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lazyjellyfish300 · 5 months

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In a vial around your pretty little neck📿🍷

AFAB Reader x Miguel O'Hara

*image not mine, from Pinterest, credit to original owner, if you are the owner let me know and I can credit you or delete*

TW: MINORS DNI, BLOOD, NEEDLE DRAWING BLOOD, SUGGESTIVE SEXUAL CONTENT

Synopsis: you and Miguel are dating. You two want to kick your outward display of devotion to each other up a notch. Your idea: wearing jewelry containing each other's blood.

The Valentine's Day spinoff I posted as a continuation of your relationship

A/N: More Miguel bc the brain rot is real lol 🧛🏾

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You two laid together in the dark at his place (practically yours by now too), the 3 am traffic quietly humming below. You and Miguel had been dating for a year. One passionate, lustful, magical, sex-crazed year. You two went out for hibachi tonight and it wasn't long after that until your brand new dress and heels decorated his bedroom floor.

"Happy Anniversary," he whispered, planting a kiss into your temple.

"Mmmm..." you rolled over, draping your bare figure over his, which caused him to groan and grab you around the back of your neck to pull you in for another kiss. He was about to drift off but he didn't mind losing another 30 minutes to finish what you were starting...

You had something of an interest in the macabre. You had a little emo phase in junior high growing up and dark things like horror and true crime interested you. You loved Tim Burton and Edgar Allan Poe and Halloween was your favorite holiday.

You were also big into Twilight at one point and now that you were dating a guy with fangs it was like your ultimate vampire fantasy come true. You weren't a full blown goth, but while you were scrolling on your phone the other day, you came across an idea that seemed so edgy yet irresistible and sexy.

This fiery relationship you started with Miguel made you feel different. You felt alive and liberated and emboldened to try new things. And it filtered into your physical relationship with one another and he was not complaining one bit. Not at ALL. He never had a partner like you who made him feel so fulfilled and satiated. You made him feel like a man.

"I want a symbol of your devotion," you said breathlessly as he kissed your neck.

"Hmmm.." he paused, sucking a little on one spot, causing you to quiver as the skin turned splotchy red. "What did you have in mind?" He said in a sleepy voice.

"Jewelry..." you started but then evolved into a high pitched gasp as you felt his lips.

Miguel laughed into your skin. "I should've known you'd say that."He sighed and stroked your hair behind your ear.

"It's kind of a crazy idea, just bear with me."

Miguel smiled. "So far I've loved all your ideas. I'm listening."

You look at him with a smile as though you're planning something diabolical. "Blood jewelry."

When you saw Miguel's expression turn skeptical, you giggled.

"Hear me out. Remember how Billy Bob Thornton and Angelina Jolie wore vials of each other's blood when they were together? I wanna do that with you. We can find someone professional to do it and get our blood drawn together. I know it sounds weird and freaky but wouldn't that be so hot? Imagine me walking around with a necklace with your blood in it at all times. "

"Isn't that kind of superstitious?" He smirked. "That seems like something a really sexually charged couple would do at the peak of their romance only for it to fizzle out. I wouldn't want to inadvertently put a curse on this amazing thing we have going."

"Haha it's not witchcraft, babe! I just wanted something unique. I want something of you wherever I go. And I know we're not ready for marriage just yet. But I am committed to you. A hundred percent. People used to do blood oaths to signify the deepest sacrifice and devotion."

"Like the Mafia?"

You burst out laughing. "Babe, we're NOT in the Mafia. Just deeply in love until we take that next step someday when we're both ready..."

Miguel's face softened as you went on with your explanation and realized you were serious. His heart skipped a beat and his face grew warm. He traced your collarbone with his finger.

"Yeah? You'd want my blood to wear around your neck? And I could have the same from you?..."

You nodded looking into his crimson eyes, eager for an answer.

Miguel scoffed and shook his head. "Baby, you are crazy...."

He pressed his lips to yours. "But that's why I love you."

You break into a smile "Is, that a yes?"

"Mhmmm.." Miguel sighed, then looked down at you, draping an arm around your midriff. "Let me handle the lab side of things. I'll ask one of the technicians at my work to do it because if we're really doing this, we're doing it right. I'm NOT going to let us catch a disease on account of your insane little idea," he pressed the tip of your nose with this finger playfully.

"Coming from the guy with literal fangs!" You teasingly squish one of the spare pillows into his face. "I thought you'd be into blood."

Miguel removes the pillow from his face, definitely fully awake now. "They're paralyzing fangs, sweetheart. I inject venom. I don't suck people's blood."

He suddenly pounces on you causing you to squeal excitedly. "You're gonna pay for that."

"Oh yeah?" You smile up at him biting your lip, running your hands along his biceps as he cages you in underneath him. "How's that?"

"You're not walking tomorrow."

Your last train of thought vacated your mind as he fucked you into oblivion.

---------few days later---------

You sat nervously in Miguel's lab at HQ, clicking one of his pens over and over. You were waiting for his lab tech to do the blood draw. Miguel chose a signet ring to wear on his left pinky with your blood in the center stone, and you chose a necklace with a tiny, heart shaped bottle pendant to contain his blood.

Miguel walked over to you, squatting down to your level as you remained sitting on a lab stool, running his large hands along your thighs. "Nervous already?" He asked with a half smile.

"Is it a bad time to admit I don't like needles?"

Miguel laughed. "How on Earth did you survive getting all your tattoos then?" He ran a hand along your thigh piece that was poking out from under your skirt.

"That's different, mister. Tattoo needle pain is way more tolerable than medical needle pain."

Miguel shook his head. "That makes zero sense."

"You wouldn't know!" You scoff.

Miguel chuckled and then kissed your forehead. "I'll hold your hand, babe. Don't worry. If you want, we don't have to do this."

You smile and close your eyes as you feel him kiss your forehead and wrap your arms around him as he lays his head in your lap. "Thanks babe. I'm not backing out now though."

The lab tech walks in carrying a small phlebotomy tray. She's a short, slight woman named Trish who looks to be in her 40s with a blond pixie cut, almost like Tinkerbell.

"Who's first?" She asks with a grin. This was the first ever blood draw she's done for a couple wanting to wear it as a sign of devotion, but hey, she's not judging you two for your kinks. When Miguel offered her extra OT to come in on her day off, she happily obliged.

Miguel noted your nervous expression and rolled up the sleeve of his crew neck sweater first.

His blood draw was quick and easy. His face in the same stoic expression the whole time. He had to inject himself with Rapture on a daily basis so needles were no big deal to him.

He gave you an encouraging smile as he rolled his sleeve back down covering his teal bandage.

You felt your insides liquify as Trish walked over to you and wrapped the orange tourniquet tightly around your arm. Miguel squeezed your thigh harder and reached over and took your free hand in his.

"Look at me, don't look at the needle," he muttered.

You gulped and looked at him, staring into his eyes and he gave your thigh another sympathetic squeeze. You kept staring at him, trying to focus on his dreamy face. His sculpted brows, bold cheekbones, his chiseled jaw, his Adam's apple. He was easy on the eyes for sure.

God am I lucky you thought. Then your stomach fell as he pressed his lips tightly into the back of your hand, bracing you for the pain, and you felt that uncomfortable tight pinch as the needle punctured the sensitive skin in the crook of your arm and entered your vein.

You sucked in air between your teeth, gritting them together.

"Sorry, hun..." Trish says.

Miguel's eyes find yours, his lips still buried in the back of your hand, his free hand still gripping your thigh, giving you little pulses of encouragement as the blood began to collect in the vial.

As you focus on him and his face you never got tired of looking at, suddenly you felt a weird twinge of arousal staring low in your belly, combined with the pinch and discomfort of the needle in your other arm. You willed your body to release itself into the sensation, suddenly your cheeks get hot, electricity rushing to your crotch. You take a deep breath in, your breasts heaving slowly, causing the exposed round tops of your cleavage to push against your black knit top, causing the tip of the fabric to recede downward ever so slightly.

Miguel knows you well by now and notices how your demeanor shifts when you're getting turned on. He stops pressing his lips so hard on the back of your hand and begins to soften. He slowly raises his head, dragging his lips against the back of your hand, his bottom lip catches on your skin, slowly pulling it down, exposing the bottom row of his teeth.

You look at him and gently cock your head to the side, your lips parting slightly as you take another deep breath in.

Miguel's jaw tenses when he realizes your body and mind are going exactly where he thinks they are going.

"Fuck." He mouths to you. His eyes hungry as they focus on your bulging breasts trying to spring themselves free from your slutty black top. The vein in his forearm protrudes as he clenches his fist.

"All done." Trish removes the needle and begins wrapping you with a matching teal bandage. You sigh with relief and then let out a quiet wince as Miguel's hand on your thigh closes around it even tighter than before , knuckles turning white, giving you a small preview of the pent up lust he plans to unleash on you on top of this lab table as soon as Trish is gone.

Trish adds the anti-coagulant to the samples and gives them a little shake. She gives you two the run down on proper storage for the blood and wishes you luck and shuffles out the door.

