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teabutmakeitazure · 1 year

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Burgeon - 2

>Yan! Chrollo x Fem! Reader (Soulmate au)

Warnings: Chrollo being as starved as a mediaeval man who has never seen ankles, manipulation (specifically Pavlov-ing), idioms with a little gore

Word count: 4.3k

Part 1 I Part 3

The midnight breeze is something that Chrollo has been appreciating more and more recently. It plays the role of a refresher, something that eases his mind and relaxes any agitation he may have been accumulating. If anything, it makes him more… 'tame' for you.

Had he not had the chance to let the wind blow through his hair, he would've snapped at you to head back inside even with the blanket you're currently wrapped up in. But for now, Chrollo figures that you've earned this, even if you had been sick just a few days ago.

Chrollo can feel the way you eye how he rests his body completely against the railing with no regard for his safety. He can even declare with confidence that you're imagining him accidentally falling off, despite his back being turned to you. It's the way he can feel you tense up when he leans against it further that gives it away.

Such an interesting person. You had told him just two days ago during your sickness that you wished for him to die, yet now you're worried about him falling. The mind is more honest during sickness and sleep, so both reactions and claims are correct. Which one are you more inclined to, he wonders.

When you finally decide to take the step that brings you to the terrace instead of keeping you on the noncommittal line between it and the bedroom, he finds himself still staring at the city below him. A thought suddenly popped into his mind as it has remained idle for the past few minutes.

Were you not in deep sleep when he left the bed?

You were so soundly asleep that Chrollo found it rude to even think while laying next to you, the possibility of you waking up because of his possibly troubled thoughts was something he did not want to come true. That is why he, insomnia at its peak, had left for the balcony. To seek the refreshing cool air of approaching autumn.

And to, of course, not wake you up by accident.

However it seemed it backfired, for you've carefully taken a few steps towards him but stopped because you started shivering. Ah, such a fragile little thing. Don't you know that vulnerability is a predator's favourite?

Chrollo allows you to watch him in silence. Even with his back being turned to you, he is perfectly capable of feeling your eyes on him, and right now they're staring at his back in hesitance and perturbation.

"Can't sleep?"

Your question has no purpose being voiced, for you're well aware of how little sleep he usually gets. He goes to bed with you but falls asleep after you and wakes up before you. Even if that wasn't Chrollo's normal sleep cycle, he would've changed it to be so because having the luxury of being able to watch over you during one of your most unguarded, most vulnerable and most tempting moments is something he would never pass up on.

"Are you worried?" He tilts his head to face you who are now right by his side albeit a few steps away. "My, how thoughtful of you."

"Please stop smiling like that. It's creepy."

He chuckles, mirth evident in the crinkles around his eyes. "Why don't you teach me how to smile in a not so creepy way? Yours is beautiful, effulgent even. I'm sure I can learn a few things from you."

Such bashfulness you show. With the way your jaw tenses and you avert your eyes, Chrollo almost loses the sensation of the cool breeze in favour of soaking in the adorable expression on your face.

When you give no response, he goes back to the scenery in front of him. Chrollo's body once again relaxes against the railing, and his mind travels over to how any regular citizen would be in deep sleep at this very moment. They would be resting, oblivious to the crimes taking place at this hour. That sort of obliviousness is something he finds intriguing.

Chrollo's body melts into the balcony railing, his face being held up by his hands. You, however, seem a bit horrified at the position.

"Hey! Um… be careful. You might fall."

The railing is by no means short, so your paranoia most likely stems from the fall to the ground. Well, you're concerned and about him no less. He's flattered.

"I'm being serious, you idiot. You're going to fall."

He smiles, eyes still fixed on the city, "An interesting proposition."

"Well then," you scoff, "if you do fall, it'll just do me a favour by killing you."

"I suppose you're right. Love and infatuation are both poisons in their own way."

"..."

"You don't like my philosophy?"

Grey eyes stare into yours awaiting an answer. The demeanour is almost puppy-like, cute even.

"You know, you're the antidote to this poison," he states. "A ludicrous fact, but a fact nonetheless."

"Chrollo, I swear if you are trying to be Mr. Darcy at this very moment, I am obliged to remind you that you sound as creepy as an old man giving candy to a little girl."

"And what's so wrong with giving candy to little children?"

"Exactly!"

You back away a few steps, intently watching if he does more than just turn around to look at you. The way his hair dances in the light breeze makes you pause for a moment before you regain your voice. "I hope you do fall, off the railing that is."

As you waddle inside with the blanket still wrapped tightly around your figure, Chrollo suppresses a smile. Perhaps this is why destiny had given you to him. When you're not sulking or rebelling against him on every breath he takes, you make for quite amusing company even if it is out of capitulation.

Chrollo ought to wait out here until you're asleep. That way, he'll be able to kiss you goodnight without any protests.

The device in Chrollo's hands taunts and ridicules him. Though switched off, merely looking at it is a daunting task, for he is well aware of what he will find. Carefully, Chrollo switches it on, smiling at the wallpaper of the street cat you had mentioned before he took you.

The gallery icon on your phone's home screen calls to him like a siren's song, but Chrollo practises self restraint and instead lets all the notifications pile up before putting the device on aeroplane mode. He had initially removed anything that could allow GPS tracking of the device but hadn't bothered to check if anyone was worried about you.

Well, you did make it on the news. He wouldn't be surprised if there was a search operation for you as well, but what does he know? He took you and left the city after a week. How they dealt with you supposedly going missing is their problem, not his.

Chrollo checks your social media accounts one by one, going through the chats and messages. One particular male's chat history is specially ticking him off, the absurd confidence he exudes for someone of such low calibre and his attempts at subtly flirting with you are almost pitiful.

Thankfully, you don't seem interested by how your responses are worded. Another point to himself. Not a single contact in your phone except for your parents is important. Speaking of parents, Chrollo wonders if he could have gotten along with them well.

Well, to get along with them would mean having to risk you running away since forming a relationship with them requires you to be free. Nevermind then. He'll remain as is.

Though your chat history with your mother wasn’t on the top, a message from her had caught his eye immediately. ‘I miss you,’ it read. It’s possible she sent it to your contact in order to seek closure. It doesn’t matter. You were destined for him and with him you shall be.

The sound of the bathroom door opening doesn't affect Chrollo's work. He continues in his pursuit, all the while eyeing you, hair wet and nape completely exposed, as you quietly go inside the bedroom. Amazing. You missed his presence on the sofa. How adorably oblivious.

Chrollo finally heeds and opens the gallery app on your phone, leg bouncing up and down in anticipation of what you may have there. In all honesty, the thought of raiding your phone hadn't crossed his mind before. He had originally kept it, although switched off, to keep an eye on who might be messaging you during your disappearance.

The chat you had with him is something he also went through. Chrollo found it to be a bittersweet reminder of how pitiful inexperience can make a man.

He scrolls down, immediately looking away when he finally finds pictures of you. The pictures are… too much for his taste. He's afraid that the smile you have in those pictures might cause a little 'problem' to rise or perhaps a blush, and he would rather not have you see him like that yet, especially if the pictures aren’t even anything scandalous.

Nevertheless, he scrolls down further, making a mental note to come back to those specific ones later when you're busy or asleep. More pictures of you appear, some with only you and some with your parents or friends. Chrollo scans over each and every single one, telling himself he will get back to those later and then questioning why he's continuing if he will return eventually.

Sifting through more photos, he finds a few that catch his immediate interest.

Baby photos. And… is that you as a toddler? How precious. Seems like your radiant smile has been a constant in your life. Ah, even as a child you were so full of life. Chrollo wonders what happened while growing up to create someone capable of murder, not that he can judge.

"What're you smiling like a creep for?"

A hand reaches to touch his lips, and he feels that they are in fact curled into a smile. So your smile is contagious even with photos? As expected of his soulmate.

"No really. You look creepy. Knock it off. Plus, having a phone in hand seems out of character for you."

Chrollo hums to himself, pleased that you don’t recognise the device in his palm. "You seem to be in a good mood. What might be the occasion?"

Having you initiate conversation with him all on your own is a sign that you don't feel any malice towards him for the time being. Emphasis on 'for the time being'.

Eyes follow the trail of a stray drop of water as it travels down your neck, over the curve of your collarbone and disappears into your shirt. It takes a lot of willpower for him to not comment on it because any sliver of bare skin is absolutely irresistible.

"None," you reply. "Unlike you, I'm not a pretentious prick all the time."

Pocketing the phone, he crosses his legs. However, Chrollo immediately changes his mind, the image of your infectious smile still fresh in his brain, and gets up. Your eyes carefully observe his movements, body language loud on how you're ready to slip inside the bedroom if he does anything you disapprove of.

Calloused hands reach for your face, and despite your initial hesitance, you allow him to do as he pleases. The memory of the action's previous occurrences may have resurfaced to have caused your sudden compliance. As his palms make contact with your cheeks, he notices a slight flinch from you but favours to ignore it.

"[Name]."

"Y-yeah?"

His thumbs brush your cheeks tenderly, and he notices you eyeing his tattoo. "Do you have any idea of how precious you are?"

"Do you have any idea of how annoying you are?"

He tuts. "Here I am trying to appreciate you and ask you for a date, but you keep insulting me. How rude."

"Date? I'm not up for listening to you talk smack about a dead poet again."

"By date, I mean date. I'm planning to take you somewhere, but I'm yet to decide where that is."

He can feel the eagerness in your actions when you grab his wrists, eyes wide with disbelief. Perhaps he shouldn't tell such a cruel lie, but it's all in good intentions.

"Really? You're not lying to me?"

Thumbs brush your lips and your hold on his wrists tightens.

"Again, I am planning. You’re yet to earn my favour, dear."

The seed has been planted, and now Chrollo must only await it to germinate. If he throws in the idea that he will allow you to leave and explore the city with him if you behave, it might create more happenings where you happily converse and interact with him.

"What do I do?"

Amazing. Eager already.

Chrollo stares at you for a moment. The first time he held your face in his hands, he had done it to convince you of his feelings, to show that he does care for you unlike what you had claimed. After that, he had done it to express his biases towards you wearing his clothes or something he picks, all the while complimenting you, a perfect recreation of a scene in one of your favourite novels.

Perhaps that had brought something into your mind because the next time he had repeated the action, you expectantly looked at him and being his soft spot, Chrollo yielded to your charms and ended up allowing you to watch the evening news like you requested.

Maybe… if he keeps this up, you might be more responsive and willing towards his affection. If he fulfils one desire each time he holds you this way, he might trick your brain into seeking out his touch even if it is for your own selfish gain.

"What you must do," he says, "is, for starters, stay still."

"What do you-"

He leans in, but even with his initial aim of your lips, suddenly goes to kiss your forehead. The affectionate gesture makes you freeze, and Chrollo smiles to himself while kissing each cheek as well.

He knows what you're thinking. If you want to see the city, feel the fresh air and finally get out of his presence for even a short while, you must let him do as he pleases. You're an open book to Chrollo but the opposite for the other way around.

With how easy you are to read, it's quite easy to rile you up. Nonetheless, if he keeps this up for longer, he may very well have you seek him out.

And there is nothing he covets right now more than for you to approach him yourself.

Chrollo sometimes wonders how you can sleep so carelessly next to him. There must be something fundamentally and deeply wrong with your brain to have fallen asleep like any other regular night even after witnessing a man being eaten alive by indoor fish, let alone in the same bed as the man who had admitted his crimes to you and also said that he does not regret any of them.

Will you continue to sleep so soundly after finding out about the troupe? Will you push him away? Go for the couch? Or will you remain unaffected?

He does harbour great curiosity about your upbringing and why you remain desensitised to such matters in the long run. An initial reaction to the act is perfectly normal and so is restlessness and a lack of peace of mind later, but you don’t seem to experience the latter other than the nightmares you had about the murder you committed. Ironically, even those had ceased after a few weeks.

While taking your Nen ability, he had come across a kind of darkness in your soul that had originally come from your mind. Did you witness violence while growing up? It was the kind of apathetic that a killer would usually nurture, but you seem to have empathy for everyone as well. It could be subjective. That would explain why you had chosen to claim that the man you killed was guilty of your late friend’s death when you had awoken from a nightmare you had after he took you in.

What’s worse is that the more time he spends with you, the less he has to think about his reactions. The most recent example is when the other day you had come to the balcony after him at night. Chuckling and smiling had come to him without a second thought when he jokingly asked you to teach him how to smile. It’s peculiar because he usually has to think over what reaction he should have in a scenario before displaying it.

Perhaps that is simply what it means to be with your soulmate. Chrollo is well aware that most of his expressions are fake and shallow but his sentiments are not. He was right in the beginning. You may just hold the key to him understanding himself better.

A groan and you stir in your sleep, eliciting Chrollo’s attention to your sleeping form once more. It did feel rather odd to share a bed with you at first, but he quickly grew accustomed. Another one of your many mysteries is why you didn’t bother refusing him when you started waking up to see him next to you in bed. It slowly developed into going under the covers together, another development you didn’t comment on, but you never allowed him to hold you at this time.

It could be that you don’t trust him, but despite all the crimes he has committed, he would never disrespect you in such a way. Consent is important to Chrollo, but he doesn’t bother with whether it is given wholeheartedly or under pressure.

As his finger lightly traces your collarbones, he adjusts his position and sits up. He could condition your mind into experiencing positive emotions after him touching you. It would be the same as how he has held your face in his hands and said something to make you happy. That way, you would associate the feeling of his skin to an influx of dopamine and actively seek out the addictive rush of hormones, consequently seeking him out.

A simple task in theory, but not near such in practice. You’re smart and you may catch on, especially when he considers that in highschool, an institution you have attended, students are made familiar with the scientist whose work he’s trying to recreate. Well, it’s not a hindrance. Challenges are fun, even more so when you are involved.

An idea that Chrollo had while waking you up in the morning is repeatedly nagging him mentally. It’s simple and easy to execute, but that isn’t what’s holding him back. How you may react is the problem.

During your fever, you were extremely explicit and straightforward in expressing your displeasure and animosity towards him. It had taken a few days even after your recovery to completely calm down, or at least to the extent that he could breathe without you having to complain about it.

Thinking about it now… you were kind of feisty during that period. Hm. Maybe even more… ‘desirable’.

No. Chrollo, you’re getting sidetracked.

There will be plenty of time to ponder over ways to tame you when you’re being rebellious and how to thoroughly enjoy it. For now, focus. How can you be riled up to the degree of spouting profanities but without any extreme anger? Would insulting your taste in books do it? No, you would probably bite back by calling him pretentious and be done with it.

Think.

What is one thing he can use to distress you and then subsequently use to de-escalate and soothe you? Your parents? Your friends? Who more do you have a close relationship with?

Ah…

That’s right.

“[Name]?”

You merely grace him with a questioning hum, face buried in the book he finished reading last night. Seriously. When will you get over trying to make fun of his tastes?

Chrollo rests his cheek on his fist, legs crossed on the sofa. You’ve hoarded the single seater one in hope that he wouldn’t seat himself next to you. How petty.

“Can you pause your reading? I have something I’d like to ask you”

“Done scheming?” You peek over the edge of the book before closing it and setting it aside. “Fine. Let’s hear what diabolical plan you’ve cooked this time.”

Chrollo raises a brow. “Diabolical plan? That’s a hefty accusation.”

“I’m not wrong though.”

“I suppose. Well, I was actually thinking over whether or not I should ask you this, but I settled on doing it. The conversation might just make our relationship less rocky.”

The explanation seems to have succeeded in capturing your attention, so Chrollo continues.

“Do you recall when you said that you wouldn’t be opposed to being with me? I was just wondering where that enthusiasm went. Do you not like me anymore?”

You narrow your eyes at him accusingly. “Why ask me now?”

“It’s been weighing on my mind for quite some time now. I suppose I just couldn’t help myself at the moment.”

“Well,” you drawl, “I didn’t realise back then that you were hiding so much from me. That too, important information. Had I known that you’re a criminal, I would’ve gone the other way.”

“Criminal? Darling, you’ve also killed a man.”

Suddenly, all your confidence is gone and you start sputtering out your words. “T-that was self-defence. Plus, he was the reason why she died. I-if it wasn’t for him-”

“Initially, you excused your crime by calling it self-defence, but now you claim it to be some sort of score settle since he led to your friend’s death? All I see here are excuses to escape the guilt, but we’re getting off topic. You are no better than I am, so why did your standing change?”

Chrollo’s argument seems to have dumbfounded you because all you do is stare at him with wide eyes. The curve of your nose, the tremble of your lower lip, the lashes framing those beautiful glossy eyes and the accentuation of your collarbone when you lean forward. During the time your brain wracked for a response, he did a once over of all those features, feeling particularly strong about how your eyebrows frame your overall expression.

As fulgent as you are, even during your lowest moments Chrollo will have to fight the urge to ruin whatever radiance may remain underneath your skin. Perhaps that is why he finds himself pitiful and mad when it comes to you. Just what is it about you that makes him claw your name off of his skin? What is the matter with those eyes that peer into his being, ripping off skin and flesh and settling between his bones, that makes him want to simply tattoo over his name on your back so that the entire world can see it?

Destiny is an awful thing, but Chrollo is equally as awful.

“Even if you reject me,” he says, slowly moving towards you, “you would never escape. Fate has handed you to me on a silver platter, and I would have to be dead to let you go.”

Chrollo has been proven wrong. You are in no way the key to understanding himself better. Instead, you are the means. If the changes you have brought to him in the short amount of time you have been with him are so significant, then it must only mean that he’s done something right. The fact that his heart beats faster in your close proximity rather than only during heists is just one of the many proofs.

“This isn’t how soulmates should be.”

“It isn’t? Enlighten me then,” he challenges. With both his hands on either armrest, he cages you to the seat, leaning in just a few inches away from your unnerved expression. “You are supposed to love me and I am supposed to love you. Simple enough.”

“No… this love… isn’t right.”

You’re cracking. Wonderful. This agitated look is simply enchanting with your intoxicating features. If he wasn’t aiming to recreate another gesture from one of your romance novels, he would have certainly taken advantage of your almost petrified state.

“Why not? Soulmates are supposed to live for the other person. What’s so wrong about staying with each other?”

Perhaps any sort of conviction you had has melted away, for all you’re doing is continuing to stare at him attentively. Is he too close? That would explain how guarded your body language is, but the way he’s leaning into you is supposed to fluster you. Hm, the conversation topic might have not been a good match. Oh well.

Chrollo retreats and decides that it’s time to put his theory to the test. Maybe he did get carried away and induce fear instead of anger but either two are negative emotions so it really shouldn’t matter. As he crouches down in front of you, he notices how you tense up. Gently, he holds your face in his hands again and waits for every fraction of a second for a reaction.

When you subconsciously relax under his touch, Chrollo is forced to suppress a grin.

“You’re safe with me, [Name]. No harm will ever come to you.”

The rollercoaster of emotions you just experienced must have given you whiplash because even now you don’t respond. However, Chrollo can feel how you physically relax. When he brushes his thumbs against your cheeks, you almost melt into his hands, but judging from your expression, you must be confused about the sudden security and contentment you feel.

Fate really must have a personal grudge with you for tying you to a man like Chrollo. To him, you’re a knife lodged inside his chest, but despite how much he may bleed, he will twist it further inside until it absolutely demolishes his heart. And even then, he will smile.

#yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hunter x reader #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucifer x reader

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renegade-skywalker · 3 months

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Experiments in Idle Pleasures

Summary:

Merit pays Gale a visit in his study with the intention of surprising him with dinner but ends up providing a welcome distraction instead. Set post-game.

