#from hell film review | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

prael · 7 months ago

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Newjeans Hanni smut (M reader) - the title is a hint to the TW.

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It didn't happen through a cliché.

Well, maybe it did, but not one of those where she's stuck head-first into some kitchen appliance or something of that ilk, though you would say this really did happen by accident.

What? She tripped, fell, landed on your dick?

Not quite like that, but the point still stands. You didn't begin that day, or even that evening, intending to fuck your step-sister, but, well…

"My apartment. My TV. My choice," you told her, as you have so many times before.

"But this film is supposed to be the best. It's got great reviews. Dani loved it..." Hanni was talking far too fast to even really pay attention. She soon started reeling off a cast list and everyone involved, and how this review called it a revelation to the genre, but you had long since started ignoring her. You know how she gets. Excitable beyond the point that someone normally would be. It's an endearing trait, if not also annoying. The rundown of her reasons was cut short as she threw her body at you in attack.

"Hanni! What are you—"

"Just gimme the controller already!" She shouted right into your ear as she threw her arms over your shoulders. You held it out in front of you, keeping her behind your back so her arms couldn't reach; not that it stopped her from trying. "Just one time. Please? Pretty pretty please?"

You climbed up from the sofa. Hanni clung to your back like a young panda, with her legs locked tight around your waist and her arms still fumbling around. You grabbed her by the ankle, trying to pry it away so you could drop her, or something, anything other than letting her continue. "Alright fine. Just let go, you idiot. You’re going to tear my arm off."

She loosened her hold, just enough for you to swing her around; one arm and leg slipping free so you could throw her onto the couch. In your flailing she managed to take the TV remote with her, but the moment of peace, of silence, of satisfaction in hearing your idiot sister bounce against the cushions before breaking into a laugh and asking, "what the hell was that for?"

"What did I ever do to deserve the step-sister from hell?" You said as you flopped down at the opposite end of the couch.

"Have a mother hot enough that my dad wanted to fu—"

"You're sick." You cut her off before she finished. She smirked, lifting her sock-clad feet onto the sofa and settling in for movie night. She brought her knees up below her chin and started flicking through the options on the screen to find the one she wanted. Her eyes were wide in her stare, her lower lip bitten. It was pretty much the last time you ever looked at her in this innocent way again.

It was another one of those shitty horror flicks. The kind that didn't even slightly live up to the billing she gave it before. This, however, was Hanni's thing—whenever she convinced you, or otherwise, to finally give up control of your TV, she would put on one of these cheap horror movies and spend the whole night tucked behind a cushion.

As much as you tried for it not to be, it's become something of a ritual, pretty much any night that she was at home, and not unbelievably tired from being overworked and didn't have to be up at the break of dawn.

It's your acceptance of things like that which really showed how much the two of you had grown. You remember fighting for your life against your mother and stepfather to not have to take her in. Convinced that if she wanted to move into the city so badly, she could get her own place, or go to one of those company dorms. Ultimately, you were made to see reason. Your apartment is close to her company, and you had a spare room, after all.

Not that she ever stopped annoying you beyond belief.

The movie, if you could call it that, had you fall into a slumber, and when you woke up Hanni had crawled across the length of the couch and was laid against you, her arms wrapping one of your own. She didn't even realise you had woken up, staring as the credits rolled with a slight, peaceful smile on her face.

She had tied her hair up by now into a ponytail, pulling the hair away from her mostly bare shoulder, where the thin strap of her cropped pyjama top rested. As you peeked down at her, your eyes accidentally fell on the space down her top. It wasn't your fault; they were just right there.

"Shit..." you muttered, catching Hanni's attention.

"Still alive there?" She chuckled a little as she gently patted her palm against your cheek. You feigned a yawn and shut your eyes, settling your head against the pillow once more.

"Hanni, put something else on. This movie is dumb."

"You fell asleep after like ten minutes."

"Yeah, and it seems it didn't take long for you to use me as a body pillow."

Hanni pursed her lips. A red flush ran through her cheeks, and then she quickly sat up. You were watching her the whole time through half-open eyes, chuckling under your breath at her reaction.

"You're an idiot," she says. "Always have been."

You shrugged in reply, "And you're easy to tease, always will be."

"Asshole." She kicked at you.

She tried to kick again, and you caught her foot. You held her bare leg in the air and then lightly kicked her back, hitting her thigh.

"Let go! I'll kick you again. Asshole!" She shouted at you, again and again, struggling to break her foot free from your hand. When you finally let her go, all her struggles made her stumble off the couch. As she went, you kicked out again, this time catching her right on the ass. "Ah! Fuck be careful you hit my plu—" She brought her hands right to her mouth when she realised what she was saying.

"Your what?" You asked.

Hanni cleared her throat, blushing to the point of matching the colour of her red short shorts. "Nothing."

She turned away from you. Just standing there. There's a part of you that wishes that you could go back to this moment. You would have left it there and gone to bed—never kicking her a third time.

But you did it.

Your foot flicked gently against her ass a final time and you felt it. Something hard tucked between the softness of her cheeks. She yelped again. You pinpoint this moment as the catalyst for everything that followed. It’s the part where her innocent image crumbled before your eyes and that’s what allowed you to do what you did. Though really, can you ever be sure that if it didn’t happen now, it wouldn’t have just happened the next day, or next week, or a few months down the line? You tell yourself it was inevitable.

"Is that what I think it is?"

She spun around, facing you once more, trying to muster something. She stumbled over and stuttered her words. "No! I... it's not mine. Minji loaned me one for... just to try... it's not." She held the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. "This is... oh, god. This is so embarrassing."

Hanni slumped back onto the sofa and pressed a cushion tight against her face. "Why'd you loan it?" You ask her, only to see her tighten her grip.

"Because."

"Because what?" You sat up by her side and said something that at the time you thought would make it better, but looking back, probably came off rather creepy. "I clean your room, Hanni. I have seen worse things."

Hanni slowly dropped the cushion into her lap and looked at you with a glare. "The fuck?"

"And if you're going to use my laptop, try deleting the history." At this point, you were just piling on the embarrassment.

"Fuck! Oh my God, what did you see?" She threw the cushion into your face.

You picked it out of the air. "Nothing." You lied.

"Bullshit!" Hanni swore. "Did you see everything?"

"Nothing at all..." you said sarcastically while standing up. "I definitely didn't see all the step-brother porn you were binging last week."

She screamed and jumped up. You threw the pillow to stop her and stepped out of reach. "I hate you! You freak!" she shouted, cheeks burning red as the fury rose within her.

"Says the chick wearing a buttplug." You taunted her again as you darted across the room away from her.

"What happened to boundaries!?" She lunged at you again, and you quickly sidestepped her.

She tried jumping at you once more and missed, only to strike her knee against the corner of the coffee table. She hopped back on one leg with the pain.

"You're an asshole, you know that!?" she shouted, holding onto her knee. You stepped closer, thinking she was really hurt. Until she used the chance to lunge at you and grab you. "What's wrong with a girl enjoying some fantasy? Not like I want to actually fuck you."

You realise now that the proper thing to do would have been to match her disgust. Tell her something along the lines of how the thought repulses you. Continued to tease her about how fucked it is that she would even look at that sort of stuff. The whole thing could have dissolved, but it's when she had hold of you, hammering her fist into your arm, that you said, "don't you?"

Then the long silence ensued. The one that said a hundred unspoken words. As her punches turned into light taps and then to her just holding onto your upper arm. She looked up at you with her pretty eyes open wide. Her lips parted slightly and the tip of her tongue rested on the bottom one as if she had something to say, but the words wouldn't come.

That's the first time you kissed her. Your own step-sister, a girl who should be off-limits in every conceivable way. Yet she opened her mouth and accepted you in that moment. The taste was so sickly sweet.

It was brief, but it told you everything you needed to know, and everything seemed to spiral from there.

First, there was the confusion. The immediate aftermath where you both let go of each other to turn away. Your backs turned on one another as the awkwardness reached its peak. Neither of you was willing to confess the enjoyment of that little exchange.

Then came the passing of the blame. First, it was Hanni who turned to you with a "What the fuck are you doing?"

And you replied with "Me!? You're the one who kissed me!"

She scoffed and shouted a response, "That was all you! Stop being such a perv, freak!" Hanni stomped past you towards her room, face half-full of anger and topped off with shame.

"I'm the perv? You're the one who I hear moan through the walls while, apparently, watching step-brother porn! I think that makes you the messed up one!” you called after her.

A pause. The hesitation. The possibility of confession. She reached her door, and it flew open. In she walked before slamming it closed with a, "you're sick!"

You stared at the door and vainly said under your breath, "you're the sick one." In your head you had realised the real truth to that; how maybe you're both sick because, as the dust settled, you can only think about a handful of things.

The kiss. Her ass. Her cute little tits.

You didn't see her again for the rest of the evening. She reserved herself to her room, while you resigned to the couch with nothing but the television keeping you company.

It had been a long time since you had a shouting match like that with Hanni. See, it used to happen all the time when she first moved in. The problem with a girl like her whose whole world revolves around singing, dancing, media training and beauty is that she lacks any sense of what it's like to be an independent adult. It seemed like the fights would never end, on account of her being seemingly incapable of washing a dish, her clothes or even cooking the most simple of things without burning it or setting something on fire.

But this? This is uncharted territory.

The night wound down, and you were headed to bed, but you found yourself outside her door. Your hand raised, ready to knock. Your breath held. Right when you finally built enough courage is when you heard it. Heard her. Moans muffled through the wood of her door. Your stomach knotted. Your groin twitches.

You lingered, unable to tear yourself away. Even as your logical side began arguing with you that you were in the wrong. That you're probably the worst sort of pervert imaginable and you should feel nothing but guilt.

The other voice, the more confident one; the devil on your shoulder told you that it's Hanni's fault. You had just warned her, and this is what she did in response, like it’s all some sort of game. You refused to admit to yourself that hearing her groaning, whimpering, and moaning through the wall influenced you—tempted you.

Louder and louder. Her voice raised higher, getting to the point where you knew she was practically screaming in the throes of pleasure. Harder and harder you grew. The rational side of you was saying that you should ignore it. Just go to sleep. Forget about it.

"Fuck!" she moaned, and you remained, listening through the door—lost in imagination.

Then you heard footsteps. Bare feet patting on wooden flooring coming closer and closer towards the door. A rush to retreat and you slipped toward your bedroom door. You barely reach the handle before the door across the hall opens.

There was a moment. The two of you locked eyes. Every fibre in your being fought against looking down.

"What?" she asked with a stone-cold expression.

"Nothing." You said, and your willpower broke. You glanced down. Completely naked, she stands at the door, her nipples peaked to fine little tips. And your gaze drifted down her soft curves and slender figure, her wide hips and full thighs.

"Nothing," she mocks.

Her eyes glanced down for a second, then back to your face, and her gaze narrowed. You panicked, dipped into your room and slammed the door just like she did earlier. You press your back to it, the cool wood against your burning body. Your mind raced.

Her feet slapped again against the wooden floor and headed toward the bathroom. That should have been that. You slipped into your bed, frustrated and confused. The sound of the shower running quickly drifted through the walls, but her cries from earlier replayed in your mind until you fell asleep.

That should have been that.

You woke to the darkness of the room—not the morning sunshine—sometime later. Half in a haze, not quite conscious yet, but something had roused you from your slumber: a movement under the sheets and a strange sensation. Warm and damp. Your eyes flicked open, adjusting to the darkness. Your hands jerked reflexively toward your groin and then your senses sharpened.

Someone between your legs. A warm and wet something sliding up and down the shaft of your hardness. Tongue? Yeah, a tongue. Your fingers reached and buried themself into hair. Stomach muscles spasmed as your hips thrust up on their own. Your lips parted as you moaned, "Fuck."

You glanced down.

Hanni.

Naked.

The tip of your cock at her mouth, lips pursed around it. Her smiling eyes sparkled and her skin glimmered, bathed in moonlight coming through the open curtains. Hanni giggled when your eyes met. Your hand dropped to her shoulder.

"Hanni..." Your throat choked dry, and you pushed at her shoulder.

"Shhh." The word whispered against your sensitive tip.

"What the hell are you..." You tried to ask, but Hanni shook her head before sucking in a breath. Then she drew the length of your cock into her warm, wet mouth and the question escaped you. "Holy shit," you gasped.

"This can be our dirty little secret," she said when she lifted her head, fingers stroking you. "We can pretend it didn’t happen in the morning, but for the rest of the night," her finger tickled down the underside of your cock as she spoke, "it can be as real as you want it to be."

