression is one of lustful encouragement as he straightens and you envelop the head in your mouth with a suck. You use your hand to work the skin, spreading the wetness from your mouth down his shaft.
You take him deeper, allowing yourself to become fully immersed in pleasing him. His hand tangles in your hair, guiding your mouth up and down his shaft.
He moans, deep and dirty and you feel it between your legs. He emits a soft sigh as you take him fully, your nose pressed against his abdomen. You can feel the hair there tickle your skin and you retract and start bobbing against him.
The bass of the music conceals the questionable sounds you're making and Harry's hand tightens in your hair as you work him. He rolls his head back on his neck, feeling the tingling in his spine sharpen and bridge out to every limb, every nerve.
Your mouth is searing hot and wet around him, your tongue caressing the underside of his dick. You struggle around the fullness of him but the way he's looking at you spurs you on. He feels amazing, the way he guides you, pushes you further but never past your unspoken boundaries.
You hold him in the back of your throat and the sound he gives you is almost a growl. It's low, derived from his chest and so fucking desperate. Using his hold on your hair, he pulls you back. You've made a mess of him and yourself. Orange lipstick smudges and your spit.
"Come here, little fox."
You stand, stumbling a little in your heels but he spins you and sits you on the countertop. Your dress slips high up your thighs and he squeezes at them. His touch slides higher and he hisses as he meets the lace of your panties.
Your hand comes down to meet his, encouraging it higher. Closer to where you need him. Harry kisses you, one hand on the side of your neck, the other up your dress.
And suddenly, it's like neither of you can wait anymore. You pull him towards you as he slips your panties down your legs, hanging from one ankle. His kisses move from your lips, a messy trail down your chin, your neck, the swell of your breasts.
Then he's kneeling in front of you, his gaze on yours before it slowly slips between your legs. You're saturated for him and his staring is so fucking intimate. He can't wait to taste you, to feel you.
His hand raises, his thumb brushing your clit. Your thighs tense as he rubs slow circles like he's winding you up. His thumb ventures south and parts your folds, collecting your wetness there and dragging it back up to your clit.
You let out a soft whimper as his pressure deepens. The added moisture from your arousal feeling somehow sweeter in addition to how he's touching you.
"Pretty thing." He coos, looking back up at you.
He withdraws his thumb and sucks it into his mouth with a hum. Without breaking eye contact, he lowers his head and flicks his tongue ever so gently against your sensitive clit.
You sway your hips up at the slight bit of attention, already desperate for more. He licks up your slit, fully tasting you and closing on your clit in a kiss. You gasp and take a fistful of his hair as he works your cunt with his mouth.
He moves lower, tonguing your entrance and slipping it inside of you while his nose buries itself against your clit.
He shakes his head from side to side, fully absorbed in you. He eats you out so intensely. An enthusiasm you've ever felt from another partner. You look down and his eyes are closed, fully enjoying his head between your legs where he's tasting you.
You pull his hair harder and he moans, the vibrations from it sent throughout your lower half.
Harry raises a finger to his mouth, sucking it past his lips to get it nice and wet. And then he slides it inside of you, flicking it up in a hook to press against your g-spot. Your spine straightens at the sensation, and he slips another finger alongside it. You whine out his name as he pulls the tips of his fingers along your sweet spot, pulsing them and building you up to your release.
He moves his whole arm with blinding speed, the pleasure increasing rapidly. No one has ever made you feel this way, a bliss so deep. He knows exactly what he's doing and he knows how insanely good he's got you.
He looks up at you and gives you the cockiest smirk before sucking on your clit. His teeth nibble on it gently before he traps it between them and flicks his tongue along it. You throw your head back, collapsing against the mirror.
Harry pulls you up, spinning you so you're bent over the counter with your ass perked back. He eats you this way, spreading you open to him and pressing his mouth tight against you. His nose is buried inside you, his tongue against your clit again and he slaps your ass. It's a mild slap but you moan nonetheless.
"Again." You gasp out, so close to coming and addicted to him.
"You're a dirty little fox, aren't you?" He spanks you again. Harder.
You turn and look at him. "Is that all you got?"
He breaths out a laugh and buries his face against your cunt once more, spanking the opposite cheek, hard. And then your lower thigh, right below your ass. The sting is softened by how beautiful his mouth is against you. He finds your clit again to drill his tongue on it.
"I'm close," You reach back, taking a fistful of curls and hold him there.
"That's it," He coos against you. "Come all over my face."
Your orgasm is an eruption of euphoria. Searing hot pink that melts into bubblegum pop. You cry out his name, your entire body going lax against the counter as you fucking shake.
His mouth never lets up, letting you ride through the pleasure of your orgasm. His mouth is slow to leave you as you come down, his lips kissing the skin of your ass.
You're not expecting it when his hands leave your ass all too quickly. You watch him in the mirror as he retrieves his little bag.
"Stay still." He orders. He taps powder onto your ass, right over a handprint he's left. He ensures the line is relatively straight with his finger, one that he soon after gives you to suck the powder off. And he snorts the line he's prepared, licking the residue off your ass with a devilish smile.
And, for good measure, he slaps you again.
You bite your lip to stifle a giggle, reaching back and wrapping your hand around his dick. You work his shaft and he staggers in a couple of steps closer. The tip of him nudges your ass, his pre-come kissing your skin and leaving it wet.
He moans, moving to grip your hips and fully standing behind you. His cock brushes between your legs and you whimper at the anticipation of feeling him even more.
"You want me to fuck you, sweet fox?"
"Yes,"
"Where are your manners?" He's teasing you now. You both know there's no way he's not fucking you.
He's just making you simmer in the heat he's stirred up.
"Please fuck me, Harry."
He loves how your name sounds leaving your mouth. Orange painted lips caressing each letter, sweet and fiery at once.
"There's a good girl."
You feel his tip slide between your folds, he dips his knees to adjust his angle. One hand around his shaft to guide it, the other on your hip with a grip that almost too tight. He takes a step forward, glides his hips forward. And it's pure ecstasy.
The way he stretches you is heavenly. It's a low, humming burn almost. A buzzing delight of feeling so full. He's so big and thick, tucked right up against your g-spot. It feels so fucking good and he hasn't even moved yet.
You release a hefty gasp as he moans out your name at the feel of you.
His other hand wraps itself in your hair to keep you looking at him in the mirror and then he's fucking you. His thrusts are delicious. He's fluid, like rolling waves to shatter a galaxy inside of you.
Your eyes meet his in the mirror and he gives you a slow smile before slapping the skin of your ass again. Before you can even cry out at the stinging sensation, he's fucking you so hard you have to bring a hand up to the mirror to balance yourself.
He settles behind you, his lips at your ear. Two sets of breath fog the glass of the mirror.
"That's it, watch me while I destroy this pussy."
The Hall of Mirrors. A second home to you, reflective and encasing. Now you're watching this man fucking destroy you in the bathroom mirror. Your pupils are dilated, much like his are. Black holes, targeting each other and threatening to consume each other.
He wraps his hand around your throat and screws his dick deep, massaging your g-spot so perfectly. You're sure that without the stability of the counter holding you up, you'd be a quivering pile of bones on the floor.
"Fuck, and you thought my pants were tight?" He smirks at you in the mirror.
You release a breathless laugh that's swept away when he starts pounding into you. He grunts with every thrust, taking you so hard you can barely breathe. His skin slaps against yours and he squeezes his hand around your throat to hold you still.
The snow is heightening every sense you have. Your ass is stinging more than normal, your arousal higher than normal. But you know that has more to do with him than narcotics. And when his other hand reaches around to rub your clit, you feel that so strongly that you cry out his name and fucking writhe underneath him.
"Take it, little fox. Take it like the good fucking girl you are."
He moves his hips more sharply, hitting that sweet spot inside of you. He pushes one of your legs up onto the counter and he's so much deeper that way. That in combination with the way he's playing your clit is driving you mental. You're so close and he can feel it, feel your walls tremble and tighten around him.
You're gasping out his name, helpless to how relentlessly he's fucking you. He growls as you clench around his dick, his hand on your throat slipping up so he can put two of his fingers in your mouth. You suck on them gratefully, using your teeth to show him how good he's fucking you.
You're so fucking close but he does the unthinkable... he pulls away. Completely. Leaving you empty and teetering on the edge, yanking you back abruptly.
He doesn't give you a second to question him before he's spinning you around and sitting you up on the counter. He steps forward and you scoot towards him, wrapping your legs around his waist.
Your hand takes his shaft once more, pulling the skin in a firm first. He moans and lulls his forehead against yours.
"I was so close." You pout hotly against his lips.
"I'll get you there again," He hums, grabbing the base of his dick and running the tip of it between your saturated folds. "Is this what you want?"
"Please," You lean forward and kiss him. His length nudges your entrance but he makes no move to do anything further. "Give me your cock."
"That's what I want to hear."
He smiles, wrapping his hand around your throat again and sliding inside of you with one smooth movement of his hips. Your mouth drops open at the fullness of him. He's so much deeper this way, and so much more intimate with the way he's staring at you.
"Fuck me, Harry. Hard."
He releases another moan, this one more of a growl, and starts fucking you again. Using his hold around your throat and another hand on your hip. He leans you back a little so he can fully enjoy the display of your body and watch where he's fucking you.
He brings your head forward by your throat, your mouth opening at the force and he takes the chance to spit in your mouth.
"Get your clit for me while I fuck this pretty little cunt."
You whimper, sticking your fingertips into your mouth to get them wet with your spit as well as his. And with a shaking hand, reach down with and rub your clit. You feel the bursts of your orgasm brewing, your walls quivering around him.
It's building quickly and you kiss him again, feeling them tingle in your toes with every brush of his tongue. The door behind him starts to open, a drunk man slurring his words behind it. Harry slams it shut while your hand flies from your clit.
"Ocupado!" Harry yells out, his hips faltering momentarily as he locks the door.
Your cheeks heat at the prospect of someone walking in and seeing you this way. A little in embarrassment, a little in excitement.
Harry senses that you're thrown off and fucks your harder, his fingers finding your clit. "Don't worry about him, sweet little fox. You're so close, let's get you there. I can fucking feel it."
You cry out as he destroys you from the inside out, working you into a pleasured frenzy. His hand pulls the top of your dress down over your tits and they spill out. He squeezes them, pulling at your nipples and biting them.
"Harry, oh my god-"
"That's it, come for me." He growls. "Put me away wet."
Your orgasm rolls through you intensely, staggering. Your hands claw at Harry's shoulders as you shake uncontrollably. His dick is unrelenting inside of you, his fingertips not letting up in the delicious patterns against your clit.
"Fucking shit." He marvels over how you feel, how tight and amazing you feel. He's so fucking turned on by you and his hips keep screwing against you.
You wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his neck and biting the skin there. He smells amazing. Like he's been dancing in a pool of vanilla and lavender all night. As you come down from your climax, you retract and watch where he's fucking you.
"Dreamy little cunt," He babbles, so out of it. "get so wet and tight when you come, don't you?"
"Only for you." You coo, kissing him again. He's already far better than any sexual partner you've ever had. Your walls are still trembling around him and every single tremor sends him closer to his end.
"I'm gonna come so hard- shit, you feel so good."
"I want you to come, Harry."
"Yeah?"
"Yes, I want you to feel as good as I do."
He smiles at you, dimples galore, his cheeks as pink as his pants. And then he pins you to the counter by your throat, spreading you back until you're pressed against the mirror. He starts fucking you harder, messier as his cock throbs inside of you.
"Stunning little fox, so fucking perfect. Dancing in this tiny little dress," His hands grip at your breasts some more.
"Harry-"
"Grinding your ass against me, getting me hard for you. Dirty girl, fuck. You own me."
He's working himself up now, his hand tightening around your throat and forcing you to keep looking at him. He's spouting out filthy words into the air between you, unashamed and doing so much for you. You can't help but reach down and play your clit again.
He gives you a laugh, one almost of disbelief. "You like when I talk to you, hm?"
"So much."
"You gonna let me fuck you again, sweet little thing?"
"You can fuck me whenever you want." Because you both know this is the beginning of something new and exciting.