Word Count: 4,480

Rating: E

Notes:

Not required reading but I mention a pair of enchanted rings here from my other fic, A Soft Proposal, which this acts as a bit of an unofficial but spicy sequel to, that provides a little more backstory on how I imagine the rings to work, though you can parse out how they function if you only read this one anyway ;)

~~~

It was the first time in weeks Merit found herself in the throes of possession.

Her fingers spirited over her lyre, an unwritten song summoned unbidden from her fingertips as if she’d known its melody already, intimately familiar with its every intonation. Pen to parchment could hardly keep up. Her palms were smudged with ink as she committed each verse to paper and hoped her handwriting accurately translated every bit of inspired scrawl.

It came in parts.

First was the melody, its inherent theme emerging as every note was simultaneously played as if just-discovered yet also intimately-known. And then came the verses, hymnals and mismatched bits of poetry inherent to the song itself but not yet stitched together in the proper order, its words needing finessing, its structure needing bolstering, its overarching story needing a careful hand and even more fine-tuned ear.

She thought it had taken all afternoon, but before she knew it the room had grown dark and the warm sea breeze from the open window had grown cold. At first Merit thought night had crept up on her, midnight upon her when she was only expecting it to be four o’clock at the latest. But after glancing at the device on the far side of the room she realized it wasn’t quite as late but also not nearly as early. It was almost nine.

Papers scrawled with notes and semblances of song scattered about the room in the oncoming gale from outside, rain beginning to patter at the windowpane.

Gale, her mind echoed, thinking of the rain but also of her love, still tucked away in his study upstairs. Gale.

Similarly enraptured by his own life’s work, it appeared that the time had slipped Gale’s mind as well, though it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. Merit hadn’t gotten so lost in a song in ages and she was glad to find Gale so buried in work that he no longer found himself pacing in whatever room she happened to be in, biting a nail and running a nervous hand through his hair as he recounted every possible minute misfortune that might befall his new tenure at Blackstaff Academy, his anxiety from so long a time away mostly attributed to his desire for his every lecture to be absolutely perfect and without pause, an ease Merit soothed would come with practice - not unlike her singing and songwriting.

Merit continued scrambling about the room collecting her things as she thought of him. The room was one Gale set aside to have her design entirely as she wished upon moving back to Waterdeep. He’d taken a thoughtful approach to her moving in with him, proposing that she have some say in the entire tower’s decor and overall appearance since it would now be a place they shared (with Tara’s input as well, of course), but this room was hers and hers alone.

It once housed my very impressive, though perhaps rather hoardsome, collection of Weave-touched objects, Gale had recounted with a wan smile upon showing it to her for the first time, barren save for the dust motes floating in the idle shafts of sunlight that filtered through the window. It would bring me nothing but joy for it to be entirely yours now, to do with as you wish. This room was empty long before my rather timely abduction, so perhaps by some serendipitous twist of fate this space was always meant to be yours.

Merit smiled at the memory, the warmth of it sating her as she closed the windows against the encroaching storm. The room still smelled of salt air as she closed the panes against the suddenly insistent rain, relishing in the sound and the smell of it as the petrichor intensified from the balcony just outside. Thinking the better of it, Merit left one pane ajar if only to let the scent in before she finally left the room and descended to the kitchens.

Not her usual domain other than on quiet mornings when sleep failed her and the dream of baking bread filled in her dreamless gaps, Merit tiptoed her way around the space as if trespassing, which it very much felt like. Though she knew the larder by heart, its every nook and cranny known to her at this point, she dared not disrupt the unspoken spell of a system Gale had placed upon the space - which was to say there wasn’t any actual spell placed on it, only his incredibly meticulous organizational preference insisted on every facet of the room and its contents. So instead of altering anything, she spied the soup Gale had prepared in the cauldron above the hearth the day before, still covered, smiling at its remaining wealth before deciding to heat it up and warm a few rolls of her own sourdough along with it before finally retreating upstairs with a generous slab of butter and a honeyed cup of tea to bring it all together.

Merit rapped gently at Gale’s study door, counting to ten before knocking again and almost instantly hearing a rushed but quiet Come in, come in.

He often did this. He’d hear the door but doubt himself as he kept on reading or writing, awaiting a rejoining rap at the wood before answering as if never quite believing his own senses when drawn so deeply into his work. Upon his invitation, Merit nudged the door open with her foot and slid inside with the serving tray as leverage, careful not to tip anything over as she finally slipped inside. She set the tray on the nearest surface clear of clutter, which was an endeavor in and of itself, and took it upon herself to light a few more candles as she bit back a knowing smile, eyeing Gale’s already squinting eyes in the scant light as he scribbled in one book whilst having his nose pressed in another.

“I made dinner,” she proffered lightly. "Well, you did, technically. Yesterday."

Gale mumbled something indecipherable as he wrote some more, discerning his notes before reconsidering his source material, his bespectacled eyes looking from one set of words to the other twice over before eventually acknowledging Merit.

“Dinner?” he asked absently, “ But it’s only-”

His eyes finally glanced sideward out his study room window, realizing that what he had presumed to be afternoon was now already well past night.

“Huh,” was all he said as Merit took the bowl from her serving platter and placed it in his unsuspecting but welcome hands.

“This is the soup you made yesterday,” Merit said, at first referring to the bowl’s contents before also passing him the bread and butter, “It’s thickened into a bit of a stew over the hearth so I warmed this to go along with it.”

Gale looked dumbfounded at both the bowl and the bread before looking up imploringly at Merit who hung over his shoulder like a parrot atop a pirate, only instead of echoing his every command her only intention was to make sure he began eating.

“You’re starving,” she insisted as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Trust me.”

Gale laughed a hollow, tired laugh as she pressed her lips to his temple.

“Thank you,” he said, a begrudging resignation lacing his voice though not out of indignance but instead of appreciation, forever a man too proud to say he’d lost track of the time but forever indebted to a woman intent on feeding him anyway. To think of how many nights Gale went without a proper meal despite his inherent skill whenever Tara wasn’t around to insist otherwise or at least remind him of the time almost made Merit sick with a retroactive worry. “Truly.”

“Make no mention of it,” Merit said, insistent, “Just-”

But before she could finish her thought, Gale raised a hand and reached for her lowering head, bringing her face back towards his as she leaned over him so he could kiss her again but properly this time.

Their mouths inverse, Gale pressed an eager kiss to Merit’s still half-smiling mouth, this time parting her lips with an eager tongue. Allowing him passage, Merit melted against him though she had no idea what possessed him. Not that she minded either way.

Merit finally pulled out of their kiss if only because the arch of her neck was starting to ache, though she would gladly go on kissing Gale forever despite it.

“I don’t want to distract you,” she said in a whisper, her lips brushing against his. “But-”

Before she could finish, Gale deposited his dinner atop the desk as he twisted in his chair and grabbed her gently but firmly by the waist, his hands nearly clawing at the fabric there as he pulled Merit onto his lap.

“What if I could use a good distraction?” he asked in a low husky voice, his eyes mischievous over the rim of his glasses. “Plus, you’re too good to me. I need to return the favor.”

“It was the least I could do,” Merit obliged as she slipped her arms around Gale’s neck, biting down on her bottom lip at the sight of him, always fond of how he looked in glasses. “You really ought to consider raising your bar a little.”

Gale pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering there as he relished in the scent of her.

“You’ve raised the bar plenty,” he said before nuzzling against her head.

Merit softened beneath his touch, leaning her head further against his as she hummed pleasantly under her breath.

“What are you working on?” she asked in a half-whisper. “Going well, I hope?”

Gale sighed into a smile against her cheek, making Merit feel warm all over.

“Exceedingly well, in fact, even though I’ve hit a bit of a wall,” Gale admitted into her hair. “I’m not surprised time eluded me so completely.”

Thankfully, the windows in Gale’s study were already shut against the coming storm though not out of any abundance of caution and instead because there were far too many precarious piles of books stacked in front of the panes to open them properly. Merit would have suggested some spring cleaning if she knew that the space hadn’t also doubled as a practice ground for finessing spells as well, the darkness sometimes aiding Gale’s often intense focus and need for absolute precision.

“I don’t want to take away from your work, though,” she protested in earnest, their heads still resting together, Merit’s fingers now absently caressing the back of Gale’s neck. “It’s taken a while for you to get back into the swing of things.”

Gale said nothing, instead absently puckering his lips against her forehead in a half-hearted kiss, his mind clearly elsewhere. His fingers grasped more despairingly at her dress, inching the fabric up ever so slightly.

“I wrote a song today,” she said softly against his skin. “If you’d like to hear it”

“Always,” he said, one of his hands winding up her back until his fingers met skin. “I love hearing you sing.”

Merit shivered into the ease of his touch and settled there, the very state of her teetering on the border of comfort and arousal. Her skin grew warm as she snaked one hand gently down Gale’s back, slipping beneath the open collar of his shirt, while the other threaded through his hair.

“Why do I have a feeling you have something else in mind, though?” Merit asked, one hand softly raking at Gale’s scalp, relishing in how he held her closer as if in immediate response to her hungry grasping.

“Because I might,” Gale admitted, this time placing a kiss at the base of her ear, nestling his nose in her hair afterward. “You know, for science.”

“Hm,” Merit considered in earnest. Her song had been about idle pleasures, small saccharine moments mounting to a greater hunger, stolen perhaps but all the more sweet for their idle if not indulgent appetites. Perhaps her inspiration had been more divinely inspired than initially intended… “I’m of a mind to indulge your scientific inclinations, if that’s where your ever so diligent research has led you this evening.”

Merit couldn’t help but think of the first time they kissed, not to mention the few times after. Gale had kept her questing heart at bay at the tiefling party by warning her of his not-yet-quelled orb’s potential for destruction, its ire possibly inspired by whatever errant excitement might flow through him at any given moment, but by the end of the night, in part to Merit’s insistence as well as a good deal of wine, Gale had given into his idle if not ill-advised desire to kiss her, inspired no doubt by the vision she’d shared of the very same through the Weave. The vision come true, and both of them intact in the aftermath, Merit had raised a timid hand to Gale’s chest, her fingers tracing his scar as she wondered at the implications.

In my experience, the best cure for doubt is study and experimentation , he’d uttered against her lips, the hunger for another kiss clear in the way he looked at her and held her to him, as if the moment may very well slip through their fingers and be lost forever. And an experiment must be repeated at least thrice in order to ensure accuracy, of course. If you did want to repeat it thrice, I can certainly make myself available.

“It would only be prudent,” Gale argued, kissing her neck now. Merit sighed and melted against him.

“Well, if it’s for the greater good,” Merit played along. “We might as well.”

“Might as well,” he echoed.

Gale sowed kisses up her neck, across her jaw, and up over her awaiting chin before kissing Merit square on the mouth, pausing there as if savoring the taste of her. Gale’s hands met again at Merit’s waist and continued their earlier work of gathering the fabric of her dress, only stopping this time once the hem reached precariously over the curve of her thighs. One hand descended, planting itself firmly between her legs and paused as Gale kissed Merit with an earnest and hungry mouth, hours worth of studying and meticulous calculation quickly recalibrating so he might best have Merit in whatever way his imagination was already conjuring up in his mind’s ravenous eye.

Without instruction, Merit swung one leg around Gale’s torso so she straddled him proper. The feel of him between her legs sated an inner keening she knew not of until the very moment it was satisfied, rolling her hips against his in a way that made her want him even more. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, his want against her want. None of this was part of her plan, intent only on feeding him dinner but suddenly finding herself indulging him in dessert first instead.

“Gale, I-” she said before Gale wrapped her in another kiss, though no further argument followed.

Gale’s hand remained poised at the warmth between her legs, running his fingers along the stretch of linen that separated him from the strength of her want for him. Merit eased herself against his touch just as his other hand rose to her chest, pulling precariously at the neckline of her dress until her breasts were exposed completely. He traced the outline of her before running a careful thumb over the curve of her, her nipple growing hard against his touch as well as the open air.

“No fair,” she argued, tugging at his shirt. Before reaching for the hem of his shirt, Gale reached for his glasses but Merit stayed his hand.

“The glasses stay on,” she urged into a kiss before relinquishing, pulling away just far enough for Gale to remove his tunic, and to her surprise, sensing his desire not just against her but thrumming through her veins in kind. Glimpses of various states of undress, hungry mouths slaked but wanting more, skin warm and sweatslick, all lanced through her mind’s eye courtesy of the ring Gale had gifted Merit in asking for her hand along with the full-bodied impulse to hold her closer. Mirror image cravings laced with longing yearned out of her in return, Merit’s own wishes bestowing Gale with a parallel idea of how the evening might progress if they let dinner remain a delicious afterthought. “I’ll indulge your experiment if you indulge me with this.”

“But you’re blurry,” Gale argued weakly into another kiss as Merit’s hands began their intrepid exploration of his now bare chest, enticingly raking her nails with a gentle sweep over the pleasing shape of him: the base of his now unscarred neck, the sloping edge of his collarbone, and the soft swathes of curled hair that spanned the sinew of his muscles tensing beneath her touch. A sigh rich with yearning escaped Gale’s throat.

Merit kissed Gale still as she mentally shared her image of him, the thought filled to the brim with want as she took in the sight of him between every breath, that same desire inspiring every kiss that followed. Gale relented, humming into her kiss and smiling against her still-hungry mouth as he relished in her unending ache for him, an ache that echoed sweetly within him and yearned to be sated.

“Perhaps I can manage,” he whispered in eventual surrender, his lips brushing against hers before he pulled back slightly from Merit’s seeking mouth, smiling when he saw the disappointment on her face. Or at least guessed it from what he could make out through his glasses. “If it keeps you feeling like this.”

With that, Gale’s touch circled with practiced pause over the center of her, the fabric betraying Merit’s inexplicable craving, his other hand tracing a delicate arc over the exposed curve of her in a way that made Merit shiver, her breath quickening. Merit could only nod at him in quiet request for more, her eyes heavy-lidded with a covetous need for Gale to be closer yet cursed with a warring desire for him to keep teasing the very want out of her.

He deserved this, knowing just how much and how badly she wanted him. As much as Merit wanted to stop what she was doing and please him until Gale became so utterly undone that he hardly knew his own name, she wanted him to know this. To feel this. Her pining for him was more than a physical need but a spiritual indulgence, a pleasure made perfect only because of the depth of her love for him, fueled exponentially so by his matching devotion to her.

Their minds married beyond the mere symbolic, their shared desires and errant pleasures flowing freely through the joined rings at their fingers, informing their every touch, each caress, imbuing every stolen kiss with something both known and yet to be discovered.

Half imagined yet experienced in full, Merit and Gale shared in a wealth of thought and sensation, their shared rapture bridging the gap between real and imagined as Gale’s hand crept carefully yet delectably beneath the last slip fabric that separated them physically, gratifying Merit’s mental pleasures by appeasing her basest need.

“Right there,” she found herself sighing against him, though nothing at all needed to be said, her hips magnetized against the deliberate rhythm of Gale’s touch as he delved deeper. “Just like that, yes.”

A wave of exalted elation flooded Merit’s mind as she kissed him, a gift from Gale as he brimmed with the knowledge of her desire, relishing in the wetness of her want for him and yearned for more of it as he pressed her every pleasure point with an eager yet craving effort. As if in response, Merit conjured an image with the express purpose of it being shared between them, a prediction as well as a wish - Gale overcome with a demanding necessity to be inside her, half-clothed yet too impatient to carry her to bed - easing herself against his venturesome fingers in a way that both abated her growing need of him yet fed it just the same.

Gale panted deliciously into Merit’s each and every kiss, before eventually grunting pleasurably against her ear, whispering, “You know me so well - too well.”

Merit bit back a self-satisfied smile at the sound of his confession, melting against his fingers as well as the warmth of his breath on her neck.

“What if we try something else first?” Merit ventured, a smirk threatening to overcome her expression as the thought occurred to her, mouthwatering in its deviousness. Perhaps it was cruel of her to keep this from him, but in the spirit of science she thought it worth a try as she lowered one hand down to the undeniable bulge at the inseam of Gale’s trousers to ease his want out for her to please while she continued to ride his fervent hand.

Gale couldn’t speak, suddenly overcome with a whole other world of want for her as his unspoken gratification at Merit’s similarly scientifically inclined mind met his keening physical craving for her, clear in the glazed way he looked at her now as well as in the way he eased his hardness into the palm of her hand, gyrating against her anticipating touch. Merit smiled, pleased with herself, as she sighed in kind and tried to kiss Gale again, their beings brimming with several universes of want and need threatening to converge precariously into one.

Gale let out a low groan against Merit’s mouth as she touched him, sighing against his hand in kind with another greedy roll of her hips. She ran her fingers lightly along the warmth of his shaft, smiling into their kiss when she felt him tremble at her touch, before closing her palm around the pleasing girth of him. And then she conjured the image again: of Gale inside her, thrusting the wealth of his want inside her again and again with a careening urge that walked the line of utter necessity yet drove dangerously into ravenous indulgence, bordering on excess. She grew wetter at the thought just as Gale grew harder, their respective hands thirsting to feel the others’ culminating rapture whilst desiring for the dream to be made real, simultaneously feeling as if it were in the reality of their shared minds’ eye.

Merit whimpered against Gale’s mouth, every part of her vibrating with excess longing that made her mind and her body feel like a live wire bristling with electricity. She communicated the feeling, receiving a similar sensation psychically in response, their mounting lust brimming dangerously close to completion until their shared cup runneth over - though that was also the entirety behind Merit’s deliciously devious plan.

She eased the cradle of her palm against him, pleased to feel Gale grow harder and harder beneath her careful caress. Gale’s mouth wilted against hers, at first an involuntary response to whatever she was doing to him, but then deliberately, his lips then kissing the length of her jaw until he met the spot at the base of her ear, eliciting an unbidden sigh from Merit’s throat. The shared fantasy continued, this time images pouring from Gale’s mind into Merit’s: his hands hooked beneath her legs, lifting her along with him as he stood from the chair though he remained pleasurably deep inside her, as he then unceremoniously swept his hand across his desk, disheveling his days’ work to lay her against its slanted edge and urge his keening need for her inside again and again, the feel of him sweet and syrupy as he pressed kiss after feverish kiss against her skin.

Merit grew unendingly wet around Gale’s ambitious fingers at the thought, the feel of him growing hot beneath her hungered touch. They panted, whimpering into each and every famished kiss as they each succumbed to the dream completely, collapsing against the other, laced in each others’ resulting cravings made real, endlessly warm in the waning aftermath of their shared climax.

It was quiet then, the air warm between them as they caught their shared breath, the memory of their fabricated fantasy hanging in the air along with the sweet reality of what transpired, still saccharine and endlessly abating, a promise of more to come. One experiment of many more.

“So,” Merit sighed, a wave of contentment falling over her every limb like a welcome shroud, a satisfied smile possessing her lips as easily as her earlier song had. “Do your results support or contradict your theory?”

“Hm,” Gale said as if both truthfully considering this whilst mischievously playing along, his gaze going soft as he took in the still half-clothed vision of her from over the rim of his spectacles. “You threw me for a bit of a loop there when you posed that unexpected hypothesis, though I must say that the outcome was far more in line with my initial suspicions than I hoped to expect.”

“Mhm,” Merit rejoined, running her hands over his chest again. “And? Final thoughts and conclusions?”

Gale succumbed to a soft smile, one that met his eyes and made Merit feel warm all over as he nudged her closer, resting his forehead against hers.

“Any time spent in your company far exceeds even the most ambitious of my expectations,” he said whispersoft before placing the gentlest of kisses to her unsuspecting lips, a wealth of affection lacing the beat of every second spent between them. “Though, I must admit, it did open up an entirely new train of thought, which… will require further study, of course.”

Merit bit her bottom lip as she hummed into a self-satisfied smile. She knew the experiment only started as a means of distraction, perhaps a welcome diversion that would eventually aid Gale’s tired mind in reaching whatever studious conclusion he had been aiming for in his work all day, only to find himself now possessed with the desire to explore the further implications of the rings he’d enchanted, intent on discovering just the lengths to which they could push its linked capacity to bridge their minds and their every imagined desire in between.

“Well, I’m available for any and all further experimentation, if need be,” Merit promised with another kiss, sweet and slow. Gale pulled her closer, savoring the taste of her. "Once you've finished dinner, that is."

Gale smiled, speaking softly into her kiss, "I’ll be sure to keep that in mind."

~~~

(More) Notes:

A bit of head canon backstory: I never have the heart to trigger Gale's pick-up line about experimenting thrice when you have to choose between him and another romanced party member, so in my head he says this line to Merit as they test the boundaries of their mounting affections during the course of the game. In my head, they've at least tried to kiss, or made some attempt, before the orb is quieted in Act 2, but as per their experiments they discover they can't go much further than that otherwise it starts to glow rather ominously… I plan on exploring that head canon in a later fic but figured I would at least explain my line of thinking here anyway.

#bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #gale x oc #my writing #the brainrot is strong with this one

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purplelupins · 1 year

Text

Unholy Piety

|Midnight Mass|

Dark!Father Paul Hill X werewolf!fem!reader

Summery: You hated him. He had taken you as a pet, and you hated every moment with him. So what happens when you go into heat and he’s the one person to help you?

FOR ALL THAT IS GOOD IN THIS WORLD MINORS DO NOT READ THIS.

Warnings: established relationship, Father Paul is mean, owner/pet(prisoner) relationship, SMUT, BREEDING, reader is in heat and needs help, priest kink, innocence kink, abuse, unhealthy relationship, fingering, multiple orgasms, semi-forced, cockwarming(vaginal) mentions of past blowjobs, orgasms, lots of cum, light pain kink.