As she walks away, she hears the door to the lab click shut but quickly claps a hand across her mouth to stifle a laugh and speeds even faster down the hallway as the sound of your moans and Miguel's grunts begin to emerge from the other side.

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You and Miguel shakily emerge from the lab an hour later. He lets you lean on him for balance as you walk with a slight limp. He smiles devilishly down at you.

"Amor, you took it so well."

You scoff and look up at him as you both continue to walk, pouting your lips indicating you want a kiss from him. He gives you a tender peck.

"Hopefully Trish didn't hear," you say.

Miguel laughs. "I mean, you were absolutely incredible taking me that way," he winks. "But I was referring to the blood draw. I'm proud of you for facing your fear. "

You smile and bob your head. "Yeah, well, yanno, you being there made it a lot easier. Turns out I might actually have a thing for needles."

Miguel inhales sharply, simultaneously pulling you into him from the back, your ass pressing into his front, and he bites the top of your ear.

"Don't, get me riled up again."

You giggle at his bite and wiggle out of his hold, interlocking your fingers once again as you two stroll to his car.

The rest of the afternoon, Miguel reluctantly buys you coffee after you gave him the puppy dog eyes on your way to the blood jeweler you guys are hiring to make the necklace and ring. The corner of his mouth raises slightly as he sees you happily sipping your overly sweet frappuccino and munching on your egg bites in the passenger seat and he shakes his head as he takes a sip of his black Americano.

He nuzzles his chin in the back of your head as you two wait at the the jeweler's, as you point excitedly to the rings you'd like one day for your engagement ring in the glass display cases.

"This one, no wait I like that one too..agh, okay maybe more so this one actually...yeah that one's my new fav..."

He takes silent mental notes of each design, pressing a kiss into your hair once more.

------

A few weeks later, your jewelry is ready for pick up. You and Miguel walk out of the jeweler's again with two sleek black boxes. He snatches your box away from you, a smug look on his face at your disappointed, cute pout as he tells you he's going to present you with it properly tonight at dinner.

You sat on a barstool with your face in your hands as you watched Miguel cook you your requested meal of the evening: Pasta Pomodoro.

He kicked you out of the kitchen this time because he knows you can't resist scoooching past him long enough to tease him with your hips before he'd have you on the kitchen island, banging you senseless, and then the sauce would be burned and ruined.

You hummed in approval as you stuck one of the red sauce coated rigatonis in your mouth, savoring the taste of the fresh warm tomato sauce, garlic and basil as the hot pasta warmed your belly.

"You outdid yourself tonight babe. My compliments to the chef." Your mouth made a "mwah" sound as you did a chef's kiss motion with your hand.

Miguel smiled warmly at you as he took a swig of his wine. "Thank you, babe. Should we give each other what you've been begging me for all afternoon?"

You smiled and rubbed your hands together quickly "It's about damn time."

"You are SO dramatic." Miguel pressed a kiss into your forehead as he knelt in front of you holding the small black velvet box containing the necklace. Suddenly you felt butterflies in your stomach as he opened the box gingerly, pulling the necklace out of it, dangling it before your eyes, the glint from the silver stopper of the glass vial gave a slight twinkle as the light from the kitchen ceiling hit against it. The glass vial was filled with the dark red liquid. The blood that once flowed through the vein in Miguel's arm contained in the small heart shaped vial.

"My love..." He said, holding your hand, the necklace still dangling in his other hand. "I wrote a few words I wanted to say when I gave you this." He pulled out a small folded piece of paper from his shirt's breast pocket.

"Amor, I have too much I want to say. But I'll try to keep this as short as I can. You have changed my life for the better. When I lost Gabi I-"

His voice cracked. His Adam's apple raised as he was surprised at the sudden emotion his body gave him in response to his words.

"I thought I would never be happy again. But then you came into my life. Those beautiful eyes looking at me over the rim of a mug in the coffee shop where we met. You lit a fire under me that I never want to put out. Your eyes are a warm spell I never wish to be cured of. Your arms are a haven in which I wish to take up permanent residence. Your body is my altar I want to forever worship. Your laugh is a melody I never want to stop listening to."

"I know we plan to pledge ourselves to each other one day as husband and wife, but for now, I'll give you this part of me, as a sign of my devotion. My blood in this pendant that once ran through my vein, kept me alive. You, mí vida, you now keep my love alive. Remember what once belonged to me, now belongs to you for good."

Your eyes glisten with tears as he presses a soft kiss into your neck and traces a finger across the back of it, moving your hair out of the way. The metal from the chain tickles your neck and the vial with Miguel's blood is slightly cold as it rests in the middle of your chest. His blood resting above your heart.

You wipe your eyes and open the velvet box containing his ring. You hold the golden signet in your fingers, the middle of it a dark red with your blood. Miguel's handsome face looks into yours and presses a kiss into your palm to calm your nerves as you pledge your love to him.

"Miguel, I'm so lucky to have you. You're more than I could ever ask for. You're funny (when you want to be), and I wanna jump your bones every time I look at you...."

Miguel's cheeks turn pink and he shakes his head, chuckling as he presses another kiss into your hand.

"...But your soul is what I've fallen hopelessly in love with. You've captured my heart and I never want it to be freed. Your mind, your intelligence, your thoughts and the very essence of who you are is something I've found in no other and I don't wish to seek it anywhere else."

I present you this ring as a sign of my undying love and loyalty to you. I can't properly repay you for all you've given to me, so I'll give you something that used to be a part of me. This blood in this ring once flowed through my heart, and now I ask you to wear it on your hand and know that you are never far from me, my love."

His eyes are glossy with tears as you slip it on his left pinky and he can't hold back as he kisses you desperately, cupping your face with his hands. He pulls back after a few moments to study you, his crimson eyes running along your features and he runs a thumb tenderly along your cheeks.

"This is the best night of my life." He whispers as he presses his forehead to yours.

"I don't know about you, but I want dessert..." You whisper back, fiddling with the top button on his shirt.

"Ohhh....mí vida, you're getting it now." He presses a canine into his bottom lip and swoops you up in his arms in one motion, not tearing his face away from yours as he takes you to his room, dirty dishes and the half-drunk wine on the table be damned.

"Everything comes off, except this...." He takes the vial of your necklace in between his fingers.

You smile and kiss his lips again before returning your attention to taking off your blouse.

"I adore you."

"Mí vida, I adore you most of all."

The rest of the night is slow, sensual, orgasmic bliss as your bodies practically devour one another. Your blood sealed in the ring on his pinky and his blood sealed away in a vial around your pretty little neck..

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 6 months

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Hello, Mr. Monster (Seven. Sacred)

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Master list

Chapter warnings: emotional distress, anxiety, recall of threat of assault/brainwashing, explicit smut A/N: My treat! Happy Halloween! Only about half this beast is edited, but I gave myself permission to break the no-fic-til-first-draft-is-finished rule if I could complete it by Halloween, soooo... ENJOY! Happy to talk inspo music/plot/scream in harmony in comments and asks.

Chapter 6: Sacred

She wasn’t wearing shoes.

She didn’t entirely realize until she left the palace. The grand castle released her easily, giving her a side door to slip through as she tried escaping herself, and she hesitated when soft dirt replaced smooth stone. The fae’s work stripped a lifetime of callouses. A week ago, she could walk across gravel barefoot. Now… She could go back, admit defeat and finish dressing properly. But she couldn’t deal with any more of Gwen’s concern, and the urge to run boiled from her stomach up the back of her throat. Maybe it would burst out as a scream. Maybe she’d just vomit on her own toes.

No going back.

Something would catch her if she turned around, and she wouldn’t stop until the sensation drained away in sweat, blood, and tears.

Maybe she’d trip and earn herself some new scars.

She didn’t actually run, but she walked quickly, like she had any idea where she was going and had a schedule to keep.

The sunshine welcomed her, wrapping warm as her shawl around her shoulders, but she kept her eyes on the path, looking for loose stones to dodge or signs of other travelers. But she found no footprints. Heard no breaking twigs ahead or behind. No voices carried on the faint breeze. The world felt a little too perfect, as if it froze when she left her room, holding its breath as it waited for her to pass by. Too still. Like it might startle her if the clouds skidded along like normal clouds usually did. The blue overhead felt careful. Intentional.

The path led her to the edge of a river – or a lake – maybe a vast moat around the palace. She couldn’t see a way across, and she hesitated on the bank, toes curling into the grass as fingernails folded into palms. She wasn’t ready to stop. She needed to keep going. This wasn’t where she sat and cried. She had to burn out the panic, and she desperately needed a way across the water so she could escape into the green hills beyond.

Chewing on her lip, tasting blood, she squinted at the flecks of sunlight glinting on the water’s surface and tried to guess how deep it was. Impossible to guess. But it looked placid enough. Her was still wet, after all. A little more water wouldn’t hurt her.