You remember being convinced that it was a dream. Maybe one that you would wake up from with a mess in your shorts and, honestly, that probably would have been bad enough—having a wet dream about your step-sister. Reality intruded and threatened to drag you back from your delusion. Hanni took you into her mouth again and it was so very real.

There was no doubting the pleasure, and it was too good to make her stop. You took your hand away from her shoulder, allowing her to do as she pleased. Maybe if it was just a dream, you could allow yourself to indulge in the madness just one time…

"Fucking hell, Hanni." The words slipped from you, and with it, her warm mouth left your throbbing cock.

You peered down at her. She wiped the drool from the sides of her lips and smiled at you. Her eyes were wide as she lowered her head and slipped your dick into her warm mouth once more. Your body jolted as she put her tongue to work. She swirled the tip along the contours and ridges, then licked down the underside of the shaft and then right back up the top, leaving a thin film of saliva on your hardness.

She clasped her hand around you and it all felt far too real. Mixed emotions. There was a cold sense of terror in your heart, even with the heat of arousal radiating all over. The things she did with her lips and her tongue made you doubt your sanity.

"Does that feel good?" She said as she took a quick pause, stroking her hand along the full length. She had just caught her breath in the one moment where she stopped sucking, the first chance where her mouth wasn't busy trying to draw the soul out of you through the tip of your cock.

"You were right." She spoke almost as quickly as your mind spun. "About... the step-brother thing. It feels sick, and gross, and... wrong. It makes me feel dirty." Hanni pauses for a second, seemingly running her eyes over your body and then asks, "how depraved does it make me that it gets me really, really horny?"

Hanni had no clue that the same thoughts filled the back of your mind. Only that you weren't able to string it into words like she did. She was right. It felt really wrong, and yet there was a rush to do something that should never be done. This was where the next step began. The breaking of the boundaries. The perverse excitement in the face of the taboo.

Her hand reached out behind her and pulled back the sheets that covered her body. She was crouched between your spread legs, head still by your cock, her soft ass in the air. The cool light from the moon kissed her skin as she slowly slipped her fingers between her plump cheeks. "And this only made it worse. I've been so horny ever since I started wearing it."

Her hand moved slightly, just out of view behind her, and she let out a breathy moan.

"Hanni. What're you—

You're interrupted. "It hurt a little at first. Just a bit but you get used to it, and if it's in a good spot, if you hit it right..." She kept touching herself in front of you, and another breathy gasp escaped her lips and then she looked up at you still lying there. "What are you waiting for? Isn't this what you want?"

That's when you stirred. Reciprocated. You sat up and she rose to meet you. In seconds, you were embracing. Frenzied. Wild. All teeth and tongues and roaming hands. Shorter than you. So much smaller. She let out a yelp when you grabbed her, though she instantly silenced it by shoving her tongue back in your mouth and kissing you deeply.

Pressed against your bare chest, her breasts felt small but supple, perfect little handfuls. Her waist is slender beneath your grasp. The thick flesh of her thighs was so full and shapely. When she opened her eyes, they had such want. Lust—pure and undeniable.

So close, and the faint whimpers at her throat are a seduction. You felt it was an invitation, and your lips kissed her chin, trailing kisses down her neck. "Yes. Yes. Yes..." she encouraged you lower. Your tongue tasted the saltiness of her skin, teeth grazing and then pinching softly. Her arms were tight around your head, nails biting into the base of your neck.

She trembled at your every caress, shook each time you teased a pert nipple. Gasped louder each time you nibbled her collarbone. You turned, lifting her, and then she fell back and presented herself to you. Her legs splayed open and her bare, wet cunt dripping, begging you to take it, but...

"No," you told yourself, "it's too fast," and you began a line of kisses down her stomach, beginning at her cleavage and trailing straight down her stomach. The muscles beneath her pale skin twitched and clenched in response and her breath had gone erratic. You reached her belly button and she hooked her legs over your shoulder, and when you dipped further she clenched her thighs and squeezed as you toyed with her.

You remember savouring the moment. Savouring the pleasure, savouring the veniality.

"Lower, please," she begged in the most needy voice. "Please, I... fuck, oh, fuck please..."

It's hard to describe it all.

Somehow, in the night, you both reached a state of understanding. A state of consensual debauchery that came with a sense of agreement; a pact signed with tongue on skin in this moment of depravity.

You kissed her, playfully moving between her legs. Thigh to thigh, to dangerously close to her wet core, and there you lingered. The air grew humid. Hanni's sweet scent filled your nose. You ran your hands up her legs and felt the warmth in your palms. She gripped onto the hair at the top of your head; her fists tightened.

"Why're you teasing me, asshole?"

Hanni's moans grew louder and more needy when you used your tongue against her. Her legs wrapped tight, hooking behind your back. There was something satisfying about her reactions to your actions, something exciting about seeing her squirm.

The tip of your tongue ran up the lips of her cunt, dipping between the fleshy folds and coming to suck upon her swollen clit. Her eyes widened at the touch, and her jaw slacked to the point her words went incoherent. Her whole body spasmed as she arched and moaned out something filthy.

One moment you had hold of her thigh, feeling her clench up and quiver, the next you found that your fingers had moved downward and pressed against her slick opening. At the slight touch of your fingertips to the tenderness there, a short cry slipped out of her again. She tightened and clenched around them as you pushed in deeper.

"Who's teasing?" you asked before you buried yourself to the knuckles in her.

A smirk formed, and Hanni was about to speak, but no words came. You pumped her at a steady pace, curling your digits within her while lapping at her clit. The taste of sin never tasted so sweet.

The combination drove her insane, and it didn’t take long until you were on the verge of making your step-sister cum.

You wrapped your lips around that swollen nub of hers and flicked it with the tip of your tongue, faster and harder, until her many moans became one, long, drawn-out and passionate, as a climax rocked through her.

Her ass lifted off the bed and her legs quivered, shaking uncontrollably while her fingers tugged painfully at the hairs on the back of your head. She jerked and gasped with a look of ecstasy on her face as she moaned your name over and over, almost reaching a scream. Your name on her lips again, and again, and you were drunk on this euphoria.

She released your head, and you postured over her, still slipping a pair of fingers into her, but slower. She drew a deep, trembling sigh and forced a smile, watching you. "I hate you," she managed.

"Do you?" you asked as you drew your cum-soaked fingers out of her. Her legs rested on your hips and the underside of your stiff cock was against her pussy. You reached around her hip, to her ass, to the plug still sat between her cheeks. Hanni hissed at your touch, biting her lip at the sensation.

"Yes. I hate you," Hanni whimpered, giving the softest moans as you tugged on the metal. Her eyelids fluttered.

"Why?" you asked.

"I just do," Hanni weakly gasped, struggling to stay strong in the moment. "You make me feel things. Things I shouldn't feel. It shouldn't be this easy."

"In that case. I hate you too, sis'."

There was this moment after you said that, where you shared a stare. Maybe the most confusing stare of your life. Calling her sis', in this position, should have been horrifying. And it was, but only at a peripheral level. Otherwise, it felt surprisingly... hot.

You dipped into her for another kiss, and this one seemed ever more ravenous than the last. You kissed with hunger and her hand ran around the back of your head. Kissed as lovers would. She was just as aroused as you and eager for more.

Slow and soft, you rocked yourself against her wetness. Your length dragged between her lips, up over her clit, and down again to poke at her entrance. You moved over and over, enjoying the tease.

The slow, sticky friction between the two of you. Her breath was sharp, as you slipped yourself over her and kissed at her neck. Every rock of your hips, she ground back against you.

"I think..." She hesitated. "Fuck. I think I'm ready. Just... go slow?"

The guilt of what's happened was a distant thing, a buzzing fly on a summer afternoon. The kind of thing that when you're so enthralled by something else, it becomes invisible. Then, with a nod and a shivering sigh, she reached down and gripped your cock. You bent back from kissing her so she could guide you.

Her tiny cunt. Her beautiful wetness. Her forbidden, decadent treasure.

Her breath was shaky. Her next words came out amid a tremble, "I've never... No one else."

You brushed stray strands of hair out of her face and ran your hand over her cheek. You gave her the reassurance she needed.

She told you, a few weeks later, how grateful she was that it was you. See, for all the filth that ran through her mind on an almost daily basis, she never imagined what it would be like. It being you—who you are and everything you meant to her—made it easy. Natural. Wonderful.

That first time, you took it all so slow. With her legs raised over yours. Watching the subtle changes in expression as you gradually moved more and more of your cock into her. Sinking deep between her pink, delicate walls. Your step-sister, panting and squirming beneath you.

"You okay?" you asked her.

"Ah... yes. This is... I love it," she responded between whining breaths.

It was just enough, the reassurance, so you could push into her the rest of the way. Her hand found its way to your shoulder; bracing as you eased in, her delicate frame tensing as you buried fully.

You watched her reaction and tried to be still as you felt her slick cunt pulse around you, wanting you. She swallowed and gripped you with the muscles within her. The second of respite didn't last long though; you weren't sure if it was a request or accident when her feet tapped against the curve of your ass, but it prompted you to fuck her.

"Feels... fuck." You sucked your breath between your teeth and braced yourself up on a shaky arm. You drew out slowly, and you noticed her nails digging into the arm you supported yourself upon.

You groaned in relief more than anything else as your hips pumped the shallow strokes that sent electricity through your body. She started pushing herself onto you as she clutched your back, drawing her heels over the small of your spine. You looked down to see her eyelids were flickering, and the sight only served to inflame you more. Her moans were so erotic and encouraging.

That first time, it was special. You took your time together to explore each other's bodies, the curves of hips, the muscles, the valleys and ridges. You caressed your stepsister's gorgeous body and then tried your best to put her through another climax, as if your efforts to reach your own were less important.

"Fuck you're so tight," you told her, during those final thrusts, buried to the hilt in her tiny, soft pussy.

She spoke, her voice weak and shuddering, "You're big... inside me..."

The fact that she held you tighter in her embrace and how it seemed that she refused to let you out of her even as she came apart was telling.

She came that night, again, this time all over your cock. The first of many times to come. A string of incomprehensible cries erupted from her in the throes of that first proper fuck. Hanni's thighs flexed around your hips. She clung desperately to your body as she cried into your mouth as she climaxed.

Not long after is when you felt it too, that impending release. A coil of pressure. Unfamiliar and intense. The mere thought of emptying inside her drove you mad. Your fingers dug into her hips as you fucked your step-sister with complete abandon.

"Don't. Not inside. Please, not inside," she murmured in an incoherent mantra of guilt and pleasure, right next to your ear.

You didn't, of course. You drove yourself right to the edge and pulled out. Her juices coated your length, slick and wet as your cock twitched in anticipation of the final moments. Hanni wanted your release as badly as you did. She took you into her hand for the finish, gripping tightly and jerking that first hot shot of cum onto her soft tummy. You thrust through her hand to let the pleasure course through you. Each thrust sent a long rope splattering onto her naked skin as she grinned up at you, flushed and sweaty, covered in your lust.

That was the first night, but definitely not the last.

The next morning arrived with Hanni in your arms—the little spoon. The little naked spoon pressed against your body. Skin to skin. She woke you with the slow rocking motion of her body, grinding her plump cheeks against you.

"I could get used to this," she whispered under her breath, smiling against the crook of your arm. "Good morning," she said to you over her shoulder. "Sleep well? You had some pretty naughty dreams last night, didn't you?"

You responded with your erection growing against the warm crevice of her butt and a gentle hum as her ass rocked over it. That was no dream. "I did," you said groggily. "As naughty as yours."

"Mmmm," is all she had as a response, lost in the pleasant distraction, grinding herself back into you even more. As she did so, you grew harder, until your stiffness pressed against the plug still wedged into her ass. Hanni had left it there overnight. "The thing about dreams is that they're easy to forget. Want to remind me of mine?"

You ran your hand down her thigh, and that's how the second time started. You caressed her flesh for a while, feeling the softness of her thighs while she silently lay there, patiently allowing you to enjoy her.

Then, you grabbed her by the knee, opening her legs and then she spoke, "Are you going to make your step-sister cum again?"

So quickly did she become so utterly shameless. You grunted in reply and then you held her leg up by hooking under the knee, and shuffled down slightly, letting your hard cock slip from between her cheeks and go between her legs.

You closed your eyes and leaned into her. Lips at her shoulders, the kisses soon trailed to her neck. She hummed as you ground your cock between her folds. Not even putting in the effort to try to actually enter her just yet, just teasing your stepsister for the moment.

Her voice filled with the sweet sound of passion.

Your heart began pounding and a flush rose to your cheeks. You could have written that first night off as a mistake. One you would regret, forget and never make again. Not after this. This is a definitive choice. One of sound mind and body, not under the tension of an argument or anything else that happened before.