That sets him off. His orgasm blooms and spreads. Pops like a bubble of gum. He pulls out, working his hand on his shaft so fast it's a blur. You move your hand and watch him in awe. He comes directly on your pussy, mouthing dirty words and breathless moans. His other hand gripping your thigh so hard you know it will bruise.
He watches where he's painted you, his come dripping on your lower abdomen, along your clit and your folds. He's a mess, breathing heavily and working the rest of his high from his length.
Thoughtless, he crouches and licks his orgasm from your skin. You moan as he kisses you there, licking every ounce of his come in his mouth. His tongue teases your clit and your thighs jump at the sensitivity.
He stands, cloudy and slow. And he grips your chin harshly, forcing you to open your mouth. As soon as you do, he's spitting heavily into it.
"Don't swallow."
As you fully taste his come on your tongue, he's kissing you. You moan, tasting his orgasm with yours, his tongue with yours. It's so dirty and unhinged but you can't help but feel fucking feral for him over it.
"Good girl." He praises as he pulls away.
He rights his attire, his movements lagged. Like the only thing he can fathom is you and everything else is a chore.
You stare at him, your panties hanging from one ankle, your pussy glistening and spent from him. Bubblegum obsessed. Chocolate curls addicted.
"Gorgeous little fox. Should we ditch this joint and head back to mine?"
You sit up and throw your arms around his neck and kiss him. "Yes, please."
"I want to enjoy you properly." He sighs against your mouth. "Get you out of this dress. Spread you along my sheets, watch your tits bounce while you ride me."
You breathe out a soft whimper at the idea of continuing this for the rest of the night. "I love the sound of that."
He kisses you, deep and wet. "Make you come until I'm dripping in you."
His length, returned to the confines of his pants once more, twitches against your thigh.
"We need to actually leave this room for that to happen." You muse.
He lets out a loud cackle, cupping the back of your neck to draw you towards him. He helps you fix your dress, your panties stripping from your foot and you raise a brow as he tucks them into the back pocket of his pants.
"Didn't know you'd have much room for anything else in those."
"That cheeky mouth is why you're not getting your panties back."
After another round of kisses, the two of you emerge from the room. And while you're both giddy with excitement from what has happened and what else the night holds, no one else in the club bats an eye. Your underwear feels heavy and scandalous in his pocket as he guides you through the crowded dance floor, both of your hands wrapped around one of his.
Thanks to his already tall frame, and heels, he locates his friend quickly. Who is chatting to Amber. You raise a brow at her with a cheeky smile at the sight of them dancing together.
Harry's friend holds his hand out to you, "Mitch!"
You shake his hand and introduce yourself, projecting your voice over the music. You turn to Amber. "We're going to head off, are you okay here?"
She nods frantically. "Honey, I'm so okay!"
Mitch and Harry exchange smirks and hug goodbye.
"Peace, love, and granola, Mitch!"
The air of Miami cools your skin as you step out onto the curb. Harry lags behind, admiring the curve of you and the skin the low hem of your dress offers. He grabs your hand and spins you in a little circle before giving an ear-piercing whistle to hail a cab.
He's all over you in the back of the car. His lips going from yours down your neck, the swell of your breasts. The hem of your dress hitched up, your legs slung over his lap as he fucking devours you. Savours you. Ravishes you.
His apartment, much like his attire is bold, bright, and brave. Warm oranges and reds. Like a sunset on fire, or the heated and sizzling arousal between you. It cozy and art deco and very much Harry. He offers you a half-assed tour of his home but he's undressing you with his eyes. The silhouette of your dress begging for him to see just how much better you are underneath the material.
And once you reach his bedroom, the large, circular bed is all you can focus on. Mint green bedding. The room itself is impressive, the wall behind the bed sporting what looks like a melted sunset. Orange, pink yellow all mended together to offer an accent. Harry peels off your boots and the yellow shaggy rug is soft against your toes.
He puts a record on to spin, Just One Look playing softly in the air.
Suddenly, you're on your back on the bed. Harry hovers over you, his hand cupping your cheek as if he really can't believe you're real.
Is he tripping on a tab of acid or are you really in front of him? Unbelievably lucid and dreamy. Causing fireworks and sunsets in his tummy.
Your eyeshadow matches his bedsheets, he realizes. Little fox, you're meant to be.
His sheets are crisp and smell of him. The tones of his sheets are similar to the mint green of the powder room as if a continuation of what started in there. Dirty, open, and vulnerable.
Like the disco balls in the Hall of Mirrors, fragments of two glass souls mended together in beautiful unity. Dazzling, luminous. Capturing every fraction of light to reflect it in hues every spectrum can admire.
#harry styles filth#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#70s#wattpad#harry styles one shot#harry styles smut#hslot#smut
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what do you think mitziâs type in men is?
hmm, this is a fun little ask! especially since her love interests, on a surface level, couldnât be more different. we have :
zib : former long term boyfriend but not quite ⊠they were very loose with labels, as we know from outside information and the way zib lives life in general. but despite this, whatever feelings fostered between them were intense ; enough so for him to stick around years later, resigned to a chained down lifestyle simply because he doesnât want to leave mitzi. heâs very loyal in that sense! even if itâs not a conventional type of loyalty. we know that before bitterness seeped inbetween their bond that zib took good care of her, while also being a complete mess of a person ; someone perpetually scared whenever physical conflict is concerned and being a musically inclined man who very much treats himself as a free spirit, with a morbid philosophy and feel towards life. heâs got a major tortured artist aesthetic!! is a little gripped by melancholy and nostalgia ⊠zib is a lot of things, and ambitious is surprisingly one of the many puzzle pieces that make up dorian zibowski.
atlas : ruthless gangster, has an eerie presence that frightens even the people closest to him. he is prone to a more quiet disposition ; never speaking and always a blot of unremarkable grey. but he is an opportunist! someone who can manage a business and take advantage of shortcuts and loopholes to become even more successful ⊠basically he is wealthy and uses his assets well. but all of this is done with a manner of distance, leaving even those closest to him never having the full picture of who he was. itâs also worth noting that mitzi and him had eventual problems, which caused her to seperate. also perhaps has a heart of some kind, but whatever love he possesses is hidden under layers of blood and mystery.
wick : well-to-do bore, and i say this with all the love in the world for wick! but compared to previous paramours heâs rather clean and talkative ⊠there is a constant earnestness to him that bleeds out, an honesty and a more conventional sort of kindness. he doesnât hide behind smoke and mirrors and thereâs never really a front he puts up around mitzi -- or his investors for that matter, hence why heâs treated as an âoutsiderâ so to speak. he is an alcoholic who loathes the details of his job but is more than passionate about the job itself and makes this everyoneâs problem ⊠he is a little helpless, in the sense heâd die without someone there to make sure he functions ⊠and is, like zib, perpetually afraid of conflict. can be a little wishywashy and can come across as uncaring due to his cheeky tone ⊠but heâs loyal and caring, with a hobby for the unusual ( bugs and rocks lol ) as well as being able to look past the gossip mill and see the actual mitzi may as he knows her, someone whoâs going through a rough time and is either too kind or classy to be a brutal killer. he is hypocritical, a little snobby, and rather forward with mitzi too. kind of a flirt when he wants to be!
something that immediately stands out to me when looking at this lineup is that mitzi doesnât enjoy a violent man. i donât think she loathes someone who can so brutally or clinically remove others from this earth, but if she were to go for someone theyâd usually be sweeter in a sense. it meshes well with her old personality and kinder heart, perhaps brings it out in her, and that sort of levity and breeziness is more enjoyable than, say, being fully aware of the dangers that lurk around every corner because the man youâre beside is prone to bringing it. she also enjoys more talkative types, someone whoâs less quiet and demure and serious, and is keen on her men having a hobby they care deeply for ; some sort of long term goal to work towards doesnât hurt either. and because of some scenes in the comic, iâm a firm believer that mitzi wants someone who can make her smile or laugh with ease, whether because theyâre ridiculous by nature or genuinely funny! she has a sort of funny bone herself, enamored with gallowâs humor and darker jokes, so having someone who either a.) reacts hilariously in the face of her jokes or b.) who can return that energy with teasing or their own brand of silly is desirable. everyone could use a good laugh or two, a sense of joy injected into the bustling life they all live, and this all ties back to mitzi being more drawn towards the less stuffy types of men.
so atlas seems to be an outlier when it comes to her type in many ways, hence the later problems they apparently had in their relationship even if she did love him dearly. but, of course, atlas did have something very appealing to her that zib had failed to give, which she rather fondly recalls in the comic page vestige. whether zib likes acknowledging it or not, mitzi wasnât as gungho about their normad life as he was ⊠or, at the very least, when she lived another life besides that one, she realized she had a preference! and atlas gave her that path, that knowledge that she wanted something else, and seemingly for the very first time in her life ⊠she felt like a proper lady, a feeling that clearly meant a lot to her. it wasnât just the dresses or the wealth, it was the constant eye of atlas who could have any dame he wanted, but fancied her his wife regardless. it was having someone so respectable looking, dressed well and groomed well, being able to see her as something other than a sweating, exposed girl in a bawdy dress. atlasâs seemingly polite treatment towards mitzi was enough to garner her affections in spite of everything else, so i think she enjoys that now in others, ; folks who treat her as though sheâs a woman in high society, men who donât gawk at her or make lewd remarks immediately ⊠she probably prefers the courting process now and the quaint dates ( that she doesnât pay for, mind you ) that come along with it. she just -- likes mutual respect, i think. and who doesnât? sheâs been through a lot to get to where she is now, even if itâs a bad predicament, and sheâd like for that to amount to something. some sort of acknowledgment, some kind of recognition.
however, itâs worth mentioning that her views on romance and all that it entails have been warped since the death of her husband. such a loss would change how anyone approaches their dating life, if they were to even have one afterwards ⊠after all, mitziâs whole problem is that she doesnât want to move on from atlas and has thus completely romanticized him in her head, to the point that she earnestly believes sheâll be miserable forever without his presence. any problems she had with atlas have long since been erased by her tortured mind, leaving her with a profound misery sheâs wallowing in. i think she believes herself as incapble of romantic or sexual inclinations nowdays, leading her to view the advances made towards wick as a necessary âevilâ for the sake of atlas may and little else -- when she genuinely does like sedgewick to a degree, and wouldnât go on dates or kiss a man unless some part of her honestly wanted to do so. ( i also think she was attracted to wick somewhat even while married to atlas, but thatâs besides the point ) so this is all a rather complicated affair! she is vulnerable and weak, is too aware of herself and the criminal underbelly squeezing in closer ⊠add this on top of her still heavily grieving and having no one she feels she can talk to, you have someone who is rather changed. mitzi is so far removed from herself and who she truly is, or was, that thereâs no doubt itâs affected her type ; now sheâll settle for anyone if theyâll just help her, and even then sheâd be dispassionate if romantic entanglement of any kind was involved in that relationship. itâs not something she wants right now, and honestly, it all seems scary and daunting ⊠besides atlas, zib was the only other man sheâs ever loved enough to stay around for, so sheâs never faced a loss like this before. has kept zib throughout all the turmoil and changes -- so this is, as far as we know, her first major loss where it concerns matters of the heart. itâs not shocking sheâs so messed up after it, especially given how fresh it all still is. all of this rambling is to say that mitziâs a little more stingy and cagey then she used to be about love or sex, and she has a lot of inner battles to face before she can fall for someone and be sure about it. needs to thaw, i think, and she would require patience and understanding from anyone who actually wanted to be with her. mitzi could move on with time ( i do not think sheâs the type of widow whoâd never date again! ) but it would take quite some time to do so. well, in a world where sheâs allowed / is able to heal anyway!