She stepped from the bank, expecting a cold plunge, but she found sand barely an inch below the surface. Looking again, she could just make out a submerged path ready to help her ford the river, and she tried very hard not to question if it was there before she stepped on it. More than a little afraid it would disappear halfway through, she sprinted across the open water, splashing her clean clothes and making a terrible racket in the pristine stillness. Although the water wasn’t perfectly still, her steps left great ripples that carried the secret of her flight to both shores and beyond. Round whispers revealing her route, rolling off like a bell’s peel to tell the invisible something where she’d fled.

Her beautiful skin crawled, and she didn’t stop until she’d hidden herself in the green shadows beyond the far bank. Pine needles cushioned her steps, and she slowed to catch her breath, still moving forward, but only barely as the wood’s sap and moss filled her senses.

Her heart beat so fast it hummed, and the old ache stirred sharp and deep behind her ribs.

She was missing something. She needed something. She’d been hurt in ways her simple human magic couldn’t mend, but if she pulled the shawl even tighter, everything would be fine. The soft knit would hold her together like a bandage. Or a net. That shouldn’t comfort her, but it did, and she had too many battles to choose this one.

Being caught was alright so long as she was the one to trap herself.

She kept going, and her heart stewed in memories she’d hoped to leave on the floor of the bath. Things grew out of her helpless fears. Weedy jolts of terror that came back no matter how much she reasoned them away. Doubt spread like mold over every good thing. Confusion soared tall as a tree, and even the Dreaming’s determined sunlight couldn’t pierce its canopy.

She didn’t understand why Morpheus lied. And because she didn’t know that, the question her safety and future hinged on, she couldn’t banish every creeping dread that fed on its shadow. Everything she thought she knew felt fragile, and she wasn’t willing to test her assumptions’ strength. She’d thought he respected her. She’d thought her dreams could be a haven with him. She’d thought her life had changed for the better. For once.

But the fae took her for him.

Whatever she thought she knew, they clearly knew something else.

She walked on. Searching her thoughts. Wandering a strange land. Not at all ready to ask for answers.

The woods thinned into scrubby trees and thickets, fading from emerald to a yellowed olive green. Low stone walls rose and fell along the sides of the path she chose at random, bordering little fields full of pumpkins and graveyards bristling with angled headstones. Signs of structure beyond wilderness, a long-inhabited corner of a rural land, far removed from the gleaming palace with its lavender bath and magical bed.

But it was still so quiet.

Where were all the people? Dreams, nightmares, stories. The Dreaming may be vast, but it had nearly countless residents. Fin and Gwen spoke of whole villages, towns, homes full of strange, beautiful, and awful creatures crafted or invited into the Dreaming by its king. The silence rang false, and her heart snagged on a terrible idea.

The air in her lungs hardened.

She’d never left the unseelies’ court. She only walked through a vision boiled from poppy juice and desperate hopes. Maybe she still wore her wedding dress. Or maybe this was the truth of Love in Idleness. She could love her monster because she imagined he was better than he was. Her mind had broken and she found herself roving freely, left to convalesce on her own terms while in reality…

She’d come to a stone bridge fording a creek, and she practically fell back against the wall, sliding down, dropping her head to her knees.

Fucking fuck.

She’d walked so far, but the fear still had a literal chokehold.

Breathing. That mattered most. Whatever else was wrong couldn’t be fixed until she could breathe. She couldn’t even keep walking without air. Old lessons battled with her diaphragm as she tried to scold herself calm. Her old breathing exercises helped take the edge off the crushing sense of suffocation, but her nervous system hummed with tension, and she sat locked in place.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the dress, feeling phantom spider silk clinging to her skin, watching the threads stretch and tear with so little effort. Of all the things to focus on, maybe it was easiest. The only change she could easily escape. But also a reminder of the monster the fae believed her soulmate to be. Someone who would callously, willingly…

Her stomach rolled, and she lurched onto her knees. A little stomach bile came on the second, wrenching heave, but nothing followed. Not even water.

Fuck.

How long had it been since she ate? Time was so slippery in the fae realms, and gods knew how long she slept in the Dreaming. Her head pulsed as her stomach finally agreed it was overreacting, and she fell back to sit against the wall of the bridge, panting with her eyes closed against every little pain and discomfort knocking on her thoughts. They each wanted to let her know her body had been abused, and all their good intentions just made the message play on repeat, forcing her to not only face but feel everything that happened.

Sorely used.

An archaic turn of phrase, for sure, but fuck if it didn’t fit.

Her ears rang. A sure sign there was just too much happening inside. Even if she didn’t die at the hands of the fae, a rogue nightmare, or some demon Constantine hooked her into finding, her blood pressure would send her to an early grave. For sure.

Her head hurt. Her belly hurt. Her heart hurt. Now that she wasn’t walking, her feet ached, too.

It seemed like a good time to cry, but she hurt too much to do that, either.

So she sat with the pain instead.

Crossing her arms over her knees, she buried her face and tried to block out this world, her monster’s world, and create her own. Simple and dark and safe. The borders only extended to her fingers and toes. It ended where the air touched her skin. Her goal was to drown out the ringing in her ears with the cycle of her breath, and if she forgot anything else existed, maybe that would be possible.

She buried herself so well in her arms and the chorus of her panic that she didn’t notice the little creature approach until it touched her. Tiny claws pricked her ankle. It felt like a cat, a determined kitten scaling her leg to perch on her knee, and she opened her eyes sluggishly, pulling out of the sticky morass of her own head to find a ruby-eyed gargoyle peering into her face. It chirred, potato-shaped head tilting in wordless question.

Golden with little wings that looked entirely insufficient to keep its pudgy baby body airborne, it lurked happily in the grey area where things so ugly they could only be cute flourished.

“I should probably warn you,” she murmured, “that I’m really shit company right now.”

The little creature warbled, like it understood and disagreed. Its claws pinched the fabric over her knee as its wings pumped, lifting him an inch into the air.

Well.

That would show her for making snap judgements.

The little darling really could fly.

It tugged, trilling louder, and she got the idea it wanted her to come along.

“I don’t have wings.” She felt like she ought to apologize, explain her shortcomings the way she’d reason with a small child. “And I don’t feel so good right now. I’ll stay here. You don’t have to.”

Dissatisfied with her decision, her little companion dropped back to her knee, croaking a long, demanding wail.

“Goldie!”

The voice carried through the fog, rattling over the stones, and her little friend perked and turned to call back. Following the direction of his attention, she realized two whole Tudor mansions stood on the opposite side of the bridge. If she’d stumbled any further, she would’ve run into someone’s front door.

She desperately needed to get out of her own head before she walked face-first into an immoveable object and broke her nose.

“Goldie?”

The creature flexed its claws, essentially making biscuits on her knee.

“I think someone’s calling you,” she suggested. The name and color couldn’t be a coincidence. Not in the Dreaming. Everything made a slanted kind of sense here, if it made any sense at all.

The tiny monster, Goldie apparently, settled belly-down, folding its wings and all in a show of blatant refusal. It wouldn’t give up the new friend. Toy. Guest. Whatever the hell she was to it.

“Goldie.” The voice was nearer. Footsteps crunched on loose stones, and a pleasantly round man, with a pleasantly full beard and a pleasantly wide-eyed face, came along from the direction of the two houses, looking the wrong way. “You’re still awfully small to be wandering off, even if you can fly so well. Now, where did you – ” He turned, saw Goldie sitting on Aisling’s knee, and blinked his wide eyes even wider. She stared back.

He remembered his manners first, rushing to welcome her. “Oh! Hello. I didn’t know we had company.”

He approached with a smile, but he hesitated when he realized her position. She must look at least half as horrible as she felt, after all, and she hadn’t moved from her folded spot against the wall.

“Are you alright?” He grasped for solutions, for answers. “Did Goldie scare you?”

Exhausted as she was by her own terrors, she couldn’t help snorting.

“No.” Hell. Her voice practically creaked. She swallowed, trying to get her dry, aching throat in working order, but she only made the ache worse. Coughing, she spluttered, “He didn’t scare me.”

“But you’re not alright.” Those big eyes flooded with growing concern, and she wondered if it was because he genuinely gave a damn or because of some nebulous rule about guests and hospitality and all that shit.

“I’m not,” she confessed. “But I will be. Eventually. I always am.”

“Well, how about some tea while you wait?” He extended a hand, and Goldie fluttered up to his shoulder, clearing the way for her to rise. Now that the cretin had backup, it seemed confident she’d follow.

And since she had no other plan, she did.

“I’m Abel.” His warm, worker’s callouses rasped along her palm and around her fingers as he helped her to her feet. “It’s been a while since we had a proper dreamer here, I’m afraid. Are you lost?”

Very.

“I don’t know. And I’m a dreamer, but I’m not dreaming.”

He didn’t keep hold of her hand as he led her towards one of the two houses – presumably his – but he hovered. He had a good face for that, and he kept near, like he thought she might fall, which was fair considering how he found her.

“Then how are you here?”

A mirror. Knives, and spiders, and that damned dress.

“It’s a long story.”

“Maybe over tea, then.”

“Maybe.” Probably not, though. She couldn’t stomach that tale in her head yet. She couldn’t hold it in her mouth long enough to taste.