This is different.

Hanni reached her hand down between her legs, pulling your cock so it would slip into her when you shift your hips. "Fuck me," she begged.

You did. You slipped inside her and heard her moan in such sweet ecstasy. She gripped the pillow she slept on the night before, burying her face in it, and moaning into it in such sweet rapture. "Fuck, yes, harder," Hanni moaned.

When she pushed her hips back onto you, her ass brushed against your belly. The rhythm began. Slow. Lazy thrusts. Enjoying every sensation in the post-sleep haze, savouring the fact that you knew how good she felt on the inside. How incredible her wet, silky, tight depths felt when you slid in and out of them.

"Is this what you wanted?" Your voice is low, near a growl. Your arms around your step-sister. It shouldn't, by all accounts, feel natural to have her like that, but it did.

"Yes, it feels incredible. Please don't stop." Your cock bottomed out within her. As deep as you could go. You groaned, and stayed there for a while, feeling your stepsister clenching down, her inner walls trying to pull you in further.

Hanni's hands gripped at the bedsheets, clutching tightly to them. The position pressed the metal of the plug between her asscheeks, and as your thrusting continued, the sensation sent a tingle through her body. It was a filthy combination. One that allowed every stroke you drove into her cunt to simultaneously send an equally blissful shock straight into her ass.

It was madness for her to indulge in the ecstasy—for both of you to lose yourselves.

You grew faster, and she unwound completely. She grew limp as she reached her climax. She couldn't even grip the bedsheets, or the pillow, her body simply submitting to the pleasure. She merely lay there as your hips battered against her soft ass, fucking her right through it.

Then she asked you, right after it subsided, "Ever fantasised about cumming on my ass before?"

The way she asked that made the question feel almost normal. "That the sort of thing they do in the porn you watch?" You slowed for a bit to deliver the tease.

Hanni couldn't keep the shy smile from creeping across her lips. "There was this one video where a guy put it all over his sister's butt. Seemed like he really liked it."

The fact she talked to you about the dirty things she likes helped it all along. It was the extent of her experience, the videos, but it helped. What it told you about what she really likes, what she enjoys... It became the basis for all your dirty experiments.

"That sounds hot. You have a cute ass."

She giggled to herself, rolling her hips, getting up onto her hands and knees and facing away from you.

You seated yourself onto your calves, giving her space and watching as she turned, giving you the view you craved. "I do?" She said as she glanced back over her shoulder, showing her innocence and naïvete in all its splendour. Her eyes sparkled and then a smile spread over her lips to match that look in her eye.

"The cutest," you told her as you kneeled behind her. One hand caressed the outside of her thigh while the other gripped the base of your cock. Eyes firmly set on that beautiful plump ass. That was the second time in just a few hours that you covered Hanni in your cum.

She watched every second as you did, barely managing a blink. Arousal and delight danced over her features in equal measure, and your name left her tongue in the form of a delightful, drawn-out groan. The effect was very apparent. With every streak and ribbon of white landing, she gasped and moaned while staring at the mess.

From that moment on, you entered regularity. It seemed like for months, every chance the two of you got to fuck, you fucked. Her room. Your room. The shower. The sofa. The kitchen. Against that window that overlooks the city's skyline. A public bathroom. A hand job in the car while you're stuck in traffic. Riding your face in a park, hidden among trees, grass, and bushes. Fucking, kissing, and biting until the both of you are exhausted and sore and dripping with sweat. It never ceased. Two insatiable appetites. Your mutual loss of control continued. The affair felt so exhilarating. An explosion of forbidden sin in an otherwise normal existence.

It all came with its fair share of close calls. That Saturday morning surprise visit from your parents where you answered their knock at the door and they invited themselves in, all while Hanni lies naked in your bedroom. How you sneakily warned her before she emerged and spun the story to them both about how she slept on your floor out of fear after watching another one of her horror movies. They bought it, of course, because they couldn't imagine there being any other explanation.

Then there was Hanni's near miss with her group. She told you all about how Minji had picked up on how something had changed with her; about how convinced Minji was that Hanni had found herself a boyfriend. About the look Minji gave her as Hanni protested, and finally how she got away with a half-truth.

She told the girls it was because of you and how you would work out together on weekends to make her feel better.

Everything was going so well, which made this week even more confusing.

It's been days since you last saw her. The longest you have gone in some time. Long hours and staying over with her members are one thing. Going days with no word or anything at all is another. She ignored your texts, never returned your calls, and stopped showing up at home like you'd come to expect.

No warning.

Nothing.

#hanni smut #newjeans smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #male reader #smut #m reader #hanni #hanni pham smut

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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 1 year ago

Text

TAKE YOU DOWN A PEG ─── neil lewis ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I want you. Your bones. Your body heat. The bite marks your teeth leave. To see how bad and beautiful those eyes look beneath me." — Beau Taplin.

pairing. sub!neil lewis x reader

summary. gumshoe video’s got a rude customer who neil can’t seem to ban…

warnings. swearing, voyeurism, unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, semi-public sex, breathplay, oral sex (m), cockwarming, degradation/insults, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 5.3k

a/n. the hardest thing about writing this was scouring letterboxd for obscure films that i think neil would foam over. pls don’t beat me to death if my film references miss the mark 😭

Neil loves his job. Seriously, seriously, he does. It's completely self-satisfying, his personal passion project that’s taken up a large amount of his life, and brings him the uttermost joy of allowing him to do what he does best: recommend films.

Gumshoe Video is like his fucking baby, and he takes care of it, immensely; he wipes down every tape every Sunday, he sweeps the floor and rearranges the furniture, he organizes the tapes almost constantly, and he does his hardest to provide stellar, passionate - if almost annoying - film advice. He wants the reviews up on this place, alright, otherwise it feels like he’s letting his baby down.

Now, if there’s one thing Neil hates about his job, just one minor, teensy weensy thing, it’s probably you. You, the rude customer who came in three months ago and has come in everyday since.

The day you and Neil Lewis met was one just like the rest. Gumshoe Video was promoting old spaghetti westerns; Neil was wearing a cowboy hat and opening deliveries from a video tape shop in Calabasas that had closed down; you were coming off work and were daydreaming, dizzily entering shops to get your mind off the irritatingly mundane job you had. Unlike Neil, you fucking hate your job.

You had entered Gumshoe, browsing lazily through the Film Noir section, when Neil sprung up like a weed behind you, speaking animatedly about how the best film noir’s had to be Casablanca, Sunset Boulevard, or Double Indemnity, and if you’d ever watched them before.

As Neil blabbered on, your left eyebrow became increasingly raised. Finally having enough of him, you spoke. “So, are you one of those guys that talk all over the girl and ask them if they’ve ever seen Citizen Kane, or if I can even name five Ingmar Bergman movies for you?”

Neil spluttered, flustered with being confronted about his obsessive cinephile talking habit of carrying the conversation away like a track runner in a relay race going off with the baton in the wrong direction. “What? I was just —“

“— name dropping film noir’s, ‘cause I’m some ditzy, uncultured bimbo bitch who mistakenly walked in, right?” You said, rolling your eyes. Later, in retrospect, you’ll wonder if you were too rude; then, you’ll remember you don’t give a fuck, you were having a bad day, and Neil Lewis had one hell of an annoying face.

Neil’s face grew offended, an irritated furrowed brow wiggling onto his features. “If you don’t want to watch what I recommend, you don’t have to!” he exclaimed, arms up placatingly in the air.

“Uh huh, okay, and you don’t have to shove your pretentious cinephile knowledge up my ass.”

He just stared at you, boring his bright blue eyes into your own, face contorted so exasperatedly you might as well have climbed up to the stars, plucked the moon from the sky, and used it as a pillow.

My god, Neil thought. Are you just a rude customer? Or did you get off on berating small businesses like a sadistic freak?

After a moment of you two staring each other down in the fluorescent artificial light of Gumshoe, both looking terribly affronted, you left.

Neil would then rant about this “insane customer” for at least twelve hours straight to anyone who’d liste. The next day, the distasteful experience was extremely close to thereby fully exiting his mind, but didn’t, because you, yes, you, walked in again.

You shot straight daggers with your eyes at Neil, but your expression became soft, demure, and gentle when you saw Jonathan manning the register instead. You trailed through the aisles unperturbed, Jonathan too busy sporting a hangover from working the late shift at that obscure speakeasy copycat bar (in which, as often as possible, he would sneak a shot to stay awake) to recommend films.

In any case, that was Neil’s job, and Jonathan leaned over to whisper in his ear: “Neil, man, do me a favor and please distract that customer -- fuck, this headache’s killing me…”

Neil protested, shaking his head rapidly. “That’s her.”

“Her who?”

“Her! The - customer who -- who yelled at me!”

Jonathan blinked blearily, clearly still too incapacitated to think about the matter much. “She yelled at you… and she’s back. Here. And why exactly is that…?”

“To yell at me s’more, probably!” Neil whisper-shouted incredulously.

Suddenly, you broke Neil and Jonathan out of their not-so-quiet argument by slamming down Gumshoe Video’s copies of Casablanca, Sunset Boulevard, and Double Indemnity. The irony did not miss Neil - honestly, it was a little on the nose, even for him.

“Thought I’d see what all the rage was.” you explained “sweetly”, gesturing to Neil as you spoke, indignation seeping through your every word. Your grudge was, well, mostly unexplained, ‘cept for the fact you yourself were an avid cinephile, had watched those three movies more than you could count, and did not take Neil’s “have you watched these before” kindly.

Thus started you and Neil’s long-winded rivalry slash animosity slash terribly caustic back-and-forth correspondence.

You keep coming to Gumshoe Video, because, despite your anger towards Neil, you fucking adore the place. The films are downright amazing, the atmosphere is like fucking heaven with the walls lined full of video tapes, decorated in classic film props, campy lifesize cardboard cutouts making you jump at every turn, and Gumshoe Video’s concept is insanely different (and lightyears better) than the corporate monolith that is Media Giant.

He keeps coming to Gumshoe Video because, again, Neil loves his job, and treats Gumshoe like he carried it for nine months and has been lovingly raising it for the five years it's been open.

From that first incident, you and Neil’s relationship twisted a little into something like this: you come in, insult him on whatever costume he’s wearing, return the tapes you rented the other night, argue with him for exactly an hour and a half on the couch, insult him for another ten as you browse the store, ignore his film recommendations, and rent three more movies.

He waits for you to enter, wears the ugliest costume he owns to visually assault you, gladly takes the tapes back, argues with you for 1 and ½ hours, fires back retorts as you insult him, recommends movies he thinks will make you jump out your apartment window, and gives you your movies.

You’re the minor, teensy weensy headache Neil experiences everyday, but at least, at the very least, Gumshoe makes daily dollars from your rentals - kinda like the payback or relief fund a town gets after a hurricane’s run through it.

But, (somewhat?) shamefully… there’s a reason Neil doesn’t just ban you from the store and live his life without ever thinking of you again.

This reason occurred to him a month ago, when he was in the backroom, pasting barcodes and information stickers on tapes that were yet to be placed in the store. You were looking for the washroom, awkwardly stumbling through the back hallway of Gumshoe Video, and since you couldn’t find Neil — he, in spite of the nature of your relationship, trusted you to look around and rent the tapes by yourself, having done it several times while arguing with him at the counter — you had to brave through it alone.

Now, the thing about the room Neil was in — more of a shoe closet than a room, honestly — was that it was locked from the outside, and he didn’t have the key. The key was currently in the hands of one Lucien, who had gone to buy takeout for the two of them because of the late night cataloging of new tapes ahead of them.

And… he was taking about a hundred years to come back because he was trying to get the cashier’s number at their usual Chinese restaurant.

Anyway, imagine this: you’re looking for the washroom, and the door to a small room is propped open. You enter, don’t think much of the small stack of empty tape boxes acting as a door stopper, and let it close. The light in there is dim, just a shitty little ceiling light; Neil turns, tapes in his hand; you turn, after closing the door.

Finally, remember: the room is more of a shoe closet than a room.

“Jesus -- christ!” Neil yelped, startled at your sudden appearance. “What -- the hell are you doing here?”

“I take it this isn’t the bathroom?” You murmured, ignoring his question and shifting uncomfortably. Seriously, the tape closet was only meant for one person in it at a time.

If the lights were brighter, you would’ve seen how hard Neil rolled his eyes; they almost rolled out of his head. “Well, I don’t think so, given the lack of toilet, sink, and light, no.”