Notes: this is a commission for @mandowifey

This is filthy.

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There was only one word that could describe Crockett Island. That minuscule pin-prick of an island off the coast of Maine.

Slow.

It was very, very slow. The people, the life, the storms, the animals.

After only being on the island for a matter of weeks, you knew that your opinion would never change, even if the big rock did happen to grow on you.

“You take care now.”

Father Paul cast one more small, friendly wave to Sarah Gunning as he stepped down onto the road from the house. Your head perked up from its relaxed positions between your paws as you had been waiting idle for the Monsignor to finish his rounds on the island. As he came to your side, and you stood to your full height, his hand fell absentmindedly to your head; a comfortable gesture he had taken to doing after having you fall into step beside him each time he left the rectory.

That day was just like many others. One where rain hung in the air, and another day where you walked obediently beside Father Paul Hill. You knew people stared at the two of you more often than not, and while you didn’t blame them one bit, you would have thought they had gotten used to the two of you and the strange image you presented. However, there were perks to the unease you created- namely the things you heard them whisper about you.

Hound dog.

Devil dog.

Monster.

Beast.

Hell hound.

Though you had to blame most of those on Beverly. She had a true talent for her imagination. And while you detested the leech…those names made you laugh.

“You must be hungry, hm?” You heard Father Paul beside you, then felt his large hand stroke your ear, and you reflexively shook him off, earning you a deep chuckle, “Someone’s in a mood…guess you’re not that hungry then. Too bad…I think I-“ he paused to wave at someone passing by, a forced smile making its way onto his handsome face like you had seen so many times…the same one you had fallen for mistakenly, “-I still have some of that casserole from Annie…I know how much you liked it.” He spoke so softly to you, glancing down at your massive form, stroking a bothersome finger down your thick fur as he taunted you.

Assho-

“Father! Father Paul!”

As if in practised synchronicity, both you and the priest turned your heads to the female voice that called out to him. You saw the apprehension in Dolly Scarborough’s face when she took inventory of your ever-present form beside Father Paul since his arrival.

Whether you wanted it to or not, a low growl formed in the back of your throat as she got closer and closer until she was within arms reach of the Father. If you had been able to take your eyes off the woman, you would have seen the traitorous, knowing smirk that pinched at the falsely holy man’s perfect Cupid’s bow. But you weren’t listening as Dolly prattled on about something to do with a town meeting and how Leeza was doing- if you weren’t in this form, you probably would have given anything to go with Dolly to have a cup of tea…anything to get away from Father Paul and his iron grip on you. But as your situation would have it, your primal instinct to protect what your canine brain staked as your territory was stronger than you could manage.

And your territory happened to be the 6’5 priest with kind brown eyes that stood beside you.

Her arm was too close to him, practically brushing against his grey cardigan; your sharp eyes were fixated on that point where they nearly joined. Your massive jaws were starting to ache from the need to snap at her arm.

Frighten her.

Put her in her place.

Make her go away.

This was your area.

Your territory.

Yours.

The control you had began to slip, and you could feel your muscles tense as you prepared to pounce. Then, just as you were about to give in, Father Paul laughed at something she said, and put a hand on your head again, and it all stopped. Normally, you hated him touching you…breathing near you, existing in general, but in that moment you needed that connection to reassure you.

Calm you.

You loathed that you needed it.

Needed him.

As you found solace in his touch, Dolly said her goodbyes, including one to you, and walked down the dirt road away from the two of you.

“It’s alright…I’m not going anywhere.” He cooed to you, turning on his heel to continue the path home.

He must have heard the low rumble that vibrated in your chest when you had been staring at Dolly’s arm, and didn’t feel like cleaning up a mess. Your eye twitched and you ‘accidentally’ almost stepped one of your huge paws on the father’s foot.

Stupid…puppy looking self-righteous prick.

Perfect hearing ass-hat.

It wasn’t as if you wanted to be where you were; the personal pet for Father Paul… or whatever his name was. You would have gone to hell and back if you had had the choice to be anywhere but there- but nothing could have prepared you for being carted away to a remote island like an artefact. How could you have known that the strange man with the soothing voice and careful smile would turn out to be a devil incarnation? That when he had cooed to you about your condition when he found you, that he had had a hand behind his back with a silver knife to trap you.

You hated that you couldn’t snap at him in your current form…what you wouldn’t give to sink your huge teeth into his arm as it swung beside you…but you knew it would only do more bad than good once he healed.

You sighed and shook your heavy head.

He breathed out a laugh as if he could read your mind as you came up the hill to the Rectory. Then he cast a look around to ensure that you were both alone and leaned down to your soft ear and growled out, “You’d better behave.” Before he gave your fur an unnecessarily hard tug to pull you towards his small home…and your cell.

Inside, it was admittedly a very cozy home. Comfortable and modest. And you were certain that in any other situation, you might have looked forward to seeing it everyday, but given the fact that as soon as the door shut, the house was more akin to a prison than anything else. Once you transformed back into your far less furry form, the ‘nice’ Father was already buckling your collar around your neck; his eyes passive and bored when the chain attached to it clinked.

“Feeling a little precarious today with our emotions?” Came that purr of a voice as you kept your eyes closed to pretend you were anywhere else.

Your face twitched. “Didn’t know we shared emotions…are you going to braid my hair and sing Kumbaya too?” Your sharp reply earned you an equally sharp tug on the leather collar.

“So ill-tempered for such a pretty little thing…” he hummed to himself from behind you, “Now are you going to be a good puppy for me or are you going to insist on fasting again?” He murmured, warm breath fanning down your bare neck; he loved his thinly veiled threats.

Your eye twitched and you bit your tongue to keep in a shiver, “Its cold in here.”

The Monsignor sighed and nodded, making no show of hiding the fact that he was staring down at your bare body, “It is…I suppose a good puppy should live by divine example from their owner…here.” He grabbed a sweater and a pair of your panties that had been thrown off you the night previous.

Just as you went to take them, he held them out of your grasp, and you cursed how small you were in this form.

“Say “Please, Father Paul.”…you know better.” He murmured with a tsk as he turned you to face him.

Your eye twitched again. “Eat shit father P-“

Smack

His hand left a red mark on your cheek, but his expression remained steady as ever.

“Manners.” He said flatly.

You swore you would break your own jaw by how tightly you were grinding your molars.

“Please Father Paul can I please have some clothes please?” You managed to get out all sickly sweet, staring up into his dead eyes.

It seemed that while your sarcastic reply was blatant, he basked in the fact that you did as he said. Paul grinned and handed you the clothes like he was handing you a gift from God, “You see? Good comes to good people, sweet thing.” His black eyes were trained on you as you dressed yourself so fast you swore you’d have rashes later.

Having a barrier between you and him was more than welcomed. It was needed. On more than one occasion he had made you sit there on the floor with nothing but your skin and the collar chained to the wall…especially in the early days.

Just another routine.

Another routine in your life was one you particularly hated. Feared, almost. Not that it happened regularly…but when it did, it made a pit of dread fill your stomach, especially now that you were confined to a small island.

You knew the signs. Your smell changed, your temperature skyrocketed, you had a desperate need to form a nest, and worst but strongest of all was of course your unquenchable need to mate. To be bred.

You hadn’t experienced your heat since he took you…and while it used to be horrible, now you knew it would be even worse with him there.

How you loathed it. You were so weak. Your own body and mind betrayed you, making you so docile and feeble.

You hated it.

You were sat in the bedroom of the rectory, a mass of blankets and pillows gathered around you as you rode out another extreme wave of arousing pain that set your skin on fire and left your clit pulsing desperately. If there was a hell, this would be hell on earth. It was as if any extreme emotion that the human body was capable of had been dialled up to 100 and injected into you.

Pathetic.

It was just after midnight when you heard voices from the church as mass ended. You were surprised more people didn’t question this change…you knew a few people had come by after Father Paul’s “disappearance”…but aside from that you hadn’t noticed anyone making much of a fuss.

With his new pointy disposition, you were affectively stuck inside with him all day. He loved it -being in your company-but now he smelled more unappetizing than those dead cats that had “washed” up month ago.

You put a pillow to your face you as let out a scream of frustration. This was true torture.

An inferno on earth. How poetic.

You wanted to vomit.

Heat made your hearing so sensitive- every little creak and shuffle inside and outside put you on edge. Your head began to pound as you listened to the few people leaving the white building after they had gobbled up that priest’s bullshit. You wondered how they couldn’t see his god-complex; though you supposed they just wanted something to believe it.

Desperation pushed people to do desperate things after all.

This was a statement that ring all too true to you in that moment; when the door to the humble home opened, and you heard the gentle voice of Father Paul call out for you, your body screamed at you in exactly that: desperation.

The Monsignor called your name again.

God you hated how you wanted to run to him. Be held by him. You could feel your legs twitching to get you up- to bend you over to be bred.

Paul slowly walked into the bedroom, and leaned against the door frame that was too small for his height; tilting his head to the side as he tsked at your form.

All curled up on his bed.

Sweating.

Needy.

He could see the clear stains on the sheets from your slick cunt making a mess.

“How’s my little puppy?” He murmured, rolling up his sleeves. The fact that he took a long inhale did not escape you; it wasn’t his fault that you smelled so tantalising.

“Fuck off.” Came your muffled reply as you held onto the blankets for dear life.

Father Paul exhaled sharply. You knew he hated your fowl mouth. He had reminded you on numerous occasions with his legs spread wide as he read biblical verses to you as your throat ached from his cock being forced down it. Though it was better than when he made you sit there for hours impaled on him with that silver knife in his free hand in case you tried to move.

“In another mood, are we? You know you don’t look well, little thing. Feeling…warm?” He cooed, making a point to stroke down your bare leg that stuck out from your spot. That man knew damn well what was going on. He might have been a sadistic monster, but he was intelligent.

He knew you were in heat.

He could smell you from the pulpit during his service. Could practically taste you…he had never been so thankful for the Chasuble to hide his erection.

“Go away Paul.” You said his name venomously, raising your head slightly.

He chuckled again.

“Is that what you really want, puppy?” He purred, leaning over your form, taunting you with his presence. It was like having a drug you craved put in front of you just out of reach.

You whined, and he hummed- a low rumble in his chest that made your insides pulse with need.

Different species or not, he was another predator in his own nature and your body craved him; needed to be dominated.

“The righteous hate what is false, but the wicked make themselves a stench and bring shame on themselves…” he quoted that god forsaken book, and you made a gagging sound, “The more you lie, the more sin will attach to you…surround you…engulf your soul.” He ran his hand through your messy hair.

Heat be damned, there was a little bit of fight left in you; the Monsignor gave you such a perfect opportunity being so close and vulnerable, and you took it. Your teeth were in his forearm faster than you usually could move, and his blood was swimming into your mouth. Another gag formed at the back of your throat at the fowl liquid, but it felt so good to release your anger.

Paul sighed pitifully, and grabbed a fist full of your hair at the base of your scull and pulled.

Hard.

You hated how much it hurt.

That he knew it hurt you.

The hold you had on him loosened, and your teeth came away from his arm; mouth covered in crimson.

“Now look at what you did…” he tsked you and shook his head as he still held you firm and inspected his wound that was already stitching itself together.

You spat out the blood, and felt each of your senses go into overdrive. “Just back off.” You ground out, another surge of need coursing through you- it took everything in your power to keep him from seeing how much pain you were in. “Can’t stand your fucking smell you musty old bible.”

One of his brows rose at the statement, not that it was anything new. He was well aware that you smelled far more divine to him than he did to you.

“Suit yourself.” Paul hummed, and the sound vibrated through your bones like a massage; just his voice made you feel weak.

You glared at him as he stood, towering over you like your were but a small child. It was written all over his face that he saw you as something akin to exactly that- something tiny and in need of guidance.

Once his tall frame finally disappeared from the room, you wished you could find it in yourself to sigh out of relief, but if anything the horrid anguish that wrecked every atom in your poor body was only aggravated. A scream built inside your throat, anything to get that humanoid priest to come back into the room and end your suffering.

So you bit a pillow.

Shredded it really.

Feathers floated down around you in some sort of sick imitation of a halo, and you swatted them away. As fate would have it, Father Paul strode past the door just as you did so, his gaze catching you and the onslaught of white fluff. He chuckled again, and shook his head as he continued his path to the small couch, a cup of tea in hand; not that he cared for the taste any more. It was just a soothing routine.

Another hour passed by in dead silence…save for your moans of agony echoing through the rectory every so often.

Father Paul was sat still on the couch, a book in hand and cup lazily left beside him. At each of your little whines and groans, he would smile secretly to himself; he knew it was only a matter of time. Not that he had been with you through a heat, but he knew the sound of despair.

And he was right.

First came the sound of the chain that kept you confined to the far half of the home, then came the soft sound of your bare feet on the cold, old floor. Then your heavy panting that you tried so pathetically to mask. He heard your breath catch in your sweet throat when your urges pounded at your insides, and your bitten whimpers when you almost gave in.

There was a soft thud from behind him, where you had fallen to your knees from a particularly harsh surge inside you.

“Is my pup having a difficult time?” He called, barely raising his eyes from his page.

“Peachy.” You forced out.

The Monsignor breathed out a short, soundless laugh to himself. You were always one for short and smart retorts; not that they were always particularly of high intelligence or wit, but he found you amusing when you do blatantly refused your own nature. When you were hungry and he offered you food, when you were tired and he offered you a bed, when he offered you care and you turned up your nose.

You would be shown the way, Paul was certain of it. It would just take time, and in that time he would be tested by his lord; a true testament of his faith.

It was only a few minutes that had passed when Father Paul was brought out of his thoughts by you; the sound of you pulling at your collar and chain. Finally, he turned around, folding his book neatly in his lap, and watched as you sunk even further to the floor by the door frame; clutching at your torso like it might fly away, and toes curling; chain completely strained.

You were the complete image of human suffering.

Beautiful.

If the holy man could only imagine wings sheltering you, you would have resembled an angel fallen down to God’s green earth.

He slowly stood, and your ears caught every movement from his body; his shirt scratching against itself, his pants adjusting, his socks slipping down slightly. A long shadow cast over you from his exceedingly tall fame, and while you refused to give him the satisfaction of having you gaze up at him like his followers did at Mass…his affect on you remained the same.

You felt small.

And pathetic.

And hopeless.

Not that you’d tell that monster any of that. Hell would freeze over and those bullshit pearly gates would go rusty before he heard a full confession of how tight his grip on you was.

“What did I tell you about lying, hmm?”

A cold hand slipped along your back, and you could feel your scorching body heat grow cool as he absorbed it. You hated that a small whimper escaped you- having some of the feverish heat relieved was simply divine.

You bet having the rest of him touch you would-

Shut the fuck up you piece of shit horny ass brain. This is an undead monster playing the part of a holy man for fucksake.

“Let me help you, little one…”

That hand on you slid into your hair, and petted your scalp. Again, you felt your shoulders relax, but then your wits came back to you so fast you almost got whiplash from how fast you tried to lunge at the man before you. However, just as you should have expected by then, the icy touch of metal against your neck froze every muscle in your body.

While your body would not move, your eyes did; they were wide and held a fear there that wasn’t shown often. The satisfaction it gave Father Paul to see you staring up at him as such was so strong he felt a sense of regret; sinful was how it felt. Addictive.

“Didn’t I tell you to mind your manners?” He murmured- the light behind him made the shadows on his handsome face darken until he resembled something closer to what he really was- a monster.

A predator.

A demon.

A devil.

In fact he was exactly that: a devil. He had become what he most feared as a man of god. His cheeks looked hollow and his eyes held no light- the bags under them only adding weight to his features like he might drag you down with him into the fiery bowels where his soul now lay.

While you knew you would hate yourself for it by the time the sun rose, in that moment you could not contain the whimper that spilled from your bitten lips. He held you there in that position for as long as he liked, tilting his head every once and a while as he regarded your immobilized form.

Death was not something that you had to worry about unless something silver was being pointed at you; at that moment, however, you had exactly that being held against the column of your throat- a perfectly sharpened silver knife. You still counted that cursed thing as a particularly nasty “Fuck you” from whatever god or gods there were. The fact that the Monsignor had just so happened to have purchased one on his travels, and had it in his possession when he encountered you that first time beyond coincidence; ever since then that blade had become a thorn in your side. The ever-present reminder that you now belonged to Father Paul Hill, and of the circumstances that would befall you should you disobey him.

You watched as his chest deflated- a long sigh from him fanning across your skin.

“I thought you were past this level of hostility, y/n…” his deep tenor vibrated in your ears, and curled your toes. Hypnotic. “…was I wrong?” He added so quietly you thought he might be talking to himself, but then you felt the knife press harder against you and you fought to not squirm, “I said- Was. I. Wrong?” Father Paul spoke dangerously. An edge to his tone made you flinch, and your eyes darted around the room frantically as you wondered if he might actually snap. Slit your throat and be done with you…

“…tell me I wasn’t wrong…”

The voice that you now heard was akin to a punch to your diaphragm. Your lungs felt tight as you tried to breathe. His words- his plea made you look up at his crouched form. He wasn’t even looking at you, his gaze instead on where the silver blade was sat against your jugular.

You could feel your normal mind far back in the dark reaches of your brain screaming at you to fight him- tell him to shove the knife where the sun don’t shine…but that part of your psyche was very small in that moment. The rest was begging you to roll onto your back and beg for forgiveness, tell him you’d never leave him that you needed him…so you opted for something in the middle while you still could.

“No…you weren’t wrong.” The words were heavy on your tongue, and tasted as horrible as he smelled. But you weren’t ready to have the life fade from you just yet, and so in favour of living through the night, and perhaps with some reprieve from the awful disposition you had at that moment…you submitted to him. Your shoulders sank, and your face went lax, save for the odd flinch and wince from the pain and extreme arousal that punished you.

“Will you let me help you?” Father Paul repeated his statement from what felt like hours ago.

A tear broke away from your glassy eyes. Traitor.

You didn’t nod, or give any indication that you would let him do anything, but your lack of resistance was more than enough for him to move forward. Father Paul slowly let the blade slip away from your throat, and he placed it on the counter; there was a light threat to having it remain there.

Large hands encircled your arms, and lifted you up easily to stand on already shaky legs.

“Up, up, up…there you go.” He muttered out so gently you almost laughed; the speed at which that man could go from being an otherworldly predator with a lust for blood to being a soft spoken man who only wanted the best was unmatched. Father Paul lifted you into his arms, and carried you back into the comfort of the bedroom where he laid you down on the makeshift nest you had created hours before.

As soon as you were back in your haven, your hands acted on their own; reaching out to the Monsignor who gazed at you with those deep, rich brown eyes you usually would detest…but something about their soulfulness then made your mind go soft. He watched as you grasped his hand, and almost chuckled at how you could only hold a few of his fingers. Such a little thing you were to him.

You didn’t know if you wanted to pull him closer like your mind begged you to or to toss him from the room like your common sense knew you should; you stared up at him, your hips rocking of their own volition against the blanket there. In the darkness, Father Paul’s eyes flashed from the little light, and your mind remembered that you were indeed dealing with a nocturnal predator…not that the pain under your skin paid that fact any mind.

The rate at which you felt yourself submitting to his supremacy was pathetic, but you couldn’t help it any longer. “P-please…” you whimpered, brows scrunched in despair.

“Tell me what you need, little one.” He shifted closer to you, those soft eyes of his replaced with onyx. But his face was so sincere that you nearly wept.

Sweat had begun to gather at the nape of your neck, and your hands felt too warm, and your head was dizzy and heavy.

“I ne-need you…” you panted, trying to pull him closer.

Father Paul nodded, and brought your forehead to his lips so as to press a kiss there. You might have slapped him for that if this was any other time, but you could only mewl and try to coax him closer.

“Lay down for me, princess…” he murmured, rolling up his sleeves after they had fallen- like a gentleman.

And while you did as he said, you shook your head, “No…I need-“ you gasped, clutching at your stomach like someone had stomped their full weight onto it.

“Shh…deep breaths, sweetheart. Alright? Focus on my voice…can you take a deep breath for me?” He cooed, stroking the skin of your legs and he tried to soothe you.

You did focus on his voice, but your body only screamed with more need…not that you were shocked- that man could charm the panties off a nun with just a few words…the bastard.

You felt his hands on your thighs, and you knew what he thought you needed. And while this might have excited anyone else, you felt tears in your eyes. “No…not…no-“ you breathed out.

Paul looked up at you then, halting his path, “What do you mean?” He asked, then added cheekily, “You’ve never complained about my hands before.”

A lie.

…a half lie.