The courtyard between the two houses boasted a half-forgotten kind of charm. It grew in moss over crumbling busts and fogged over the windows with just a little too much dust. Cozy neglect. Cottagecore with fewer fairylights and more fog.

Abel held the door for her, and she found a sitting room as wonderfully cluttered as the landscape outside. Books stacked in towers supported forgotten cups, and old table cloths, rugs, and scarves littered every surface. She sat at the little table where her host gestured and admired the collection of his personal history as he busied himself with the stove.

“I should really tell my brother we have a guest,” he fussed. “He’ll be terribly angry if doesn’t have a chance to meet you, I’m sure, Miss…” His hand flew to his mouth, and he murmured his apology through the gaps between his fingers. “’M so sorry. I never asked your name.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m – ”

“Let me get Cain. One introduction! Much easier. I’ll be right back.” He rushed out again, and Goldie fluttered to sit on the table, resting between her limp hands and blinking up like he wasn’t responsible for anything ever, at all, in the very least.

She ran a finger over his bumpy little head and sighed. “Aren’t you just proud of yourself?”

Goldie crooned confirmation, and she rubbed her nail along the loose threads in the tablecloth. A hundred tea stains bloomed over and across each other, but she didn’t see any crumbs from dinners past. The candle in the brass stick at the center of the table had dripped down to anchor the whole contraption in place, and she could only just see a faded red paisley pattern beneath it all.

If she were to read Abel’s cards, this would be the place. It had his rhythm: habit and footsteps and care. A place to plan the morning and end an evening.

The door’s ominously friendly groan announced the brothers’ return, and she looked over her shoulder to meet much less open eyes in a much less open face, shielded by spectacles and a mouth prepared to sneer.

But he blinked like his brother as Abel rushed to attend the kettle again, and he marched in with open curiosity.

“Well, you are a puzzle.” He made a little bow. “I’m Cain. You’ve met the dunderhead and Goldie.”

Abel set a steaming pot and three cups around the table, practically shaking with excitement. They really must not get company often. “And now she’s going to introduce herself, and we’ll all have tea while she waits to feel alright.”

Cain’s eye’s narrowed, and Aisling jolted to defuse the poisonous tension.

“I’m Aisling Hunt.”

Abel clapped, and the tension fizzled away as she tried to catch up with whatever connection he’d made. “Fine Gent’s Aisling? The witch from the Waking?”

“You know Fin?” She accepted her cup of tea, hoping for more about her friend. How did they know each other? Did they know where her friend was lurking? Were they at all like him?

Cain nodded, ignoring the cup and saucer his brother set at his elbow. “Better sort of nightmare. Reliable. Sharp. And if you’re really that Aisling, then I suppose we know why you’re in the Dreaming.”

She shuddered, an involuntary reaction she only just saved her tea from disaster by plonking it back on the table. Gossip traveled quickly in all realms, apparently, and while Fin was a considerate asshole most days, the fae hadn’t been subtle in their… gifting. She could ask how much her hosts knew, but then she’d have to listen to it. And she didn’t want to. Cain’s eye pierced her with a knowing glance, but Abel stood there in wide-eyed befuddlement, so she left them to their own assumptions and tried again with her drink.

Under any other situation, the tea would be very nice. Well-steeped, but not bitter, with a nutty note that made her think of toasted barely milk tea. In the moment, it was better than anything she’d ever tasted. Her senses sprang back from the fog of despair and remembered how nice it was to quench her thirst, how the steam opened up her sinuses, and she could smell the dried rosemary over Abel’s kitchen window. One sip was not enough. Tipping her head back, she drained it in one go and immediately decided manners were for losers, desperately holding out her cup for a refill.

Holy hell was she thirsty.

Abel quickly poured more, and Cain’s side-eye grew razor sharp.

Aisling drank another cup. And then a third. But when she lifted a fourth to her lips, a familiar hand settled on her wrist.

“That’s a great way to make yourself sick again.”

Fin.

He hovered at her shoulder, calm and constant as anything, charming as ever. Just looking up at his smirk – always welcoming her into a joke whether she understood it or not – felt like setting foot on solid land after a long boat ride. It surprised her by how steady it was, and she remembered what confidence had always felt like when they went on their adventures, dragged along by his leads and her intuition.

She hadn’t even heard him come in.

Under his guidance, she settled the cup in its saucer, and she winced an apologetic smile for her hosts.

“Sorry.”

Cain scoffed. “For what? Drinking tea? Pah.” He eyed Fin with a considerably less charitable look, hoisting the teapot in a clear invitation for yet another refill when required. “You’re a guest, and a thirsty one.”

“I’m not surprised.” Fin pulled out a chair for himself, settling a wicker hamper on the table. “You sprinted from the castle like a bat out of hell, and you slept for ages before that.”

Abel gawked like her wandering was some great accomplishment. “You’ve wandered a long way from the Heart of the Dreaming. This is the border of Nightmare.”

Although she determinedly didn’t sip the tea, she kept her heads around the cup, letting the fading heat sink into her palms and remind her she was alive. And awake.

Nightmare. That made sense. She’d never entirely trusted dreams. They felt so sweet in her sleep, but they always stung when she woke up. She found nightmares more reliable. But distance was nothing in the Dreaming. Even she knew that. If the realm’s lord and master hadn’t chosen to let her have her head and run, she wouldn’t have reached the river.

Busying himself with the basket, Fin muttered, “This one never did like to keep to one place. Here.”

He pulled out a lump of cheese and a crusty roll, setting them on a plate he magically fished from the delicate chaos of Abel’s living space.

She looked at the food distrustfully, not sure if her belly rumbled in welcome or rebellion yet. But Fin was on a mission, and he fished out a dish of strawberries next, bright as gems and so ripe she could smell them. Plucking one from the top of the pile, he sliced it into three neat pieces, offering her one on the flat of his blade with an expectant expression. He’d done the work. She shouldn’t waste it.

“The tea will settle better with a bit of food,” he advised.

Cain and Abel kept their own counsel, either riddling out what they were seeing or collecting fresh fuel for the gossip engine, she couldn’t say.

She accepted the strawberry.

It tasted like summer. Ice cream in the shade, and the riot of growing things in their prime. Sunshine and sticky hands with her bare feet in a creek.

Food really wasn’t supposed to taste like that. It took her breath away, and she hesitated, balanced on the edge of Fin’s knife between enjoying the little gift and careening back into her overwhelmed panic. Everything was a step further than she expected, or a little too perfect, or grand in ways that made her feel so, so small…

Goldie, sitting by her elbow, trilled. She looked into his ruddy eyes and held out her hand in a silent demand for another bit of strawberry, even though she hadn’t finished chewing.

Fin tipped the next slice into her waiting palm, and she offered it to the baby… whatever. Goldie seized it with a delighted gurgle and crammed it in its mouth. The sliver of berry filled much more of his mouth than Aisling’s, and his cheeks ballooned with the treat.

“What do you say, Goldie?” Abel asked.

His – pet? Child? – offered a gulp, a belch, and a croak, which was enough to satisfy Abel.

Fin shoved the third slice of berry directly in her face.

And she nearly choked. Nearly laughed. It startled her, but she put her hand to her mouth and kept everything in – chewing and swallowing emotion and food. They saying went that laughter was the best medicine, and while she was a firm proponent of the wonders of antibiotics, her inner sky cleared just the tiniest bit. The cracks were still there. Her world was still more than a little broken. But the fog of war began to lift, and she could see some of what was left. What was alright. What might be alright with a little more time.

Moss would grow on the ruins, and rain would fill the holes into ponds for frogs and water lilies.

What couldn’t be repaired could be made new.

And if she ever cleared all the clouds from that inner sky, maybe she’d find another watercolor sunset waiting for her.

Fin, watching her very carefully, cut another strawberry, and she ate it all with more confidence than the first two mouthfuls. He sliced open a roll and spread soft cheese on the two halves, giving them to her one at a time. When she reached for her tea to wash the bread down, he didn’t protest.

His posture softened until he slouched in his seat, shoulders back against the wood and one ankle propped across his knee. The little wrinkles that forecast a frown smoothed back to the edge of a smirk. All his anxiety appeared in the hollow shapes left behind as it melted.

She was sorry to have worried him, but watching him relaxed helped her more than all the tea and food in the Dreaming could. He’d decided she was safe, and in this wonky wonderland, she trusted his judgement. Fin may not betray his maker for her, but he would never be ease if he wasn’t sure all was – or would be – well.

Rapid tapping interrupted the scene a few minutes after she refused more food from Fin. Sated, pleasantly full, and breathing easily, she didn’t jump at the sound, but her heart jumped when she saw the raven on the other side of Abel’s window. She’d bet anything it was…

“Matthew.” Fin nodded to the bird but didn’t move to let him in. Instead, he turned to Aisling and asked, “Feel up for a walk?”

“Back? That’s…” The best idea. The worst idea. She thought of the castle and the entity who ruled it. He needed to be stitched back into her story. She had too many frayed ends left in the wake of the latest tear, and she couldn’t begin any real work until she saw the pattern. All her questions and accusations coiled into a lump in her throat. “A long way.”