“Well, Neil,” you purred, hot breath curling around the sensitive skin of his neck, “maybe, just maybe, you should have a sign for the bathroom, so I don’t have my tits any closer to your face than I want them to.” You said this sweetly, voice husky, low, and oddly sultry, but Neil knew better than that: you probably wanted to fucking kill him right now.

You were right, though; your tits were flush Neil’s bandy chest, the heat between you two growing the longer you were this close in proximity.

“Now get me out of here,” you said quickly after, ignoring how warm Neil felt against your body. You’d turned so your back faced him, hands twisting at the silver knob of the door - which, Neil honestly didn’t know why was there, considering it didn’t fucking work.

Neil sighed. “The door locks from the outside.”

“What?” You said, distracted by leaning down to press your weight against the door like it was just sticky. Moments later, “…What?” you all but shrieked, hands falling from the knob, turning to face him once more.

And, again, if the lights were brighter you’d have seen Neil’s face better: he was bright fucking red, because, apparently not accounting for the small space of the room, you’d leaned and obliviously had your ass pressed right against him. It didn’t help that his large, warm hands, having long since dropped the tapes he was labeling, hung near the flesh of your rear, having nowhere else to go in the limited space.

Neil thanked the small mercy God graced upon him that there wasn’t any kind of friction, so his soft cock remained just that: soft, and barely noticed by you.

“The door locks from the outside.” Neil repeated breathlessly, the amount of air in the shoe-box room being incredibly small, too small to share between the two of you.

“Fucking…” You cursed under your breath, shaking your head in disbelief. “So, what, we have to stay here ‘till someone busts us out? What’re you gonna do if I go batshit and eat you or something?”

“For one, Lucien isn’t going to take that long to come back. Anyway, why’re you assuming you’ll overpower me - what if I go batshit and tear into you?”

You snorted, like the connotation he could overpower you was completely implausible. “Neil, Neil, Neil,” you repeated nonsensically, before lifting a hand up to his shoulder and digging your nails into him, the fabric of his shirt obviously not thick enough to distort your strength. “I could have you pinned down in less than a minute. I do other things than watch movies all day, unlike your lanky ass.”

Neil merely let out a chagrined laugh in response, hands clammy at the thought: you pinning him down— he then shook himself mentally, about to slap himself upside the head. Fucking hell, this situation was doing things to him.

“You don’t believe me?” You retorted with a raised brow. Swiftly, your hands curled around Neil’s wrists, pinning them behind him and pressing his back against you. “How about now, huh?” you whispered softly in his ear, making his head swim.

Your chin rested on his shoulder, your nose brushing against his neck, and it took everything in Neil not to let out a breathy keen — this was all too much for him: your touch, your voice, and the apparent dawning on him that he found you terribly, massively, attractive.

“Fuck, I, er - - um,” Neil scrambled for a response, when the door to the tape closet suddenly opened. Your hands released him immediately, and you strided out, breathing in deeply.

On the other side stood Lucien, plastic takeout bag in one hand, closet key in the other. “What happened to you?” he asked confusedly, as Neil filed out after you, gaze trained on your stretching figure walking off.

“We got, uh -- locked, in the- in the tape closet.” Neil murmured, thoughts still fuzzy from your rough touch.

“With her?” Lucien shuddered, handing Neil the chinese takeout bag sympathetically. “You need this food more than I do.”

So, there it was. Neil’s reason. He would’ve called you an insufferable bitch that he never wanted to see enter Gumshoe Video ever again hundreds of times by now — if your sensual voice insulting him didn’t get him all tight in the pants.

He began having thoughts — thoughts of you. You, whispering vulgar, humiliating words in his ear, your hands carding his hair, pulling tight against his scalp, selfishly making him do whatever you wanted him to do, no matter his pleas.

The fantasy was unlike anything Neil had dreamed up before, having always believed it should be him on top, him controlling the situation, him dominating — but it wasn’t a bad one. He’d come faster than he ever did before, just by imagining you were rolling your hips into his own… your strength pinning him down… your lips brushing past the shell of his ear, telling him he was so fucking dirty, so filthy for being this needy.

However, that was all just a vague, distant pipedream, especially with how you seem to actually hate him. All the interaction he’d had with you consisted of poisonous, irritated words, insults and curses — which had him feeling both incredibly turned on, and sick at the fact he was attracted to you just by being mean to him.

Sometime after that, nearing the end of the work day, Neil was the only one left there: Jonathan had taken the morning shift, and Lucien was, surprisingly, on a date with the cashier at their usual Chinese restaurant place. Looks like he succeeded in getting her number, while Neil had been pressed against you in that tiny tape closet, moments away from getting a hard-on.

So, Neil was the only one there - and you were the only customer there. Your daily routine of stopping by and verbally attacking him was late today, so it was nearing midnight when you and Neil sat on the couch and began arguing.

“I’m sure your “manly” ego isn’t at all pathetic and easily hurt by the superiority of Mia Farrow’s performance in Rosemary’s Baby.” You spat, leaning into the diverse array of old throw pillows that sat on the couch day after day.

Neil rolled his eyes, hands up in the air animatedly. “My manly ego - and I don’t enjoy the sarcasm nor the air quotes you’re using - isn’t pathetic, nor easily hurt! Mia Farrow just wasn’t better than John Cassavetes was. I stand by the fact they were equal.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, your hand coming down on Neil’s knee to dig into him angrily. “Neil, I don’t expect you to understand her performance - I don’t think anyone does, not with that little cinephile brain you have. Do you do any thinking up there, or is it just The Treasure of the Sierra Madre on rewind?”

Neil flushed, both at the insults and how your hand was on his fucking leg. “What about you? What is it that makes you keep coming back here if you think my opinion is so… worthless and entitled?”

You grit your teeth, leaning in closer to him. “Because, Neil, this is the only other video tape shop for miles, and I will not be caught dead at Media Giant. Trust me, I despise this - “arrangement” of ours, far more than you do.”

He huffed, his gaze trailing over your features, unable to come up with a response: he was too busy focussing, trying not to zero in on how your face was inches away from one his, your fingers oddly inching up his thigh.

“Don’t go making this about me. Why is it,” your continued, hands traced dizzying circles into the fabric of his jeans, “that you don’t just kick me out? I come in here, day after day, berating you, ignoring your recommendations… shouldn’t I have been banned a long time ago?”

Neil gulped. “You’re still a - a customer, one who rents daily I might add—“

You smirked up at him. “Don’t lie to me. I know Gumshoe’s doing just fine… and I heard you, y’know? Last week… in your office.”

“What? What are you talking about?” He stammered out, racking his head for what he might’ve been doing in his office— fuck.

Fuck, he thought, mind racing rapidly, he thought you had already left by the time he started—

“I heard you, hiding in your office… stroking yourself, moaning my name.”

You’d rented just one tape last Friday, for a movie date with a guy from work, and you almost left - before realizing Neil took your membership card and never gave it back. You waltzed back in, and to your obvious surprise, Neil wasn’t at the register.

“Neil?” You called out softly, trying not to spark an argument with him that would span hours, because you were trying to show up to this date on time.

You walked down the back hallway, and found his office door, which had a gleaming NEIL LEWIS printed on its foggy glass.

Your hand had almost reached for the handle, his name on the tip of your tongue, when you heard a needy whine slip past the door. Shocked, you lingered and pulled your hand away, pressing your ear against the pane to listen closer.

“God, fuck,” you heard Neil curse, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. “Need you so bad,” you heard him whisper to no-one but himself, before a low moan belted out of him.

Your face grew warm, immediately, flushed at the news that Neil-fuckin’-Lewis was jerking off, in his office, mumbling your name. You squeezed your eyes shut, continuing to listen to his pretty voice, and after several moments of your lust-riddled mind drinking in his sweet noises, how he was so focussed on his pleasure while completely oblivious to your listening in, you found one of your hands coming up to tweak your erect nipple — fuck, his stuttered little moans had your cunt pulsing with utter need.

Neil was getting close, you could tell, hearing him buck into - what you assumed - was his wooden desk, sloppily muffled mewls leaving his mouth.

You were biting down on your lip, hard, an incredible amount of self control in place. The man was so horny, sounding so fucking submissive it drove you insane: just the thought that he’d bend to your will and do whatever you wanted made your legs clench.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending who you ask, you felt your phone begin buzzing in the waistband of your modesty shorts - probably the date you were late for - and you had quickly fled.

“Oh, jesus,” Neil blurted out now, alarmed, immediately in the flight part of fight or flight. “I- whatever you heard, I can - I can explain, really, so please don’t—“

Your hand gripped his thigh, keeping him from getting up. “Hey, hey, shh,” you said, bringing a finger to your lips. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I know, just as well as you do, how bad you want me.”

Truly, Neil couldn’t control himself that night. You had walked in, wearing a delicious little dress with a sweetheart neckline, strolling around in 3-inch heels, cooing mockingly at his costume for that week’s theme — a criminal wearing nifty little handcuffs to promote the double feature promotion of crime films and dramas — purposely leaning down to make him feel smaller than you.

Neil had flushed, looking away, willing himself not to let out a needy groan at your get-up, instead silently checking out your tape rentals and quickly handing them back to you. After you’d walked out of the store, he’d dashed to his office, feeling the tent in his pants grow warm, aching.

Quite similarly to how he felt now, your eyes coursing over his entire form, so close Neil felt himself sinking into the couch.

“Look how fucking hard you are already.” you whispered, hand drawing away from his thigh and reaching for the bulge in his jeans, palming him between the fabric. “Does it turn you on? The fact you got caught?”

Neil’s breath hitched. “Fuck, please, I—“

“You’re so pathetic.” You said, laughing at him. “I can feel how big you are, such a thick cock, and all you know how to do with it is beg.”

Your plush lips were curled into a cheshire grin, baring your sharp teeth at him, and Neil was ashamed at how badly he wanted those teeth to press painful bites into his sensitive skin.

He was about to whine again, plead desperately, but he shut up when you slipped off the couch, sinking to your knees, fingers undoing his belt buckle and fly. Shifting his jeans down, you dipped your hand down the waistband of his boxers and pulled his cock out: it was angry, hard and begging for release.

But you wanted to tease him before you got to the good part. First, your warm breath fanned over his cock, making him jump, trying to rut up into your mouth, and your soft lips slipping past his leaking head had his hands tugging at your hair, trying to pull you closer to him.

You thinned your eyes and got up, hand pressing his cheeks together and forcing his jaw open. You spit into his mouth, then patronizingly patted his face, “Do that again and I won’t touch you - I’ll take my tapes and leave you a needy fucking mess on this couch.”

Neil groaned, your spit foreign and hot on his tongue like lava. “God, I… I just wanna — want you so bad.”

You tutted, sinking back down on your knees to face his rock hard length up and pressed flat against his abdomen. “Not yet. You haven’t earned it, you desperate fucking pervert. D’you know who jerks off in their office to someone they barely know? Fucking perverts.”

He leaned his head back, a moan leaving his lips at your insulting choice of words. It felt like you were torturing him, but his body wanted nothing more than you.

Your lips then ghosted past him for another moment before you started your assault on his strained cock: you laid tentative kitten licks all the way down his length, enjoying how he squirmed under you, wanting nothing more but your wet mouth around him. Then, without warning, you took him in your mouth whole, tongue dragging and curling around his cock. You devoured him salaciously, hollowing your cheeks, sliding his cock in and out of your full mouth at an alarming speed, hitting the back of your neck with each thrust.

Your tongue felt heavenly on his cock: wet, warm, and sticky, lapping at him without stopping. Your teeth grazed against him lightly, and Neil’s back arched into your touch.

He was practically convulsing now, drooling as his eyes rolled to the back of his head at the pure pleasure you were inflicting on him with no split second or moment for him to regain his composure. You wanted to see him fall apart, come undone just by your mouth, he realized, and he wanted to let you, wanted to let go — but, as fast as you’d taken his hard cock into your mouth, you let him drop from your lips.

“Why did you - please, fuck -- why did you stop?!” Neil whimpered noisily, head rolling onto his chest to look down at your face: lips plump, faint tear tracks running off your cheeks, your gagged spit falling from your chin.

“I oughta take you down a peg, Neil. Show you what a dumb fucking loser you are, pretending you’re so confident, so dominant, like you know everything there is about movies.” You responded nonchalantly, getting up and shedding your panties and leggings.

“M’not dumb,” he whined, looking at you through heavy lidded eyes, “god, you’re killing me here.”

“You’ll live,” you grinned, climbing on his lap and lining your wet sex with the fat head of his cock. Then you descended down on him, watching blissfully as his cock disappeared into your folds.