while her type would probably remain the same, i could see her wanting a serious relationship more than she did prior to the death of her husband. has no energy for the loopholes, or the rationalizations, or the fickle nature that can grip someoneâs heart. she has matured in a lot of ways since her band days and would take comfort in frivolous things like labels and promises of a future, together, as lovers. while what she had with zib was nice and is cherished alongside the freedom to do as she pleased while on the road with the band, i donât think she misses it. having the stability and assurance of an actual relationship, with all the hardships that come with it, would be better suited for her. as long as sheâs treated like an equal of course! i donât think sheâd be keen on her partner hiding anything from her, even if itâs meant to protect her, due to where that put mitzi when atlas was killed. sheâd rather know and be disgusted, or worried, or scared than to not know about something at all until itâs too late ⊠again. naturally patience and compassion would also be of importance, as would the usual things she loves like loyalty and a passion for something in life. and while never required, sheâd be happy if the person possessed even a singular musical bone in their body! she still thinks artists, particularly musicans, are sexy after all ⊠likes the angst and brooding that comes with it, the slight flare towards the dramatics ⊠as long as they can handle mitzi in her pitiful entirety and do, to some degree, care deeply for her and will compromise ⊠i think she could find some happiness wherever. bonus points if she can live comfortably for the rest of her days too, lord knows sheâs tired of the constant battle of hucking and bargaining.
but yeah! mitziâs love life is vast and complex and i definitely see her as someone who is more flexible in type than other people are. though there are similarities between her suitors if you really look! anyway, i hope i was able to briefly touch upon this subject because my shipping brain loved your question and kinda went into overdrive, alas. tldr ; her ideal type is wick sable. sorry. once wick learns an instrument the wedding is back on!! ⊠iâm kidding lol. well, mostly <3
#my asks.#lackadaisy analysis.#lackadaisy#mitzi may#iâm a person who believes the dixie drifters were one big polyam mess!! just on the record haha#and while that polyam and open relationship lifestyle was nice i do not think mitzi enjoyed all of it âŠ#which isnât to say sheâs PURELY monogamous now! but she leans more towards it than not i think#she enjoys having one partner solely focused on her ⊠someone entirely her own âŠ#but she could ( potentially ) be alright with or encourage them to take on a third#or a forth ⊠it all depends really! but she is still flexible in a lot of ways romantically#anyway!! i hope this makes some semblance of sense!!#i have many thoughts about mitziâs love life and her romantic relationships and grief#so i tried to put a sprinkle of all that in here since itâs relevant to the topic#while also avoiding tangents!!!#in the end i think iâm a little confusing but get the points across regardless so <3 iâll stop messing with this and just post it already#thank you for wanting me to go crazy and talk about mitzi may AND her shipping scene#( also forgot to add this but mitzi loves a person who will take photos with her or be photographed BY her#sheâs big on photos ⊠and a man whoâs depressed. but thatâs kinda obvious given her love interests lmao )
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Spellbound Secrets
chapter six: garden chat
synopsis: The House of Lamentation caught fire one night, and you were the only one they recovered from the wreckage. The brothers were in the house as well when you went to bed that night, but they were nowhere to be found. The pact marks are faded, and seem to be getting more and more indefinite by the day. You and Solomon get to investigating but oddly enough, nobody can seem to remember the missing brothers. Itâs up to you, with the help of Solomon, to find your beloved demons, lest you never see them again.
navigation: playlist | prologue | chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six (you are here!) | chapter seven (coming next saturday)
authors note: most of these a/s are just me apologizing now but sorry this chapter is shorter than usual. I thought about getting out the plot point in this chapter and just making it longer. but honestly it's just easier for me to do it this way. i might make the next chapter a little longer as an extra apology. classes have been eating up all my time, like i thought it would haha. huge thank you to my like, eight consistent readers of this fic <3 you're all the best
"You were there?" You didn't remember much yourself, but you assumed your memories weren't tampered with, like everyone else's had been.
"I was. Which raises the question: why would I forget that night? Nobody else seemed to remember the brothers. We were only concerned about getting you to safety. If I had already forgotten about the brothers, what was the point of forgetting that night too?" The gardens settled into an eerie absences of noise. The two of you couldn't look anywhere but at each other.
"What happened?" You finally spoke. He seemed to understand what you were referring to, and winced a little.
"Are you sure you want to know?" He asked.
"I need to know if we want to get to the bottom of this." You drew in a deep, shaky breath, preparing yourself for what he was about to tell you.
"You're right." He then began to describe what the night had been like from his perspective. The reasoning of why you were at the House of Lamentation matched that of what Diavolo had told you, even though now you both knew that that couldn't be the case. He remembered waking up to an unusually strained sounding Barbatos, who told him the news. He then woke up Simeon, who decided to stay behind with Luke, since neither of them wanted him to see that. The next thing he vividly remembered was rushing to the House of Lamentation and being mesmerized by the odd flames. He described them as a peachy color, and in the center, where it was the hottest, it was a pale pink. That alone told the both of you that it couldn't have been an ordinary fire.
"I don't get it. Why would you forget that?" You took in a deep breath and wracked your brain for any sort of explanation.
"That's exactly it. It makes no sense. That, along with a few other details makes me think something more nefarious is at play." Solomon's eyes narrowed.
"I know the brothers have their enemies, but I don't think any of them could even be capable of something like this. How powerful do you need to be to even get the Demon Lord himself to forget the existence his right hand man?" You thought aloud.
"I have a couple more proposals of where we can from here. We'll come back to that previous point later." You were glad he seemed to have a plan. You honestly wouldn't even know where to start without him.
"I'm listening." You put your coffee to the side. You were no longer interested in drinking it.
"Jumping off what you said, we should look into those who openly hated the brothers before everything happened. It might be interested to read about them now, considering they now no longer hate them."
"How would we find all of them? All we have is our own memories. They're not bad by any means, but there's no way we would both know about all of them."
"I actually have a list, back at my house in the human world. So, in case you were wondering, our trip is still on!" He smiled at you.
"I won't ask why you have that." You knew Solomon. With him, you always had to expect the unexpected. Keeping tabs on enemies wasn't unheard of, but it was only a little odd considering some of them likely had no clue who he was.
"We can also research that particular color of fire. It has to be connected to the nature of your injuries. The doctors had no explanation, so maybe we can find it ourself."
"Alright, we can do that. I don't mind doing more reading." You were actually quite excited at the thought of finding an answer. You didn't know if your burns would behave more like a normal burn, or if they'd remain just as they were for the rest of your life. If the latter was the case, answers would be more than welcome if you'd have to be stuck with them.
"To better help answer our questions, it would be best to go to the source."
"Go to the source?" Your heart sunk. You knew it had been briefly mentioned before, but you hadn't even begun to process what that might entail. You weren't sure if you could do it.
"I've probably said it before, but you don't need to come with me. I don't know how you're feeling, but I'd be an awful person if I made you." He said. He knew you too well.
"I'll think about it." You told him.
"Take your time. I don't need an answer right now. Don't feel obligated to say yes, either." He reached out across the table to take your hand. He stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. It felt so right to have your fingers interlocked with his.
"Thanks." You'd said that word lots of times over the past few days, but you meant it equally every single time.
"Don't mention it. I think that's everything I wanted to talk about. Do you have anything you want to add?" Solomon paused.
After thinking for a moment, you responded. "I know it's too early into our investigation to tell, but I hope where ever the brothers are, they're safe. I know things aren't looking great right now, but that won't stop me from hoping."
"They're strong. Where ever they are, we'll find them. When we put our minds to something, there's nothing that can stop us." Solomon sounded optimistic. You were glad it was him by your side. You knew you could depend on him, and would do so without hesitation. Even if it wasn't the case, things just seemed easier when he was by your side.
"I know I just said I'd think about it, but I want to go with you." You responded with a newfound confidence.
"Where'd this come from?" Solomon asked.
"You, of course."
tags list: @bagofmice
#spellbound secrets#obey me#obey me!#obey me x reader#obey me solomon#omswd#obey me shall we date#obey me! shall we date#obey me! shall we date?
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ariadne's thread ⯠pt. 2: never go that way.
pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader, soobin x yeonjun, jisung & fem!reader, soobin & fem!reader. series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: abandoned in the desert sea, you take your first steps into your quest where you meet challenges that put your patience to the test and meet a collection of unusual folk - from a frustrating man with quokka-cheeks to a sweet tall blonde and his mysterious seal-fur caped partner. warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, some violence, pixies get squished, some mild injuries, anxiety, world building!!, strong language, faerie lore!!, amnesia, best boy han jisung being a fae menace!!! (we will learn his name later promise but thats Him!) soobin/yeonjun from txt cameo, selkie!yeonjun, changeling!soobin, goblin!jisung. let me know if there is anything else i should tag! word count: 7.3k first chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist
The desert sea felt endless. She wasnât sure how long sheâd trudged through the dunes; all she knew was that her shoes (which had thankfully appeared on her feet when sheâd been transported) were full of itchy sand. Grains in-between her toes, they scratched at her heels and her soles. It was annoying, but what was more annoying was that every step towards the walled maze didnât seem to make it appear any closer. In fact, it seemed like it was still so, so far away. It was like an optical illusion; the little walls growing further and further despite her continuous walking. Was this some sort of torture? A brain game? She wasnât sure. All she knew was that she was growing more and more frustrated.
The area around her was dark; the sunspot she and the King had been transported to was only so large, and the rest of the Underground was dark. Cool and dark. There was a haunting ruddiness in the distance that reminded her of the orange-red glow of fire. As if there was an ever-glowing inferno just out of reach. It was mostly from the floating candles and large roaring fires in the tall look-out posts high above the Labyrinth, she was sure of it. But it didnât make it less strange.
This whole place was strange. Glancing around with a sigh and a wipe of her brow, she noted the dead twisted plants that spotted the landscape in brown, dry patches. Cacti with withering pink flowers that looked like they would crumble away with a single harsh wind and the odd-shattered stone obelisks jutting out of the sand dunes every so many feet. She paused in her walking, harsh sand squelching in her shoes as she stood and stared around her.
The rockwork she had seen so far were crumbling things, mostly piles of rounded rubble as if they had been destroyed millennia ago. But the further she got through the dunes, the more they began to become sturdy and full things. The one beside her even had an engraving in it â in a language she couldnât decipher. The letters were curling forms, intricate by design as they crawled down the rock. It didnât look like any language she had ever seen before.
Everything felt like a dream. Eerie and off-putting with illusions too grand to be real, but standing staring at this tall rock formation⊠it felt real. It felt like it was historic. Was it a tombstone? Was it a boundary marker? Was it a monument for an old ruler or god? She didnât know. She just knew it was here, chipping away under desert sand.
Glancing away in the direction she came, she had to admit she had made progress. The sunspot she had left was far in the distance and the once far away walls of the Labyrinth were finally not despairingly far. This was when she noticed another thing: everything crawled towards the Labyrinth.
Dead vines, piling rocks shimmering with magic, withered tree branches, and even the stray night flowers curled and twisted, pointing towards the maze awaiting her. She wondered why. Was it magic? The wind? It was strange there was even wind down here. She shivered as a rush of cold air caressed her skin. Her white long sleeve tunic wasnât made for the chill of the Underground â it was just enough for the warmth of her heated house. Wrapping her arms around herself, she continued her trek towards the walls.Â
Once she got there, she had to find an entrance. Surely, that had to be easier than it seemed. But even approaching the thing felt like a mindfuck. As she got closer, she noticed how tall the exterior wall towered above her. It was made of thick slabs of grey rock that didnât seem magical. But it did seem ancient. The rock was cracked everywhere, aged by the harsh sand and winds it blocked out. The higher the walls grew, the less she could see of the interior maze. She could only hope she could figure a way once inside what seemed like a never-ending twisted path.
There were also watch points every so many feet yet she couldnât see any guards patrolling. Maybe the King sent them away? Not one of these look-out points looked to be special. They all were of equal height with a roaring flame within the columned center of the watchpoint. Nothing to hint that she should go towards it rather than another.
Just get to the wall, Y/N.
The closer she got to the Labyrinth, the more she saw evidence of civilization. Rather than loose sand, it was packed down by foot traffic and even remnants of what looked like carriages or carts. A post stood beside some sparkling, shimmering rocks â with too many signs to count crawling up the wooden thing, pointing this way and that. Chaotic. Some of the signs had been hand-painted and eroded away until the words were unreadable. Others were carved pieces of wood that were written in that strange language from the obelisk. There was one that read, in red paint, âTURN BACKâ pointing towards the Labyrinth.
Great. Very reassuring.