“Oh, I doubt it.” Since his question hadn’t really been one at all, he stood up, put the basket on his arm, and pulled out her chair.

It was time to go.

Cain and Abel stood, too, and Goldie bobbed up to Abel’s shoulder, sighing like a tired toddler.

“Thank you.” She hesitated in the doorway and wondered what the rules were in the Dreaming. Did she owe them something? Did they expect a token, or a boon, or some specific words? Should she start planning a thank you card? Was there a ritual, or – no. She was overthinking it. “It was… You helped. A lot. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Abel beamed. Goldie warbled in agreement.

“Of course, she’s welcome,” Cain snapped, finding some unknowable annoyance in his brother’s manners. He looked back to his departing guests and nodded, slowly, almost like he was bowing. “Fine Gent. Lady.”

“Oh, I’m not-”

Fin looped his free arm through hers and tugged her off balance, moving through the door. Her confusion of thought was lost in the chaos of stumbling sideways to keep up.

“Thank you, Cain,” Fin said.

The door closed. The sounds, smells, and sensations of the outdoors crashed over her fragile senses like a wave, and she was very glad for Fin’s arm. She was… better. But still not well. The ground stayed firm under her feet, but the back of her mind whispered it would melt into quicksand at any second.

Fluttering wings and a familiar croak warned her just before Matthew came flapping in her face. “You’re awake! You’re alive! Thought you were gone forever when you didn’t come back to your van, and the boss-”

“Will explain his thoughts himself,” Fin interjected. He gave the bird a look, a suggestion or a reminder. Once upon a time he threw those her way in the Waking. When she was young and overeager to test her limits. When she ought to know better.

Matthew landed in a chaos of black feathers and clattering talons, hopping alongside as Fin led the way across the bridge. Back to forests, fields, and strange moats. Back to the Heart of the Dreaming. Whatever that meant for her. There was no rush, but Fin clearly had a direction in mind, and while he was willing to go slow, ambling rather than marching, he was on a mission.

She didn’t like the heavy feeling that realization left in her gut, full of the food he’d so carefully and considerately brought. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but there was a new authority overshadowing their old dynamic, and she just didn’t like it.

Chastised, Matthew actually held his tongue for a few minutes. But every few steps, she caught him peeping up with sharp swings of the beak to glance at her, like he was waiting for a signal to talk again. He looked so awkward, fumbling along at their pace. And earnest.

And none of this was his fault. It wasn’t Fin’s. It wasn’t the raven’s. It… probably wasn’t their master’s, either.

She offered a wan, tired kind of smile that she hoped would ease the tension. He snapped it up.

The raven cleared his throat. “You look nice?”

And she always would. No matter how sick, or exhausted, or miserable, or – The phantom tingle of the fae’s thick salve gleaming with unicorn horn rolled down her arms, and she shuddered.

“Don’t.”

Matthew immediately dropped his head. “Sorry.”

Well shit.

“It’s fine. Just – yeah.”

And with that eloquent excuse of a non-apology, the three fell into a deeper silence.

The trees swallowed the two houses and the bridge that led to them. The path unspooled ahead, under darker boughs, and after a corner or two, the edge of the forest thinned. Too quickly. A slowly as she’d run. Impossible and sensical, because what else could it have ever been.

As the castle came into view, she fought against the dream-fall sensation demanding she wake up. She knew she couldn’t, because she was already, but that didn’t stop of her mind from spinning with the alien logic of this world. She was still looking for an escape, even if she didn’t feel the need to run for one.

A bridge – which she knew for sure wasn’t there before – connected the edge of the forest to the castle’s island. A low, discreet construction entirely unlike the arching causeway she could spy towards the front gates. The Dreaming hadn’t made it a challenge to leave, but it made returning even easier.

It invited her to come home.

Fin huffed, and she caught a smirk twisting his lips before he schooled it into a more dignified expression.

“You’re expected, it seems.”

Her hand spasmed on his arm, and he patted it almost condescendingly.

“Of course,” she murmured, demanding her stomach settle and her feet move.

Fin stayed with her across the bridge, through the garden, to the door that let her out. She felt like a stray dog being returned by a neighbor after a jaunt around the neighborhood, and it took conscious effort not to let her hackles rise. Inside, the castle was as quiet as it had been before, and she wondered again if people were being kept away from her on purpose, and if so, for whose benefit.

They stopped in the first crossroads between hallways. “This is where we leave you.”

“What?” Panic fluttered like butterflies through her gut. Fin settled (most of) them with another one of his looks – teasing, mocking her just enough to assure her this wasn’t anything like she feared. It made her feel stupid. It gave her courage. “I mean – fine. Okay. Why?”

“Why do you think?” Fin pointed to the left. “If you head that way, you’ll find yourself back in the room you woke in. Gwen and Jeff will take care of you.” He pointed to the right. “If you go that way, you’ll find him. If you’re ready to talk.”

He delicately peeled her fingers off his arm, stepped back, and performed a tidy bow. Duty performed, he left her with a wink and walked back the way they’d come in, a way that now offered many more doors and turns than she remembered.

“Good seeing you, Aisling. I’ll see you around?” Matthew didn’t wait for an answer. He launched into the air and flapped after Fin. A last caw caught and echoed through the branching halls, fading until she stood alone with her decision.

The still air pulsed with her thoughts, and her bare soles stuck to the polished floor, rooting her in a whirlpool of feelings she couldn’t face long enough to name. A crossroads. Her crossroads. Another gift from the entity she’d always feared would take away her choice. Was it respect or apology?

He’d lied to her, and even if he wasn’t responsible for… everything else, how could she trust he’d finished with masks? Kindness made for a clever veil, and he’d already surprised her with the face behind one helm.

But he hadn’t destroyed her. Hadn’t let others strip her will when it could’ve suited his purposes.

Romances between gods and mortals rarely ended well, and he was beyond a god. How could she ever hope to understand that? There was no world in which she could be his equal, where he could stoop low enough to grasp her human fears. Holding hands across a chasm like that always ended in a fall. Hadn’t she been enough of a fool already?

She remembered her first dream with him. He was more honest with her then than he’d been since, and the first thing he wanted to show her was the place where he held her the way she’d always held him. For that night at least, everything made sense. Maybe not the pain, but the agonies she’d suffered almost seemed worth it.

She didn’t know what to think. If she never faced their tangled wyrd, the potential bond she’d tasted so briefly, she’d never know how to feel, either. Maybe all this would kill her, but she couldn’t live without knowing.

So, she turned right.

Maybe it was her imagination, but the coolly lit hall seemed a little brighter as she made her way from the crossroads, looking for Morpheus.

She didn’t have to go far. The hall stretched straight ahead. No side passages to distract her. No doors to tempt her curiosity. Dream of the Endless wasn’t hiding, and as he reached out to guide her steps, he shaped the world to his intent.

The hall ended, rounding a little bend and opening into a high-ceilinged room that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. A gallery. A meeting place. Something old and new and hollow. One wall bristled with shapes emerging from grey-veined marble. Windows stretched from floor to roof, bathing the sculptures of vines, trees, rolling waves, and writhing figures with soft light at odds with the relief’s high drama. There was no furniture. Only space waiting to be filled. And a lone figure. Waiting for her.

No obstacles. No games or tests.

It could all be so, so simple.

Morpheus wore his regal grace with the same ease as his long black coat. But it failed to shroud his melancholy, and his longing wafted through the room in perfumed spirals of burning incense. She breathed it in; it stung her eyes and plucked on the frayed tatters in her chest. Sympathetic pain bloomed, and she rubbed along her sternum automatically, blinking back tears so she could trade them for words.

He broke the silence first. “I welcome you to the Dreaming, Aisling Hunt.”

Without his helm, his voice sounded so different. Incredibly. Even more beautiful, like looking up into a night sky with stars that looked back, but less like a force of the cosmos, more a man who traded in the dust that made worlds. He regarded her, and her intuition thrummed, trying to answer in ways her human body physically couldn’t.

He paused, lips parted on a thought, and the formal weight evaporated, replaced with aching strain that curled his shoulders towards her, even across the room, like a plant bending towards the sun. Strange. Unsettling. She didn’t feel like something bright in his world, but at least he wasn’t hiding behind his grotesque helm again.

“I am, despite everything, glad to have you here.”

Oh.

It shocked her back into her body. Into feet just a little cold and still bare on the floor. Into flesh she was afraid to look at in case she started crying again. The hope and horror bridged, and the most urgent question grew like a weed up her throat.

Well. If he was going to bring it up, then…

“I need to know something.” She rubbed her chest, hoping to pry loose a scrap of courage. None lingered in her heart, but a few tatters could’ve gotten caught in her ribs, and even a slip would do her. “Before this – I need to ask you something. I think I already know, but I need –” She knew how quickly words and oaths could twist under desire’s pressure, and even if she’d committed to playing the fool, even clowns had their limits, and she wouldn’t dance into another lying mirror. “You said you wouldn’t steal me away to hide in shadows, but you could send others to take me, and this place is very bright.”