Neil’s hands wrapped around your waist, burying his face into your neck. He mewled against your skin, drunk on your tantalizing scent, lips wet with drool and leaving a slick trail.

Despite your dominance in this situation, completely controlling Neil’s pleasure, you couldn’t control your own: Neil’s cock felt fucking good, long and thick in all the right places, a curve that arched right against your cervix, veins rubbing against your walls pleasantly. He stretched your cunt completely, making you wince, but there was still pleasure there, the feeling of your crevices being filled with his fat cock making your toes curl.

After a moment of getting used to his cock, you rose back up, then sunk down, your hands gripping his shoulders for dear life. Neil’s head shot back, a labored cry leaving him as you set a steady, almost too slow pace, torturously sliding his cock in and out of your tight hole.

Your hands trailed across his still-clothed chest, and you grieved the chance lost to have stripped him, your touch teasing him every step of the way — but having him deep within you was probably better.

“Your- fuck, you’re so -- so soft,” Neil squeaked below you, revelling in how you took him, bottoming out each time like it was nothing.

You simpered at his words, how helpless he was, succumbing to the pleasure; to you. “Knew you were,” you slammed down on his cock, making Neil choke, “pretending to be arrogant. You just needed someone to put you in your place.”

Neil hadn’t realized it wasn’t a rhetorical question until your hand came up to his hair, tangling through his locks and tugging. “Who d’you belong to? Who put you in your place?” you murmured lowly.

He whimpered at your roughness, leaning into the sofa obediently. “You! You own me,” he pleaded, desperately chasing his own pleasure.

“That’s it,” you said, shutting your eyes, bobbing up and down on his cock faster. Your ass bounced above him, and Neil’s hands rested on the flesh of your rear, massaging you.

Greedily, Neil tried to thrust into you, but you weren’t having any of it, deterring his attempts by pushing him so he laid flat on the couch, your hands pinning his wrists above his head, the new position pushing him deeper into you.

“You stay down, you dirty fuckin’ loser,” you said caustically, but your actions said otherwise: your walls were squeezing around him needily, your cunt sucking him in so far you could feel his balls brushing against your clit.

The tip of his cock brushed past your g-spot each time you rutted into him, and soon enough you felt it: that pulsing, that heat, that familiar coiling within your insides. Neil was reaching it too, his face flushed pink and his breathing as heavy as it was back then, in the tape closet.

You began thumping down on him, your fingers tightening around his scalp. Your pace had gotten feverish, bordering feral, both your minds focussed on one thing: release. You could feel your cunt tensing, your mind going foggy, and then, there it was: your pleasure ran through you like electric current, shocking your body. You felt numb, tingly like when the blood flow to your arm gets cut off for a moment, making your pace stutter.

You didn’t stop, however, riding out your high on his cock, bouncing up and down on Neil’s thick length. He felt fucking delicious, piercing you in all the right ways, and you adored how malleable he was right now: so horny and submissive he stopped speaking and was merely letting dirty moans leave his mouth without any protest. His gaze, his focus, was elsewhere, lost in the deep haze of pleasure your cunt was subjecting him too.

You leaned down, pressing small love-bites onto his skin like he’d fantasized so many times before, and it broke him out of his stupor. “Did you think of this, in your office?” you whispered, “did you think of me, my tits bouncing, your cock deep in my cunt?”

“Ugh,” Neil groaned, reveling in how your seductive voice sounded like music. He was much, much closer than he thought, and when you licked up his jaw, your hot breath on the shell of his ear making him sweat, your cunt still fucking him roughly, he let go.

You felt it first, the familiar liquid bursting past his thick head and painting your fleshy walls creamy, like a new coat of alabaster that Gumshoe desperately needed.

“So good, so wet,” Neil groaned, shutting his eyes and pressing his forehead to yours. You stared at him, watching his lewd expression throughout his entire high, waiting for that beautiful blue gaze of his to open and face you again.

“I’m milking you dry. Look how fucking full you’ve made me, you filthy pervert.” You were taking him for every drop he could offer, and it was delectable.

You two were heaving now, both coming down from your highs. You’d effectively ruined the couch, your slick soaking the cushions and his jeans, as well as his come, which was leaning out of your still-stuffed hole.

“I think you’ve gotta replace this manky ass couch, Neil,” was the first thing you said, your hands sliding down from their grip in his hair to his pink cheeks, rubbing his skin delicately.

His eyes opened, watching you carefully. “It was about time,” Neil shrugged breathlessly. “Do you… do you actually - hate me?” he continued, murmuring self-consciously.

You laughed, but it wasn’t sharp, not at him like before, no; it was tender, like a scarf Neil wanted to wrap around him in the winter time.

“I never hated you,” you murmured, tone reverent, “you’re just a little, how does it go…”

“Presumptuous?” Neil finished for you.

You nodded, then grasped at his shirt and pulled him from the couch so he was sitting upright again. “Jus’ wanted to, ahem, “take you down a peg” like I said earlier..” you trailed off, cheeks growing warm remembering your earlier behavior during sex.

This was all very new, to the both of you — you, in all your relationships and flings, were not the dominant partner. You guessed there was a first time for everything.

Then, you were about to get off his lap, but Neil held you steady on his cock. “Don’t go,” he said simply. “I’ve got Brief Encounter in the player, if you want to, y’know…”

He wasn’t hard anymore, but it just felt good, cozy, having you two talk and regain your composure with him filling you nicely. It felt right.

You smiled, a gummy, blissful smile. “Okay. I’ve actually never seen this,” you said, turning to face the tv, wincing slightly.

“Really?” Neil said, an amazed joy seeping into his voice.

“I’m joking,” you snorted, and you could practically see Neil pouting behind you. “But I don’t think we’ll be paying much attention…” you purred, clenching your thighs around his length.

“Jesus fuck,” Neil groaned behind you, hands coming under your shirt, “you’re exactly like those movies.”

“I’m even better, baby.”

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #neil lewis x reader #watching the detectives #neil lewis smut #sub!neil lewis x reader

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parisoonic · 4 months ago

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How the hell do you manage to superimpose the hilariously exagerated proportions of the tf2 mercs into a cohesive 2d style? I always struggle SO much with like, the way the mercs' models have huge hands, the way they have relatively low-poly definition on things like arms, shoulders, and legs... and Especially the way like, the models are kinda janky when you pose them for art purposes- when using movement tools, things like armpits and seams between body parts get all deformed... Which makes the study of form and silhouette rather difficult.

I assume that a lot of your ability to translate the concept of the mercs from their original mediums into your own works of art comes to you quite naturally- through experience you have with drawing and art style stuff, as well as through intuition. I was simply wondering if I could poke at your mind and get some insight into your process, any thoughts you have about the proportions and silhouettes of the mercs, any quirks you've found while drawing the mercs, or simply what you enjoy drawing about them. Like, don't be afraid to infodump about something just because you think people wouldn't find it interesting- I am here, I am sitting, and I am listening- if you so choose to speak.

I am utterly fascinated and enraptured by the more behind-the-scenes aspect of art. The mundane things that come second nature to great artists yet seem so revolutionary to less experienced artists.

I love your work, I look forward to seeing more of it, and I hope you have a nice day :]

Sorry for the late reply! I've been a little…stuck on how to answer this but that's mainly because to me, drawing is composed of SO many different little skills - you have form, anatomy, shape language, silhouette, appeal, rhythm, acting and posing…not to mention everything AFTER your raw draughtmanship like line style, rendering and colour theory. Trying to distill a multiude of small skills into some pithy advice is overwhelming to my brain. So I'll take the invitation to ramble instead :))

I don't think I have any new or revolutionary insight into the tf2 guys specifically - more I'm using them as work horses to excercise general silhouette/posing/shape-language and further my skills when it comes to drawing characters!

I do agree though the proportions are rather silly when you stop and think about them realistically…they can be kinda tricky if you follow their 'actual' proportions. what looks great individually was maybe never meant to be directly compared (ie: Heavy's hand size against Spy's lol). It would've been funny if the TV show exsisted and we had more content to review…would the animators have had rules like Spy and Heavy can never shake hands? Would they cheated the proportions for shots? Or would they have said WHATVER it's gonna look weird and embraced it? (Like Kingpin in Spiderverse lol)

Paul Lasaine for 'Into the Spiderverse' This is AWESOME. But it's also one of the silliest designs I've ever seen comitted to screen. The varied scales of the characters work because of the unifying treatment (lighting, rendering, consistant hand anatomy, consistant clothing fold treatment etc) and because they are sort of proportional within themselves. A common mantra is that hands should be about as large as a characters face....which they all are here!

Human brains are very flexible and forgiving though. It's totally fine for you to put a character with huge hands and head next to a teeny tiny character! Vanellope and Ralph from Wreck-It Ralph look grand next to each other! And in that film you even have varying levels of stylisation sitting against each other (unified by the look dev treatment of the shaders and lighting). I think as long as the chracter is proportional within themselves it sort of works out. IE: a general rule is that a hand should be as large as the face so…you can have some large arse hands as long as their placed on a body with a big arse head. Unifying characters with the same treatment (ie: lineart brush, colouring style will also help them look cohesive next to each other :) )

I don't actually reference the 3D models/animations very much at all and instead draw their proportions based on my tastes for stylisation following their general vibes/silhouette profiles. I don't stick THAT close to their in-game looks and there are artists who do that are so so so much better than me (Creedei and Flapjack come to mind). I'm not amazing at body-type differentation and TBH they're all wearing chunky clothes all the time so I usually draw the guys as one-of-three body shapes: Heavy is the uniquely wide guy; Sniper/Scout/Spy are all tall and slim and Demo/Soldier/Medic/Engie have a little more of the generic 'hero' bodytype with varying tallness and broadness of the shoulders

Something like this! You can vary all these individual elements in terms of size, thickness, taper amount etc to create different characters. If you ARE going to reference the 3d works though you'll need to apply some anatomy knowledge to overcome the weird shoulders, armpits and knees which desperately need blendshapes to correct the 3D volumes and approach it a little more like an animation supervisor. There's a reason why you see in making-ofs and art-ofs character designers, character leads or animation supes doing drawovers of the models. These are character models that have had great effort put into their 'base' silhouette but it still needs to be reinforced in every frame for maximum appeal.

Shiyoon Kim for 'Raya' This sort of thing will occur at multiple stages during the animation process. Shiyoon Kim's notes are post final model but pre-animation. Most likely for internal rig tests, exploring what blend shapes and alt shapes are needed for the rigs etc. If your production has time, this will continue all the way to final anim. IF! But it's interesting to see how he emphasises the shapes and enhances the character acting of the 3d model.

As for 'mundane things' - I wouldn't say they're second nature! (If that makes you feel better!) I have to actively really persue certain advice and try to figure out how to best apply it. This can sometimes involve redrawing and redrawing an element of the drawing until I've grasped the nettle of whatever I'm after or…..until I get frustrated and either delete the drawing or just call it done lol

Here, I'm looking for a really specific flow of the head that sells both the acting and a subtle head tilt. I'm also trying to apply the general mantra regarding faces that converging lines (set by the eyebrows and mouth) are more appealing than parallel. It's tough! I also tend to use a drawing I've already done as a template/reference on the page too. Oh! This page is an amazing example of why I'm not an animator or storyboarder…consistancy? Who is she? 💅

Converging lines (that form tapered shapes) are always more appealing than parallel. Using this logic you can loft the facial features across converging lines to create dynamic appealing espressions. Combining this with anatomy, perspective and rotation is the tough part though. I'm still learning o7

The things I probably think about MOST are always flats vs curves, simple vs complex and general line of action/flow...and then eliminting tangents. Each of these can be a dedicated visual-essay on their own - hence my stumbling as to answer your question. Anyhow, not sure if it's ever come up on this blog but I looove dinosaurs :)) so i'm using a wee piece to demostrate these ideas! (but also to demostrate these concepts apply to everything from humans characters to animals, props and background design)

Okay, I'm getting self-aware that this is getting really long :') I have a wee tutorial tag for my blog if anyone wants to comb through my garbled art-thoughts. Learning, studying, repetition and practice will always be the greatest teachers! I'm glad you like my art- thank you so much for the lovely comments - I feel like such a noob still and not qualified to give people advice but we're in it together learning! High-five! 🙌

#tutorial #asks #sorry for any spelling mistakes whoops!#hopefully...this is VAGUELY useful or interesting to people ;;#TBH I'd much rather do youtube drawovers/videos of my own or others work as that is...my job...rather than doing writeups lol #its much easier to talk and vibe about a piece of art vocally than to try and make everything uber succint in writing

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pompadourpink · 4 months ago

Text

A list of questions

À quelle heure tu arrives ? What time are you arriving ?