And then, there was a well with sparkling, cracking stonework with once-intricate tiles making up its molding. The thing was full of water, teetering at the edge of the stones, but it didnât look appetizing. It was murky dark with green algae and clover-like lily-pad structures jutting out of the surface. Small glowing blue creatures that looked like some sort of moth with transparent wings danced about the water, making ripples.Â
She swallowed â her mouth felt dry. She had to have been walking for an hour?
Squatting down, she looked over the well. It was the first thing she had stumbled upon that wasnât fully dead. The tiles were aging, but still sparkling with the magic stardust that seemed to radiate magic. Their sparkle gleamed even in the dark cave-light of the Underground. Reaching out, she wiped the dust away from a tile, the grime falling into the water and startling the glowing blue creatures away. There was a hissing sound coming from them like they were cats.
Ignoring them, she looked down at the first tile, realizing it wasnât just a pretty tile, but a painting. Each one of the stones were a painting she noticed, telling some sort of story. The art style was loose and dreamlike with cool blue and purple tones making up the color scheme. It looked like from the only full tile that it was about a girl and a boy from different worlds. One from the blue, one from the purple. Â When she blinked, it almost looked like the loosely painted figures were moving.
Scooting over, she tried to figure out the story, but each tile was too cracked and shattered. Each crack revealed a shimmering jewel like substance, almost like diamonds. It was beautiful, but definitely destroyed. She couldnât tell if it was from the harshness of the desert sea or if it was intentional.
Pushing herself up by her knees, she stood once more and looked over towards the wall only for the thing that was once still a good 15-minute walk away to be right there, only a few feet away! Her eyes widened in surprise, stumbling back into dead foliage that crunched like dead bones beneath her feet.
She wiped her hands off on her pants as she looked back where she came and back at the Labyrinth that now towered over her. Flickering flames painted the area in a warm golden light, almost a mimicry to sunlight. But it never lost its fire-smoke hue, the world painted in an orange-red sunset haze like a filter on a movie.
But it was less dark now and she was glad for it. Walking closer to the wall, she saw no entrance. The thing was cold to the touch with no discernible entrance. Just cracking rockwork with some rotting plants crawling up.
(It made her wonder if this place ever was once flourishing. How could there be so many plants if there wasnât once water? What had happened she wondered?)
She began to follow the wall, trailing a hand across the cool rock. Dodging white night-flowers and harsh sharpened vines, she continued onwards, hoping to find something, some clue, that would lead to an entrance to the Labyrinth.
The Runner walked on and on, her eyes not leaving the wall as her hand trailed over it. Feeling for something that would feel like a door or a secret. There was nothing, just a cool rock wall with creeping plants. She didnât know how long she had walked onwards. Her toes felt rubbed raw from the sand but she had to keep going.
It wasnât until she heard a noise â like someone noisily eating - that she finally looked back over at the desert sea.
There, beside a water well with red stonework rather than purple-blue sparkling tiles, sat a man. A satchel was beside him, with some sort of bread loaf resting on the fabric like it was a make-shift plate.
Someone else! Maybe they knew where to go. He looked humanesque, not a tiny bug like the blue creatures from before. There were no rules with getting help from others.
âExcuse me!â she called, rushing over to them. Optimism flashed through her.
The man turned his head, and she could see only full cheeks. Big food-filled cheeks like a chipmunk. Crumbs of honeyed-bread rested on his pouted lips. And his wide eyes blinked owlishly. Like he had been caught red handed.
âOh,â he smacked his lips as he chewed and swallowed. âItâs just you,â he said before grabbing his food and shoving the entirety of it in his mouth before standing from his crouched position.
âYou know me?â she queried, her voice stuttering.
He began to walk away, loudly chomping. She trailed behind him, brows pursed. He wasnât super tall, but he definitely held himself with an air of someone who was tall.
He snorted, crumbs tumbling from his pout and falling to the sandy floor.
âYeah, little human. I could smell you the moment you fell to the Underground.â
Smell? Her hand rose to her nose so she could smell her own skin. It didnât smell like anything to her, maybe hints of her perfume or soap?
âYou can smell me?â
He rolled his eyes as if she was dreadfully dumb.
âYes, we all can.â
His foot steps quickened as he continued trekking past the wall. Her eyes flickered from him to the wall beside them. God, he was quick.
âWait!â she called.
He wasnât extremely tall, but he somehow took wildly long strides. Stumbling over stray rocks, she tried to catch up to him.
âWhat, Runner?â he sighed as he continued walking.Â
âMy name isnât Runner â What does that even mean?â
âDo you need everything to be explained to you? Your scent, your title, your-â
Suddenly, small creatures, their size no bigger than a butterfly, flew out of their hiding spots (behind old dry ferns and the lily pads of another tiled-well.) Transparent milky-white wings and glowing trails of what looked like dandelion fluff trailed after them as they swooped down upon the fae-man. Tugging at his long hair, his clothes, scratching at his cheeks.
âUgh,â the man spluttered out, hands going to swipe at the things. âDamn pixies!â
They crawled and flew over his form, five of them. A soft chittering giggling sound bubbled from the things. He flailed and whacked at the things until with they fell off him with violent âughâs.
âFucking pests,â he cursed as he crushed one with the heel of his leathered boot.
âHey!â she exclaimed, horrified as he smeared the magic-remnant on the dirt floor with a squish. His eyes flashed to meet hers with a raised brow. He looks oddly young with his brow pursed in such a way. Innocent, like a misbehaving kid being scolded before a scowl replaced his soft-eyed expression.
âWhat?â he grounded out, whacking aside another stray pixie that had tugged at his ear.
âThey were just playing!â she defended, a hand going to shield one of the fallen pixies. Her gaze flickered from the smeared sparkling lavender-azure remnants of the squished pixie to the one that she shielded.
It didnât look as human as she imagined a pixie to look. It had whisp-y white hair that faded off into blue translucent tube-like strands, the appearance resembling glowing fiberoptics. Its wings were paper-thin and an off-white shade that had small bones making up its structure. Instead of humanoid features, its face was flatter with no prominent nose bridge. Their eyes were a glassy fluorescent blue, wide and bug-like. A spider-esque mouth with black tipped pincer-like fangs bared themselves at her before biting the hand that shielded it, right at the juncture of her thumb and forefinger.
âOuch,â Y/N yelped, jumping away from the creature that hissed out a gargle of a giggle. More monstrous than humanistic. The fae-man silenced the biting pixie with a well-place kicked, making it fly off into the distance.
âJust playing,â the fae-man repeated with a low scolding chuckle. âAre you okay?â
Her non-injured hand held the bitten hand close to her chest. It stung with the same ferociousness as a mosquito bite. Droplets of red blood pearled to the surface but it wasnât a bad bite. His hand reached out to grasp her wrist, his skin was warm like a furnace. Not hot enough to burn but, certainly enough that if he was human, heâd be running a high fever. He looked over her hand closely and, if she had been focusing on his face, sheâd noticed the fascination blurring in his eyes at her red blood. But she wasnât she was hissing a bit at the woundâs sting.
âIâm fine⊠I thought theyâd be sweet like a fairy?â she admitted. âPixies are usually playful in stories, mischievous, but I didnât think theyâd bite.â
His eyes rolled before he wiped at her hand with his thumb. She noticed his nails were a painted lacquer; a black shimmering color that had long been chipped away at the edges. There was a beat before he simply looked at the biteâs holes inquiringly before dropping her wrist easily, his cool gold rings grazing her skin.
He laughed. âSweetness? From pixies? Theyâre nasty creatures. Mean vermin.â
A noise of acknowledgment hummed in her throat before he turned away once more.
âWait.â She called, grasping his wrist desperately.
He paused this time, head tilting back as he brought his free-hand dragged through his hair.
âYes, Runner.â He answered before gently tugging his hand away.
âMy name isnât Runner; itâs Y/N,â she retorted with a furrowed brow.
âI thought so,â he grimaced as he continued to walk along the perimeter of the Labyrinth walls. Another pixie jutted out in front of him, and all he did was grab it and crush it before tossing it aside. As if it was nothing but a bug.
It was startling and a bit frightening. Everything here was like that â if she was being honest. The way he was able to do something so violent when he looked well⊠so sweet.
The man had a round face with softened cheeks. His doll-like eyes were the strangest shade of blue â in the flame-light, it turned a purplish shade, glistening like a jewel in sunlight. His lips were a pouty thing â with a strong âVâ of a cupidâs bow and puckered lower lip that was a soft pink shade. His cheeks even had a prominent glaze of the magic remnant that everything seemed to be made of. Constellations of pink, yellow, green, purple, and blue glittered through his skin, sparkling when it caught the light.
His hair was dark, long and, unlike the Goblin King, it was long in a more un-styled way. Like he simply hadnât had the time to cut it. It laid in loose waves down his neck, covering his forehead in soft curls. Some curls were damp with sweat and plastered to his golden skinned forehead.
Hidden beneath his blue-black curls, she could see small teardrop earrings sparkling with golden chain and red rubies. But, his clothes lacked such wealth. They were simple â he wore an orange-tan vest that had been patched haphazardly in red, purple, yellow threads over the years, a white flowy tunic that was open chested and pushed up to his elbows to reveal his toned forearms that were shimmering innately with that magical dust as if someone had painted him in body glitter. Rings decorated each finger in a golden halo, sparkling in the firelight.
His pants were a paler sandy color with clear wear-and-tear on the knees and edges. A belt of some sort of leather clung to his slim waist, cinching his form in. It acted as a purse of sorts, holding what looked like a dagger with a rubied hilt in between its leathered folds, a black-woven purse he had been using as a plate moments ago, and, most prominently, a collection of vibrant jewels. Rubies, emeralds, diamonds, moonstones, and amethysts. Some of the jewels were hung by worn rope; others strong-linked chains of gold. But each one of the jewels were pretty, sparkling in the overhead firelight.
How did he come to attain them she wondered? He didnât have the appearance of a king or a prince or any sort of royalty â despite his handsome face. He just didnât have that magnetic lure that the King had. Power that was unspoken. Walking tall wasnât the same as a powerful walk.
He felt. . . reckless. Like how a wolf in the wild was nothing compared to a dog kept as a pet. He prowled forward, scavenging onwards and swatting at the remaining milky-white pixies that hovered about him. One reached out to tug on his jewels, making a low growl escape his chest like he was some sort of alligator.
She reached out to swat the pixie away, not squishing or squashing it like he did but just shoving it away. His jewel-toned eyes flashed to meet hers from under his dark oil-slick blue-black curls.
He didnât thank her, just looked at her with simmering eyes.
âI donât mean to bother you,â she started.
âWell, you are.â He retorted quick. âYou Runners are always so slow to the game.â
âRunner â you said it was my title, there have been other Runners? Are they the ones who make deals?â she queried.
âYouâre catching up,â he acknowledged.
âIâm a quick learner,â she retorted back. âJustâdo you know where the door to the Labyrinth is? Thatâs all I need to know. I need to get inside.â
âHm,â he hummed absent-mindedly. âOh no, do I know.â
Under his breath, he huffed and shook his head.
âYou know?â she repeated.
âKnow,â he agreed with a shake of his head again.
It all sounded the same âknowâ and ânoâ, his head was shaking ânoâ, but did he actually say know? And now, Y/N was even confused.
âGosh, itâs hopeless asking you things!â she huffed as she turned away and looked up at the sky â the reality she was in another world striking her as she saw the dark cavern stalagmites high above them.
Cracks of sunlight beamed through â shining over the Labyrinth. She realized she could faintly see⊠flowers. Yes, there were flowers blooming high above them. Those flowers had vines that creeped outwards through the sunlight veins of the Undergroundâs ceiling, crawling in and out of the stalagmites.  Hope in the middle of the darkness.
Her gaze settled back on the rock wall in front of her. In its own thousand-year-old cracks, she could see budding blooms of what looked like magnolias, peach blossoms, and desert poppies. Hope in the middle of darkness.
She needed some hope right now.
âAsk the right things maybe,â the man suggested as he sighed and leaned against the rock nearest to him. A hand rose to wipe at sweat on his brow â how could he be sweating in such coldness?
âHow do I get into the Labyrinth?â she mused.