His shoulders drew back, and his chin lifted. He’d offered her formal welcome and she asked for formal confirmation that he hadn’t betrayed her. She wasn’t ready to burn for him as his sun. She had to know he wouldn’t snuff her out first.

“I did not ask for you to be taken. I did not ask for you to be changed against your will. I did not ask other hands to commit such sins in my name, nor will I in future.” Angling his face down again, he offered her a glimpse at the wrath hidden there. He had not forgotten her suffering. It would not go unpunished. And just as quickly as he revealed his rage, he buried it again, stowing the knives and earthquakes for the villains who’d driven her to ask for proof in the first place. He watched her absorb what he’d said, and his voice turned feather soft. “You are my most cherished guest, and though I ask that you stay until word has spread and it is safe for you to walk the Waking world, you are no prisoner.”

Blinking, she took a deep breath. It rattled all the way down to her fingers, and she shook out her hands to banish the trembling.

“Thank you.” He gave, and he gave, and he gave. Time, space, reassurance. Her gaze roved the complicated mass of imagery covering the wall, looking for a theme. A hint. Frozen sailors reached for the land, tying sails against a wind determined to keep them at sea. Trees bloomed. Flowers fell. Fruit swelled, and snakes crept through their own shed skins as seeds burst from fallen, rotting apples. Time, loss, and rebirth without aim.

“What do you want, Morpheus?”

Had she ever actually asked him? She desperately wanted the truth. The whole thing.

“You were right.” Her own truth. An olive branch. An invitation and a plea. “Others shaped my view of you. So, now’s your chance. Tell me, so I can it from your own mouth. What do you want?”

In this moment, she was judge, jury, and executioner. No one would decide who or what she loved, and she would know the entity whose name she carried before she gave him anything else.

The air turned sharp. It cut the light like a prism, glittering in her monster’s eyes, a focus so sharp it broke sunbeams into their constituent parts. For all the black he wore, he practically glowed, a king in all ways, an open heart in more. Only here. In private. For her.

His eyebrows lifted, pinched. “I want you.” His voice was a song, weaving everything that could be beautiful between them into the simplest terms. “I want to be near you. I want to comfort you.” He approached, drawing his words out with cautious steps, hands hanging stiff at his sides. He halted, just far enough for her to feel safe, even when he spoke again, letting his lust drip into his tone, scenting his song with night-blooming jasmine. “I want to love you and make love to you.”

That was… honest. Heat rushed over her face, and she dropped eye contact like it was the source of the fire.

Fuck.

It was, actually.

When she first saw him, locked away in the cage beneath Fawney Rig, she thought his beauty was a warning, a good reason to look away and avoid him. Beautiful things were almost always cruel, but now… Well, things were different, weren’t they?

“I want you to know me.” He glanced out the window, and she instinctively did the same, looking over distant mountains and glittering bridges. World beyond worlds. “The Dreaming is a part of me. Simply by walking it, I feel you’re exploring me.”

They looked at each other again, just a little closer than before, and the hope in her monster’s eyes made him almost boyish. He was older than her planet, probably. But even an Endless must be reborn sometimes, in some ways, like the snake winding through the rotting fruit.

So, she’d met him when the water splashed over her toes. She let him comfort her when she drank the tea and ate the food of the Dreaming. Even if she hadn’t held his hand or looked in his eyes, and he was reaching for her in all but body now.

Fine.

Alright then.

She wouldn’t be anxious over a project she’d already begun.

“May I touch you?”

His smile bloomed soft and sweet. “Yes.”

Having the permission she needed from his strange eyes, his lips, the face she still didn’t know, she looked at his hands. She drew the tips of her fingers along his knuckles, a whispered touch asking for an answer, and he lifted the hand for her inspection, turning it over so she could see the creases of his palms. Invitation and vulnerability. Her touch wandered the lines, trying to read the silky flesh like a book. Palmistry had never been her forte, though, and she only found her own memories in his life and love lines.

“I know these better than your face,” she admitted. They felt safer, something secure to hold when his galaxy eyes threatened to sweep her away.

She found her courage in inches, lifting her eyes to his shoulders. His neck, his skin pale and untouchable as a reflection of the moon. Would she find the same strength in the rest of him as she did in his hands? The same possessive tenderness? The same call that felt like a puzzle coming together when she stroked his fingers, demanding and comforting as a deep breath after a dive?

Gingerly, like one or both of them was made of glass, she pressed an index finger to either side of his jaw. The barest caress drew along the edge of his face, not just feeling him, but listening to the hushed drag of skin on skin, until her two hands met, fingertip to fingertip, over the point of his chin. A sigh gusted down her wrists, along her elbows, and a rebel army of goosebumps sprang to life at his summons.

Without entirely meaning to, she looked up and met his eyes, and once she found them, they snared her.

It was entirely unfair for anyone to have actual stars in their eyes, and she read her doom in them as easily as she read her cards.

“I’d like to kiss you.”

His eyes flicked to her lips, and he shifted closer, keeping his hands to his side despite the way his want curled out to close the distance like a physical force. Well. It was his world. Perhaps it was. It found her heart and tugged.

Her own gaze dropped to his mouth, waiting to read his answer. “May I?”

“Yes.” His voice rumbled so low and strong she felt it like thunder. No hesitation.

She wondered if she’d have to rise onto her toes to reach him, but he swept down to meet her, giving rather than waiting for her to cautiously claim what she’d asked for. Her eyes fluttered shut at the first caress. A soft touch expressing and savoring everything she’d allow. There was no demand, but as she pressed into the kiss, chasing the delicate friction, he answered in kind.

Little sparks carried through her blood. Through her mind. Urging something to life. Drops of sunshine calling up flowers in springtime. He tasted like traces of smoke from a campfire on a cold night. Vellum and lignin. The last breath before a jump.

When she broke away to breathe, she peered into his face, and she felt the trembling rush of standing in a high place. In the Dreaming, were the butterflies in her stomach real, too?

His hands hovered, framing her face with restrained yearning.

“May I touch you?” Gravel thickened his voice until it nearly broke, and he searched her expression with bared desperation. “May I hold you so I may feel you are well? May I love you, my little hero?”

She settled her hands over his, kissed his palm, and guided his fingers to her cheek, closing the gap he’d left for her to decide in. “You may touch me.”

He accepted her permission with open wonder, taking a full moment to rest where she’d led him, moving just enough to stroke the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. When he freed himself of the spell she’d so innocently cast, he let his touch wander – sweeping over her brow, tracing her nose, cradling her jaw. But when he came to her mouth, he lost his focus. He replaced hand with lips, jolting back after the briefest, most chaste contact when he realized he hadn’t asked permission.

She grabbed the lapels of his long coat, shaking the fear from his expression. “You can kiss me. Please. You don’t need to ask. Not tonight.”

The worried frown he’d grown melted. A smirk washed up his face, dark with promise. But he didn’t tease her. He claimed another, proper kiss instead. Free to touch her, he angled her face with careful pressure, showing her how best to deepen the pleasure of lips, and teeth, and tongues, until she was equally breathless and reluctant to breathe.

Resting forehead-to-forehead as she recovered – as she gathered air to take the plunge again – he asked, “May I hold you?”

“Yes.” Her turn to answer quickly, for an ache to strain her voice.

Long limbs twined around her, drawing her close with a hand on her back and another on his him as her monster once again set to work trying to consume her. She did finally rise onto her toes, begging for more with eager hands slipping up his shoulders to comb into his hair. He gave her too much to feel, and she couldn’t give each piece its due. His lips gliding over hers. The secure warmth of his arms. Smooth skin and soft hair. The pressure of his chest against hers.

She knew pains like this. Sensations too overwhelming and complicated to make sense of. But she’d never felt pleasure the same way, and it swept her away faster than a riptide. She’d given the sea permission to drown her, though, so it was alright. More than alright. Wonderful.

He wasn’t as cool as he’d been when she first touched him. The rosy heat didn’t blush over his skin, but it pressed out to meet her, as if he was taking inspiration from the pulse and flush of mortality. Her blood warmed her because it must. He only warmed from a desire to be near.

“And may I love you?” A kiss to her cheek. “May I?” Another just below her ear. Withdrawing to lift her gathered hands to his lips, holding her gaze, he brushed a third kiss over her knuckles. “May I?”

Almost too disoriented to answer, she nodded, running her palms over his clothed chest. “Yes. Please, Morpheus – ”

His name on her lips tore through the last of his self-control. Finally. Finally given permission. Finally near enough to touch, and taste, and take. He crushed her closer with tender, rabid affection, kisses wandering to her cheek, down her neck, and back to her lips to share her sighs.

Maybe she wasn’t the sun, but how she burned for him.

Lovely as it was, she wanted his coat off. With their lips tangled together, she struggled to ask, but she pushed at it, and he wordlessly agreed, helping her peel it away from his shoulders to drop, abandoned, somewhere behind him. Her monster’s greatest frustration with the act was the time he spent with his hands otherwise occupied, and he grabbed her back to him like they’d been separated for years, not seconds.