Avec qui tu parlais ? Who were you talking to ?

Bien ou quoi ? You alright ? (very casual)

Ça va ? Are you alright ? (normal)

Ça va pas non ? Are you crazy ?

C'est moi ou il est fou ? Is it me or is he insane ?

De quoi parle ton livre ? What is your book about ?

De quoi tu parles ? What are you talking about ?

De quoi tu te mêles ? How about you mind your business ?

D'où tu tiens ça ? Where did you hear that ?

D'où tu viens ? Where are you coming from ?

En quoi ça me regarde ? What does that have to do with me ?

Est-ce que tu crois que tu es drôle ? Do you think you're funny ?

Est-ce que tu te sens bien ? Are you feeling alright ?

Est-ce que tu t'es fait mal ? Did you get hurt ?

Est-ce que tu vas bien ? Are you alright ? (slightly elevated)

Faut peut-être se calmer non ? You better calm down (annoyed)

Il faut y aller non ? Shouldn't we go ?

Il fout quoi ? What the hell is he doing ?

Il se passe quoi là-dedans ? What's happening in there ?

Il te faut quoi ? What do you need ?

J'en étais où ? Where was I ?

Je t'ai demandé quelque chose à toi ? Did I ask for your opinion ?

Je te ramène quelque chose/un truc ? Do you need anything (from the store/downstairs, etc.) ?

Le mec en pull rouge, c'est qui ? Who is the dude in the red jumper ?

Les deux ? Both ?

On se calme ? Are you going to calm down ? (appeasing or angry)

On y va ? Shall we ?

Pourquoi tu continues à répondre ? Why do you keep talking back ?

Pourquoi tu ne lui demandes pas ? Why don't you ask him ?

Pourquoi tu t'en vas ? Why are you leaving ?

Quel est ton film préféré ? What's your favourite movie ?

Quelle heure il est ? What time is it ?

Qu'est-ce que ça change ? What does that change ?

Qu'est-ce que ça fait ? What does that do ?

Qu'est-ce que tu as à manger ? What do you have to eat ?

Qu'est-ce que tu branles/fiches/fous ? Wtf are you doing ?

Qu'est-ce que tu racontes ? What are you on about ?

Qu'est-ce qu'il y a encore ? What now ?

Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas ? What's wrong ?

Qu'est-ce qui se passe ? What's happening ?

Sur place ou à emporter ? In or take away ?

Tout est réglé ? Is everything fixed/good now ?

Tout va bien ? Everything alright ?

Tu fais quoi ? What are you doing ?

Tu m'as pris pour qui ? Who do you think I am ?

Tu m'entends bien ? Can you hear me well ?

Tu pars quand ? When are you leaving ?

Tu plaisantes/te moques de moi ? Are you joking me ?

Tu t'es cru chez ta mère ? Did you think you were at your mother's house ? (angry)

Tu te sens mal ? Are you feeling ill ?

Tu vas te taire, oui ? Will you shut up ?

Fanmail - masterlist (2016-) - archives - hire me - reviews (2020-) - Drive

#questions #syntax

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immaturityofthomasastruc · 10 days ago

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IOTA Reviews: Ladybug and Cat Noir: The Movie

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Once again, I'd just like to apologize for the lack of activity the past few months. The holidays have kept me busy, especially at work, and I've officially decided to go back to school next month. Don't get me wrong, one of my new year's resolutions is to at least try getting back to consistently working on this blog, which is one of the reasons why I'm going to tackle She-Ra in the future. Either way, I'd like to thank you for supporting me this past year even though I haven't been as active as I should be.

When I heard Miraculous Ladybug was getting a movie, I didn't really pay too much attention to the news due to all of the side projects that have been canceled left and right, but then I saw the trailer. It looked decent, and while I had issues with the animation, I was willing to give it a shot since Astruc wasn't on the writing team. Then the movie came out, and while it got mixed reviews, this was how a lot of people in the fandom saw it after suffering through Season 5.

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Yeah, a lot of fans hold this movie in high regard. It's nothing as groundbreaking as other animated films that came out the same year like Across the Spider-Verse and Nimona, but for a Miraculous Ladybug project, it turned out pretty well. That is, except for the brief schism it caused in the fandom. While it's mostly subsided, when the movie came out, there was a debate on which handled the story better, the movie or the show. As always, fandom arguments tend to get complicated, and things only got worse when Thomas Astruc himself decided to throw his hat in the ring by claiming that the show he worked on was better.

Yes, even though fans enjoy a movie based on his characters, because he isn't the one who made it, Astruc thinks his version is better. Just remember, he tweeted this about a month after “Derision” premiered. I feel like that speaks for itself.

Thankfully, the argument has died down for the most part, though there's still discussions on which is the better version. Before I really get into the movie, I just want to remind everyone reading this that my opinion shouldn't be taken as fact. I am not the authority on what people should like, and I don't want anyone to use my review as an excuse to bully other people online for having a different opinion on the movie. While I've made jokes about the show's decline in quality, the show and movie both have their own strengths and weaknesses, and we should be able to discuss them.

With all that out of the way, let's get into Ladybug & Cat Noir: The Movie

Just to be clear, I'm not going to tackle this like my usual reviews. Instead, I'm going to break this review into three sections: what I liked, what I didn't like, and what I'm mixed on.

Things I liked

For one thing, the characterization is pulled off very well. None of the characters are really as annoying or incompetent like they were in the show's later seasons. Part of what I think makes it work is that there's more focus on character arcs that have to be completed by the end of the film. Marinette has to learn to step up as a hero, Adrien has to learn humility while dealing with the loss of his mother, and Gabriel struggles to resist the allure of villainy.

Marinette's anxiety is more pronounced in this movie, especially since in this continuity, Chloe is just starting to harass her, so she's not used to this kind of treatment. While Chloe is a minor antagonist in the civilian plotline, the biggest threat to Marinette when she's not Ladybug is her own self-doubt. Her status as an outcast is used to add to Marinette's lack of confidence in herself. The whole reason she even meets Adrien here is because she tried to hide from Chloe in the library, and she was too nervous to really speak up to Adrien. Hell, the first time she transforms into Ladybug, it's only because Tikki forced her to transform.

I like how Marinette's insecurities transition into her origin as Ladybug, where she's put in a situation where she has to take charge and be more confident. She still gets frustrated with her situation and her new partner's ego (more on that in a minute), but she struggles to really get her head in the game at first compared to how things were in “Origins”. It makes her development into the confident hero we're all familiar with feel more natural, as the climax of the movie shows her fully asserting herself as the protector of Paris and a beacon of hope for those to look up to.

Adrien is also handled very well here. As much as I liked “Origins”, I have to admit it didn't really do much with him as a character. With the exception of wasting his first Cataclysm, he just goes about the two-parter like it's another day at the office for him. That's why I'm a huge fan of the movie actually giving him stuff to do. Unlike the show, his arrogance is shown in a more negative light and is shown to be a major character flaw he needs to overcome. Nobody tries to excuse or deny his actions, and he learns how to become a better person.

This is what makes his dynamic with Ladybug so interesting. For their first battle together, he's overconfident and assumes that he's the leader, even though he's just as new at this as Ladybug is. The two trade insults and bicker while fighting their Akuma and even when they meet Master Fu afterwards. While Cat Noir does fall for Ladybug, Marinette still isn't open to it, not because she loves someone else, but more because she finds him to be unbelievably annoying. She doesn't really hate him the same way she does Chloe. It's more like that one coworker you can't stand but have to tolerate regardless.

Both Ladybug and Cat Noir help the other improve as they gain each other's respect. Ladybug gains more confidence in order to keep Cat Noir from bossing her around, while Cat Noir becomes more humble to become a better hero. Eventually, Cat Noir reverses his position and assumes he's the sidekick, only for Ladybug to deny that claim and declare that the two are partners. This statement also reflects how both of them are responsible for saving the day in the end. While Adrien ultimately reaches through to his father, Ladybug saves Adrien and repairs the damage caused by Hawkmoth. Both played a role that was instrumental in the climax, and neither one feels ignored by the narrative.

Another character who really got a much needed revamp is Chloe. Yes, she's still Marinette's primary bully, but it's more downplayed than in later seasons. She stays a challenge exclusive to Marinette's civilian life instead of trying to be a challenge to Ladybug. The closest thing she does to opposing the heroes is kick Cat Noir off a runaway Ferris wheel out of fear, and even then, she gets her comeuppance through Ladybug throwing her in a dumpster while saving her. Chloe is also much smarter than in canon, being able to read the room to mask her emotions and maintain her image or to prey on someone's insecurities if they get in her way. Don't get me wrong, she's still a source of comic relief, but the movie treats her slightly more seriously than canon does.

Speaking of comic relief, here's something that I think made this Chloe better than the one seen in the show: The jokes were actually funny. Yeah, it's not laugh out loud, but I like how rather than make jokes about how immature and stupid Chloe is, her jokes are focused more on her own ego and self-image. Well, that, and wanting to kick Marinette's ass. I'm not making this up. Chloe in this movie threatens Marinette several times, and it's honestly amazing.

She unironically put the fear of God in Marinette's eyes in her first scene alone.

I also like how they handle her role as a love rival to Marinette. Unlike the show, Chloe and Adrien never interact, and it's implied that this continuity won't use the childhood friends element introduced in Season 2. It's a good way to show the difference between her and Marinette, how for all her boasting, Chloe doesn't know Adrien the way Marinette gets to know him.

Gabriel is easily the best part of the movie. This version is more fleshed out compared to the show. Rather than flip-flop between sympathetic and pure evil, the movie leans more on the sympathetic side for Gabriel's character. His very first scene shows the grief he's going through while thinking about Emilie, and Keith Silverstein gets to show off more emotions than just over the top sociopathy. You understand why he chooses to become a supervillain, but you want to see him get better, making for a very somber character. I especially love the delivery of the line where he finally gives in and transforms for the first time.

Gabriel: If chaos is the way, I will burn the world and lose myself in the flames to do so!

That line has no right to go as hard as it does.

We see him descend more into villainy as his appearance becomes more disheveled. Despite claiming to care for his son, the Gabriel and Adrien don't interact until the 70-minute mark. By the time the two do talk, Gabriel looks like a mess compared to how he looked at the beginning.

I really like this writing decision, as it highlights the distant relationship between the two, and how being Hawkmoth has only made things worse for Gabriel. Seeing Gabriel finally realize how unhealthy his coping mechanisms have been when he learns Adrien is Cat Noir is a satisfying scene, as it feels like a natural way to put an end to his arc. Compared to canon where he wins and never really feels bad for what he did, this version of Gabriel is far more remorseful at the sight of his son battered and bruised and breaks down sobbing. Remember, this was the version Astruc said we “wanted” and not the one we “needed”.

As for the Miraculous, things were changed to better fit the story, and I like most of what they did. I like how there's more focus on the teamwork between Ladybug and Cat Noir. Their Miraculous don't just grant a wish when used together. They literally become stronger when the two work together, and it makes a lot of sense. I like how the teamwork aspect is rewarded in-universe, because it shows how the heroes can do more than create and destroy stuff. I also think the addition of a call function on their Miraculous makes perfect sense, and clears up a ton of potential communication errors.

The fight scenes are also pretty creative. There's a lot of focus on using the environment to fight the Akumas. The very first fight has Ladybug and Cat Noir defeat the Akuma by letting a train hit it, and the second major fight involves a Ferris wheel going out of control. This leads to more varied action and well choreographed fight scenes. I especially like how with the exception of the Mime (and a brief reference to the Bubbler and Guitar Villain), all of the Akumas are brand-new, so older fans don't know what to expect with these guys.

This level of action also extends to the climax. Hawkmoth uses an Akuma on himself, sending out a massive flock of butterflies. You'd think it'd be like this movie's take on “Heroes' Day”, right? Nope! Instead, the Akumas become tiny attack drones that swarm over Paris like the eight plague of Egypt. I don't know how the animators managed to make an army of purple butterflies menacing, but by God, they did it.

Speaking of animators, my thoughts on the animation have changed drastically. While I still have minor gripes with the character design, I still love how the city of Paris is brought to life, making it seem more populated than in the show. I never really held the limited amount of civilians against the animators in the show, but I'm so happy we can see this show's environment on a cinematic budget. The animation is another reason why I think the action works so well in this movie.

Things I didn't like

When it comes to the changes to the Miraculous, one thing I'm not a fan of is Ladybug not getting her Lucky Charm. It misses the point of her having the power of creation. Yeah, she still has the spotted vision thing she had in the show, but it takes away what made the way she defeats Akumas interesting. She doesn't just beat them into submission. Sometimes, she outsmarts them or reasons with them, and part of the fun with the Lucky Charm is seeing just how she'll use something like a coat hanger or an old football trophy to defeat them.