The man paused, a flicker of a grin coming onto his round face. âNow, that I can answer,â he smirked, glancing over at her before pointing with a finger.
âThere,â he said simply.
Her eyes followed his pointing finger to find there was a grand gate beside two empty watch towers. The gateâs exterior was decorated with intricately carved vines, twisting, and twirling over the heavy wooden doors.
âSee, not a door, a gate,â the fae man chortled.
âThatâs so stupid. How was I supposed to know?â she whined.
He laughed again, the thing sounding playfully song-like. âYouâll have to ask the right questions. Think closer next time.â
Y/N fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was like walking on egg-shells in this place. Taking a deep breath, she walked closer to the gates.
âIs there a key?â she murmured.
âYes,â the man retorted, casually as he leaned against one of the watch towers. He looked awfully amused now, rather than itching to get away like before.
Glancing away from him, she looked over the gate to see an itsy-bity key hole.
âDo I need the gateâs key?â she asked again.
âWhat do you think?â he queried, looking at her blankly. But the corner of his lips twitched, he was about to grin.
Creeping closer, Y/N pressed a palm against the wooden gate door â and pushed.
With a puff of smoke and the twinkle of sparkling magic-remnant on the gates, the carved vines bloomed their pure-white blossoms before the doors heaved themselves inwards open to reveal the Labyrinth.
Cobwebs tore away with the motion as the plume of smoke tumbled over her and the strangerâs feet. His eyes widened with mock surprise at her before turning to crush a pixie under his foot with a stamp. There was a smear of chromatic glitter when he removed his heel.
The Runner took a soft breath in as she peered curiously into the labyrinth, not yet fully stepping onto the cobblestone path of its interior.
âYouâre really going in there?â the stranger prompted, crossing his arms. A brow raised into his curled bangs.
âI have to,â she replied, licking her lips. Glancing towards him, she offered a smile. âItâs the only way to gain myself back.â
Now, that seemed to strike something in the handsome man. His eyes widened genuinely, and he swallowed, poutful lips pursing. His cheeks looked chubby, and for a moment she could understand how fae could be described as cherubic.
âYouâre brave or stupid,â he muttered, ruining the moment.
She sighed out. Head falling back in exasperation. He really was pushing her buttons. Regardless, she took a step in, half-ignoring the fae-man for the time being.
Looking left and right, she couldnât help but feel the creeping tell-tales of anxiety. Sweaty palms, heart rushing, shakiness. It looked endless. Abandoned forever-passageways that seemed to never curve or turn. Their interiors were shadowed occasionally by the flickering of the grand fire-pits high above in the watch towers and the sea of floating candles high above the Labyrinth. The light made sparkling cobblestone walls and floor glimmer and glisten.
âLeft or right?â the fae manâs voice piped up again, chuckling as he leaned in and glanced one way and then the other.
âWhich way would you go?â Y/N prompted him.
He was of this place â maybe heâd know.
âNeither for me.â The long-haired man snorted. âI donât know â no point in it anyways,â his fingers reached out to pick up a sparkling rock resting on the uneven floor. Glittery and shiny, he wiped at it with his linen vest.
âYou can just leave if youâre going to be like this.â Y/N snapped.
Why was he being like this? Purposely spiteful and misleading one moment, helpful the other minute. She huffed a bit as she tried to find clues to which way to go. Footsteps, signs of life, something.
âListen,â the dark-haired creature said, taking a step into the Labyrinth after her. âIâm just trying to level with you. Even if you made it there, youâll never escape. No one escapes the Labyrinth - or the Kingâs rule for that matter.â
âSo, there has been others?â she queried, brows crinkling as she turned her gaze to settle on the man.
He shrugged not even looking at the Runner, his gaze locked onto the rock he found. It was certainly not a jewel or gem of beauty. It did gleam a bit and had something akin to fairy dust trapped within its glassy texture.
âMaybe. Maybe not.â He seesawed.
âHave you tried to leave?â she countered, her gaze not leaving him.
It was odd, he was the only person outside of the grand labyrinth she had seen up close. And he was locked out? Far, far away from the castle. Yet he didnât know which was to go. Was he stuck here too? Had he done something? Was he once in her shoes?
He froze at her words. The fine muscles in his throat tensed.
âNo.â he answered solidly. Topic shut. âIâm not a Runner. Listen, all the others failed â Iâd give up now; heâs kinder to those who admit weakness.â
The King wanted to be the all-powerful King, she saw that now as the man continued to gather this and that from the walls.
âWell, thanks for nothing.â She trailed off. âI never even got your name.â
He almost looked at her pityingly. He sighed. âYou donât need to learn names down here with your fate.â
It made gooseflesh rise on her arms and neck, and she resisted a shudder going down her spine. If anything, that only proved how she had felt in her bedroom with the King. That her wish was a mistake.
She had to win.
âYouâre not very helpful.â She commented again. âJust discouraging.
âIâm being realistic, little human,â he retorted with a roll of his eyes. âIâve seen many yous before. They all end up with the short-end of the stick.â
She frowned at him purposely. Staring with cruelly hurt eyes.
âDonât say I didnât warn you.â The fae-man said, hands raising in defense as he backed out of the Labyrinth.
Y/N looked back at him for a moment. He hadnât stopped looking at her and she couldnât help but notice the glimmer in his eye. A furrow of his brow. Not in disdain or anger but something contemplative. Before sighing a soft huff and walking off, his jewels clanking with every step.
Her own lips stretched into a gentle grimace. What a strange man. But she couldnât worry about that now, no. She had to keep going onwards. Looking left and right again, she chose to go right. As soon as she took a few more steps inside the Labyrinth, the gates heaved shut with a groan. Â
The cobblestone was raised and uneven in places like it had been laid centuries ago and never repaved since. Broken stones rested here and there in stacked piles. The same dried, dead greenery outside of the Labyrinth poked through the cracks here as well, withered roots of dead crawling up the rockwork.
Mushrooms of varying sizes burst forth from the cobblestone walls, finding their homes in the dark corners. They looked unlike any mushroom she had seen â seeming to breath with shuddered breaths of sparkling pollen.
She kept walking.
There were no entrances to other parts of the Labyrinth. There were no doors or corners or parts in the walls from what she could see. It was just a straight path. Forever. She began to run after some time as if that would help make it go faster. Her feet ached from the scratchy sand that still occupied her shoes. It was quiet here; there was only the sound of the soles of her feet hitting rock.
She ran for a while. So long that it almost felt like she was in the optical illusion this time rather than viewing the castle grow further and further. Everything felt like it was repeating. The same crippled plants. The same mushrooms in the same dark corners. The same aching feet. The same pitter-patter of footsteps.
Until she finally came across something different.
In the distance, Y/N could see it. Something in the path. Something on the ground curled over. Panting, sweat dripped down her temple as she paused a few feet away. Her stomach churned.
Lying against the wall of the Labyrinth was a skeleton. A human one she assumed. Curled in on itself as if frozen in time. If she blinked, she could see the muscles, tendons, skin, forming a shell around the stuck skeleton. It looked like her, young and female. They were hiding or sleeping or afraid.
And they were dead.
Cobwebs clung to the skull and she could see caterpillar-like creatures making the eye cavity a home. It made her shiver and run faster.
She couldnât end up like that.
No, no, no, she had to find a way out.
Running onwards she didnât see a skeleton again â the only reassuring thing so far. It meant maybe this wasnât a looping path. As she continued on more and more cobwebs decorated the walls. Huge spiderwebs with intricate patterns were ahead. Sparkling shimmering quilted spiderlace that whistled in the wind. If she wasnât feeling so frustrated and frightened, Y/N may had stopped to appreciate them or ducked under them. She just swiped at them and continued onwards.
Another spiderweb appeared a few hundred feet away.
She kept wiping at them, avoiding the spidersilk from getting into her mouth as she did so as she ran onwards.
Her arms felt sticky with webs; her feet hurt; her head ached from the repeating cobblestone. She let out a yell as she finally stopped. Panting, with a reddened face, she covered her face with her hands and screeched.
âThis place is hopeless,â she scowled as she stopped. Itâd been minutes of running straight and straight and straight!
Kicking the brick wall petulantly, she yelped before stumbling to her knees. Her hands went to cup her foot, rubbing it a bit as it throbbed in pain. Tearing her shoe off, sand from the desert sea tumbled out in a cup-full. Her big toe throbbed as she held it close, massaging it with her thumb. Toeing off the other shoe like an over-stimulated child, she kicked it away, making it hit the opposing wall with a thunk. Sand from it tumbled out as well into a small pile.
Wiping strands of hair away from her sweaty face, she leaned back against the wall behind her and looked to the side, heaving and panting as she felt a tell-tale pressure building behind her eyes and nose.
No, no, she wonât cry. She felt like a child. It was humiliating.
It was then she saw a plant staring at her! A plant with a million tiny eyes instead of petals and blooms. She yelped scooting away, her hands scrapping against the rough cobblestone beneath her. All the eyeful plant did was blink, all at once, eerily but not dangerous.
Tugging her hands up from the stone floor, she saw the faint scrapes and inkling of blood rushing to the surface. Another injury. Her eyes burned in frustration before she buried her head into her knees.
First, she walked ages in the desert alone, filling her shoes with sand. Then, she met a rude fae man where she watched him hurt pixies. After that, she got bit by a pixie. Now, sheâs stuck walking on and on in one direction nowhere close to getting a real stab at the Labyrinth. And sheâs hurt her hands after getting scared by a creepy eye plant.
It was frustrating. She didnât know what to do and it all felt so so pointless. The scales were stacked against her. How did anyone win?
âAnnyeong!â
A cheerful voice chimed and, in that moment, she looked up to see a figure, shading her from the dull light of the Labyrinth.
He was tall, far taller than the Goblin King and certainly taller than the fae she had met outside the Labyrinth walls. He had almost frightened her with how his blonde hair reminded her of the king, but the tone of his voice and the smile on his face was far different from the Kingâs. In fact, the man looked happy. Gentle. Dimples lit up his face as he outstretched his hand for her to shake. Or to take to stand?
âHuh?â she mumbled.
His smile didnât cease, and he glanced at his hand with his brown eyes.
She took it to shake tentatively before he yanked her up with a strength that didnât seem possible in his lanky form. A âughâ pushed its way out of her.
âAnnyeonghaseyo,â he breathed. His smile was sweet she noted as she took him in more now that she was standing. His eyes were a deep chocolate color, and they didnât seem to be cruel or sparkling or ethereal like the others she had met so far. They were brown, gleaming a bit in the faint golden light of the Labyrinth, but otherwise normal.
âAnnie-yeo,â she tried to begin to repeat before he let out a bubbling laugh.
âNo, no, annyeonghaseyo â or hi, which is close enough,â he corrected.
A gentle breath left her in relief, glad there would not be a language barrier between the two of them.
âHi,â she repeated.
âHi,â he breathed again. âWeâve said hi a lot now. Maybe we should continue to something else,â he teased. He buzzed with an energy, almost childlike in nature. âI havenât met anyone in so long.â
His admittance didnât ring alarm bells â like she thought it should. Instead, she felt⊠sad. His entire form seemed to be desperate in some ways. Desperate to talk to her.
âThatâs alright.â She reassured. âIâm Y/N.â Her hand reached out properly to shake again.
âY/N,â he repeated with a smile as he took her hand and shook it. âYou can call me Soobie; my friends do.â
âNice to meet you.â
âItâs really nice to meet you, too.â
His smile was charming and gentle. The dimples made him look younger and, in some ways, she wanted to protect him. WhyâŠ? Her eyes danced over his face. He didnât seem⊠well, ethereal. Not like the king nor even like the dark-haired fae outside the labyrinth. Sure, he was handsome and coated in the sparkling dust that seemed to be engrained in everything here. But there was something utterly human about him. His eyes werenât some fantastical thing; the way he held himself didnât feel off-putting and otherworldly. And if she looked closer, she noticed that sparkle wasnât engrained in him like it was for the King or the Fae-From-Outside-The-Labyrinth. It almost looked like make-up?
âIâm trying to make my way through the Labyrinth; do you know the way?â she asked after a moment, glancing down the path she had been heading.