His hand slipped beneath the soft shirt he so thoughtfully provided when she woke, and she whimpered into his mouth, caught off guard by how good this new wave of sensation felt. Fragments of control washed away with each graze of a knuckle or press of his palm along her back, pulled away as sand in the surf.

When she released her hold on his shoulders, he left her break the kiss, his eyes somehow even darker as he watched her reach for the hem of the garment. He helped her – carefully, reverently – guiding her arms and head out of the fabric. His lips parted as he looked her over, and he reached for the bottom of his own shirt. She mirrored his performance, helping him with the simplest chore of escaping his clothes, and when he emerged from the black shirt’s depths, he reappeared with a smile. A little amused. Deeply fond.

More kisses. Cautious hands mapping new spaces. Enjoying each other slowly so the heat could grow. Shared breaths, every shudder and shift pressed into the other’s flesh. Wrapped up in each other entirely. There wasn’t room for fear or doubt; they stood much too close.

Even when Dream pulled back again, something as fiendish as it was loving in his expression, she couldn’t remember there was a room or a world beyond him.

He spread his palm wide over the center of her chest, covering the flesh between him and his mark, and he pressed down. Gravity bent to his will, an intractable urge. She fell to his desire and found herself sprawled flat on something comfortable that wasn’t a bed. But he left her no time to wonder, following her with a rain of kisses that left her dizzy. As his hands crept down, he hovered, watching for her to revoke her permission, or even the slightest hint of discomfort. But by the time he’d reached the rest of her clothes, her hands fluttered around his, trying to slip multiple layers off in one go. She wanted her pants gone as much as she’d wanted rid of his coat, and he chuckled as she kicked them off the last inch.

Once she’d escaped the last fabric keeping her from his touch, she drew him back for a kiss, this one so soft it spoke his thanks. His care.

Although he rested between her legs, he didn’t rush. He attended her breasts, plucking yelps and giggles from hidden ticklish spots, rising back to her lips again and again as she grew hotter and more desperate under his hands. They might’ve spent a hundred years hovering on the threshold, finding each other in grazes and kneading grips.

At last, he roved lower, and even as he brushed his lips over hers, his thumb rolled over her bud. Slowly, tortuously almost, he fluttered over the nub, refusing to explore further until she whimpered and writhed. He traced down her folds and groaned. She could feel how wet he’d made her, and the mortification would’ve swamped her if she couldn’t feel how excited it left him. The bulge pressing against her hip left no doubt.

His fingers sank inside, curling to pull something out of her. She gave him a moan, a fluttering thing, unsure on new wings, and he hovered with his mouth hanging open in awe, like he could catch it. Keep it. Cage it in his ribs to keep. Before, when he’d pleasured her in the dream, he had plenty to say, even when his mouth was on her. That was worship. This was communion. A true meeting, a joining without words.

He worked her open diligently. And all the while, he held her gaze, feasting on it.

Every nerve sang for him, and he coaxed her to the very edge before she grabbed his wrist. He froze, looking for pain in her expression, and she kissed the worried line between his eyebrows.

“I want you.”

She didn’t need to explain. With a look so vulnerable he almost looked hurt, he said, “You have me.”

When he pulled back this time, he took her with him, and she sat astride his lap as he worked a mark into her neck, giving her time to change her mind. His pants had magically disappeared. She wasn’t at all surprised, though she’d wanted to help take them off herself. Next time, maybe.

Next time? There would be a next time. And another next time. And all the next times she wanted.

Elated by her revelation, she all but yanked his face from her neck so she could kiss him properly. He laughed, and it tasted like elderflower cordial, rich and sweet enough to make her drunk with one sip. She ground down on his length, and his hands spasmed on her waist.

“I’m ready,” she assured him with an eager peck. “I want this.”

He shifted, arranging himself to brush her entrance, but he didn’t press. Even here, he waited for her. She sank to meet him, her grip on his shoulders seizing as she stretched. His hold moved to her back, her neck, cradling her near instead of exerting any kind of control. And she was glad. She needed it as her eyes all but rolled back into her skull.

As light kisses rained over her face, she fought to relax, to take him entirely. She only opened her eyes once she had him. Once he had her. And once she saw him, she wondered how she could ever turn away again.

It was the way he looked at her. Fathomless patience meeting desperation. All of it honed by time. He’d craved her company before she was born, and he’d wrestled back his yearning until it cut into his soul to keep from scaring her away.

He wanted to be seen, and held, and cared for, too.

A thousand adoring words bubbled up her throat, but it wasn’t the right time, so she peppered them soundlessly down his neck and along his collarbones instead.

And she moved.

The drag was almost too much. The pressure brought stars to her own eyes, and although she refused to close them, sometimes she thought they’d fluttered shut, because the push and pull of their lovemaking really was blinding. He stroked up to meet each roll of her hips, crooning as she kissed and petted and squeezed him.

They were the turn of stars, the draw of ancient voids too vast for names, and all the voiceless songs strung between worlds.

She forgot the pain in her chest. She forgot she’d ever done anything but burn for her monster. Her Morpheus.

If she wasn’t the sun, she must’ve swallowed one.

The inferno melted her from the inside out, and she all but fell apart, wrapped around him, and cheek-to-cheek, he groaned in her ear. She panted, open-mouthed, fighting for air and sense as he kept his slow, deliberate pace. He hadn’t even begun to have his fill yet, and he held her all the tighter as her quaking limbs refused to play.

When feeling eventually returned to her legs, she pulled them around his waist, anchoring herself and refusing to release him as adamantly as he clung to her. The otherworldly sensations lingered, but she remembered herself a little more, found the cognizance to appreciate who held her, who she’d accepted. Who stoked the flame, sheathed inside.

Even as he worked her up to another orgasm, a painfully soft part of her heart burst open, and affection flooded her system. It bled open and free, forcing tears to her eyes.

She was safe, and he was hers, and she –

She really had to tell him somehow. She couldn’t bear to say it, though.

She’d be worthy of his face. She’d break him out of a thousand cages. If only he’d keep her so close and secure and warm.

This time when she trembled to pieces, there was no putting her back together, and her monster graciously followed her release. He kissed her as he came, holding her still so they could feel every shudder of the end. And when he’d finished, as their breathing steadied, he tumbled with her back into something soft, never once letting her slip from his arms.

#fic: hello mr. monster #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #morpheus x oc #dream of the endless x reader

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yuckie-obsessive · 1 year

Text

Helping Hands

A small idea I had recently.

Put in the tags or wherever if you guys want a part two. Got an idea for it but I need motivation =w=

Tw: swearing, blood, Anti’s “neck incident”, manipulation, obsessive and possessive behavior (yandere), possession (physical body)

Antisepticeye x Reader (gender neutral)

Set up: you’ve been good friends with Sean for quite a while. Hyping up his new YouTube career and suggesting games to feature on his channel. Things started to go south with his sudden declining health

~★~

Words: 1,872

You knew Sean had started experiencing occasional sharp dips in his health. Sudden migraines out of nowhere and pauses in recordings to handle nosebleeds.

It was concerning enough for sure, but he waved the idea of going to the hospital. It was never “serious” enough. What made you worry especially is when he admitted that he didn’t even mention any of this to his doctor. As if he was intentionally ignoring the problem.

You made it a habit to check on him regularly when this started ramping up. A rise in anxiety and paranoia. Random eye pain that kept him up at night. None of these symptoms were consistent with anything you could think of or researched. You couldn’t think of a reason why he was refusing to acknowledge these problems other than you when you pushed hard enough.

Everything changed on that one halloween night.

You didn’t know his plan for the Halloween video, but knew he was creative enough to pull out all the stops.

Then he shows up at your front door, drenched in blood from a wound in his neck.

You thought it was a prank, “Christ all mighty Sean- fine, you got me! Happy Halloween or whatever-”

He simply shook his head and slumped against the door frame with a wheeze.

Another dizzying adrenaline rush kicked in as you got a better look and realized it was a real wound.

“Oh my god.. Oh my god- What the fuck happened to you? Why didn’t you go to the hospital??”

He tried to respond, but could only manage to squeak out, “it’s not that bad.”

“Bullshit! Sean, this has gone WAY to far and you know it! Get into my car I’m driving you to the ER-“ he stops you from going to grab your keys.

“(Y/n) don’t, please- don’t make me go.” You barely made out what he says, and felt your heart drop at his expression. Watery-eyed and pleading, he staggered and fell against you. He needed help and if he wouldn’t let you take him to the hospital, then you felt determined to do it yourself.

“I- I don’t understand what’s going on with you. Sean, this is really scaring the shit out of me. What’s going on? How did this happen?” You let him lean most of his weight on you as you slowly guided him to the bathroom.

“I just… lost control…” he was slumping forward and you could still barely catch his words.

“Control? Control of what?”

Carefully you moved him to sit down on the toilet seat, guiding a towel in his hands to keep pressure on the wound. Then quickly setting off to dig through your cabinets and drawers. You knew you had a suture kit somewhere.

“Whatever..s been happening. I don’t know.”

You took a brief moment to look at his face with worry, finding him already staring at you. His eyes had a distant look. He didn’t look right. He didn’t look like Sean.