I also don't like this movie's take on the Butterfly Miraculous. The very first scene has Master Fu build it up as an evil artifact capable of turning people into monsters. Remember, “Origins” established the Butterfly as something capable of creating superheroes, a power Gabriel twisted to create villains instead. Hell, I hate this rule, but the Paris Special made it clear that Miraculous can be used for good or evil, and it all depends on how the power is used. In other words, Miraculous don't kill people, people kill people. Bottom line, I prefer the idea of the Butterfly being the same as the other Miraculous, with the user and intent making it evil.

The one character who I felt the movie absolutely misrepresented was Plagg. This version of the character has none of the heart he had in the show. Yes, Plagg was crass there too, but he had just as many scenes showing how he cared for Adrien like a little brother or a nephew. He was Adrien's primary confidant and wanted to help him however he could. Even bad Plagg-centric episodes like “Kuro Neko” or “The Kwamis' Choice” made it clear he wants what's best for Adrien and is capable of coming up with plans if they'll help him.

Here, Plagg is mostly just there to make snide comments and fart a lot. Say what you will about the show, but at least it didn't make Plagg farting into a running gag. Plagg only gets a handful of lines in the entire movie, to the point where even Tom has more lines than he does. Tikki gets plenty of scenes with Marinette and an entire song, while Plagg feels like an afterthought.

Things I'm mixed on

This might be a little controversial, but I have mixed feelings on the portrayal of the Love Square as a whole in this movie. Don't get me wrong, the Ladynoir scenes are great, but there's not as many Adrienette, Ladrien, or Marichat scenes. In fact, I don't think there were any Ladrien or Marichat scenes in this movie, which is weird. I can at least excuse those, but it's weird how little Adrienette scenes there are. Not counting the masks, they only have four major scenes together before the end, and one of those is a deleted scene that had the dialogue cut over a montage.

While I'm glad the entire movie wasn't about the Love Square drama, the romance between Marinette and Adrien specifically feels a little rushed. I think it would have benefited the movie to have ten or fifteen more minutes to flesh out this subplot a little instead of only focusing on Ladynoir.

I'm also unsure what to say about the songs. Most of them are pretty catchy and have great visuals, but the dissonance between the singing voices of Marinette and Adrien throws me off. I don't get why neither actor for the French or English dub was asked to sing. For some reason, Tikki and Gabriel's voice actors got to sing, but not Marinette and Adrien. At the very least, Drew Ryan Scott's singing voice sort of sounds like Adrien, but Lou's singing voice makes Marinette sound twice her age. Don't get me wrong, I still liked the songs, but this choice was very jarring to me.

And now, because literally nobody asked for it, here's every song in the movie ranked.

8. If I Believed in Me

A very dull “I want” song that's just Marinette wandering around Paris on the way to school. Compared to “Little Town” from Beauty and the Beast, where you can easily follow Belle and understand how she goes about her day, it's not clear what kind of route Marinette is taking. Even the lyrics are pretty bland, just talking about wanting to follow her dreams and be more confident. The issue is that her dreams of being a fashion designer barely factor into the plot, and she only becomes more confident thanks to being a superhero, something she didn't dream of. The only real dud in the soundtrack.

7. Opening Remix

Not much to say here. It's a remix of the opening theme with the new singers. It sounds nice.

6. Reaching Out

This is a much better song than “If I Believed in Me”. It does a great job expressing Marinette's doubt and how she feels pressured to be somebody she's not. Great way to follow up on her heart getting broken by Adrien.

5. My Lady

This one's a quickie, but it's still fun. I love the visuals in this one and how it gradually crescendos, reflecting the new feelings Cat Noir has for Ladybug developing.

4. Stronger Together

Surprisingly, Ladybug and Cat Noir's only duet in the movie, but it's still really good. I love the use of the set in the theater Cat Noir took Ladybug to at the beginning before they run around Paris. The lyrics do a great job showing how far the two's relationship has come, making it clear how close they are, only for reality to metaphorically kick them out of the sky.

3. You Are Ladybug

Another duet, this time between Marinette and Tikki. While I still think Cristina Vee should have gotten to sing this one song given her chemistry with Mela Lee, Lou still does a great job expressing her anxiety. The back and forth between Tikki and Marinette makes this a blast to watch, especially with it using the same music as the theme song. Even the rap part with Tikki was fun to watch. I especially love the part where Tikki excitedly tells Marinette about how dangerous the job is and how close she'll come to getting killed.

2. Chaos Will Reign Today

The villain song in this movie had no right to be as good as it is. The visuals are eerie and fit the more menacing tone of the song. Keith Silverstein gives his all to make up for his crime of singing the Hawkmoth Rap. It's also a hell of a lot better than the villain song Disney had to offer that year.

1. Courage in Me

Easily my favorite song in the movie. The visuals of Marinette struggling to hop across these black spots symbolizing her yo-yo before her transformation into Ladybug is awe-inspiring. The lyrics are a great way to solidify Marinette embracing her role as Ladybug, and it's such a triumphant song to listen to.

Other things I noticed

During the first Akuma fight, Ladybug and Cat Noir pass by some guys with stereotypical French accents while almost every other character speaks like they're in America.

Careless Whisper plays one time in Cat Noir's mind as he develops feelings for Ladybug. The fact that he listens to it after getting his heart broken has to be one of the most subtle jokes I've ever seen in this franchise. Of course, it's clear what the best superhero cover of Careless Whisper really is.

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Cat Noir says he has the power of destruction in his introduction while being impressed when Master Fu says the same thing.

There's a Volkswagon tie-in that actually features the two heroes promoting some cars in-universe. This is a real shot from the movie.

I think Chloe ships Alyanette, judging from this exchange:

Marinette: Seriously, Alya, you think Adrien would say yes?

Alya: Of course! I'm gonna ask Nino.

Chloe: I think you should go together, 'cause Adrien is coming with me, not with some baker girl.

I don't think Ladybug ever learned Cat Noir could play the piano, so seeing Cat Noir try to woo her with a little piano number is a nice inclusion.

When Cat Noir's mask is destroyed in the final battle, his exposed eye is still green. Was this where the chibi shorts got the idea from?

Other people have pointed this out, but the picture of Adrien as a kid is traced from a character from The Boss Baby. That's an automatic ten point deduction for making me remember that movie exists.

The post-credits scene with Nathalie was weird.

Did Master Fu not know he lost the Peacock Miraculous too?

Why isn't Emilie in any form of suspended animation?

Is the Peacock still damaged?

Did the Peacock still kill her/send her into a coma?

Was Adrien still created by the Peacock?

Why didn't Gabriel use the Peacock or at least consider it?

Did Gabriel forget to tell anyone about the other Miraculous he has after turning himself in?

Why did Gabriel choose to tell Nathalie when she didn't seem to help him while he was still Hawkmoth?

Final Thoughts

Overall, this was a really good movie, and a fresh take on the show's universe. I had issues with it, but I still think this movie series has promise. The animation was great, the songs were catchy, and the characterization was on point for the most part. It even manages to be a better musical than the ones big names like Disney and Warner Bros have made in the past two years. It's one of the best things to come out of the franchise, no question. I wouldn't mind future installments set in this continuity over whatever Season 6 churns out.

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ghostchems · 3 months ago

Text

phantom of the paradise - papa emeritus iv x reader

you go to a special screening of “phantom of the paradise” and end up being taken with the strange man who introduces the film

a/n: listen. i love awkward copia, i really do. but i also love seductive, mysterious, otherworldly copia and that is what this is. there’s just uh kissin’ here. also maybe this is me trying to get Ghost fans to watch this movie bc there’s so much ghost dna in it MAN. 3.7k words ao3 link.

Going to the movies alone never bothered you. In fact, over the years it's become one of your favorite pastimes. You can see whatever you want without worrying about finding a companion. Your taste is… well, it's your taste. Not everyone appreciates experimental '70s films or rock operas, which is exactly what you have planned for today. You've managed to snag a ticket to a rare showing of Brian De Palma's "Phantom of the Paradise" at your local independent theater. You first came across the film a few months ago, watching it nestled on your couch. From the moment it started, you knew it was something special.

You find a seat in the theater's center, perfectly positioned for the screen. Settling in, you cross your legs and place a notebook on your lap. Your pen taps rhythmically as you await the film's start, ready to jot down thoughts for your future Letterboxd review. The theater gradually fills, buzzing with excitement for this cult film on the big screen. You sigh deeply, relaxing into the plush seat. This feels like a well-deserved treat after a long work week, a chance to escape the real world for an hour and a half of drug-fueled musical numbers.

The lights start to dim and the chatter subsides. A man walks out on the stage, immediately capturing the theater’s attention. His appearance is nothing short of ghostly. His face is painted like a skeleton, with stark white bone-like features contrasting against the dark hollows of his eyes and cheeks. What's most striking, however, are his eyes - one a piercing white, the other an eerie green. He's dressed in a stylishly tattered suit jacket paired with a vibrant blue cravat at his neck. You glance down at your notepad and write:

Spooky ghost man.

He approaches the small podium and adjusts the microphone awkwardly. Clearing his throat, he begins to speak with a hint of an Italian accent, his captivating tone immediately drawing in the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, 'Phantom of the Paradise' isn't just a film to me." He pauses, his mismatched eyes scanning the crowd. "It taught me about the power of music, the price of ambition, and the beauty of the bizarre. It inspired me to embrace my own uniqueness." His words hang in the air for a moment before he concludes, "I hope it moves you as deeply as it moved me. Enjoy the show." His lips quirk into a barely perceptible grin as he taps his notecard against the podium. There’s scattered applause.

The lights dim further, signaling the film's start, yet your gaze remains transfixed on the ghost man, his stark white skull paint a beacon in the darkness. As you attempt to redirect your focus to the screen, a flicker of movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention. The ghost man has silently glided into your row, settling a few seats away. Throughout the film, his presence lingers beside you, more aware of him than you would like to admit. His reactions prove oddly charming—a soft chuckle punctuating comedic moments, a subtle lean forward during tense scenes. What captivates you most is his quiet humming along to select musical numbers, his voice a barely perceptible whisper that, surprisingly, enhances rather than detracts from your enjoyment.

His enthusiasm is palpable, and you can't help but feel intrigued. As "The Hell of It" plays during the end credits, his soft singing drifts to your ears. The haunting melody lingers in the air as you find yourself unconsciously tapping your foot to the rhythm. When the lights slowly come up, you turn to catch a glimpse of the mysterious ghost man, only to find his seat empty. Blinking in surprise, you shift your gaze to your notebook. You realize there are more notes about the him than the movie itself.

Gathering your belongings, you linger in your seat for a moment, still processing the film and the man’s lingering presence beside you. You make your way to the lobby, your eyes scanning the crowd, searching for him. But he's nowhere to be seen. Without thinking, you’re already stepping out onto the street, the cool afternoon air hitting your face. You pause, unsure of what you're looking for or why. That's when you spot him—a flash of white and tattered elegance disappearing into an alley behind the theater. Without thinking, you follow, your footsteps quickening as you approach the narrow passage.

You round the corner, you catch sight of him walking away, unhurried and almost graceful. You hesitate, torn between calling out to him and silently observing this strange, captivating figure as he moves further into the shadows. Suddenly, he stops in his tracks. Without turning around, he speaks, amusement in his voice. "Are you following me, friend?" There's no accusation in his tone, just a gentle question. He slowly turns to face you, his mismatched eyes twinkling with an odd sort of understanding. "I suppose the film wasn't quite enough for you either, hm?" He chuckles softly, seemingly at ease with the situation.

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage. "I... I really liked your introduction," you stammer, feeling a bit foolish. "I'm sorry for following you. I don't usually do this kind of thing."

The ghost man's painted lips curl into a smile. "No need to apologize, tesoro. I tend to have this effect on people. Though, not typically from my film introductions." He takes a step closer, his eyes studying you with curiosity.

"Thank you," you say, offering a small smile. "I thought your introduction was really nice. It added something personal." You hesitate for a moment before continuing. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but... your appearance. Are you like dressed as a character from something?”

The ghost man's smile widens. "Ah, always the question, isn't it?" he says, running a hand through his graying brown hair hair. "This is… eh, me in a way. It’s a long story." He chuckles softly, the sound echoing in the alley. His expression shifts, a hint of shyness creeping into his demeanor. "Perhaps... perhaps it would be easier if I showed you," he says, his eyes searching yours. "Would you like to see?"