âThe way through the Labyrinth⊠I used to know,â he muttered, gaze following hers down the path she was headed before looking back at the way she came. There was a moment as he thought. And she saw how distant his eyes became. Like, he wasnât all here with her. In fact, his eyes looked sad, distant. As if lost in a maze. His face fell into a pout, curved lips softly parting as his breath shuddered.
His blinking slowed and she swore for a moment his breathing stopped before he blink, blink, blinked at her. His smile slowly reappeared and his eyes warmed from the deep sadness and confusion that consumed them moments before.
âSoobie?â she asked inquiringly.
âWhat was your name again?â he queried. As if she hadnât given it only moments before.
The Runner smiled softly â though a bit tentative. Something was going on.
âY/N,â she replied. âYou donât know how to get out of this Labyrinth either?â
âY/N, pretty name,â he hummed pleasantly. Cheery, happy, content.
âThe Labyrinth is my home.â
It was said solidly, truthfully.
âYour home?â she queried once more. âHas it always been your home? You spoke in Korean, right? It sounded Korean. Are you from there?â
What if it hadnât always been his home? The Fae-From-Outside-The-Labyrinth said every Runner failed. She had seen bones, and countless dust, and what if Binnie was another remnant of a Runner.
âKorea. . . â, he breathed. She watched as his eyes faded into the distance. His long eyelashes fluttered. âI-I was from Daebu Island. I lived near the water.â His hands shook as he went to grab the necklace around his neck. It was a beaded necklace around his throat, the thing made of wrapped twine and iridescent shells, seven teardrop-esque gems, and dark-silver pearls. It complimented what looked like a hand-made white sweater. He was dressed all in white she noticed, all soft clean fabric. Like he never was walking in the dirt and grime she was now covered in. How was that possible?
His lips trembled as he continued to fiddle with the necklace. Twisting it around and soothing himself by rubbing the smooth shells and pearlescent gems between his fingertips. Anxiously, his eyes fluttered once more as he moved a hand away to wipe at his face. Glitter shifted on his skin in a streak of golden silver dust. It wasnât underneath his skin like she had thought.
He was from her world. She knew that now. Was he human? She couldnât tell completely.
âHow could I forget? But-but Junie is hereââ He was talking to himself, rubbing his cheek back and forth. His eyes shifted to look at her again. Wide and gentle and confused. âThe Labyrinth, itâs been home for a long time â come inside,â he gestured to a brick wall, that now with a closer look did resemble a door. There was even a latch and door handle made of ivy. His smile was shaky but genuine. He smiled brightly as he thought of something that seemed to distract him from his previous anxieties. âWe can have tea together! Junie and I! I make a great cup of tea. Itâs from night-flowers!â
âOh,â she felt genuinely sorry. He seemed kind. There was a manipulative tone or even condescension. He was just desperate. Eager to talk to someone else. NaĂŻve maybe. His thoughts were befuddled for some reason.
âI canât; Iâm sorry.â She apologized.
His eyes grew even sadder like a kicked puppyâs.
âIâd love to but I must find a way out of here. I donât have a lot of time.â
âA way out,â he repeated. âButââ
âSoobin,â a voice called from within the doorway and out popped a dark-haired fae. He had something about him that felt magical â like the Goblin King. The world lit up as soon as she saw him. His gaze felt magnetic. She couldnât help but turn towards him, focus on him.
âYouâve made a friend,â he hummed. His words felt like honey on her ears and she couldnât help but stare. Hypnotized.
His hair was a midnight black, short, and trim in the back but swooping over his face daintily. His face was almost as beautiful as the Goblin Kingâs. His eyes werenât a winter-esque blue or jeweled purple, but instead a water-soaked green as though his eyes were salt-frosted sea-glass. His lips were kiss-swollen, a softened red pout.
While Soobin wore a soft, hand-knit sweater of cream, this man wore a heavy fur-like cloak over his shoulders, hiding his shirtless form she noted as it shifted with his movements. He had remnants of magic in his skin but, unlike the crushed starlight of the King, his looked glossy wet like it was liquid honey and sunshine mixed together. If she reached out, she swore itâd stick to her.
He captivated her.
âYeonjun-hyung,â the blonde-haired man lit up at the sight of him as well. A hand reached out for the forgetful man, and Soobin took it easily.
He hugged the fae man, and the motion sent the smell of salt-water her way. The ethereal man smiled fondly at the other before looking at the Runner again. There was that sharpness, almost an animalistic look. Like a predator hunting a prey. His fingers wound themselves through Soobinâs protectively.
âIâm looking for the way to the castle,â she repeated to the new fae, her head tilted towards the blonde. âSoobin was helping me.â
There was a flash of something dark in Yeonjunâs sea-glass eyes. Something she couldnât quite place as he licked his plump lips slowly.
âHe is helpful,â he said steadily. âDid he mention things arenât always as they seem? The walls may seem one way but they may lead another.â
Her eyes widened in surprise, one that Yeonjun tracked with carefulness.
âHe hadnât.â
âShe was going straight,â Soobin teased under his breath.
It made her roll her eyes a bit, huffing. Yeonjun smiled as he exhaled. His shoulders loosened a bit as he glanced both ways. Down the right and left of infinity.
âThings arenât what they seem here,â Yeonjun stated simply. âSo, you canât take it for granted,â he looked back at Soobin who had leaned more and more into the older man. His chin rested on the tip of the olderâs shoulder as he stared directly at the wall behind her. He smiled raising his brows before gesturing with his chin towards the wall behind her.
The Runner glanced back at the wall opposite of their âhouseâ, her brow raising.
âWalk through it!â Soobin encouraged.
She turned and fully stared at the wall in front of her. It looked like a wall. No gaps, no nothing.
âBut itâs⊠a wall,â she breathed.â She took a step forward, trying to trust these strangers. Her hand reached out slowly to find⊠nothing. It just looked like the wall continued for forever. Stepping through the hole, she could see clearly now. It was an opening! There was another path beyond its bricks, and surely another one somewhere else. These walls were all illusions.
She just had to look closer.
âThank you! That was incredibly helpful!â the Runner beamed at the others as she turned to face them once more.
Yeonjunâs smile was careful, and Soobinâs equaled her beaming grin. She quickly went to grab her shoes and slide them back on, grimacing at the loose sand grains still in them, but even that couldnât dampen her mood that was gradually lightening. This was a start - finally!
âThank you!â she repeated gratefully as she turned to right to begin to walk onwards through the maze.
âMiss,â Yeonjun called out, the tune something so enticing she couldnât help but pause in her step. âDonât go that way â never go that way.â
The warning was paired with a shake of his head that Soobin copied.
âOhâŠ. Thanks,â the Runner grinned at them before heading in the opposite direction, finally feeling like she had something of a start.
Soobinâs sad eyes watched her leave. âI was excited to see someone,â he commented lowly, dejected, and droopy almost like an ill-watered flower.
Yeonjun sighed, his hands going to pass through Soobinâs hair sweetly. âI know, sugar, but we have to keep you safe.â He glanced back at the castle and the shadow it cast over the land. âIf she had gone the other way, she would have gone straight to the castle â and the King would be at our doorstep.â
The mention of the Goblin King made Soobinâs eyes focus just a tad.
âCanât have that.â He murmured, and Yeonjun smiled proud.
âExactly, coileĂĄn,â Yeonjun praised as he moved one hand to release his seal-skin fur capeâs clasp.
The silky soft thing fell off his shoulders, leaving his upper body bare. It revealed what appeared to be spotted grey and white dots over his toned stomach. He pressed a kiss to Soobinâs nose, lovingly, before he draped the cape over Soobinâs shoulders protectively.
âLetâs go inside and make tea, hm?â
#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#han jisung x reader#jisung x reader#jisung imagines#hyunjin x reader#hyunjin imagines#hwang hyunjin x reader#soobin x yeonjun#yeonbin fanfic#stray kids fanfic#stray kids imagines#skz fantasy au
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DDMonth Day 11 - Beast
Summary: The houndmaster takes a gentler approach to Bigby's forced transformations.
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On this gibbous moon night, something unusual happened in the hamlet barracks. Not that those nights were normal to begin with, given the transformation the moon forced on the heroesâ most monstrous team member. It put the creature in full control, with no shared thoughts to lend it any sense of Bigbyâs reasoning. Chaining himself up in the cellar before he turned was the only way he felt it could be managed.
Bigby would tout the beastâs nature during his unwilling episodes as totally unpredictable, making it far more dangerous than usual and absolutely feral, so imagine the surprise of all parties involved seeing it with its head on Williamâs lap in the common room this time.
The earlier sound of chains snapping underneath the floorboards was enough to awaken most in the barracks. William was the unfortunate volunteer sent to investigate the eerie silence that followed. Armed only with his bite glove and cudgel, he descended the cellar stairs to discover the creature exhausted and injured. There was a difference between the chains its host body wore and the ones that just restrained it to the wall. Breaking loose was no easy affair.
The metal edges of the cuff its stunted wrist failed to break had cut deeply into the flesh underneath. It listened, albeit grumpily, to Williamâs scolding at its attempt to lick and chew the pain away. Thatâs when he got the idea to bring it back up the stairs for treatment.
So many times, a rehabilitation project was brought to the old kennel Fergus once called home. William was almost always responsible for the dogs that arrived in sorry, snarling states.There were far too many masters who didnât understand that attack hounds needed ferocity and gentle loyalty fostered in equal measure. Knowing what little he did about Bigbyâs tormented past, he wondered if some of his experience healing those damaged dogs might help now.
The creature wasnât a dog, but it wasnât entirely dissimilar to a dog. It was easily bribed into following him up the stairs with a stale treat leftover in his pocket. Convincing the others to go along with his plan was the hardest part. In the common room, he got a fire going in the hearth, fetched a roll of bandages, and gently cleaned and wrapped its wounded wrist while it was busy devouring that treat.
Abused dogs needed to have a safe place. The cellar certainly wasnât that for Bigby. They needed safe people, too, and the prior relationships Bigby was building thankfully made it easy to assert himself as trustworthy.Â
The others, in all sorts of blends of nightclothes, armor, and weapons, waited with bated breath outside for things to go wrong. Except, nothing did. Eyes peeking from around the corner witnessed the thing their companion called âthe worst version of himselfâ flop onto the rug and roll around. Content. After it got the scent of the cellar off, thatâs when it plopped its heavy head on the houndmasterâs thigh. It was the same spot Fergus so typically rested her own snout on.
âUnpredictableâ was a correct assessment of the abominationâs current state. Nobody wouldâve ever predicted it curling up for a cuddle.
Williamâs hand slowly drifted down to pet the spot between its horns. The hair was thick and rough, almost like a bearâs, and his skin was covered in a fine, velvety sort of fuzz. His touch brought a long, loud sigh from the creature.
âHuh. You really tired yourself out, didnât you?â
A few moments after it settled in, Boudica crept around from her hiding place. She was in a gown, one she only wore after multiple complaints about her walking around half-naked at night. Her hair was down, and in her hands was her glaive, though on approach, she was quick to set the weapon aside. âHe seems smaller to me like this,â she pointed out with an uncharacteristically quiet tone.
âYouâre used to seeing him in a scrap. Thatâs when his hackles are up.â William gestured for her to come closer. âI think heâs safe, relatively speaking. Thereâs not enough in him tonight for a rampage. Just donât move too suddenly, or shout, anything like that. Make sure he can see you.â
Faced with itsâno, his unfamiliar behavior, Boudica almost looked smaller herself. She sat between the pair and the fire, watching him curiously.
âDo you want to pet him?â William asked. Her eyes sparked with interest. Boudica was always so happy to lavish her affection on his hound.
âWill he not bite?â
âI donât think so. He knows you. I think he knows you wonât hurt him. Look, you came near, and his breathing hasnât changed. His ears are up, alert, but theyâre not pinned back. Iâll watch him. If he starts getting stressed out, Iâll tell you to back off.â
The hellion reached out. Her fingertips soon grazed the bridge of his snout, where they remained for a moment like she was waiting for him to snap her hand right off. Soon, however, she relaxed. Her palm pressed itself flat against his face, and she rubbed gently up and down. The creature tilted his head up ever so slightly into the contact.