You rolled your eyes, and sat up; his little smile deepened like he thought he was right.

“I need you to cum inside me.” You said bluntly, and evidently it was blunt enough as you were given the gift of seeing Father Paul Hill, or whatever his name was, look taken aback. It was only fair though, this was a senior citizen given a chance at life again- and a man of the cloth. You were fairly certain no one had told him he had to cum in them for…well…ever.

“You need…” he started, the smile he had been dawning dropped into a pensive line; eyes flickering from where his hands were up to where your sweater barely covered your panties then to his own hardening cock as he beat your statement through his own brain.

You cried out again; bringing your knees up to your chest as your body did anything to alleviate this cursed time that you were forced through. Your back hit the bed, and any care you had about him having a full view of your throbbing cunt went straight out the old window beside you.

“I- please! Just- I can’t…” you begged, forcing your eyes open, “Don’t- fuck…don’t think I would ask this if I didn’t need to.” You gritted out, still determined for him to know that this wasn’t you metaphorically rolling over for him from here on out.

The sounds of your pleas were music to his ears; a small smile tugged at his beautiful but shocked mouth for a moment before he seemed to collect himself. Father Paul blinked a few times before he let his gaze drop down to your thighs once more, now receiving a full view of what an absolute mess you were. Your panties were saturated, as were your thighs and the bed under you. He could smell the sickly sweetness of your heat…intoxicating.

“Tell me again.” He said, a little more command to his tone now that he knew exactly what you needed…and just how pathetically desperate you were in need for it.

Your eyes went wide at his audacity, but the closer he was, and the longer he didn’t touch you, the more violent the spasms became. “I ne- fuck… I need you to c-cum in me-“ you managed to get out, “Please…” tears fell from your eyes, “It’s the- the only thing that’ll make it stop.”

The Monsignor leaned over to where your legs were bent up to your stomach, and let his fingers graze your calve, “You need me?”

His touch sent your brain into overdrive but your mouth was still faithful. “I need someone to fucking cum in me! If you don’t do it then I’ll- fuck…I’ll be more than h-happy to go find that nice Sheriff down the r-road!”

Your statement gave Paul pause. His gaze went from soaking up your condition and words to holding your stare like he might hurt you. Father Paul’s hands clenched and unclenched as he let your words sink in.

No.

No you were going to need him.

Not just someone.

Him.

And he was going to make sure you knew it.

“I’d like to see you attempt that journey, little one.” He sighed, but while his tone was still as infuriatingly even and calm as it settled in your sensitive ears, those predatory eyes of his were locked on your every minute detail. His feather-light stroking turned into his huge hands wrapping around your calve and gently pulling it down and away from your torso so that your feet lay flat but your knees were still bent; repeating the action for the other leg, “I’ll even remove that collar around your neck if you wish to leave and find your pleasure in another man besides myself.”

You watched his every movement, scared that if you breathed too hard he would snap…and whatever that might entail. His skin against yours continued to make every nerve in you throb, you didn’t care that he was barely alive and stank of musty wood.

When you didn’t speak, Father Paul tilted his head to the side, and reached up to where the leather was fastened around your neck. The buckle came undone easily enough for him; his dark eyes held yours as he did so, silently daring you to go.

The collar landed with a thud on the floor, and with nothing keeping you there, you suddenly felt very small.

The Monsignor sucked in a breath, “I could be wrong, but I think you were lying…weren’t you?” He murmured, easing a hand down your thigh as they remained spread for him, “I have no doubt that you might be able to find what you require in another male, but I don’t think you want to…do you?”

Your eye twitched as they flicked between his slowly descending hand and his heavy gaze. Your core was positively throbbing, and you couldn’t deny now painfully excited your body was as his hand crept closer and closer to where it needed attention.

Pathetic.

You felt completely and utterly pathetic.

And you knew you looked it too because there was that god damned pitiful look in those big puppy dog eyes of his…you wondered if he had worked on that wet-dog look for his whole life.

Not that you had any time to dwell on the idiotic thought as he kissed your knee gently; his hand was at the elastic of your saturated panties, just stroking the edge. Coaxing an answer out of you.

“You don’t want to go, do you?” His low voice became a purr that vibrated inside you. Father Paul gripped your panties and dragged them down your legs before laying them neatly on the mattress.

With the cold air against you now, you shivered, and unconsciously rolled your hips against nothing. Your mind began to go hazy again, but you were snapped back to the room around you when there was a harsh smack to your thigh.

“Manners, little one.” He said, staring at you expectantly.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an answer, so you pursed your lips and stared back.

He sighed and shook his head before stuffing two of his long fingers inside you without warning, and you gasped loudly. “I asked you if you really wanted to go. I expect an-“ he curled them just right the hit the spongy patch inside you,”- answer.” But the only thing he received was a scream from you as you arched your back and tears streamed down your cheeks at the stimulation.

Knowing he would get nowhere with giving you what you needed until you answered him, he withdrew his hand and sucked your slick from his fingers, and he sat back patiently.

Your hips bucked and tried to follow him, desperate to have something inside you, but he folded his hands carefully in his lap and stared at you passively.

It felt like your blood and every possible emotion inside you welled up from your toes all the way to your mouth, and your eyes; hot, fresh tears cascaded down your flushed cheeks.

“No- no I don’t- plea-please I just need…I’ll stay!” You babbled, mind completely snapped.

Father Paul tilted his head like he might to a child not having its way. A tantrum if you will.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me then? We don’t want you misbehaving do we?” He chided you.

You shook your head, though it looked more akin to thrashing. “I’ll be g-good!” You cried.

The Monsignor grinned and patted your leg.

“That wasn’t so hard now was it? Spread those legs for me.” He purred, shifting closer to kneel by your feet. His eyes were trained on you once again, as he slowly and deliberately unbuckled his belt. You did as he asked, and spread your legs even further to accommodate his size, but his calculated movements to open his pants were so slow that you started to cry even harder.

This truly was pure torture.

Without thinking, you sat up and looked up at the Monsignor for permission to finish the job. He gazed down at you fondly, and nodded encouragingly to you like you had seen him do to newcomers at the church when they first took communion. Not that any of that mattered. Your hands shook, but you still managed to pull the zipper down and go to reach for him before his hand was wrapped around your wrist with a startling speed.

“Lay back, Little one.” Father Paul muttered, nodding to the pillows behind you.

You fell back with a thud and rubbed your knees together as he drew himself out and held your stare. Your mouth watered at the sight of his cock as it sat heavy in his hand.

Father Paul held himself back for a few moments, just basking in the heavy scent of your need, your shining face, glassy eyes and swollen lips…you truly were a work of art in every way down to your soft curves. He knew you were begging him, he heard you, but that moment was something he would remember for a very, very long time, and he wasn’t about to let it be ruined by anything so trivial as impatience and greed. The man stroked himself to the sight of you.

“Please- ah…please Father…”

His trance was snipped away when he heard those words from you. You. You had just said that.

It seemed you were both a little lost from your plea, but he was quick to hold that moment; Father Paul blinked, then before you could beg him further, his weight was holding you down. His free hand was around your throat, and his hips were heavy against yours. “Again.” He purred, running his nose down your cheek.

A hot blush warmed your cheeks.

“Please father…” you whispered out, legs trying to lock around him. There was something addictive about the way your vision was marked with stars from the little air he was allowing you to have.

“Louder.” He said, more commanding.

“Please father.” You cried out, “Please please please!”

“There she is…that’s it little one…beg for your father.” Father Paul grinned and ran the head of his cock through the thick layer of slick that coated your needy pussy; you nearly screamed with need at the feeling. He took one last look at you, catching your eyes with his before he stuffed the swollen tip of his long cock inside you.

A silent scream opened your mouth as he fucked himself into you; he cooed to you, telling you how well you were doing when he paused for a moment. You were tightening around him and pulsing and twitching and…you were coming. He wasn’t even fully inside you, let alone thrusting into you, and your tight, little pussy was coming on his cock like a virgin.

“That’s it…it just felt too good didn’t it?” He murmured, kissing down your shoulder until your sweater didn’t allow him to. It seemed you read his mind, as you were struggling to get the fabric off of your body the next second, needing to feel more of him. Father Paul chuckled, still rolling his hips into you until he was flush with your body.

At his words, you nodded unabashedly as you rode out your high. Your entire body was shaking under him, and Father Paul found it strangely addictive. He stored each detail in the back of his clear mind for another time, savouring it; he almost teased you right there about coming so fast for him…but he’d rather not taint such a special time. Having you completely at his mercy, and begging him for his attention was all he wanted…carnally.

Having your tight heat envelope him all at once was nearly too much for him to handle. Father Paul felt as if his restraint might completely snap in two if he didn’t reel himself in; focus on the famous self control that he so loathed but admired in himself.

Your hands were digging into his shoulders as you tried to pull him even closer, his chest weighing down on you and hips barely pulling away from you as he thrust into you so evenly. So patient.

But it wasn’t enough.

Having him inside you wasn’t enough.

Having his skin against yours wasn’t enough.

Having his cock jutting against your cervix wasn’t enough.

You needed more, so much more.

“Har-harder-“ you squeaked out, humping your hips against him as he rocked into you like a lover might.

Paul pulled away from your chest where he had been kissing gently, and bumped your nose with his- his breath fanning across your face. “What was that?” He said.

“I need-need it harder…please- I can’t…i need you to - anything I’ll do anything just-“ your words lost their coherency as his cock stretched you and stroked you so perfectly…you hated how perfect it felt. If nature allowed it you would have him just do that all day- at least that was what your in-heat mind told you.

“You need it harder, little one?” He cooed, the condescension not lost on you but you were too far gone to care, so you nodded. He breathed out through his nose like you had just confirmed something he had been waiting for, and he took a moment before he nodded with you.

He waited until you almost asked him again before he snapped his hips against yours harshly, and your scream was intoxicating. Father Paul continued his brutal pace, and as he felt you grow tighter again, he felt his restraint slip. He pulled away from leaning over you to grasp your thighs that had locks around his waist and bring them to meet your chest, bending you in half; he shifted to lock them in place, moving his legs on either side of your hips, making sure you stayed open for him whether you liked it or not.

The Monsignor could feel himself getting closer as he gazed down at your dazed face- a silent moan on your lips. He watched the bulge in your navel each time he thrust into you, his cock threatening to burst through your cervix. You needed him to breed you? He was going to breed you.

He picked up his pace, only the sound of his skin on yours and panting in the air around you. God he could practically taste you on his tongue-

You reached up at grabbed his shoulder again before pressing your lips against his, kissing him so sloppily but desperately. Teeth clanking against eachother and lips bruising but fuck you needed it.

More.

As he rutted into you, you humped his cock back, seeking out any friction as your second orgasm mounted even harder than the first.

You felt his cock pulse strongly inside you, and he pushed inside you as hard as he could as he fucked himself inside your dripping cunt; the tip of his cock pressed painfully against your cervix until you swore if might go inside, then you felt it. A tiny wave of relief. Father Paul shuttered and moaned almost as desperately as you; his cock flooding your insides with his cum. Hot spurts of warmth filled your womb, and you felt all tingly.

Finally, he slowed, but when he went to pull from you, you mewled and broke your filthy kiss to shake your head, “No! No-nonono please don’t it- it still h-hurts…need more…please.” You babbled.

The Monsignor panted, but did as you asked and stayed inside you. He leaned down to your lips again, taking full advantage of your need for him; he slipped his tongue inside, and moaned when he felt yours caress his until you were licking his canines. A low groan escaped him then, the feeling of you touching those sensitive teeth sent shockwaves down his spine to his groin.

Never would he have thought that he could get erect again so fast, but there he was already feeling himself swell inside your tight little cum-soaked pussy.

“Yes! Yes please again, pleasepleaseplease!” You whimpered, already rocking your hips greedily like you were trying to jerk him to full erection with your cunt.

At this point you didn’t care if you came- you just needed him to. You needed to feel your womb swell with his sticky cum so badly you cried.

Father Paul absentmindedly began to roll his hips again as he took your hands in his and pinned them against the bed to completely immobilize you- and you let him.

“How’s my little patient doing, hm?” He hummed, kissing down your cheek to your neck. Anywhere he could reach to feel your blood pumping through your veins under his lips.

“I need m-more…still hu-hur -hurts. Please…” You tilted your head to give him better access to your skin.

He hummed again, now feeling his cock growing painfully hard from the slow thrusts inside you.

“Father Paul please…” you whimpered so pathetically, “Breed me- need your cum…ple- ah! Please!”

“Such a greedy thing aren’t you?”

You didn’t care. You nodded and met his thrusts as they grew harsher until the bed was being shoved into the wall.

“Whatever shall I do with you? Hm? I don’t think being bred is going to do anything is it? You’ll come crawling back to me begging for more…” he grinned devilishly at the thought.

You just nodded, aching your back up into him. You could barely even make out words anymore- it was all just an seductive, low hum that make your brain dizzy with need. You had wondered idly before if you could come from the man’s voice alone…and you were about halfway there already in your weakened state.

You were about to murmur out so more nonsense, but the air was knocked out of your lungs when he thrust in you particularly hard. If it weren’t for your heat, you would have screamed in pain, but in that moment it was euphoric.

“More!” You cried, turning your head to the side.

Seeing your throat so exposed made something stir in Father Paul. He could sense your warm blood, like it was teasing him. He ran his tongue along your jugular, and heeded your pleas; driving the tip of his cock as deep inside you as he could over and over.

It all became too much, and Father Paul pulled out, flipped you over and stuffed himself back inside you before you could even gasp. The intrusion made your back arch as you came without warning as soon as he was inside you again. You sobbed as your walls constricted around him, making it even harder for him to thrust into your vice-like pussy. The overstimulation was too much, but the pain was worse, so you bit into another pillow and let him continue to do exactly as you had asked.

The Monsignor lifted your hips high to match his and pushed your upper body further into the pillows, leaving you to grasp at whatever material you could like a lifeline. The Monsignor’s massive hand gripped your hips so tightly as he abused your insides harder and harder, that you could feel bruises already forming.

In this position, your eyes rolled back as he had his way with you, and you knew you were drooling; taking everything he gave you as your mind was completely fucked out. Every nerve in your body was on fire, but now with so much agonizing pleasure that you thought you would black out.

Father Paul let go of one of your hips momentarily to reach into the pocket of his ruined jeans; a slight smirk on his face as he produced his rosary.

“That’s it, little one…that’s my good girl.” He panted- dark curls falling completely down onto his forehead, and clothes tight with sweat as he smoothed his rosary-wrapped hand down your bare back until his fingers were curling around your throat. The beads of the holy item cut into your skin as his palm tightened around your neck- the metal surly leaving deep marks and light cuts that you would later curse him for. But in that moment you might have begged him to wrap you in a bed of thorns.

The Monsignor’s cock was overwhelmingly stroking your sensitive spots as he filled you so well, and you knew you were going to cum again whether you liked it or not. You babbled incoherently to try and tell him, but nothing understandable came out between your lose tongue and his grip on your throat. Paul breathed out a laugh, and grinned at you; a fucked-out mess or not, you were beautiful. Your face twisted in pleasure, and soft body on display for him-

“F-fuuuck- I’m…Father I’m g-go-onna I’m cu-“ you cried out into the pillow below your cheek with what little breath you could get.

Seeing you fall apart from such a submissive position did not prepare the Father for how much pleasure it would bring him- as you gripped his cock again, he couldn’t help but fuck into you even harder- forcing you to take him no matter how tight you were.

But as you clenched and drenched him with your slickness again, he felt himself come undone faster than he could comprehend. It seemed you could feel every pulse of his cock as soon as he did, because you were thrusting your hips to meet his, albeit feebly, and you began your incomprehensible speech again.

Not that Father Paul needed you to tell him what to do. He couldn’t stand to pull out more than an inch as he chased after his high until he was emptying himself inside you again. He leaned fully over you, removing his hand from your neck and placing both palms over yours as your belly swelled further, greedily swallowing everything he gave you.

“Such a good girl…my good girl…you-you’re doing so well.” He murmured into your back, and you whined at the praise as it only added to your need to please him and preen in his adoration, “Glory be…glory be, sweet girl.”

As you both came down from your highs, the air was thick. Both of you panted, and groaned and your bodies still shook from pleasure; your fingers ached from gripping the bedsheets so tightly, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as the agony under your skin had begun to diminish. Father Paul slowly released your hands, and sat up before gently pulling himself from you and helping you to lay on the bed.

“N-no I need y…you to st-ay inside…” you murmured, not able to put up any kind of fight.

“Shh…I know…just rest for a moment princess.” He cooed to you as he placed a pillow under your hips to keep you sufficiently full of his cum.

You nodded lazily and laid there, limp

Father Paul watched you- your heavy breathing, the roll of a bead of sweat on your stomach, your relaxed muscles, the beat of your heart that made your body pulse.

Beautiful.

If only you weren’t so complacent and volatile everyday, and instead opted for more…domestication.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” He purred, laying down beside you. He kissed your shoulder, and petted your sweaty hair out of your face; his touch was beyond welcome, and you couldn’t help nuzzling into his palm excitedly.

A content sigh was the only noise you could make for a moment, then your tried your hoarse throat, “Mmm….b…bet-tter…s-still sore…but nice..’n full.” You breathed out.

Father Paul smiled briefly, and nodded, then traced the marks his rosary had left on your neck- little red dots that were quickly darkening. He sighed and let his fingers wander down to your breasts, to your stomach, back up along your ribs which made you twitch. The scent you emitted was still so delicious to him, especially now with the smell of both of your pleasure heavy in the air. He could practically taste it.

Taste.

While the Monsignor was not one to take without permission usually, the temptation to sink his teeth into your neck as you lay limp was all too strong.

He was hungry…painfully hungry. While his lust was sated, the itch in the back of his throat made him thirst.

The more he thought of it, the further he felt his control slip away, deeper and deeper into his mind. His breathing grew heavier until he was panting to smell you, and his hands wandered across your bruised skin greedily. But when he expected you to push him away and call him a self-righteous fraud or something similar, you only mewled and moved closer into his grasp.

“My…I need…” he panted, losing his thoughts to his need.

You nodded and rolled your hips as his fingers dipped inside the mess between your thighs. Not that you knew what he was really talking about, but so long as he was the one making your pain go away and touching you, you would do anything to make sure he didn’t stop.

“Will…will you let m-me-….please…” Father Paul ran his mouth along your shoulder, and curled his fingers inside you, stroking you so carefully.

“A-anyth-ing.” You replied, just as desperate as your weak thighs began to shake and your pussy tightened around his fingers.

He breathed out a sigh of relief- a sudden rush of air against your skin that made you shiver- your nipples painfully pert and goosebumps popping up all across your body.

“Such a…good girl…my good girl..”his rich voice dipped into a low rumble in his chest as he neared your neck- his hearing going quiet bit by bit until all he could hear was the pulsing of your blood. That sweetness he so craved…had craved since he first laid eyes on you. His free hand came up to stroke your jaw and turn your face away from him so he could run his nose along your artery, thumb caressing your chin.

“F-father P-“

His sharp canines entered your neck like a knife through butter.

If it had been possible for your to scream, you would have, but the simple fact was that he had brought you to another climax just as he bit into you…and your exhausted body could not summon more than a breathy moan.

Evidently the noise you made was echoed by the Monsignor as he stroked you through your orgasm, and drank from you greedily. You were the best vessel he had had…the weight and taste of your blood was like no other. Sweet and pungent that make his mind so clear.

He groaned and hummed against your skin as he slowed, and drew his canines from you; gently lapping at the skin there. Then came the kisses, and the soft murmurs that you couldn’t make sense of in your daze but you knew were sweet by the way he wildre his fingers from you and stroked your stomach.

Everything felt so disorienting and off kilter but in a way that might have made you giggle if you weren’t so tired.

Then you felt movement beside you and you managed to turn your head to watch Father Paul almost carelessly remove his white collar and unbutton his shirt. Your fingers itched to rip the garment off of him and burn it, but you opted instead to whistle weakly. It earned you a low chuckle and shake of his head.

You watched him remove piece by piece of his clothes until he was just as bare as you. Then, he gently picked you up like a doll and sat with you in his lap- you hadn’t even registered that he get gotten hard until he eased you down onto him. This time, your mouth released a long, very audible moan; having him back inside you was pure bliss. Father Paul brought your arms up to his shoulders for you, knowing you would likely lull onto his torso if you had nothing to brace yourself with. And then when you stared up at him, you didn’t stop yourself from kissing him when your brain told you to.

He sighed gently against your lips, and took your hips in hand to guide you up and down his length. He could feel your cum-drenched thighs as some began to leak out of you; so perfectly bred.