"How could you show me?" you ask, curiosity and caution in your voice.

His ghost man's eyes brighten. "There's something not far from here that will explain better than my words ever could," he says, gesturing down the alley. "It's just around the corner."

A part of you suspects this could be a trap. You're reminded of the film—how Leach's initial trust in Swan led to his downfall. Yet, despite the warning bells in your head, you find yourself nodding. "Alright," you say, surprising yourself. "I'll come with you."

The ghost man's painted face softens. "Thank you for trusting me," he says quietly, a hint of warmth in his voice. "This way, per favore." He turns and begins to walk deeper into the alley, his movements slow and deliberate. Your eyes fall to his pants, tattered just like his coat and tight. You trail behind him, notebook still in hand as a sense of unease begins to creep over you. The dimly lit alley seems to go on forever. Where could he be taking you? Why not just explain himself?

After a few minutes of walking, you find yourself standing before a small chapel tucked away a few blocks from downtown. There's something unsettling about its appearance—the weathered stone seems to absorb the dim streetlight, and the windows are dark and opaque. Your gaze falls to a few lone gravestones in the yard. The ghost man gestures towards the entrance.

"After you," he whispers, his voice barely audible. You swallow a breath before pushing open the heavy wooden door. The interior is dimly lit, black flickering candles casting long shadows across the walls. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you gasp. Directly across from you stands a large stained glass window, its center dominated by a portrait of the ghost man himself. The inscription reads 'Papa Emeritus IV'. The window depicts him in all his skeletal glory, a coy look on his face, a barely perceptible smiles. The craftsmanship is exquisite and with vibrant colors, namely the bright blue robe adorned with intricate yellow and black designs that cloaked him. You turn to Papa, questions forming on your lips, but he's already moving towards the window, his eyes fixed on his own image.

He reaches out, his gloved fingers tracing the outline of his own face in the glass. "This is who I am," he says, his voice echoing in the empty chapel. Papa's finger traces further down to the script on the window: Avē, avē Antichriste! Avē Satana! A shiver runs down your spine as you recognize the Latin phrase. It reminds you of "The Omen." As you absorb the stained glass and the chapel's eerie ambiance, you're struck by how much Papa resembles the Phantom—not of the Paradise, but of the Opera. You can't help but draw parallels between the two figures, especially given that he's all but lured you to his secret lair.

Lost in your thoughts and the mesmerizing stained glass, you fail to notice Papa's approach. You feel his presence behind you — a chill runs down your spine as you feel his breath on your neck. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Papa's voice is soft, almost wistful.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. Your heart races as you feel Papa's gloved hands gently come to rest on your shoulders. The touch is light, almost comforting, but it sends a jolt of electricity through your body. The stained glass before you seems to shimmer in the candlelight, Papa's painted face both mesmerizing and unsettling. You remain frozen, unable to speak, as Papa's fingers give your shoulders a gentle squeeze.

His touch lingers for a moment before he steps back, allowing you to breathe again. "Tell me," Papa's voice is low, almost hypnotic, "what do you think of my little sanctuary?"

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "It's... nice," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. "Like something out of a dream...” Or a nightmare, you think to yourself. You turn to face Papa, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "Why did you bring me here?"

Papa's lips curl into a warm smile. "To show you a glimpse of my world," he replies, his voice a low, melodious purr. "As I mentioned, I have an effect on certain people—those with open minds who might be receptive to an offer, perhaps... or simply to satisfy their curiosity."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued yet cautious, the theme of this encounter. "An offer? What kind of offer?" Your jaw clenches as you recall the film, half-expecting Papa to produce a contract like Swan did with Leach.

Papa's grin widens, revealing a hint of perfectly white teeth. "Ah, curious, aren't we? Well, cara, I represent a rather... unique congregation. We're always looking to expand our flock, so to speak."

"Congregation?"

"Yes," Papa nods and a gust of air makes the candles in the room flicker. "I'm part of what you might call the Satanic church. But, eh, not to worry," he adds quickly, noticing your expression, "it’s not what you think. We're about celebrating individuality, embracing the unconventional, and most importantly... music."

You blink, struggling to process this information. "Music?" The connection suddenly clicks. "That explains why you sponsored the film."

"Oh yes," Papa says, his voice taking on a passionate tone. "Music is at the heart of what we do. It's how we express ourselves, how we connect with each other and the world around us. We have a band of ghouls and I am the bandleader — eh, but that is not my only job. It is my favorite part, though. Other than sponsoring cult films, of course.”

You hesitate, your eyes darting around the small chapel. There's an undeniable allure to Papa's words and presence, but a nagging voice in your head warns you this could be a trick. Yet, something about his sincerity and the passion in his voice when he speaks of music resonates with you.

"I... I'm not sure," you say, your voice wavering slightly. "All I had planned for today was to see a movie… not this."

Papa's expression softens. "I saw you in the theater. Your passion for the film, your openness to the unconventional. I, eh, thought you might be someone who could appreciate what we offer. Someone who might want to... explore a bit further." His words strike a chord within you, resonating with a part of yourself you didn't know existed. Your heart flutters, excitement and nervousness coursing through your veins. As if sensing your stress, Papa reaches out, his gloved hand gently cupping your face. His thumb brushes along your jaw, the touch electrifying and soothing.

"There's no need to decide right now," Papa murmurs, his mismatched eyes locked with yours. "But perhaps... a taste of what we offer?" His painted lips curl into a soft, inviting smile.

Your heart races, feeling trapped. Is this really happening? You know the smart thing would be to leave, to get far away from here and forget this ever happened. But, you find yourself unable to tear your gaze away from his piercing white eye.

"I... I think I'd like that," you whisper, your voice barely audible in the hushed chapel. A burning curiosity has taken hold of you, one you can't shake. Papa's otherworldly aura envelops you, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. His hand drifts from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. With his other hand, he takes your notebook—the last barrier between you—and tosses it over his shoulder.

Your breath catches in your throat as Papa leans in, his painted face drawing closer. As his lips meet yours, time seems to slow. The kiss is unlike anything you've ever experienced—soft yet electrifying, tender yet passionate. The gentle pressure of his lips sends waves of heat through your body, each one more intense than the last. You find yourself leaning into him, your hands instinctively reaching for his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his tattered coat. Papa's arms encircle your waist, pulling you closer until you're pressed against him. The scent of incense, candlewax, and a hint of brimstone envelops you, making your head spin.

His lips move against yours with increasing fervor, and you feel yourself getting lost in the sensuality of the moment. The kiss deepens, and you taste a hint of something sweet on his tongue. It's intoxicating, addictive, and you find yourself wanting more. His gloved hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as his tongue explores your mouth with skilled precision. Your knees weaken, and you cling to him for support, your fingers digging into the fabric of his coat. The kiss seems to last for an eternity, stealing your breath and leaving you dizzy with desire. When Papa finally pulls away, you gasp for air, your chest heaving. Your lips feel swollen and sensitive, tingling with the lingering effects of his touch.

His appearance is noticeably more disheveled now, his painted face slightly smudged and his tattered coat askew. His mismatched eyes gleam with a wild intensity, and his chest rises and falls rapidly, mirroring your own breathlessness. It's clear that the kiss affected him just as profoundly as it did you. His gloved hands still rest on your waist, his grip firm yet gentle.

"My, my," he purrs, his voice husky and low. "You are full of surprises, aren't you?" A sly smile plays on his lips as he regards you with a mixture of admiration and desire. The candles in the chapel seem to flicker more intensely, casting dancing shadows across his painted features. “May I kiss you again?” When he asks so politely, how can you say no?

"Yes," you breathe, barely audible even to yourself. "Please."

Papa's eyes flash with desire as he swiftly lifts you, his surprising strength catching you off guard. He sets you down on the altar, the cold stone a stark contrast to your heated skin. His lips crash against yours once more, hungry and demanding. His gloved hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You arch into his touch, lost in his enveloping presence. He draws your lower lip into his mouth, dragging his teeth along it, eliciting a gasp from you.

He plants a few kisses to the corner of your mouth, then drifts to your jaw and further down. His lips trace a tantalizing path along your jawline, each touch sending shivers down your spine. As he reaches the sensitive spot just below your ear, you feel his hot breath against your skin, causing goosebumps. Papa's kisses become more insistent as he moves down your neck with soft, feather-light touches and more passionate, open-mouthed kisses. Your breath hitches as he finds a particularly sensitive spot at the base of your neck and you can feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin.

You can't help but wonder if you've crossed a line you can't come back from — but do you really care at the moment?

Papa lifts his head to meet your gaze, his face paint now thoroughly smeared. You wonder if any has transferred onto you. He leans in, his strong nose brushing along your cheek as he presses his forehead against yours. Suddenly, the candles flicker out, plunging you both into darkness—save for the ethereal glow of the stained glass window. He rests hands resting on either side of you and his chest heaves with each breath. His ghostly eyes, glazed with desire, lock onto yours as he watches you catch your breath. "Will you consider joining my flock?" he asks, his voice husky.

You struggle to catch your breath, your mind still hazy from the intensity. "I... I'll think about it," you manage to say between gasps, your voice barely above a whisper. The weight of his offer hangs in the air.

Papa's lips curl into a grin, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "Take all the time you need, tesoro," he purrs. "When you're ready… I'll find you." He leans in, his painted face mere inches from yours. His gaze searches your face, a flicker of softness in its depths. With careful gentleness, he presses his lips to yours. This kiss is vastly different from his other kisses — tender, almost romantic. As he pulls away, you feel a pang of loss. Papa's smile returns as he takes a step back, his gaze never leaving yours. "Until we meet again," he murmurs.

You watch as he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing in the small chapel, growing fainter until they fade entirely. Left alone on the edge of the altar, you're surrounded by flickering candles and the lingering scent of incense. A part of you considers calling out, asking him to stay, but something holds you back. In the end, you let him go. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. Your legs feel shaky as you slide off the altar, adjusting your clothes with trembling hands. The cool air of the chapel hits your flushed skin, bringing you back to reality. Eye scan the dimly lit space, searching for your notebook. You spot it on a nearby pew, right where you must have dropped it earlier. Opening the notebook to a fresh page, you fumble for your pen. Your hand is still unsteady as you begin to scribble down the man’s name and the Latin on the stained glass, a reminder of the otherworldly encounter you just had.

With one last glance around the empty chapel, you clutch your notebook to your chest and make your way towards the exit. The outside world feels startlingly normal after what you've just experienced. Your feet hit the ground with renewed purpose as you head back to your apartment.

Your mind wanders as you walk home. You can't help but wonder if Papa's offer is similar to Swan's - a large contract signed in blood that would bind you to him until death. Perhaps you’re being dramatic. He seemed to model himself after the phantom, but you're not so sure of his intentions. There's something more sinister about Papa that sets him apart. The way he moved, the intensity of his gaze, the power of his touch - it all hints at something beyond human. You shiver, remembering the electrifying sensation of his kiss, the intoxicating taste on his tongue. Part of you is terrified, but another part is thrilled by his allure.

You approach your apartment but you find yourself glancing over your shoulder, half-expecting to see Papa's striking figure materialize from the shadows. The memory of his touch lingers on your skin, and you can still taste the sweetness of his kiss on your lips. You unlock your door with trembling hands and quickly close it once inside, leaning against it with a slow exhale. Your eyes fall on your laptop, and a sudden urge overtakes you. You rush to it, opening a new browser window. Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment before you type: "Papa Emeritus IV”.

There he is, Papa Emeritus IV, in all his ghoulish glory. The images match perfectly with the man you encountered in the chapel - the skull-like face paint, and his haunting white eye. You scroll through countless photos, some showing him in the tattered suit you saw today, others in the more elaborate robes depicted in the stained glass window. Your heart races as you dig deeper. The Satanic church he mentioned? It's real, though perhaps not in the traditional sense you might have imagined. It's more of a theatrical rock band called Ghost, with Papa as the frontman. Their music videos and live performances are a spectacle of occult imagery and rock opera grandeur, reminiscent of the very film you just watched.

Everything Papa told you checks out. The band of ghouls, his role as the bandleader, the emphasis on individuality and unconventional expression - it's all there, laid out in interviews, fan forums, and official band statements. You even find mentions of their penchant for sponsoring cult film screenings, just like the one you attended. As you lean back in your chair, a mix of emotions washes over you. Relief at him telling you the truth, confusion at his theatrics. Your fingers unconsciously trace your lips, remembering the electrifying kiss.

You can't help but wonder: what would joining his "flock" truly entail?

#papa emeritus iv x reader #papa emeritus iv #copia #cardinal copia #ghost band fanfic #Maybe… maybe there will be more

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