âWould you look at that?â She was breathless. A grin spread across her face from ear to ear. âI donât understand. Our friend here tells us that the moon makes him as dangerous as he can possibly be, and when heâs chained up, we all have to hear him thrash his way through the night! Now that he has his freedom, why isnât he off running amok?âÂ
âI thought about that. Got me thinking that heâs set himself up for some self-fulfilling prophecy.â William pat the creatureâs massive shoulder sympathetically. âHe gets so scared of what he might do that he chains himself up, then he transforms, and the beast wakes up in a position that harkens back to the worst days of his life. When heâs back to being human, he remembers the way he fought and struggled to get loose, and his fears about being uncontrollable seem to be confirmed. Iâm the kind of person that likes to think that a man knows himself best, but I ought to talk to him about a better solution for these nights.â
The bandages would have to be changed when he returned to normal, anyway. For now, William would make sure to keep him calm and comforted. No, he wasnât a dog, but he was enough like one for him to handle.
Boudica changed her focus to scratch behind one of Bigbyâs ears the way she knew Fergus liked, which made him growlâ-or, not quite growl. It was close enough to a growl that William nearly jumped out of his skin, but the sound was lower, and unaccompanied by even the most remote sign of aggression. Though he couldnât piece together what exactly the creature was doing, it clicked with Boudica right away.
With her volume barely contained to an indoor level, she gleefully explained, âHeâs purring!â
Not a dog at all. Hopefully any bruises to Bigbyâs ego caused by his other half tonight were preferable to the usual memories of panic and flailing he usually woke up with.
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Could I get brook for #12 for brook from the whumptober list?
Yes, of course! This one took an unexpected turn while writing but hey, I think y'all earned it after the few angsty ones
Whumptober Day 12
Brook x Reader
Warning: talk of boobs and panties (This is Brook so he had to ask the question)
I swear I did not mean for the first half to be so cracked but it just came out that way
"Ah- what the fuck!" You fell against the garbage bins behind you. Now sitting on the ground, you could only look up in horror at the animated skeleton in front of you.
He ceased playing the eerie music on his violin and leaned down, his face too close for comfort. Shivers danced down your spine as his eyeless sockets stared into your orbs.
"My my, what a lovely young lady you are," he spoke, and you would've screamed if horror hadn't taken your voice.
You heard the rumours and read the creepypastas about a skeleton roaming the streets late at night, playing an eerie melody that summons fog to obscure what he does to his victims. Another story made up to get internet views or scare kids away from the streets at night, and you figured if the creepypasta is true, the skeleton wouldn't be walking around a lit-up downtown city. Horror shit like that only happens in small towns or the suburbs, or so you believed, 'cause here he is, leaning over you.
"What- what do you want, man- skeleton- whatever you are?" Part of you hoped and prayed this was some sort of Halloween prank a couple of sick kids were playing.
"May I see-" He leaned further down and made the back of your head kiss the ground. "Your panties?"
"...No?" You didn't intend for it to sound like a question, you were just confused why he would ask that. It's too innocent to be threatening yet too raunchy to be a joke. Is he a virgin?
The skeleton stared, leaning over you. With no facial features, you couldn't tell if he was mad or unamused. The unknown fuels the fear spinning in your mind-
"Okay, apologizes for interrupting your stroll." He stood up straight and tipped his hat. "Carry on with your evening miss." The skeleton turned and began walking away, leaving you in shock.
"Wha...what the fuck- what the fuck just happened?" You sat there trying to process the last 5 minutes and you noticed the skeleton turning the corner. "Ayo! Wait up!" You scrambled onto your feet to catch up to him.
"Hm?" He turned to you. "Do you wish to join me in an evening stroll-"
"You can't just say that shit to people."
"...I don't think it's unusual to ask someone if they want to walk together-"
"Not that bonehead. The- The panty thing, you don't say shit like that and act all nonchalant afterwards!"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"HUH?"
"Don't 'huh?' me! I'm the normal one here!"
"If you don't mind me asking, what's unusual about asking a lady to see her panties?" He tilted his head, displaying his curiosity.
"Well- it's just- it makes no sense, I mean- pervy boys would ask to see boobs instead and disgusting men would order for the panties to be taken off, what they do after depends if they're a virgin or not-"
"Well, that's just rude!"
"Huh?" Now the confusion is on your face.
"You don't demand a lady to take her panties off! Where I come you ask a lady to see her panties first, it's the gentlemanly thing to do."
You scoff hearing the word gentleman, "Where do you come from, the 19th century?"
"The 16th century, why?"
You almost hit the floor hearing that response. "No reason, it's just no one really talks about being or acting like a gentleman these days."
"That is unfortunate."
"You can say that again," you muttered thinking of the weird shit males say now thanks to memes on the internet.
"What is your name, if I may ask?" He bowed with his hat in his hand.
"Oh- it's [Y/n]."
"Well, miss [Y/n]-" he placed the hat back on his head. "Would care to join me for an evening stroll?" The skeleton asked, offering his arm.
You stared at his gesture, unsure if you wanted to accept it. What were you even doing out here talking to a skeleton? Your mind is probably making all this shit up because to haven't let it go to sleep in days. Ah, fuck it, it's not like you'll be going to sleep anytime soon. You held onto his boney arm, allowing him to lead your stroll.
"Hey... do you have a name?" You inquired, still wondering if this is real or not.
"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself, how rude of me, I'm so embarrassed," he apologized with a little slump in his posture. For something you were terrified of moments ago, you couldn't see why anymore with how lively he's being. "My name is Brook, known as the humming swordsman and musician of the Strawhat Pirates."
"You were a pirate?"
"Indeed I was, although that was many years ago."
"Can you tell me about your adventures?" A small sparkle in your eye, and who was Brook to say no to a lovely lady?
So the skeleton shared his tales of adventuring on the grand seas, speaking highly of all his crew members and the feats they've accomplished. His joyful memories he told showed how wonderful the crew was and how fond he was of them. You wished you could meet them, or at least people like them.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, [Y/n]." Brook stopped walking and handed you his handkerchief.
"No, I'm alright Brook, it's just very beautiful." You took his handkerchief and wiped your eyes. "They sound like- like lovely friends. Here..." You gave the item back and the two of you continued walking.
"[Y/n], I have a question that's been lingering on my mind since the moment I met you."
"What is it?"
"Why are you up this late at night?" It was an innocent question, yet the concerned tone behind it made you wish he didn't ask.
"Many people are up at this hour, it's not unusual to see someone around here this late." You avoided eye contact, finding the glowing city buildings to be a better sight.
"But you're tired..." Brook pointed out. "Your body is clearly exhausted and your eyes appear as if they haven't rested in days. Tell me, when was the last time you slept?"
"I haven't slept in days but who's counting?"
"It's not good for you to deprive yourself of sleep, [Y/n]."
"You make it sound like it's easy to get some sleep..." you muttered. "If it was that easy, I'd be in bed by now, but it's not... you wouldn't get it."
"Do you have insomnia?"
"How did you know?" You were surprised he even knew the term.
"Heh," He smiled at your shocked face before explaining. "Before I met the Strawhats, I had what you called insomnia. I spent days staring up at foggy skies, left alone with my thoughts, unable to sleep, though I suppose it didn't have any effect on my body since I'm only just bones. The only times I fell asleep were when I played the violin too long, I always fell down because I did it while standing, not the best way to wake up." He chuckled.
"Do you think... you could play the violin for me?"
"Of course." Brook smiled softly and pulled out his violin. "Anything for you, my lady."
Tag @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar
#whumptober2023#no. 12#âI haven't slept in days but who's counting?â#insomnia#one piece#whump fanfiction#whump fic#whump writing#one piece scenario#one piece x reader#one piece au#one piece x you#one piece x y/n#brook x reader#one piece brook#soul king brook#humming brook#brook one piece#brook#x reader#requested#no 12#anon request#Crack to angst
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(Hello! It's me again! I hope I'm not taking up your time but I have another OC I wanted to share, and see what the others may think of her.
I really hope you don't mind and thank you! đ
Like the last one, THIS WAS OLD UNFINISHED ART. đ Another redesign is coming, promise. â„)
ReflectraĂ© the Wolf âŸÂ°âą
✠Reflective.
✠Whimsical.
✠Wise beyond her years.
âFace yourself!â
ReflectraĂ© the Wolf is a silvery-eyed living mirror, whose ability to reflect the true selves of those around her can be both enlightening and frightening. Orphaned and often misunderstood, she navigates a world filled with judgment and loneliness, finding solace in her whimsical connection to the Moon, whom she affectionately calls âMother.â With an old soul's wisdom, ReflectraĂ© offers insights that reveal uniqueness within each individual, embracing their truths without judgment or rejection. ReflectraĂ© seeks to balance her reflective powers while seeking acceptance and understanding in a world that fears what it does not understand.
✠Often called the âMirror-Eyed Witch.â
✠Leaves an air of deja vu in her presence.
✠Her eyes freak out other people, which she tries paying less attention to.
✠Certified âMoon Child.â đ
✠Daydreams a lot.
✠Acts older than she looks; mentally wise yet so unusually child-like, a phase? (Hint: Yes and no.)
✠Likes astrology (studies them at night). She may have called stars her âsiblings.â
✠Definitely gives off sage âgrandmaâ vibes.
✠Asking her for help is like playing fetch with a puppy. Having a bad time? Need somewhere to go? Someone to stay? Anything in-betweenâshe accepts in a heartbeat! She's good at listening and giving insights, especially if you're lost (she's been there).
✠She LOVES storytelling! Give her too much privilege and she'll spice them up (it's her way of expressing she's happy!).
✠Very expressive with friends! Unfortunately, her eyes complicate this; others usually see themselves more than they would see her, which reinforces being a mirror and void to her own identity.
✠Will crave solitude; often needs time alone to process balancing her feelings with what others reflect onto her.
✠Practices self-hypnosis daily; helps lessen anxiety and gain clarity of her experiences.
✠She likes writing! It helps express her emotions clearer and note what othersâ experience while in her presence.
✠She wants to be seen as a unique individual; not just a mirror or an invasive freak (thinking about this makes her sensitive).
✠The wisest, most loyal friend you'll ever have.
✠Views herself as non-binary (doesn't see the limit of having one gender anyways).
Sonic â Fascinated but cautious Sonic would find ReflectraĂ©âs âmirrorâ ability intriguing but might feel uneasy when she reflects his deeper self back at him. However, heâd respect her wisdom and would appreciate her ability to help people understand themselves. Heâd probably be one of the few who could see past her eerie eyes and befriend her, even if he doesnât fully understand her connection to the Moon.
Tails â Curious and eager to learn Tails would be captivated by her mystical qualities, probably asking all sorts of questions about her powers and her âconnectionâ to the Moon. Her wisdom would impress him, and her stories would fascinate him as well. Heâd be respectful of her need for solitude and would admire her self-hypnosis practice, which he might see as a unique form of mental discipline.
Knuckles â Respectful but cautious Knuckles would feel a kinship with ReflectraĂ©âs wisdom and connection to nature but might be slightly on guard around her reflective powers, given his own self-protective nature. Her ability to âmirrorâ othersâ true selves would likely both intrigue and unnerve him. Heâd respect her strength in navigating loneliness and would trust her as a wise ally.
Amy â Understanding and supportive Amy would empathize with ReflectraĂ©âs struggle for acceptance and her desire to be seen as more than just a mirror. Sheâd probably find ReflectraĂ©âs wisdom comforting and would go to her for guidance during challenging times. Amy would enjoy her stories and would feel compassion for her sensitive, reflective nature, trying to remind her that she's unique and loved for who she is.
Shadow â Respectful and intrigued Shadow would respect ReflectraĂ©âs depth and her ability to confront othersâ true selves, seeing her as a powerful and complex ally. Her wisdom and her ability to help people face their inner struggles would resonate with Shadow, who knows well the challenges of self-reflection. Heâd likely appreciate her solitary tendencies and could be one of her few confidants, as she might reveal truths to him without judgment.