You mewled into the kiss as you stretched around him, and let him use you. Your little pussy sufficiently abused.

“That feels good doesn’t it? Right there…I’ve got you…” he cooed to you, kissing tears that fell.

When his lips came back to yours, you captured them, kissing him greedily. It was a mess, but you couldn’t get enough. Your tongues lapped at each other, and his teeth caught your lips as you rocked your hips in a desperate need to feel him inside you. His thrusts were so much more gentle, and while you had been sobbing for as much brutality as possible earlier…the tenderness made tears fall from your eyes for different reasons. It was a gentleness you hadn’t felt before in your life…having not had anyone to come to your aid during your heat before, and no one to warm your bed at all…having Paul hold you and kiss you like he needed you as much as you needed him, if only for that moment, was euphoric.

“Please- ah…please father-“ You gasped against his lips as you felt him already twitching inside you. His entire body was pulsing, and you knew he was close. The Monsignor was just as overstimulated as you, and now with your wrapped around him like he always wanted, he couldn’t fight his desires. He had been fighting his orgasm off, but hearing you pant out his title so sweetly sounded more like a lullaby from an angel rather than the sinful need of a young woman.

She didn’t care if she came this last time, she could barely tell if she was or wasn’t anymore with such ecstasy washing through her. But once she uttered those words, and she felt his thrusts stutter again, she found whatever strength she had in her to help him through it; rolling and grinding against him desperately.

“T-thats it…that’s it- Christ that’s it…my perfect girl…” he groaned unabashedly now, holding you to him as he came inside you. With one last thrust, he pushed his cock deep against your cervix just has he had each time, and you sighed as the final bits of pain washed away, and left you feeling full, warm, and more tired that you ever had been.

You slumped against him, completely boneless.

Exhausted.

Your heart beat aggressively against his chest as you nestled into his embrace and placed your face in the crook of his neck. He panted softly, and wrapped his arms around you to keep you there.

“Are you alright, my sweet?” He murmured into your ear. The low rumble of it warmed you.

“Mhmm…” you mumbled; vision going blurry and dark as sleep began to set in.

“Rest.” He said, kissing your head, and lifting one of your wrists to his lips as well.

You disliked listening to Father Paul, but your fight had left hours ago. And as he cradled you, and wrapped you in safety, you couldn’t protest.

Sleep took you seconds later, and Paul grinned to himself. He knew you would go back to hating him in the morning when you awoke; it wouldn’t matter that he took you and laid you on the couch as he cleaned and re-made the bed with fresh sheets and new pillows.

Or that he washed you as best as he could without waking you.

Or that he placed you in said bed all wrapped in a blanket with a towel under you.

It wouldn’t matter.

And he was alright with that.

#midnight mass #father paul hill #father paul #father john pruitt #father Paul hill x reader #hamish linklater #commission #midnight mass fanfiction #Paul hill x reader

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zgvlt · 2 years

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i blow out the candles in front of my wish leona kingscholar x reader

summary: your birthday greeting stuns him

author's note: the shortest fic i have ever written, but i still put my heart (and love for leona) into this. it's still his birthday in some timezone out there so i dare say i'm not late. happy birthday to the best man <3

tags: gender-neutral reader, sfw, fluff, some introspection, very light angst, established relationship, 1.3k+ words, not beta read

[repost attempt #1 since it's not appearing in the tags]

“Thank you for being born.”

Leona is twenty-one the first time he hears those words. It’s softly murmured in his ear, almost as if you had not wanted anyone to hear, as if the words were reserved for him and him alone, as if anything louder would signal everyone awake and disturb his room’s sanctity. Perhaps that was your intention—the need to be quiet not forgotten in your determination to be the one who greets him first and foremost.

Even your entrance into his room is near silent, and any quieter would have rendered your sudden appearance an apparition. You waltz in with the heels of your feet raised, walk with the tips of your toes, like you fear waking him. It is a reasonable fear to have—after all, it is said that to wake a sleeping lion would be to get your head bitten off—but all the same it is a fear that would not come to fruition, for on the bed laid no sleeping lion.

It is said that people never sleep well the night of their birthdays. He has always been the prime example.

Leona, as of late, is a creature haunted by the sin of sloth, a state not only of the mind but through the manifestation of slumber; yet tonight he lies, the irony of his idleness being that which keeps him awake. At times, his indolence extended to his thoughts—even to think was a tiring affair, one encouraging melancholia to creep up and consume him—and although Leona knows to shatter them to dust, there are times when he… invites them in.

No, not quite invite—Leona was not the type to welcome something so pitiful into his life. Rather, it would be more accurate to say he allowed them to fester, not quite to invade but to share his space.

Him and his thoughts. They always reunite the same night, every year. They converse amongst themselves and Leona listens, passive and uninterested. Bored, even, with how repetitive and predictable they have gotten—and yet despite it all he listens, and it is because he is busy listening to them that he very nearly fails to hear you, you and your insistence to be quiet.

However, the quiet does not stop him from being startled; while you might have thought you had woken him, as evidenced by the flurry of uncomposed and yet mindfully gentle apologies spewing from your mouth, the truth would tell that it was your unusual greeting that jolted him upright, has him stunned at the admission.

A surprise he anticipated, a surprise he’d been given.

“Oi… herbivore, repeat that again.”

You take the time to look at your phone, frowning at how time’s already passed a minute from midnight, and though the light comes flashing quick the action is just slow enough to recognize the photo you’ve set as your lock screen.

“I don’t know if it has the same effect twice,” you sigh like you’re voicing a complaint, but Leona knows you’ll say it once more, carrying the same feelings as the first time.

“Thank you for being born, Leona.”

You say it like a secret, though your feelings hardly are.

“Well?”

“Well,” he begins, and speaks only to let you know your efforts have not been wasted, “the effect is the same the second time.”

The statement is just as ridiculous as the first time, he had planned to say, yet when he tried to voice it out his lips closed shut, as if his body knew it would be a bad idea, as though it knew it would not be the truth. Ridiculous would not be the right word, although he did want to laugh hearing it the first time. If he had to describe it…

Leona closes his eyes, but this time you know he has no plans on sleeping. Instead, you allow him to steep in the silence, as if to let him analyze each and every word you utter, from weight to worth.

Is the day of his birth worth being celebrated? His family—that overly kind brother of his, his pesky sister-in-law, his nephew who cannot get enough of his attention—he gets why they would want to celebrate, although he thinks they’re always going off the rails with their presents, but to an outsider?

Even then, Leona at least understands why he is celebrated anyway, both from a national perspective and from that of the Savanaclaw dorm members. Worth differs from want, but there is nothing wrong with wanting to celebrate someone with a degree of importance. A celebration is something even he can appreciate—thoughtful presents and fine intentions, all for him—but it is something everyone can benefit from. To have a happy birthday is an excuse to fool around, not just for him but for all who come.

Like how it is different to be of worth and to want, it is different to be happy and to be thankful. Happiness is a result, an infectious one, and gratitude… it is to recognize, acknowledge, and appreciate—in this case, to go through all three stages with him.

You spoke as if you were beholden to his parents for having given life to someone like him, as if you were grateful to life itself for putting the both of you on the same plane of existence.

With his eyes still closed he reaches for your hand, and it takes not even a few seconds for him to grab onto it—no need to search when it is you who finishes the motion, realizing what he was looking for was you.

“I’m still here.”

He knows—he would have sensed it if you left, though he did not think you would.

You know not to leave his side, instead choosing to sit at the edge of the mattress—perhaps for permission to join him, or more likely because you knew once he dragged you down with him that was it for you. The students of Savanaclaw will come to wake him in the morning to take him to his own party, only to see someone else had taken residence beside him the eve of.

“Herbivore.” Leona does not always call you that, a nickname that had never been reserved exclusively for you, has always been more for fleeting instances of teasing, of spite, but tonight he says it to distance himself, to mask not his affections, but the extent of it.

His eyes remain closed, too, for he knows you would see how such a simple greeting had made him feel. You would take one look and see how he had built a cave in his heart, hollowed it in your shape, so when you laid down upon it your figure would be encompassed by his valves and his veins.

“Tch. Sometimes, I…”

Wish I had met you sooner.

Wish I could understand what goes on in that beautiful mind of yours.

Wish everyone saw me like you see me.

Wish I saw me like you see me.

“...wish I understood what exactly you think of me.”

He can feel your breath nearing him again. Leona dislikes the warmth, the unpleasant reminiscence of restrictiveness, but he welcomes that which emanates from you. He welcomes it so that he very nearly opens his eyes, only choosing to keep it shut when you whisper once more.

“Then, for the next three hundred and sixty-four days, I’ll have to make you understand,” you promise, before moving your mouth to press your lips against his cheek, “and on the three hundred and sixty-fifth, you will believe it as much as me.”

He understands how it’s not just a promise, but an oath made before him, where he is the recipient and the witness.

“You really do have guts, making such bold promises like that.”

He finally opens his eyes and thinks he may already be starting to believe it.

my other leona fic

masterlist

#leona kingscholar x reader #twst x reader #leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland x reader #nathya twst writing #pls work tags i want to go to sleep hjsjsjsd

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bitterkarella · 1 year

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Midnight Pals: Cleese Phobia

JK Rowling: hello children Poe: oh jk rowling Poe: great to see you again Poe: Poe: in theory Barker: ha ha ha Poe: clive i'm not in the mood

Rowling: i jusst sslithered in to tell you Rowling: my terf deatheaterss got a big celebrity get Rowling: bc if a quorum of celebrities agree a particular minority group shouldn’t have rightss Rowling: then itss legally binding Rowling: that'ss jusst the law, you know

Barker: damn who’s your big celebrity get this time Barker: did you find another 90s webcomic guy? Rowling: no Rowling: shut up we got a real one thissss time! Rowling: we got john cleesssse Barker: haha oh damn john cleese huh? Barker: damn I didn’t even know he was divorced!

Rowling: we have a python!! Beat that! Barker: hey why don’t they ever interview eric idle about this Rowling: Barker: whats eric idle’s take Rowling: Barker: people should be asking where’s eric idle

John Cleese: so apparently it’s transphobic to hate on trans people? Cleese: well by that logic, then criticizing me is CLEESE PHOBIC Poe: King: Koontz: Barker: ah ha ha Barker: you really thought you had something there

Cleese: if anyone calls me a bigot, that means they’re cleese phobic Lovecraft: w-wait Lovecraft: is that the way it works? Poe: no howard Lovecraft: t-this changes everything! Poe: no howard Poe: now look what you’ve done

Poe: howard don’t start Lovecraft: I-I’m sorry edgar it sounds like you’re being kind of lovecraftphobic Barker: ha ha ha Poe: don’t encourage him clive Barker: no I really want to see where this goes

Lovecraft: s-so i have some theories about the celestial- Poe: howard no Lovecraft: e-excuse me that’s very lovecraftophobic Lovecraft: I find it very othering Lovecraft: what about MY free speech? Barker: ah ha ha omg Barker: the little shit catches on fast

#midnight society #the midnight society #midnight pals #stephen king #edgar allan poe #clive barker #jk rowling #dean koontz #hp lovecraft #john cleese

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blueraineshadows · 1 year

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Midnight Melody Part 2

Please read Part 1. GN!MC x Ominis Gaunt: deep feels and fluff, jealous Ominis, and a first kiss.

In the 2 weeks that MC had spent sneaking out to the common room to sit with Ominis whilst he played piano, they had come to decide that they liked his company very much indeed. How easy it had become to sit on the bench next to him, the touch of thigh now a welcome comfort. How charmed they had become to hold conversation with him, learning that they shared a love for the same books and music. There was a tranquility to be found in his company, and it was becoming a delight to their heart. Missed sleep was no longer an anguish, not when it was for a pleasant reason.

During the day, through lessons and shared school activities, their talk was kept to the minimum, mostly about the work in shared classes. At dinner, MC sat near Ominis, but most of the time was held in conversation with Sebastian. Any chance to talk about a shared passion kept for the later hour in the quiet of the common room. But this was alright, in fact it was more than alright, it made the time more personal, special.

MC was sitting up in bed reading, waiting for the others in their room to drift off to sleep, a book spread on their lap. Eventually the steady sounds of sleep filled the room, and despite themselves, MC felt a little sleepy too. But, the pull of time spent with Ominis won out, and they slipped from the dormitory in slippers and a robe over their pyjamas.

There were no soft melodies coming from the piano this night. Instead, Ominis was seated in a wing back chair by the fire. He lifted his head up as MC approached, his face clearing from his deep thoughts. "You came," he said.

"Of course," MC said. "Did you think that I wouldn't?"

"You told Sebastian that you were tired at dinner, I assumed you would remain in your bed tonight."

"I was too tired for what Sebastian was proposing. I did not feel like a late night adventure tonight," MC said. "This is much more acceptable."

Ominis nodded slowly, his face turned towards the warmth radiating from the fire in the hearth. He seemed distracted, his face serious and missing the spark of dry humour usually present.

"Is everything alright, Ominis? You seem troubled."

Ominis turned his face their way, his eyes moving a little as if seeking them out. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course, anything," MC replied.

Ominis hesitated, pressing the fingertips of both hands together. He gave a little sigh. "Would it interest you to learn that Sebastian finds you physically appealing?"

MC felt their jaw drop, their mouth forming an 'O' of surprise. They had not been expecting that at all! A fierce blush spread across their cheeks and they were thankful that Ominis could not see it. "He does?" MC's voice came out a little strangled as they tried to digest this information. "I...I had no idea! Did he tell you this?"

Ominis scowled a little, his mouth almost a pout. "It pleases you then, to know this?"

"Well, I suppose anyone would feel flattered to learn such a thing," MC said. "I had not thought Sebastian would feel that way about me though. I wouldn't have thought I was his type."

"Why ever not?"

MC shrugged. "I imagine Sebastian being with someone far more beautiful, more cultured perhaps, rather than myself with my boring, muggle upbringing."

"Do not put yourself down like that," Ominis said. His voice was low but held that commanding tone that always made MC tremble a little. "I have heard idle chit chat amongst our peers, being without my sight I do tend to listen more than most, and it is clear that your physical attributes are definitely appealing to one's eye. My lack of sight leaves me at a considerable disadvantage I fear, for I am unable to form an opinion of my own on the matter. But what I will say, is that physical beauty aside, I find you to be a most pleasant and appealing person to spend time with, and that counts for a lot in my book."

Ominis sat back in his chair, breathing a little faster after his impassioned speech, and his hands gripped the arms of the chair hard enough to turn his knuckles white. MC swallowed thickly, overcome with many emotions at those words. As they said, it was always nice to hear that one's physical appearance was appealing, but the praise that had tumbled from their new friend's lips had brought a rather pleasing flush of warmth to spread through their body. To know that Ominis prized their company as much as they did was beyond a delight. He was right, that was something to be highly treasured, but still, MC felt the pain of him not knowing what they looked like. It was a disadvantage in some ways because as MC allowed their gaze to travel over him, noting the delicate curve of his mouth, the fine bone structure of his cheeks and hands, they knew it would be a terrible shame to not be able to appreciate such handsome features.

Moved to ease the obvious upset on Ominis' face, MC settled onto their knees before his chair and placed a hesitant hand over his. Ominis tensed immediately at the contact and MC paused. "Forgive me," they murmured. "May I touch you?"

"Why?" He sounded suspicious.

"Its alright," MC soothed. "I did not mean to startle you. I just wish to allow you a chance to see me. It grieves me to learn it upsets you. I do not like the thought of you being upset. Let me try something, please?"

Ominis remained hesitant but he gave a small nod. "Very well."

MC raised up onto their knees and shuffled a little closer before taking up Ominis' hand into their own. MC could feel the tremble of nerves in their hand as they guided his to their face. "You said that you rely on your other senses to aid you when navigating the world," MC said. They placed his hand against their cheek, his fingers cool against their flushed skin. "Please, feel free to use touch to see me, trace the lines of my face so that you may have some idea of what others get to see."

Ominis trained his gaze on their face in that eerie way he had of looking but not seeing. His lips parted in surprise and MC thought that his breathing had notched up a gear. "You would really allow me to do this?" His voice barely above a whisper.

"Please, do," MC said, equally as soft.

Ominis sat forward and brought his other hand up to MC's face. Finger tips swept smoothly over their cheeks, tracing the shape of cheekbone and jaw, drawing upwards to slide across the brow and down the bridge of their nose. His index finger slid down over the tip of their nose and into the dip above their top lip. MC swallowed, a tingly fire seeming to wake and kiss their skin as Ominis traced the curve of their lips. A flush spread across his cheeks as MC's lips flexed under his touch, almost as though to kiss the tips of his fingers.

His touch was gentle and sensitive, not intrusive at all, and yet there was an intimacy to it. MC found that they craved more of it and felt bereft when Ominis finally drew his hands back. "Well? What is your verdict?" MC could hear the husky nature of their own voice and resisted the urge to clear their throat.

"I want to thank you for your trust in allowing me to touch you like that," he said. "And while I am no expert, it is as they say, you are exquisite."

MC drew in a shaky breath, their heart bursting with a joy that they had never known before. Without thinking, they clasped his hands in their own. "Oh Ominis, thank you," they said. Hot tears stung the backs of their eyes. "And please, allow me to return such courtesy by confessing that to me you are, by far, the most attractive person I have had the fortune to spend time with. You bring me so much joy, such pleasure at a time when life has been terribly difficult. Of course, Sebastian has been invaluable with his support, and I am flattered by his praise of me. But it pales next to the honour your own words bestow on me. You have no idea how much I value our time together, and you must forgive this emotional outburst from me. I fear that I have become rather emotional."

"MC," he breathed. His hands held theirs in a firm grip. "I too value our time together. And there is nothing to forgive. You...you move me."

MC did not think that a heart could pound so hard and continue to survive, and yet theirs was doing a fine job of it indeed. "Ominis," they said, moving ever closer towards him. They pulled a hand free and reached up to cup his face. Ominis closed his eyes at the gentle touch. "You have moved me too, so much so that...I...I am rather overcome with a need to kiss you. Would that be acceptable to you?"

A smile graced his lips and he drew MC so close that they were now pressed up against the chair, their face inches from his as he leaned towards them. "More than acceptable," he said. "In fact, I must insist on it."

A first kiss is always one that means so much to one who saves it for someone deserving of it. MC had never dreamed of this moment being as special as it was. This strange, magical world had thrown so many delights in their path, so much to inspire awe and wonder. But it all paled in comparison to the touch of his lips against theirs. The delicate touch, the warmth, the sheer intimacy of lips against lips awoke a hunger inside MC that they had never known existed. Lips that shared thoughts and dreams, lips that could smile and coax laughter were now sharing a unique tenderness and desire that brought tears to MC's eyes.

When finally the kiss ended, MC felt the press of his forehead against theirs, but they kept their eyes closed, savouring the moment. Hands clung on to each other, needing the contact to keep them grounded.

"I feel like I could never stop now that I have started," Ominis whispered. "I cannot tell you how glad I am that you came to Hogwarts."

"Then let us never stop," MC declared. "With you I feel like I will never feel lonely again. My heart is yours should you wish it, and my price is to have your kiss whenever I desire it."

"I do wish it and accept it gladly, and as for my kiss, you may have as many as you need, starting as of now."

As their lips met again, MC felt a tear slide from their eye, their hands moving to hold Ominis as close to their heart as possible. Where he belonged.

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy ominis #mc x ominis gaunt #gn!mc

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save-the-spiral · 7 months

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(From my drafts, probably a couple years old????? Oh God???)

Thoughts on Monquista as I play well past midnight with a bit of caffeine and a lot of hyperfixation: (all my friends are asleep/I don't wanna bother them with my fricking livetweet of monquista. Many thoughts head full.)

Monquistans are so SMALL. I go between owo look at youwr cyute wittle houwses and wittle chaiwrs, and Fuck You Tiny Colonizer I'll drop kick you into the sky.

Finally, someone shorter than my 5'2" ass.

SO many side quests, they're out here fucking POLLUTING their pretty skyway with crates and barrels and paint and a lot of food.

The monarchy is brutal. Casual murder. No different from IRL monarchies and corrupt governments, unfortunately.

I want a monquistan house in w101.

If we get consistently dunked on for being a giant, how did Gortez grow up??? Are there more gorrilas or just One Absolutely Mad Lad.

God monquistans really are just little fuckers, huh.

I want a pirate101 photomancy equvailent. I've got a stupid free 7 day holiday mount. I don't want to see that shit in my cool screenshots.

HELP ONE OF THE SPIDER IDLE ANIMATIONS WAS SO GROSS AND UNSETTLING I CANNOT DESCRIBE IT.

WHO DID THAT. I WANT NAMES KINGSILE.

I love having a clockwork spider pet and fighting spiders. Spider on spider violence is real.

THERES SO MUCH DETAIL? like way more than areas in w101 that I've seen so far. And it's just so much love, and so much good environmental storytelling like, DAMN.

Random chests are so ITTY BITTY.

I found some very good songs for my oc playlists while questing. Should I share my oc playlists?

If I made a joke bullet point thing where I just put a meme for every world in pirate101, Monquista would be 'HAHAHAHA HOW ARE SO YOU SMALL'

When monquistans make me wear fancy clothes or disguises I move the camera around so my pirate faces it and internally go 'am I a joke to you'

#found this in my drafts looking for a writing promo #writing prompt list #ill share it now. be free

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scifrey · 1 year

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Cling Fast: Chapter Seven

By Losyark The Sandman (Netflix with some sprinkling of comics canon, and Gaiman Cinematic-Literary Universe canon) Dreamling (Hob Gadling x Dream of the Endless | Morpheus) Unfinished (tentatively 10 chapters) PG-13 (for now) Unbeta’d

Author's Note: Those of you who have been following along at home will note that Hob's co-owner of The New Inn is now named Patrick instead of Dennis. No reason for the change, except that there were too many 'D' names floating around and I was loosing track of who is who.

Hob wakes up with a splitting headache, but otherwise no other effects from his hangover. Except for the sinking feeling that comes with remembering that he screwed up his 1589 feast again.

Would it be pathetic to try a third time? Especially knowing now that Morpheus rarely eats, and when he can be persuaded to, it's never British fare.

Yeah, it would be pathetic.

Hob rolls onto his back and presses his hands to his face.

He doesn't remember drinking more when he got home, but he was definitely out of it when he hit the Dreaming. It felt more like somebody had slipped something into his water bottle, but he can't imagine that anyone on set would drug him. Besides, the fey food artist had kept an eye on it all day for him, and it wasn't until after they'd parted ways with a handshake that he really started to feel woozy.

When he turns to look at the clock, groaning and sandy-eyed, he finds a light dusting actual dream sand sprinkled on his bedside table, along with a glass of water and a bottle of paracetamol. The clock reads 4:13am, so Hob takes a pill, drinks half the bottle, and sweeps the sand onto his face.

One of these days, I'm going to scold that anthropomorphic personification of a concept for leaving his shit all over the place, Hob thinks. But not today. He sinks back into sleep, grateful for Morpheus' thoughtfulness, and spends the rest of the morning laying on his back in the grass of Fiddler's Green. He and Gilbert make shapes out of clouds, and chew on coriander stalks amid a bed of flowers that Hob calls foxgloves, but Gilbert corrects him and calls gillyflowers.

"Two very opposite things," Gilbert says gently, through the rustle of the wind through the boughs of a nearby copse of French willows. Hob is reminded what the fey food artist said, that flowers scream their secrets.

"Never got into floriography," Hob confesses to Gilbert. "You know, back when it was all the rage and people were sending each other bouquets that said 'meet me in the garden at midnight', or 'my father says I am never to see you again', or 'I want you to do me dirty seven ways from sunday.' Maybe I should."

Gilbert's laughter is in the babble of a brook. The dream doesn't elaborate though, because Hob's alarm rudely interrupts them. All thoughts of tracking down a book on flower language fly from his head as he drags himself through a quick shower, and races down the back stairs of the New Inn while the transpo van idles in the drive and honks obnoxiously.

Hob gets to wear a few different costumes today, which is nice. He was sweating to death in the black velvet. They're filming all the scenes that need to happen in the study today, which will all be woven into the ten different episodes, so Hob's in and out of the wardrobe trailer on the front drive constantly.

That's why he notices that someone's left the outside door to the solar standing open.

This is one of three doors to the solar, the one that leads directly out into the back garden, where his bench and apple tree still blessedly stand. The other two doors are off the kitchen, so the maids could bring El her afternoon indulgences directly, and another that was knocked into the outer wall of the withdrawing room.

While the door is open, the heavy curtains are still drawn to protect the fragile textiles within from sun damage.

Hob has been desperate to catch just a glimpse of the eden he'd built specifically for his wife. He's seen the photos on the postcards in the gift shop of course, but it's not the same thing. Those pictures have it dressed for the Edwardian era, to reflect the last time the house was occupied by a family.

But the set-dec team has re-dressed it according to the descriptions in El's diary, and the merchants receipts for the fabrics, flowers, and furniture. They'd even found notes on what kind of pottery and dishware El had kept in there, a screed in the loveletters between Eliza and Will as the maid raged over the ridiculousness of having special dishware that the mistress will only take her supper on when it's being served in the solar.

Hob sneaks over to the door, and cautiously pokes his face in. Nothing is moving in the cool dark of the room, and he can't hear anything, so he slips inside and closes the door behind him. Not all the way, though, in case someone has just stepped out and left it open on purpose. He doesn't want to be caught where he shouldn't be.

Shouldn't be, he snorts to himself. I built the damn place.

The cameras are all in the study, nobody is here but him, so Hob gives himself permission to react. He feels his face crumple, and bites his lips to keep in the noise trying to crawl out of his throat. The study is right on the other side of the brick wall. He doesn't want the crew to hear him, or they may make him leave, and he's not ready for that yet.

God's Wounds, thank you, Hob sends up the prayer, but he's not sure to whom. He’s not sure it matters. Thank you for letting me have this.

The glass is different. It's newer, clearer, smoother; clearly a later addition. The small diamond-shaped panes have been replaced by long, modern sheets. But the size of the frames are still the same, wide as Hob's full arm span and at least ten feet to the ceiling. The windows are separated by a single row of red brick, the frames black metal, a dark red drape pulled across each of them. And the roof, which in Hob's day was thatched, is presumably now also made of glass, as there are light canvas tarps pulled taught on a winding pulley where the solar meets the rest of the house.

The floors are piled with carpets, to dampen the echoes that the glass had created, so El could hear herself playing. The ones the production has provided are far too modern in design, but the camera isn't going to spend a lot of time pointed at the floor, so it doesn't matter.

What does matter is that the furniture is absolutely correct, and exactly where it used to be. The little cluster of a table and chairs, where El and Robyn used to do his numbers lessons together, where they'd snack on fruit and sweets while Hob was a docks, is in the corner by the door. On Sundays, when the three of them had just returned from church, Hob would sit on the bench under the apple tree with his pipe, and watch Eleanor pull Robyn into her lap at that table, and feed him bread pudding and tell him stories that would make him giggle and clap his hands.

Beside that, under the windows sits the long, skinny sofa. It has miniscule padding and none of the springs and memory foam of the modern version, but Hob fell asleep stretched out on it's welcoming yellow damask, listening to El pluck her way through a new piece she was learning more afternoons than he's ever napped on his current sofa. It's been recovered, but it's the same piece, because, when he runs his hand along the wooden arm rest, he can feel where Robyn scratched in an 'R' with a letter knife.

The brick wall opposite the windows is bare and exposed now, but there used to be a tapestry that, like the ones in the entry hall, have likely been removed for the sake of preservation. If they weren't thrown away or repurposed by the new family. They used to portray the bounties of the first Garden, every plant, and animal, every fruit and flower woven together in intricate, tiny detail. There had been black and red snake in the apple tree, and Hob had liked the little bugger immensely because he reminded Hob of his Stranger.

A furniture chest, what Hob would call a sideboard or a dish hutch today, stands against the bare brick. It's not the same one, that one had portraits of El's parents painted on the upper doors, but the style is similar enough that it's not distracting.

And at the other end of the solar, surrounded by massive potted ferns and an array of flowers that Hob had never paid much attention to, save for appreciating their perfume, is Eleanor's chair.

It's a grand, double-wide thing, with a matching footstool and only one arm, so El could play her lute comfortably without jamming her elbow against the side. He'd commissioned it specifically for this room and this purpose, having it covered in flaxen cloth-of-gold to match El's hair, and carved all over with little cherubs and their own heavenly instruments. It had been his wedding gift to her, and had lived first in the study, beside his desk, so they could spend their evenings together as he worked. But then he'd build this addition when he'd learned she was pregnant with Robyn, a thank you and a celebration, a little private Eden for Eve carrying Hob's new beginning, and new life.

And it's… it's all perfect.

Hob presses his hands against his chest, turning in circles to take everything in, emotion that he can't name pulling on his stomach and limbs like gravity. This place should be filled with laughter, and music, and sunlight. Instead the cool dark is as quiet as a tomb.

Hob gives into the pull of the earth and sinks onto El's foot stool, burying his face in the seat of the chair. She should be here. It should be her lap he rests his head on, like had so many evenings, where he'd perched on this exact same stool, back against her knees as she warbled in her thready, soft voice. Instead it's just fabric, and empty nothingness. Because his child killed her. His love killed her.

"Eleanor," Hob weeps, throat constricted. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't save you… or our son. Either of them… I'm so sorry I didn't protect him…"

"Hot mic?" someone says from the corner, behind the plants.

"No, I turned it off to change," Hob murmurs, and then realizes with a start that he's not alone after all. He jolts upright, wiping at his face. Makeup is going to scold him again. "Christ! I—sorry! I didn't see you there."

"That's fine," the voice says, barely more than a whisper. "I sneak up on most people."

A short, voluptuous woman that Hob charitably would call extremely beige, steps out of the shadows. Her hair is beige, styled in a stringy, unwashed bun. Her skin is beige, the kind of milk-pale White that humans get in northern Europe. She's wearing a set of boring beige overalls. The only color comes from the handful of embroidered throw pillows she's carrying.

Set dec, Hob's mind supplies. She's probably the one who left the door open. They're staging this space to film.

"I'm sorry, I should go," Hob says. "It's just that the door was open and I—"

"You can stay," the woman says, moving to distribute the pillows on the sofa. "They don't need you on set right now."

"I must look ridiculous," Hob says, "Sitting here in a costume, mourning a—" he swallows hard. "A woman I never met. I just… you know, being here, I really feel what Sir Gadlen must have—"

"It's fine," the woman says, and steps up beside him to deposit the last throw pillow onto El's chair. "Grief gets its hooks into you in weird ways. People try to avoid despair, but it can be good for you. Helps you get it all out. So you go ahead and cry."

Hob thinks she's going to pat his shoulder, but she ends up cupping the back on his neck. Her palm is cold, and a bit uncomfortably damp to be honest, the kindness in her touch as she grants him this permission is what undoes Hob.

He tips forward, forehead pressed against the seat of the chair, arms wrapped around his middle, and howls.

He doesn't think he's cried this hard since Eleanor died, since her labors exhausted her, and even that challenging, stubborn spark that she'd always carried in her heart was extinguished. Since taking another breath became to taxing for her poor body, and as Hob petted her sweat-dampened hair back from her face, and kissed her temple, and told him how much he loved her, and begged her to just push, to just hold on, to just stay, please El, please, don't go, don't do this, don't leave me— Since poor wee John strangled in the womb, wrapped in his cord and stuck in his mother's body, dead before his first breath, went with her.

The set dec woman just crouches on the carpet beside him, rubbing his back soothingly, and making soft, encouraging sounds. She smelled revoltingly musky, which was the only thing that kept Hob for accepting the hug she was clearly offering. She'd probably spilled something on her overalls.

Hob sniffles and pulls a prop handkerchief from his sleeve to pat at his face. His head is throbbing, and he feels hollowed out.

But…but not in a bad way.

"Thank you," Hob says at length. "I think I… I really needed that."

"It was beautiful," the woman whispers.

Something in the way she says that is familiar.

“I know you," Hob says, looking up at the woman blearily. "How do I know you?"

"We used to drink together," the woman replies. She smiles sideways, like the expression is uncomfortable on her face and wants to flee immediately. "Years and years ago."

"Oh," Hob says, and thinks, It must have been the early 90s, when I spent most of days fucked up on coke. She looks good for her age. But then again, so do I.

"Thank you—" he says again, but then her walkie crackles to life, and Celia's voice comes through.

"Anyone got eyes on Doc Bob?"

"Got him," the woman replies into the mic. Hob jumps to his feet, patting at his face with a prop handkerchief he hastily pulls from his sleeve. The woman shoos him toward the door. "He's traveling, landing in five."

Bob squeezes her shoulder in thanks and jogs over to the door between the solar and the study, letting himself in.

It's not until after the makeup assistant has fixed his face, and they're part way through filming a scene where Glenn—now playing the part of the steward that robbed him blind—that Hob realizes he didn't get his old drinking buddy's name.

When they wrap for the day, Hob looks around for the beige woman, but she's nowhere to be found.

Tuesday rolls around again, and Hob has to beg off his usual meeting with Morpheus to sleep on camera. Hob's already been filmed tossing and turning on the narrow cot in the printer's shop (a corner of another BBC production's period drama set, while they were off for lunch), and groaning with exhaustion in a fetid boarding house bunk (a hastily slapped together set of plyboard and just-dried paint that still smelled strongly when his nose was next to it).

Now they've retrofitted the actual bed that he used to share with Eleanor with a bunch of modern supports to prevent the ancient frame from cracking under his weight, and a modern mattress disguised to look like a feather tick.

On the floors below him, Harriet is making herself comfortable on a bedroll by the bread oven, which as a kitchen maid she has to keep hot and ready at all hours; Glenn is in the servant's wing, enjoying a bed with a frame at least, but he'll still have to be up at dawn to begin his duties; and the graveyard shift skeleton crew are luxuriating in their campervans on the front drive. Robert Gadlen the Third gets to sleep until he damn well feels like it. Hob, however, has an alarm set for 8:00am so he can pop out to one of the campervans for a shower before reporting to wardrobe and makeup to begin a new day.

At least this shot is easy. All Hob has to do is stand alone in the bedroom, look into the camera mounted in the corner, remove his wrapper and cap, say a few lines, and crawl into bed. They'll then film him sleeping, and speed up the footage in post to provide a timelapse of his comfortable, cozy night's rest to juxtapose it against Harriet's and Glenn's restless one.

Hob gets the go-ahead from the crew manning the monitors outside over the walkie on the mantelpiece out of frame, claps loudly so sound can get a speed count and level on the boom mic that's mounted beside the camera, and then steps into the shot. The camera's red light blinks once, twice, three times, then glows steadily.

"For the master of the Elizabethan Manor, staggering to bed drunk and sleeping late was only for Saturdays and special occasions," he says, doffing his cap and hanging it on a peg driven into one of the posts by the head of the bed. "If he was a good god-fearing protestant, it was early to bed, and early to rise. Sunday mornings saw him, and his family, off to church or face a stiff fine. Work days for the Lord ended around sunset, no matter what time of year it was, unless he literally wanted to burn the midnight oil getting his accounts and correspondence up to date."

They had filmed that bit earlier in the afternoon, so now Hob peels off his wrapper, leaving him in only a tired old knee-length night shirt and his leather house slippers. Wardrobe had offered him a vest or pajama pants to wear under it, but Hob was quite comfortable. He'd worn something like this to bed for hundreds of years.

"But this particular lord," he gestures at himself, "has had a long day hunting, and riding, and I'd like to not waste candles needlessly. So, I'm off to count sheep. Sweet dreams."

Hob sits down on the side of the bed, swings his legs around, and pulls the blanket up to his chin. And then he screws his eyes shut because he's already had one emotional breakdown today, and he's not keen to have another by thinking too hard about how the canopy of his old bed has not changed.

"Clean take, Doc Bob," some AD or other says over the walkie talkie. "It's in the can. We're done."

"Sweet dreams," Hob calls back as a sign off.

"Same to you, Doc," the AD says, and the walkie goes quiet.

Hob peeks at the camera, with it's red eye. It's still recording as agreed, so Hob, exhausted and genuinely sleepy, sinks into the pillows and closes his eyes.

He dozes for a bit, and comes back to awareness in an exact replica of the room his sleeping body is currently in. It takes him a second to figure out what disturbed him, and then realizes it's the sink and shift of the mattress beside him. For a second, he's terrified that he's dreaming about Eleanor. That he's going to roll over and find her laying there, dead and horrid, half-decomposed and skull-grinning on her pillow.

But a gentle voice says, "No nightmare would dare."

Hob lets out a breath of relief, and wriggles onto his side to smile at Morpheus. He is laying down over the covers, head on the pillow, face-to-face with Hob.

Incoguously, there's a single flower laid on the blankets between them, a small white-and-yellow daffodil.

"Hello, stranger."

"Hello, Hob. This is not your bedroom."

"It used to be," he whispers. "I missed you these last few nights. What brings you here?"

"You," Morpheus says plainly. "It is Tuesday."

Hob laughs. "Well, yes, I do suppose it is. But as much fun as it may be, Morpheus, I'm not spooning you in my dead wife's bed."

"Spooning?"

Hob snorts. "You know, for a god of sleep who has probably either seen or crafted every wet dream that every teenaged boy has ever rued, you are a bit of a prude, my friend." It's easier to joke about it in the Dreaming, when he is asleep and the pain is safely tucked away in the Waking world.

"I know what spooning is," Morpheus says drily. "I was simply unaware that you desired it."

"Hey, you're the one who popped up here." He gestures at the Dreamscape of his old bedroom. "You know, We used to share the bed all the time," Hob says. "Even the queen slept with her lady's maid when they were here, did you know that? This sleeping alone lark is a relatively recent phenomenon for us humans."

Morpheus gifts him with one of those ridiculous self-satisfied, haughty smirks. "I'm unsure if you've been paying attention, my friend, but I am the god of sleep—"

"Oh, shut up," Hob sasses. "I'm supposed to be resting. You know what, I've changed my mind about the spooning. Either get out or c'mere and give me a cuddle."

Morpheus looks reluctant to take Hob's invitation as a serious one, which absolutely cannot be borne. The skinny bastard is still touch starved, no matter how much pre-scheduled hand-holding they do on any given Tuesday.

Hob reaches for Morpheus' shoulders, attempting to push him onto his other side and snug up behind him. Morpheus resists, clearly deciding that as a celestial deity, it's his right to be the big spoon. The daffodil ends up above their heads on the pillow as they wrestle playfully.

Hob, who secretly has no problems at all being cradled by his Stranger, eventually lets Morpheus win.

They settle that way, Morpheus' hand played against Hob's heart, and he's suddenly quite glad that his groin isn't pressed up against his friend's arse when a puff of Morpheu's breath against his nape gives Hob some terribly naughty ideas.

And some places that they touch that Hob is pretty sure a body can’t–Morpheus seems relaxed enough to loosen his hold on on his human-shaped corporation. There are extra limbs tangling sweetly with his feet, a dark mist spilling over his shoulder like heavy incense, tangible but foggily opaque, the glow of stars in Morpheus’ eyes reflecting back at Hob from the canopy of the bed. It’s sweet, that he feels safe enough around Hob to be himself.

"Hob Gadling," Morpheus says gently, "Are you well? Only your sleep has been tumultuous."

There's no point lying to Morpheus, especially here. "It's a lot. It's—" Hob starts, before interrupting himself with an unexpected hiccough of a sob. He's cried enough for today, though, so he swallows it back. "It's just so much harder than I thought it would be."

The confession shreds his throat. Shame crawls up his face, flushing his cheeks and making his ears tingle with the heat of the horrible blush. He curls in on himself, a miserable comma. Morpheus presses himself in one long line against Hob, probably trying to comfort but instead making Hob tense and hyperaware of every place that they touch.

"Hob…" Morpheus says again, worry tinging his voice. "I did not mean to push you into an situation that would cause distress."

"And you haven't!" Hob assures him. "At least not on purpose. I just… it's a lot, is all. I had a good cry today, and they’re right, you know. It does help with the–" he does the pulling-heart-out-of-chest-squish motion. “I hate every second of it, but I’m glad of it, you know? It’s good pain. It’s… pain I’ve put off feeling for too long. A goodbye that I’ve let linger for centuries.”

“Like a nightmare whose lesson you ignore, it will only continue to plague you until you listen,” Morpheus murmurs, and Hob can feel his lips movings against the collar of his nightshirt which is absolutely unfair.

“Yeah,” Hob agrees, swallowing hard and pretending that the dryness of his mouth is from the old building, and not his situation. “And I mean, I feel like I’ve been gutted, you know. All my insides scooped out. But that’s okay, because maybe it’s time for something new to take its place.”

You, Hob lets himself think, but doesn’t dare say out loud. I wouldn’t mind if the emptiness was filled with you.