Rouge â Intrigued and slightly wary Rouge would be drawn to ReflectraĂ©âs mystical nature but might be slightly wary of her ability to see through facades. Sheâd find the idea of someone reflecting her true self back at her a bit unnerving but would ultimately admire ReflectraĂ©âs loyalty and wisdom. Rouge would enjoy the mystery around her and would respect her individuality, viewing her as an ally with invaluable insights.
Silver â Deeply respectful and eager to learn Silver would likely feel a deep connection to ReflectraĂ©âs wisdom and her whimsical connection to the Moon and stars. Her reflective powers would amaze him, and heâd seek her advice on his own journey of self-discovery. ReflectraĂ©âs dreaminess and her âgrandmaâ wisdom would comfort Silver, who would see her as a guide and possibly a mentor.
Blaze â Respectful and understanding Blaze would respect ReflectraĂ©âs mystical abilities and appreciate her wise, introspective nature. Theyâd likely find solace in each otherâs presence, as both have experienced isolation and judgment. Blaze might even feel comforted by ReflectraĂ©âs insightfulness and sense of loyalty, finding her a trusted friend who values both solitude and close connections.
Vector â In awe and a little unnerved Vector would be impressed by ReflectraĂ©âs wisdom and her unique ability to show people their true selves, though he might feel a bit uncomfortable being reflected back on himself. Her storytelling would be a hit with him, and heâd probably ask her for advice on personal matters. Heâd be the first to protect her if anyone called her a âfreak,â quickly becoming a loyal friend.
Espio â Highly respectful and curious Espio would greatly respect ReflectraĂ©âs wisdom and self-discipline, seeing her as someone with a truly balanced mind. Heâd appreciate her reflective powers, seeing them as a rare gift, and would enjoy her company in silence or while stargazing. Espio might even study her self-hypnosis techniques, finding her a kindred spirit in seeking mental clarity and self-reflection.
Tangle â Excited and deeply curious Tangle would be fascinated by ReflectraĂ©âs reflective abilities and would see her as a âcool and mysteriousâ friend. Sheâd love hearing her stories and might constantly ask ReflectraĂ© to reflect back âthe best partsâ of herself for a confidence boost. Tangle would go out of her way to help ReflectraĂ© feel accepted, quickly becoming a loyal and spirited friend who respects her need for solitude.
Whisper â Empathetic and quietly protective Whisper would understand ReflectraĂ©âs desire for acceptance and might feel drawn to her quiet wisdom. ReflectraĂ©âs ability to âmirrorâ might help Whisper feel seen, but Whisper would respect her powers, sensing ReflectraĂ©âs sensitivity. Whisper would give her space but would be a silent guardian, offering support in subtle ways.
Omega â Curious yet logical Omega would be intrigued by ReflectraĂ©âs reflective abilities, viewing them as an interesting asset in identifying enemy weaknesses. While he wouldnât fully understand her âwhimsicalâ side, he would respect her for her powers and wisdom. He might see her as a potential asset in combat scenarios where self-reflection could weaken or unsettle enemies.
Metal Sonic â Cautious and dismissive Metal Sonic would be wary of ReflectraĂ©âs abilities, seeing her powers as a potential threat to his mechanical identity. Heâd likely avoid her, viewing her âmirrorâ powers as a distraction or threat, dismissing her desire for individuality. However, if he saw her as a potential ally to challenge Sonic, heâd respect her powers and try to use them to his advantage.
Charmy â Amazed and slightly spooked Charmy would find ReflectraĂ©âs reflective powers fascinating yet a bit creepyâespecially if he saw himself reflected back in her eyes! Despite this, heâd quickly warm up to her whimsical nature, viewing her as a âsuper cool witchâ and eagerly listening to her stories. Heâd pester her with endless questions, and though he might occasionally test her patience, heâd see her as a wise, almost magical friend.
Cream â Sweetly admiring and respectful Cream would be very curious about ReflectraĂ© and her unique powers but would approach her with the utmost respect, not wanting to offend or disturb her. Sheâd see ReflectraĂ© as a kind of âfairy godmotherâ figure, listening to her insights with wide-eyed admiration. Cream might even bring ReflectraĂ© small gifts, like flowers, to show her appreciation for ReflectraĂ©âs wisdom and kindness, seeing her as someone very special.
Vanilla â Warm and protective Vanilla would admire ReflectraĂ©âs wisdom and her selflessness in wanting to help others, feeling both compassion and respect for her âmirrorâ abilities. Sheâd quickly pick up on ReflectraĂ©âs desire for acceptance and individuality and would go out of her way to make her feel comfortable and understood. Vanilla would offer ReflectraĂ© a place to rest whenever she needed to recharge from her reflective powers and would defend her against anyone who misunderstood her.
Dr. Eggman â Dismissive yet intrigued Eggman would be both dismissive and somewhat wary of ReflectraĂ©âs abilities. While he might scoff at her powers as âsentimental nonsense,â heâd be quietly curious about the potential to manipulate her reflective skills for his own gain. Her ability to reflect peopleâs true selves would make him nervous, so heâd be cautious around her, fearing she might expose his insecurities. If he thought he could use her abilities strategically, heâd try to recruit her, though heâd likely underestimate her wisdom and strong sense of self.
Maria â Deeply empathetic and curious Maria would feel a strong connection to ReflectraĂ©âs struggles with acceptance, as she herself knows what itâs like to be misunderstood and isolated. Sheâd find ReflectraĂ©âs connection to the Moon poetic and beautiful, likely asking her about its significance. Maria would appreciate her reflective abilities, viewing them as a kind of gift that brings people closer to their true selves, and would genuinely care about her desire to be seen for who she is. The two might bond over late-night chats about life, empathy, and the stars.
Dr. Starline â Calculative and wary Starline would be intrigued by ReflectraĂ©âs reflective abilities, though heâd view them with a level of suspicion. His calculating nature would prompt him to analyze her powers for potential advantages in his own plans. However, ReflectraĂ©âs wisdom and insight would make him cautious, as heâd fear she might reveal things about himself that he doesnât want others to know. Heâd treat her with a polite but guarded respect, and while he might never truly understand her sensitivity or individuality, heâd view her as an asset with a power worthy of strategic consideration.
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Jojo! I love your question! Can you please tell me or show me [if you can find one] what Miruku's instrumental theme would be?
You guys should be the only one suffering from my questions, but you keep sending these back to me ... kind of rude actually. ( no but really, I never really think of my answers when I send these out . . . ) oh! & kindly drop your volume down if you're listening to these because tumblr audio is loud. Anyway the goal is to achieve that soft eeriness but like friendly style. Let me know what mood y'all got from this cause describing songs / tunes is a pain in the ass!!!
â°âââ€Â  đđđ đđđđđđđđđ đđđđđđ - đđđ.
Maybe something similar to this ? music box tunes with broken humming , somewhere between nostalgic & doleful, though I think this one has an unusual and broken quality to it, convoluted ! a bit like listening to a very mild audio hallucination, that one were there's layering of voices, so it's not the most comfortable listen.
â°âââ€Â  đđđ đđđđđđđđđ đđđđđđ - đđđ đđ đđđ đ
đđđ? I am trying to covey the uncanny, but in a way you can still hear them smile ? Perhaps something inauspicious is afoot?
â°âââ€Â  đșđšđœđŹ đ»đŻđŹ đŸđ¶đčđłđ« ! đČđ°đłđł đŻđŒđŽđšđ”đ°đ»đ !
Your good friend Miruku-kun is now your enemy , rise up antagonist with righteous goals. I could make some effort to find something a little less overdone, but ! This is the only one I could use to showcase that rising severity and zealousness of it all? The lyrics is a bit hard to understand but there's a bit that goes 'You are one of us, remember' which settles the True Earthling agenda quite nicely. ( so funny, cause if he were to commit this sort of violence, that's totally very :( sorry had to do it guys, yeah . . .the earth said so. )
â°âââ€Â  ( đđđđđđđđđ ). đŽđ°đčđŒđČđŒ đœđș. đ»đŻđŹ đŸđ¶đčđłđ«
Hah! This is so out of place, but I think there's a subset of interactions / battles with Miruku that would have this mood? Like those campy & super weird Japanese Game shows - frivolous & silly ! We're just having fun ! fun! fun! I hope I am illustrating how jarringly annoying he could be. I like to think for the daily! arc annoying clownish songs tend to play when he's around.
#dreamieparadise#đđđđ. âž»  â character analysisïŒ mirukuâ#* all i want is for miruku to stress everyone he meets esp. his dear friends.
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"Lol imagine if elriel is endgame and Azriel imagined another female (certainly not Elain) smiling and with her eyes glowing which sparked something inside of his chest which made him smile to himself without even realizing he was doing it, and he didnât even know her that wellâŠ"
And imagine if sjm wrote it solely to show in the next book that it was an outside force influencing his thoughts? What then? Cuz sjm surely didn't write it in a way that seems natural. Clotho said/wrote "she deserves something as beautiful as this and i thank you for the joy it shall bring to her" and all of a sudden there's a spark in his chest and he can see an image of gwyns teal eyes? Even though moments ago he thought that he wouldn't consider gwyn a friend? And how did sjm word his thought about seeing the image? "For whatever reason... he could see it" doesn't seem like he naturally thought of her. If he did it wouldn't be "for whatever reason".
âąHis shadows, acted unusual. Did not sense gwyns present before he was there.
âą His actions, not in his control. He had every intention to return the necklace to the shop but found himself standing before Clotho as the clock chimed seven in the evening.
âą His thoughts, seems to be under some sort of influence. Otherwise he wouldn't be like "for whatever reason".
That scene was not written to have romantic undertone. It was written to be suspicious and eerie. And sjm did her best on hofas to prove the gwynriel "mate bond theory" wrong. But y'all took it as parallel language/hints.
"Like if hes the man you want for Elain thats just sad honestly, this is a romance book, I want my male endgames absolutely smitten and invested in the fmcs, with NO turning back once it started, but I guess thats just me"
Lol Then why do you ship gwynriel ? Azriel has zero romantic feelings for gwyn.
Iâm so happy you put this together! They actually serve as examples of how WHOLESOME that scene was.
I see literally zero evidence that all of this was because of Gwynâs powers that we havenât even had the confirmation of, and in no way it was written eerily. It was written to be wholesome. It was the perfect antithesis to the wrongness of the scene with Elain. I am so sorry that your ship sank.
His shadows were content with her. They skittered AWAY with Elain (this is a bad connotation in contrast)
âHe found himselfâ is a term that is ALWAYS used when mates find themselves doing something they didnât expect, he wasnât being controlled, but believe what you want without any canon evidence. He found the necklace was going to give it back but thought someone might like it, so he found himself taking it to her.
âFor whatever reasonâ is just a way to say he didnât know why, not because it is eerie, if it was he at least would have SOME type of suspicion on it, but he just tucked the glowing spark in his chest away inside him, like how you tuck something inside of your pockets. He could have said âhe shoved those weird thoughts awayâ but he didnât did heâŠ?
Look, this is a fantasy book, itâs not that serious but you gotta admit youâre reaching at some point. The scene was so obviously romantic in a way Azriel (nor us) were expecting it. And after that scene, we never got even a whiff of elriel while we got even more Gwynriel golden banter, and remember, hes the new ribbon âš
If anything, even if Gwynâs powers were âguiding himâ which wonât happen because thats stupid and negates too much of Gwynâs character, it will only add to their story, a parallel of them both thinking theyâre monsters, but realizing they too are worthy of love, because what will not happen is Gwyn being evil/a villain, shes an incredible character, an SA survivor, part of Nestaâs incredible found family, SJM modelled her after one of her friends, think again.
Elriel sank by itself with his messed up thoughts about Elain, him just wanting to have one night of fucking her, saying he has not had ONE THOUGHT about a plan to be with her, did not correct Rhys on whatâs his status regarding Mor, told her it was a mistake (couldâve used anything other than that), displayed toxic behavior that we know Elain is against (saying he will fight in a duel for her and kill her mate?) and even realized he had been RIGHT to stay away from her.
But yeah blame the âlightsingerâ for all of this too i guess??
Also thats so cute shadowsinger x lightsinger make a beautiful parallel couple!
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