Morpheus raises his free hand, and gestures into the air. Dream sand sparks into existence in an arc, but instead of falling onto them, it hovers there, swirling and pulsing. Like a snowglobe, the sand moves in the open space beside the bed, forming figures and landscapes.

"Shall I tell you a bedtime story to soothe you to a more peaceful slumber then, Hob Gadling?"

"Bedtime story?" Hob says, sitting up. "Wait, aren't I already asleep—"

The door to his chambers pushes open. Hob's sore and swollen heart leaps into his mouth at the noise.

"Bob?" Henrietta calls into the darkness. "Are you still awake? I was doing my video diary and I could hear your voice through the chimneys and I… what," she hisses, freezing a few steps inside with her eyes the size of saucers, "the absolute fuck."

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souryogurt64 · 1 year

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It's my birthday! I am 24. Semi mixed feelings!!! Birthdays are always really hard for me and also I feel like 24 is legit Adult and for a lot of this year I felt really frustrated and like my life was really stuck and I was like sobbing in the shower listening to "Teen Idle" on loop

But then all of the sudden I got to see fob at the Metro and I got my first big girl job out of nowhere on the same day (and it's a really really really good job!! Like better than anything I ever thought I'd get!!!)

And some of my best friends are coming to stay with me to celebrate this weekend and it's going to be very silly!!! So I feel okay about it now!!!

I'm also proud of myself for writing 2 huge dissertations this year. And for getting actually asked to cover the launch of PWs kinda label thing which was a huge honor and the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me. And getting to attend record label press conferences for the first time and I got to ask a real celebrity a question which was fun. I've written and posted well over 50k words this year which is way more than I think I've ever written in that timeframe in my life and I feel like I've gotten a lot better as a writer

And also I'm proud of myself for fostering 17 cats. And for doing Accutane because it's been really hard and scary. I also got to fulfill a couple of smaller more private goals this year. Like I solved a lot of Nancy Drew computer games

I didn't notice when it turned midnight last night because I was working on the Gray dissertation which is on brand lol, I'm very stressed and feel behind on it but I feel good about the progress I made yesterday !!

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jeneseoquoi · 2 years

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nct 127 | mtl to...

pillow talk

most taeyong mark johnny yuta haechan doyoung jungwoo jaehyun taeil least

taeyong, mark: they talk your ear off so i hope you're a good listener. ty likes to go over the days'/week's events, significant things that happened, funny things he's heard, frustrations he has, etc. etc. mk on the other hand just rambles on and on about any & everything (he's so cute). one minute he's talking area 51 conspiracy theories, the next he's contemplating whether you guys are soulmates who knew each other in past lives. don't worry if you fall asleep, they won't even notice because they're still talking.

johnny, yuta, haechan, doyoung: the late night confessionals. midnight talks where they tend to open up, it's their time to shine. honestly they may not mind silence while you guys are all cuddled up in each other, but there's something about the situation that makes them so comfortable and vulnerable. they don't even realize it when they start filling the silence with their thoughts, fears, hopes, dreams, and so on. listen to them, they're talking serious stuff here! ♡

jungwoo, jaehyun, taeil: they're just...not very talkative in general? especially during sleepy time. i feel like they are just very okay with the silence and even prefer it. the mellowness of it all paired with their favorite person cuddled up into their side is all they need to relax, why ruin it with idle chit chat?

#nct 127 reactions #nct 127 mtl #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 fluff #nct reactions #nct scenarios #nct mtl #nct fluff #nct 127 writings #nct writings

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xhanisai · 2 years

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Les pommes de terre et la Buguinette

AO3 / FFN

Pairing - Ladynoir + Adrinette

Summary -

"That's it!"

She may be oh-so-tiny...mais, mon Dieu, she was also a huge force to be reckoned with.

"Screw our secret identities. I'm taking you to my house right now right this second and you're gonna eat the best damn potatoes you ever had." She admonished confidently, leaving no room for arguments or even a semblance of common sense, hauling his boyish body over one of her tiny shoulders and swinging away (blind to the way his eyes were wider than an owl's in both shock and elation of them finally, finally unmasking).

'All this over potatoes!?'

~(x)~ . . . "What do you mean you don't like potatoes that much?" Ladybug's big blue eyes practically bugged out of her sockets (no pun intended), her jaw fallen into an astonished yet comical gape and her face super close to her partner who internally sweatdropped from the sudden proximity (not that he minded seeing her super pretty face up close at all). Tilting his head cutely to the side, he attempted to explain himself better, still pondering over her extreme reaction to what he originally thought was just a mundane opinion for idle chatter.

"I'm not saying I hate it. I'm just not crazy about it either...it's just...c'est juste un légume, non?" He winced when his Lady let out an unholy screech that sounded like a dying banshee, sensitive faux ears plastered to his hair from the verbal assault and brows raised under his dark mask. He knew his Lady could be super passionate and vocally strong when it comes to what she loves and protects, fiery debates and ranting about injustices and so on. . He just didn't ever expect that his nonchalant feelings about some measly potatoes would arouse such blazing fire within her beautiful blue eyes as if he just claimed that the Jagged Stone wishes he was as amazing as the talentless XY or that the moon landing is a mere conspiracy theory to make America look good. "I knew you were a bit sheltered and naive with the bits and pieces that you shared about yourself with me, but I didn't think that you were this bad to the point of having...having wrong opinions!?" She was back to pulling on her hair with an intensity that worried her partner, the boy reaching forward with his arms with the intention to grasp her hands away from the poor midnight strands. Thankfully, her hands went to squish her face with frustrated groans seeping out of her mouth and her mind still scrambled from his supposed ridiculous thoughts regarding the despicable potatoes. Chat Noir couldn't help but scowl, wondering whether his taste buds really were quite insane or if his Lady was overreacting (which was more common than one would think). His mind wandered back to all his very lonely and very tasteless meals that featured les pommes de terre. Either boiled with little to no salt with a measly leaf of parsley as a garnish, mashed with a texture so dry that he has to drink at least five glasses of water to get it down his throat or roasted to the point where his teeth have trouble sinking in through the tough skin and all that he could taste was bitter smoke. Even the occasional crisps that his wonderful best friend Nino shared with him at le collège didn't capture his fancy. Far from it if he was entirely honest. The feline hero really didn't like the way the extremely savoury flavourings assaulted his tongue nor the way that the crunchy snack would stay stubbornly glued to his teeth, making him way too self-conscious to even open his mouth let alone talk or even smile- "That's it!" Chat Noir was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts when Ladybug finally stood up from the rooftop they were seated on, snatching his hand without a beat and vaulting him to his feet in a manner that made his entire world spin. His heart leapt to his throat from the way her twin blue flames bored into his larger frame and he could have sworn that if had fur, they would have stood on their ends just like his iconic belt tail behind him. She may be oh-so-tiny...mais, mon Dieu, she was also a huge force to be reckoned with. "Screw our secret identities. I'm taking you to my house right now right this second and you're gonna eat the best damn potatoes you ever had." She admonished confidently, leaving no room for arguments or even a semblance of common sense, hauling his boyish body over one of her tiny shoulders and swinging away (blind to the way his eyes were wider than an owl's in both shock and elation of them finally, finally unmasking). . 'All this over potatoes!?' ~(x)~

Adrien Agreste continued to remain entirely bamboozled and ridiculously dumbstruck with his hands clenching the denim of his jeans and his big green eyes wide open. Yet, whilst his mind was a windows error notification spamming the screen, his body was on autopilot and played along with his Lady's whims. Oh yeah, did he forget to mention that his Lady is also his loveable, cute, illegally talented good friend Marinette Dupain-Cheng? And that she didn't even blink twice when he was unravelled as shy model, awkward Adrien Agreste at the kitchen table? Even seating him down on one of the chairs without missing a beat and babbling about all the amazing dishes that he was going to get to try and finally change his opinion? "These are just a bunch of simple dishes I quickly whipped up since I don't have time to make anything extravagant...and it is way past midnight. But here, dig in," Marinette nudged the numerous plates of deliciousness to him on the table nonchalantly, as if she wasn't presenting a buffet of some of the most enticing cuisines he's ever seen, his emerald greens dilating from the scent of the food alone and he was deaf to the way she was huffing in impatience. Arranged on the table were all sorts of meals that definitely didn't look simple at all and were practically begging for him to eat them all up in one go. Ranging from fresh sweet potato fries coated generously in paprika, garlicky and creamy mashed potatoes (with a jug of steaming gravy and sliced sausages to the side), gnocchi in a yummy looking cheesy sauce that even had Plagg hovering over it with amazement and gluttony, piping hot Gamja Bokkeum (Korean sweet soy glazed potatoes) that was covered in toasted sesame seeds and spring onions and just so, so much more dishes he could barely describe. A meal fit for a king. Was a silly teenage boy like him even worthy of having a taste of the abundance of beautiful treasures that was set before him? Handmade by the love of his life, the very same girl he fell for twice (or at the very least thrice; with how he's fallen in love with her all over again because of the food she decided to cook just for him)? "Ugh! Staring at them isn't going to get them in your stomach!" Restlessness won over and Marinette quickly fetched a pair of chopsticks from the side, picking up a piece of the scrumptious, steaming hot soy sauce glazed potato and placing it in his obedient mouth as she cupped his cheek firmly yet tenderly. . Adrien's entire being was suddenly pummelled with an indescribable sensation of absolute pleasure and sheer ecstasy as if he was knocked through three buildings and landed in one of the seven heavens. The savoury sweet taste of the sauce was like fireworks bursting in his mouth, the slight heat and kick from the red chillies that tickled his palette warmed up his entire body and the soft, soft fluffiness and crispiness that was the potato turned his entire being into melted butter. "This...this is what potatoes really taste like...?" He couldn't help but murmur dreamily, eyes closed in pure bliss and peachy pink lips curved up into an adorable beam as he savoured the taste of his Lady's amazing, spectacular cooking. He barely caught her victorious smirk playing on her mouth and the way her baby blues glittered with pride and achievement, her heart pounding in her chest with delight as the vicinity was filled with her Chaton's happy purrs. "And all this time, you thought they were just a silly little vegetable~" She teased endearingly, placing another piece in his waiting mouth without wasting any more time. "These were made on a whim so just imagine how amazing they'd taste if more effort and time was put into it," Adrien watched her anew with admiration, his emerald greens softening with affection as his Lady happily treated herself to a sweet potato fry. His heart beat a thousand times faster against his ribcage, his cheeks emitting a rosy pink flush with love and contentment and his eyes continuing to shimmer with devotion. Using a finger to not only wipe off some of the paprika that lingered on the corner of her lips but also to gather her attention, Adrien couldn't help but speak. "You're amazing, Marinette. Thank you. Thank you for this delicious meal and for trusting me enough to share your identity." Before he knew it, he timidly leaned forward to place a tender, gracious kiss on her forehead, his cheeks continuing to blaze in colour and his heart hammering inside his chest like crazy. "What? Share my identity- OH! ...Oh..." All of a sudden her pale complexion instantly changed to a hot red colour, concerning her partner who readied his hands in case he needed to do something to alleviate her emotions. "I was so fixated on potatoes that I didn't fully realise that you're my Chaton- I MEAN! My Chat Noir- no, no! I mean! I mean! Aaaaaa..." Luckily, Adrien was more than accustomed to Marinette's iconic babbles and flustered actions since it was a regular occurrence at school or whenever he manages to sneak out of his prison-like house to hang out with her and their close friends. He grinned patiently, giving her time to manoeuvre through her scrambled thought process and regather her bearings, all whilst gently holding her hands and squeezing the hardworking appendages gingerly. His sweet touches lead Marinette out of her word soup dialogues and brought her mind back on track. Her watery and nervous baby blues peered into his content, sparkling greens, the dark-haired girl now piecing together just how ecstatic she's made him. How incredibly happy she's made her Chat Noir. Her Chaton. . "You could've stopped me you know. You're strong enough to break out of my hold and run off." She couldn't help but darlingly pout, averting her gaze from his radiant smile and clinging onto her shred of stubbornness and pride. Her cheeks coloured anew from his warm laugh, eyes back on him as he brought her skilled hands to his chest just so she could feel how hard and fast his heart was racing at this moment. How thoroughly affected he too was with the revelations the night brought them. "And miss out on the chance of trying out my Lady's handmade cooking? Not a chance~" He was pure Chat Noir right there and then, lips upturned into a silly and lovesick grin and cheekbones blooming in an adorable red. "Do you regret it? Revealing yourself to me?" He was playing dirty, eyes wide like a kitten's (like the beloved nicknames she has for him) and his forehead resting on hers. He knew that she was far from dissatisfied, especially with how she remained relaxed and comfortable within his grasp. Mais aussi, il n'est pas un ange. "Not the eyes! That's cheating!" Marinette snatched one of her hands away, trying to shove his face far from hers and practically growling at his quiet, mischievous snickers. It was really starting to settle in that the love of her life who she assumed was a bashful yet dear Prince was also a cheeky and obnoxious jester. "You know I don't regret it, you ridiculous cat! I just wish it wasn't this anticlimactic!" She blurted and then was taken aback by the sudden gleam in his spring-green eyes. "So you have imagined us revealing ourselves? Tell me, tell me all about them~" The grin he wore was borderline shit-eating, a finger poking one of her puffed-up cheeks annoyingly. "How many of them were romantic and full of kisses, ma Buguinette~? How many of them have me swooning in your arms as you lead us down the aisle for our happily ever after~?" . He was met with silence and for a split second, Adrien worried that he may have pushed too far with his teasings. However, that thought was quick to be replaced with one of reverence and wonder. Her eyes were averted once again, sky blues barely peeking under her long, thick lashes and her cheeks a beautiful sakura pink. One hand was clenched against her chest (that was starting to hurt from the rapid way her heart has been battering it) whilst her perfect teeth tugged on her soft lips. Lips that were illegally kissable, plum blossom pink and just so, so, so perfect. He's been kissed by those very same lips a handful of times too, now that he noticed with a loud gulp. "All," Marinette decisively confessed, determination now lacing her beautiful features as she faced him with cheeks continuing to colour. "All of them. So what?" She narrowed her eyes, daring him to tease her again. Little did she know how much air was punched out of his body from her words alone and now he was barely unable to comprehend any thoughts, let alone talk. . "...Then you should kiss me now...right?" His voice was quite hoarse and his remaining courage was on a scarily thin tightrope. "We wouldn't want your dreams and plans to go to waste...right?" His tone delved lower and lower until it was nothing more than a pleading, wanting whisper, unable to mask his raw feelings and thundering emotions. . He was answered by the press of her soft shy lips upon his. . "There...happy?" The aspiring designer pulled away far too quickly, not even letting him kiss back and cherish the moment. She received a lightly irked look from him, one of his hands now clasping the back of her neck whilst the other dug its fingers into the fabric of her shirt. Emerald greens now darkened with sheer want. "Oh, no. Not even close," He fibbed, a devious smirk being the last thing Marinette saw as Adrien crashed their lips together clumsily with all the pent-up love and feelings that has been building up within him ever since she crash-landed into his life. Literally. . And thus, potatoes became his favourite vegetable. . . . ~(x)~

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #my writing #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #ladynoir #adrinette #crack fic #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #adrien agreste #chat noir

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dracarialove · 6 days

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📄 F it, I'm posting my finished fics here, too 📄

Hearfelt Holidays

*Check the 'heartfelt holidays' tag if you haven't read chapter 1

[Chapter 5: Haunted Club Night]

Rouge throws a Halloween party at her club and enlists Shadow's help in decorating for a haunting appearance. During the night, they share a moment together on the rooftop of Club Rouge.

A chilly autumn evening compelled downtown citizens to seek warmth in the buildings lining a strip of the darkened street. The tall, bare windows of a bustling night club beamed pink and blue lights into the surrounding darkness while energetic techno music pulsed through the walls.

Groups of patrons roamed the first-floor lobby, playing the casino-themed games and buying drinks; the second story was filled with partiers occupying most of the aqua-tiled dancefloor; and above them, restocking the lounge bar, was Rouge the Bat.

She made idle chatter with the guests that'd come up for food, then excused herself to make a patrol of the building and check in with the staff. Plastered along the walls on every floor were fliers she'd put up to advertise an event the following night – a Halloween party taking place in her very own club.

The bat was full of energy while she talked with the DJ, tapping her foot to the beat and proudly eyeing the expansive crowd that'd gathered to dance.

She was already picturing how her club would look when she changed it up for the event, and kept an eye on the time as the night went on; excited to make a call once some of the patrons took their leave.

When it was well past midnight, the groups began to dissipate, and people steadily left the electric noise of Rouge's business. With the shrinking number of customers came her time to slink off into the small private parlor that housed her own comfort materials.

She walked through the thick purple curtain, fiddling with the communicator on her wrist, and sat herself down on the maroon-colored loveseat. A glossy smirk stuck on her face as she paged one of her contacts through the device, hearing it sputter out a staticky buzz as it connected.

"Come in, Shadow," she said, holding up her wrist. "You can hear me, right?"

Another sputter of static sliced the air and she heard the deep-voiced response she'd wanted: "What is it?"

"Surely, you're not busy right now. I'm requesting your presence at my location."

After a moment of silence, he replied, "I'd guess, by the background noise, that you're at your club. Sounds like the night is in full swing."

She knew what he was getting at – that Club Rouge would be too crowded for his liking, and that he wouldn't be willing to show up. But she quickly shot back, "People are starting to filter out. There's plenty of space for you, so come by and have a little chat with me."

The bat could imagine him rolling his ruby eyes at her request, possibly sighing at her insistence, and the thought made her sly smirk widen. Finally, he responded again through the faint static: "I'm on my way."

***

When Shadow arrived, the business owner escorted him through the lobby – even less occupied with closing time approaching – and invited him into her personal lounge.

She stood near the curtained entrance while he silently took a seat on the cushioned chair in the corner, Shadow stoically staring at her with serious expectancy while crossing his arms.

When she didn't immediately begin her pitch, he said, "Let's get straight to the point – what do you want from me this time?"

"Oh, well, I was just going to ask how your day went," she replied sarcastically, "but since you ask..."

Her gloved hands gravitated to wide hips and her lips pulled into a sly smile again as he briefly rolled his eyes. "Shadow, you know what tomorrow is, right?"

The hedgehog gazed off to the side for a moment, thinking, then answered, "Not particularly. But I'm sure it's something you'll be dragging me into."

"Bingo – oh, you're so smart!" Her playful flattery made him smirk against his will and she continued, "It's Halloween! Never heard of it? If you had, I wouldn't think you'd want to miss it."

"And why's that?"

"Because, it's 100% your style." Her teal eyes scanned quickly down his figure and back up. "It's all dark and scary and haunting... the whole theme is meant to be creepy and mysterious, which is exactly what I need for the party I'm throwing tomorrow night! In celebration of this spooky time, I want you to help me get everything together."

Rouge raised her hands and clasped them together in front of her chest, fluttering her eyelashes a couple of times in a quiet pleading gesture. Her companion scoffed; his smirk still apparent across a tan muzzle.

He teased, "So, I'll be able to plan this party because I'm dark and... creepy?"

"Mysterious," the bat corrected, clenching her hands tighter. "Come on, Shadow, you're perfect for this holiday – I need your input if I'm going to make it the best it can be. Really, you don't give yourself enough credit! I bet there are some great ideas swimming around in that brain of yours, just waiting to be released. Your taste in music, your opinion on décor we could add for extra atmosphere; I'm sure there's things you'll bring up that I wouldn't even think of."

He looked up at her, the woman leaning in his direction and begging with her eyes, and sat thinking about the offer for a few seconds. When she thought she wasn't winning him over, Rouge added, "Plus, your additional speed would seriously help to get everything ready in time. My staff can handle the final steps if you just help me with the big stuff first."

Shadow let out a soft sigh through his nose, casting his red eyes down at the floor and nodding slowly. The consistent curve of his lips made her hopeful, and she beamed when he finally answered, "Alright, I'll lend a hand."

Looking up at her once again, he added, "It may be the one event I enjoy, if it'll really be how you described. But I'll only assist you if I don't have to do any of the hosting."

"Done! I'll take all the social responsibility." The lady's hands unclasped and one dropped to her side, while the other casually pointed at the ceiling. "I'll even give you exclusive access to the rooftop and a nice little setup out there if you want to break off from the party."

Shadow's smirk faded into a more genuine smile at her thoughtful offering. "Sure."

He started to stand up and his teammate blurted, "Oh, thank you, Shadow – really, as much as you disliked the other holidays, I don't think you'll regret this one."

With a shrug, and before fully thinking through his reply, he said, "Well, I didn't regret all of the other ones."

Rouge's ears perked at his statement and her lids raised, surprised that the reclusive hedgehog would admit to liking anything that she'd dragged him through. He realized the slip-up himself, but brushed it off and changed the subject as they left the room together.

"I should meet up with you sometime tomorrow, then?" he asked.

"Yeah. If you come by around noon, that should give us plenty of time." She couldn't take her eyes off of him while they walked back across the lobby, and wished him a good night as he left the club.

***

Accompanying the pushy treasure hunter to the store was less than preferable for Shadow, but he managed to keep the shopping to a minimum while gathering sufficient decorations to make the night club seem haunted and gothic.

Their cart was filled with fake spider webbing, ghost-shaped ceiling danglers, life-sized shadow-figure stickers, and some more technical atmosphere-enhancers that they'd found along the way. Rouge looked over their full basket and grimaced a little, estimating the cost in her head.

"Did we really need to get all the expensive stuff?" she asked, wondering if they couldn't have gone with some of the cheaper-made alternatives. "My heart breaks thinking of how much I'll have to spend here!"

"Hmph, there's a sacrifice to make if you want quality," Shadow reminded her. "Or are you only willing to part with your wealth when it's for luxury items?"

His greedy friend scoffed and forced a crooked smile. "Even then, I prefer a five-finger discount if I can get one!"

Her retort made him chuckle, but he backed up his defense of getting high-quality decorations. "Well, you're not pulling that off with all of this. If you really want your event to be impressive, you need things that won't fall apart an hour into the night."

She dishearteningly conceded his point, then heard a young feminine voice speaking out as someone approached them. "Hey, you guys! Wow, Shadow, I wouldn't expect you to be here!"

The pair stopped and turned to see Amy Rose walking up to them, a small shopping basket hanging on her arm; inside was a puffy light blue dress, presumably a costume. Rouge greeted her, but Shadow looked away, annoyed that they were being interrupted from leaving.

Amy commented, "I saw your cart so full of things and just had to ask – that's all for the party, right?"

The bat nodded. "Yep, it'll be a big one."

"I can't wait!" She then looked at Shadow. "I didn't realize you also liked to decorate."

His brow furrowed, not wanting to get into a conversation, and he closed his eyes to avoid giving her his full attention. His voice turned stiff and dismissive. "I don't. It was Rouge's idea."

Amy's face hardened at his tone and she turned back to Rouge, glazing over his response. "Anyway, you look like you're really into it – I'm so glad you're finally hosting a holiday party."

"Yeah, it was about time, right? I have a feeling the place will be packed."

Losing his patience enough to excuse himself, Shadow told his shopping partner, "I'll be waiting at the checkout line. Don't take so long," and began walking away.

Rouge looked at him, then back to Amy, and shook her head with a subdued smile. The pink hedgehog stuck one fist against her hip and said, "Boy, he's in a mood, isn't he? Typical Shadow."

"Yeah, but look at the stuff he picked out for the party. I have to admit, the guy knows the spooky style pretty well."

"Ooh!" Glancing over the items, Amy's face brightened. "You're not skimping on this event! That all looks great."

"You can bet my club will be the hottest spot on the block tonight." Rouge sassily flicked one hand against her ivory curls. "Bring the boys, if you can."

"I sure will," Amy confirmed, then raised her free hand in a short wave. "See you tonight!"

With that, the two parted ways and the bat met up with her grumpy counterpart; soon rushing off to Club Rouge with bags of ghoulish adornments. When they arrived at the unlit establishment, she unlocked the front door and they brought everything in, arms heavy with merchandise. Rouge let out a relieved grunt as she laid the bags on the floor, then turned to Shadow while he placed the rest of their purchases on top of the lobby bar.

"I'd better get into costume before setting this all up," she said, primping her hair.

One dark brow raised and the hedgehog began idly unpacking the decorations. "You have a costume?"

"Of course," Rouge responded, her tone shifting as if it were obvious. "Why would I host an event without getting dressed up?"

He paused for a second, looking upwards as if to ponder, then answered, "You seemed less vain today, so I guess I just didn't think about it."

The bat scoffed forcefully, taken aback by his clever jab, but the corner of her lips instinctively curled into a smile. "Ouch! Shadow, you're sharp tonight!"

Her partner smiled a bit, too, and balled up the empty plastic bag. "Go on, get dressed so we can get this decorating over with."

Rouge left him to unpack the bags, returning a while later when he'd finished taking everything out and preparing the adornments to be displayed.

With his back turned, Shadow didn't notice her walk up to the bar, but felt the decisive tap on his shoulder, and heard her mature voice push through the silence.

"How do I look?" she asked, and he recognized a plethora of confidence in her tone.

Turning around, the normally-disinterested lifeform was surprised at the bat's new appearance; it held a much darker theme than her preferred style. She'd replaced her typical bodysuit with one that ended just above the thighs, leaving the upper half of her tan legs bare, the fabric still black and hugging her figure.

In place of her heart-shaped chestplate was a blood-orange strapless top, and she wore a black witch's hat with a cloth band colored the same orange-red.

Her gloves and boots resembled the original iterations, except all-black instead of white and pink – and Shadow even noticed a dark, thin cape draping her back and peeking around the sides of her silhouette.

For more of an intense makeup look, Rouge's eyeshadow was garnet red and her lips were painted cherry. The bold Halloween colors contrasted her bright teal eyes, which almost seemed to glow in the dimness of the empty club.

"Well?" the woman asked after a moment of silence, posing with one hand on her hip and the other behind her head. Her voice still dripped with self-assurance. "Have I stunned you into speechlessness?"

"Heh, no," he finally said, amused at her playful arrogance. "It certainly suits you."

She teased, "As in: It's a hot look? How flattering – I'm glad I understand your cryptic speech patterns so well."

Shadow rolled his eyes and the two started decorating. The hostess grabbed the boxes of lighting materials, wanting to turn her building's lights on for the evening. She replaced the standard pink and blue bulbs with orange and red ones, filling every floor with bloody autumn colors.

Her teammate set up life-sized blow-up standees of ghouls and skeletons to occupy the corners of the rooms, and strung spider webbing along portions of the walls and furniture that wouldn't get moved during the party.

Rouge helped place the webbing on higher spots and hung glow-in-the-dark ghosts from the ceilings in both the lobby and the upper lounge; as well as assisted him in putting demon-like shadow stickers on the walls.

Shadow took it upon himself to set up the smoke machine for the first-story, putting it on a timer so the carpeted floor would be covered with mist by the time the guests arrived.

While he did that, Rouge made punch and filled bowls with candy, placing the treats on the bar tops in both the lobby and the lounge. When the initial decorating was finished, her working crew showed up and she let them in, showing the staff what they'd done so far and briefing them on their tasks for the night.

On the second floor, Shadow met the DJ and talked over the music options with him, choosing songs that encompassed both the dark ambience of the night and the fun atmosphere of an energetic party.

They wrapped up the preparations in time for the first of the event's arrivals to be let in, Rouge's eager invitees being immediately greeted at the door by the welcoming bat.

Her stolid helper went up to the lounge while people filtered in – Rouge herself received a stream of compliments from the partygoers who gushed over the club's haunted look and the gothic rave music playing through the overhead speakers.

It wasn't long before Amy showed up with Sonic and Tails in tow, the three of them dressed in thematic costumes. Amy was wearing the blue dress she'd been shopping for, further dolled up as a fairy princess with wings and a tiara.

Sonic had on a helmet that resembled a jack o'lantern, as well as a long black cape, and held a gold-tipped cane; when Rouge inquired, he claimed to be a Pumpkin King.

Tails was dressed as an alchemist, wearing a lengthy, dark red coat and a belt carrying various vials. They stood near the entrance with the hostess, taking in the mysterious aura of the room while other guests trickled through the door.

Amy was the first to compliment, "Wow, this looks even better than I was imagining!"

"Yeah, you really nailed the spooky vibe," added Sonic.

"Thanks, guys," Rouge accepted, taking the credit as she'd promised and leaving Shadow out of it. "I'm glad you could make it. But someone's missing, right? Or would that cowardly echidna have been too scared to show up?"

She chuckled deviously and Tails replied, "Aw, we wouldn't be able to convince Knuckles to come to one of your parties."

"Yeah," Sonic jumped in, "no matter what the theme was."

"Hmph." Rouge rolled her eyes. "He's missing out, then!"

Upstairs, Shadow was fixing himself a drink from the punch bowl centered on the lounge bar top. Even with music filling the air, he could hear the muffled noises of elated shouts and loud conversations drifting up from the lower floors.

It put him on edge thinking of how many people would be showing up throughout the night. He went to the other side of the bar with his cup and perused the liquor selection, plucking a bottle and uncapping it to pour some into the bright red juice. 'This will help to make the night sufferable...'

As Sonic and Tails broke off from the group to mingle with the other visitors, Amy lifted a white plastic bucket and reached inside. "Here, Rouge, I brought something sweet for you to add to the menu."

"Oh!" She took the box that Amy handed over, briefly flipping the lid open to peer at the home-baked Halloween cookies inside. "Delicious – I'll put these out right away."

The ivory bat brought the dessert upstairs, momentarily scanning her eyes over the second-story dance floor to appreciate the considerable collection of partygoers enjoying the music.

When she entered the lounge, followed by a small gaggle of guests, she spotted Shadow standing by the bar. She approached and placed the cookie box down on the mahogany surface, gaining his attention as he looked up from his drink.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asked, turning to make eye contact.

The hedgehog's eyes were a deeper, more striking shade of red thanks to the new lights she'd set up, almost impossible to look away from as he spoke. "A bit. I'm not dreading this event just yet."

There was a teasing tinge to his tone, his mouth curved into a subdued smile, his hand slowly swirling to stir his drink. When he raised the cup to take a sip, Rouge asked, "Will you be joining the rest of us? I know it's quieter up here, for now."

She didn't ask with the expectation that he would accept, thinking it clear that someone like Shadow would prefer to hang out alone for most of the party – especially as not many people had wandered up to the third floor yet. But he shrugged, lowered his drink and looked down at it.

"I'll be in a better headspace soon," was his response, his free hand gesturing to the spiked punch. He looked up at her again, his vampire eyes somewhat hypnotic in the blood-orange glow of the shifting lights. "I can head down with you."

Rouge could feel her cheeks flushing, though she was sure he wouldn't notice in the maroon-hued room. She smoothly wrapped one hand around his arm and escorted him out of the lounge, the pair descending the stairs together.

But before she could lead him lower, the costumed bat spotted two familiar faces on the dance floor: Silver and Blaze, who were moving at a steady rhythm on the edge of the purple-tinted tiles.

"Oh, look who made it," she said, pointing and causing Shadow's gaze to follow hers.

She didn't ask if he wanted to say hello, simply heading their way and taking him along while their arms were still linked. Though, the hedgehog didn't protest, as he didn't harbor any ill feelings towards Silver – who was dressed as an android, wearing a black bodysuit covered in bright green angular stripes that resembled the layout of a computer chip, with a visor over one eye in the same color – or his teammate Blaze – resembling a mage in dark blue robes with a cowl covering her hair, and carrying a staff on her back. They walked up to the edge of the dance floor and Rouge raised her voice to be heard over the grim, pulsing techno.

"Hey, glad you guys could make it!" She raised her hand in a wave when the two gave her their attention.

"Oh, hey!" Silver responded, also raising his voice and slowing his movements a bit. "We were wondering where the hostess was! Great party, Rouge!"

"The atmosphere is so different in here," Blaze added.

Rouge grinned and let go of her friend's arm. "Thanks! But I can't take all the credit! Shadow was a big help in getting it all put together."

Silver turned to smile at Shadow, his expression friendly as it always was. "Awesome! That was really nice of you, Shadow!"

The darker man's mouth twitched into a brief sneer at his compliment, then he crossed his arms – as well as he could with the drink still in his hand – and replied, "She practically forced me to."

There was a tiny touch of jest in his tone, underneath the thick layer of dreariness; enough for Blaze to pick up on. She chuckled at his claim, while Rouge rolled her eyes and shrugged to accept the blame.

The four of them chatted a bit longer, until Shadow finished his drink and used it as an excuse to break away from them. He walked away to find a trashcan, heading back upstairs while Rouge wrapped up her talk with Silver and Blaze to check on the rest of her guests.

She went down to the lobby to give her partner some time alone, figuring his shallow social battery had run out. The third-floor lounge was louder than before, having collected more partiers as they grew hungry and began populating the bar, where they could refill their drinks and prepare their own miniature meals.

Wanting to sequester himself for a bit, Shadow remembered Rouge's offer to let him use the roof, where she'd claimed she would provide him a 'nice little setup.'

With a whisper of Chaos Control, he teleported up to the flat, empty gray slat of the club's roof top, where he saw the sitting spot she'd laid out just for him.

It was a double-seated recliner – likely one from the lounge, considering the plush red cushions – facing the side of the building that looked out towards the moon.

When he approached it, Shadow saw more than just the recliner. There was also a small table, standing just ahead of the chair, which carried a lit candle and a single flower in a vase.

As he sat on one half of the comfortable chair, the Ultimate Lifeform smiled calmly at the candle, which was giving off the spicy scent of clove and must've been burning since before the party started. Rouge was lucky that it wasn't a windy night, otherwise the small fire would've failed at keeping the spicy wooden smell in the air.

'Always a lucky one, that bat...' he thought, amusing himself as his interest switched to the tall, clear vase. A black rose was sticking out of the curved top, no doubt Rouge's idea of adding extra aesthetic to the setup; but he didn't mind, reaching out and plucking it from the slim container.

The thorns sticking out from its stem pressed against his fingers, thankfully not sharp enough to penetrate his thick-threaded gloves and malleable enough to feel real.

Holding the flower beneath his nose, the hedgehog picked up the faint but sweet aroma lingering from its petals, furthering his assumption that it was an actual flower and not plastic.

Of course, she wouldn't have gotten anything but the real plant – he and his winged companion both favored authenticity over imitation, although they felt such a way about vastly different things.

'Vaguely pleasant,' he mused, leaning back against the seat and looking at the rose. 'Almost like...'

His sentiment was caught between 'like me' and 'like her,' considering the descriptor an appropriate attribute for both of the tough fighters, who kept their guards fully up with everyone but each other.

And normally he wouldn't have thought himself to be pleasant in any capacity, but Shadow had to be honest when he was alone and admit to himself that he had some likable qualities.

Was the flower Rouge's way of teasing him even when she wasn't there – to point out that she knew he could be caring deep down? She'd purposely put it there, decorating his private rooftop escape as if it was something she thought he'd appreciate.

Could it just be her tendency to add an extra bit of flair to everything she did? That was certainly possible, too; it was in-line with the Halloween atmosphere she'd added to everything else, so maybe she only did it for herself.

Either way, Shadow had a blissfully quiet moment – bar the muffled bump of music below – to ponder the probable symbolism of their friendship, one that had grown and strengthened considerably over time.

And it was during his contemplation that the charismatic spy found herself itching to check on him, wrapping up the patrol of her casino after socializing with the guests.

She stepped out into the cold air through the lobby's double doors, feeling a chill run down her back, then took off towards the roof. She knew he'd be up there, sitting quietly – at least, she hoped he was making use of the mini-lounge she'd done up all on her own.

By the time she landed and looked upon him, Shadow had replaced the rose in its vase and propped up the footrest of the recliner. Her heels clicked on the solid roofing as she approached, gaining his attention, and she offered a wave.

"I knew I'd find you here," she commented, stepping between his outstretched legs and the little table to reach the second half of the double-seated chair.

"Hmph," he muttered, turning his frown into a smirk. "Discovery of the century."

"Sarcasm!" She dropped onto the seat beside him, her sly smile growing wide. "Now that's how I know you're relaxed. No one but moi could make a cold night comfortable."

The hedgehog kept further witty retorts to himself, preferring to savor the little bit of silence he could hold onto; leaned back on his side of the recliner, with his arms crossed over his chest, he looked back up at the sky.

Rouge did, too, crossing one leg over the other and clutching the one armrest on her side. Then, she piped up, "It's a shame there are so little stars showing over the city."

"Hm, yes... it's too bright here," he agreed solemnly.

"At least the moon is big and beautiful tonight! Almost full – wouldn't that have been perfect for Halloween?"

Silence permeated the air again as he opted not to reply, not entirely making the connection between a full moon and Halloween night. While he sat quietly, his costumed partner made herself more comfortable, pulling up her own footrest to lounge, as well. In his peripheral, he caught the shuffle of her form as she turned onto her side, facing him and propping her head on one hand.

"You gonna be going back to the party?" she asked, her voice low and calm. "It's fun down there."

He looked at her, then, and shrugged his shoulders. "I hadn't thought about it until now – your prying just reminded me."

Under dark eyeshadow, Rouge's turquoise eyes rolled before trailing back to him, her smile unfaltering. Half-jokingly, she inquired, "Hadn't thought about it... so in other words, I'm the only company you need?"

A scoff escaped his lips before he could think of a response, and he found himself shifting a bit nervously as the implications of her question sunk in.

They sat so closely beside each other, the jewel thief's body language casual as she half-lay across the red cushions, her expression composed while she stared at him.

The soft blue glow of the moonlight outlined one side of her, the shadows of her face strikingly dark on the other side as they were cast in an interesting way by the hat atop her head.

Shadow saw a different kind of beauty in her alternative appearance; the dark reds of her temporary look were more appealing to him than her usual blue and pink get-up.

His mouth remained closed, the quiet man neglecting to answer, and she took it upon herself to make a move. Rouge rested her free hand on his arm and held her gaze, parting painted lips.

"You know, I wouldn't mind being that..."

As close as she was, Shadow didn't feel comfortable holding their mutual stare, and so he dropped ruby eyes toward the seat cushions. It was difficult to think when her touch was warmer than the evening air, subtly squeezing and paralyzing him through the boldness of her flirting.

It was only flirting, wasn't it? Nothing serious from Rouge the Bat – something she did all the time, and to anyone she thought she could charm. But he couldn't fully convince himself of that, not after the consideration of where their partnership had taken them, and the godawfully heavy beating of his heart when she was so near to him.

The silent lifeform couldn't speak, only try to think his way to something he could say, anything to break the tension. But the hostess grew impatient with the quiet, stone-still demeanor of her company.

She leaned closer, giving him time to react if he decided to pull away or jump up from his seat; anything that would tell her he didn't want her to kiss him.

Shadow didn't move, his heart beating faster, but his composure being held shockingly well. She was nervous, too – as nervous as the infamous jewel thief could get – and her grip tightened on the hedgehog's arm when cherry-colored lips landed on the corner of his natural frown.

The kiss was light, their mouths barely making contact, but Rouge's teammate was shaking inside. His hands were squeezed into fists and his eyelids became heavy, closing to darken his vision while his brows furrowed.

It was strange to be kissed at all, let alone by his closest friend and confidant. But it wasn't unwelcome, and he ultimately chose not to pull away, instead turning his face slightly to let their lips overlap a little more.

The moment didn't last any longer than a few seconds before the bat pulled back to gauge Shadow's reaction. Her cheeks were flushed, heart pounding, as well; and she almost grew concerned about his strained expression until he opened his eyes.

His face relaxed, though his lounging posture remained stiff, and he returned her gaze. Then, Rouge looked down at his mouth and instinctively let out a soft, embarrassed chuckle at the smudge of lipstick on his tanned skin.

Her hand released his arm to raise in front of her muzzle, which prompted Shadow to wipe one thumb over his lips before glancing at the red stain on his white glove.

A brief snicker slipped through his teeth and his cheeks turned a faintly pinker shade, crimson eyes looking away from the bewitching woman who'd now embarrassed them both.

Rouge felt the heavy tension hanging over them and quickly became uncomfortable with the rigidity of her own posture, turning over to her original position and pushing her heels down against the footrest.

It popped back into place as the backrest raised to a stand, and she tapped her gloved fingers against the armrest while looking over at Shadow.

"Well, I'd better leave you to your musing," she said, her tone uneasy even as she tried to sound cheerful. Then she stood, cleared her throat, and added, "You can stay in my loft again, if you want. It's pretty late, so I don't mind saving you a trip if you'd rather crash here."

He cleared his throat, as well, and replied, "Maybe... I'll think about it."

Attempting to hold onto her confident flair, Rouge pinched the front end of her hat and subtly tipped it while she gave a single nod, her smile growing.

She left him to return to the party; and once the airy flap of her wings faded into inaudibility, Shadow let out a deep sigh and stared back up at the night sky.

#sonic fanfiction #ship fanfic #heartfelt holidays #heartfelt holidays chapter 5 #dracaria fics #shadouge #shadrouge #rouge the bat #shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #halloween #writing

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