“Okay. Okay we can figure that out later. Let me fix you up.”

Your hands finally found enough materials to, at the very least, stop the bleeding. You sat next to him on the edge of the tub. Slightly lowered to get a better angle.

“Stay as still as you can, okay?”

Taking a deep breath, you forced your hands steady to begin the grotesque process of stitching his skin together.

It made you sick to see all this blood. You felt his skin was clammy and chilled when your fingers brushed against his neck, causing goosebumps to hit the both of you. You involuntarily gritted your teeth as you tried to be careful while also pushing the needle through his skin. It dawned on you after a moment that he didn’t flinch once during this process.

Your back ached after you tied off the last stitch.

The area needed to be cleaned which made you realize that his shirt had to be removed to properly disinfect the area.

“Sean- um. We need to get your shirt off to clean up the blood.” He simply hummed in response, looking like he was starting to pass out. You sighed and decided to just cut the damn thing off.

Trying to make quick work of sponging off the blood around the wound in order to get it wrapped up.

He was starting to pass out and was losing balance. All you could do was wrap him up in a towel and bring him immediately to the couch where you piled on blankets in hopes to bring his body temperature up.

This was bad.

You spent the next few hours watching him with anxious, jittery nerves. Intently listening to his breathing and praying to whatever would listen that it wouldn’t stop.

The adrenaline eventually wore off and you broke down into quiet sobs.

Would he die?

The thought echoed with increasing intensity. He could die. In your home, with his blood on your hands. Fighting with yourself that you didn’t have the will to push him to the hospital.

“Hey.”

Your head shot up at the hushed word.

“Oh god-“ you rushed to kneel next to him, “You’re awake!” Frantically looking for a source of time, finding that 7 agonizing hours had passed. He shifted under the layers.

“(Y/n)-“

“I’ve been so scared! Sean, I-“ you started to cry again, “I don’t want you to die.” Your head hit the couch. Hands clutching at the blankets draping off the side.

A weight on your head made you flinch, but you looked up and saw he managed to wrangle an arm out to rest his hand on your head.

“(Y/n), you’re doing such a good job.” You clutched at his hand. “I’m going to be fine,” he offered a lopsided grin.

Your exhausted emotional mind made you laugh. This was beyond insane and now he was comforting you.

Keeping a firm grasp on his hand, the single thing now keeping you grounded, your head hit the couch again. Tears still flowing from your eyes.

You crashed off the mania.

“I don’t know what made this happen,” you squeeze his hand, “but you know you can come to me, right? That you don’t have to hurt alone. So many people care about you- I care about you so fucking much…”

Your body finally gave out after hours of tense emotions. Hearing Sean’s raspy whispers repeatedly telling you, “Don’t worry (y/n), I will be fine. Everything’s going to be fine,” and feeling the comforting warmth of his hand. It relaxed you up to the point where you fully passed out.

~★~

Every detail had been scrutinized to the nth degree by this point. Employing a slow, creeping haze for the set up of a swift and easy takeover.

The concept was overall simple.

Possess a host with significant influence and consume all the energetic runoff.

Him, a parasite, existing within the world in between.

Him, a human who’s body was incredibly malleable and his mind was equally so.

An easy target.

However, the best things in life came from a slow build up. Plus this execution provided for a little more research and adjustment.

Once beginning the possession phase, some… things got in the way.

Every time Sean’s body would give in a bit to the pressure, you would arrive to comfort and care for him.

Even after waving off worries and essentially forcing his mind to ignore the decline in health all together, you still pressed.

Though your concern was, in a word, enticing. Your heart was laid bare to him with familial care. It was all too distracting when you appeared.

He didn’t understand how your presence had an impact, but he was getting addicted to it. To the point where his full influence was delayed multiple times.

The holidays fueled him with the power to finally take hold.

“Antisepticeye…”

What an odd title, but one he could work with.

Though, this body was far weaker than he initially thought. Leading to the little mishap that led him to your door. If it weren’t for the ache in his limbs, he might’ve jeopardized the entire process when seeing you from these fresh eyes. All his senses had been overwhelmed with the world that was new to his touch.

He anticipated your reaction and delighted when you followed his words instead of your own instinct.

Contact left static running in his veins.

Interesting.

And far too intoxicating.

As hard as it was to speak, your questions were easy to dodge. He did let one little line slip.

“I just…” a smirk twisting his lips, “lost control.”

You treated him with so much care. A treasured friend. It was certainly surprising to him that such a range of feelings were possible. Agonizing pain and tender comfort.

Though he was nearly entirely without function at this point, he internally reveled in the power and control.

Here you were, doting on his wounds with nil protest.

He watched with satisfaction. This precious being was practically at his mercy… If he had the energy to make any decisions about it.

He analyzed your movements and small changes in expression. He couldn’t wait to have more opportunities to study you closer.

Then your eyes caught his. A small twinge of worry aroused when your eyes told him that you weren’t just concerned. Noting the ever so small hint of caution. Slightly relieved that you displayed how easy it was to read you, he would divert that problematic behavior.

Doubt.

Chills echoed in his core at the soft touch of your fingers, much stronger than the first contact. He might be successful with mental gymnastics, but he was starting to lose the war at your simple touch.

Hyper aware of your nervous breathing and slow, concentrated movements, he completely forgot the minute detail of flinching at pain.

A curious feeling arose. Something hitting the core of his chest. Was it a reaction to your hands wiping away the blood from his neck? Or how you nearly swaddled him when he was placed on the couch?

Damn this weak body. He needed more time, but it was giving out fast. Hunkering down, he let himself fall unconscious to hasten the healing process.

~★~

The body roused after a sufficient amount of time. It was enough to surface, but not enough to actually attempt at anything productive.

What…

Wait, was that crying?

Prying his eyes open, he turned to the source of the sound and found you curled into yourself across from him.

That wasn’t what he wanted to wake to.

“Hey.”

Dammit he needed more energy than this. You rushed to his side, still bright eyed and frantic.

Annoyed at the fact he could hardly pull himself out from under the covers. Exhausting himself further just by freeing his arm.

It was your turn for comfort.

After all, you got him all cleaned up and stitched his wound.

How kind.

“(Y/n) you’re doing such a good job,” your small hand grasping at his made his heart skip a beat, “I’m going to be fine.” He couldn’t stop a smile from hitting his lips. The way those simple words broke you down. Adorable.

Letting you ramble and tire yourself out, he simply watched and listened to the tone of your voice.

He repeated himself again as you faded, catching himself rubbing small circles on your hand with his thumb.

He fell too hard and far too fast, but this might be a wonderful opportunity to test the human mind. How far were you willing to believe his words? How long would it take before you would discover his rouse?

He smiled wide that this.

This was going to be so much fun.

He brushed a hand over your frazzled hair.

So much fun.

#ego #antisepticeye #anti #jacksepticeye egos #text #kie’s post #kie writes #fanfic #x reader #reader insert #yandere #yandere x reader #(y/n)#gender neutral fanfic #antisepticeye x reader

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aesopsharpmybeloved · 1 year

Text

Just You Wait

Father Paul and you enjoy a steamy little 'recreation' in the recreation centre. Set during Pirate Priest, or Halloween On Crockett Island.

I had this idea I thought was hot, but didn't know if it wasn't too freaky, so I went and got a second opinion from @blackberries45 and she also thought it was hot. So I hope you'll find this hot as well :)

Basically, Paul and reader being switches who love each other and their fun.

NSFT/18+, I SWEAR TO GOD, GO AWAY CHILDREN

Just You Wait - 4.8K

tw: explicit sexual themes, slight femdom, oral sex (woman receiving) consensual unprotected sex (het), rough(er) sex, semi-public sex, comeplay, swearing

“Oh, just you wait till I get my hands on you, father.”

Father Paul shivered. While your voice was cheeky and teasing, it had that unmistakable undertone to it, one that was a promise as much as a warning. He also couldn’t have imagined that look in your eyes, that dark intense expression which made his heart thump loudly and heavily within his chest as pins and needles of excitement and anticipation settled in his belly. Your relationship was based on mutual adoration and trust, but also openness, in every aspect of it. Therefore, when Paul learned he really likes it when you take the lead and full control every now and then, he told you so openly. Turns out, you also liked to take on the dominant role sometimes.

And so, the priest knew he’d be on the submissive side of today’s activities, at least at first, and this knowledge brought a flush to his cheeks and a rush of blood to his groin. Still, he kept teasing you, riling you up, just to make sure you kept your promise. And by the time the two of you waved goodbye to the last few volunteers who helped hauling the pumpkins into the rec centre, he was positively desirous. He stood, still as a statue with his hands on his hips, watching the backs of his neighbours disappearing through the door with a friendly smile. The door closed with a little thump and his eyes immediately turned to you.

You too observed the now closed door, not making a sound. After a minute or two, during which Paul felt his sanity slowly melting away, you finally moved. You walked over to the door and turned around to face him. Your eyes boring into his and claiming the priest’s entire attention, you made a big show of reaching for the key in the lock. In the absolute silence broken only by a light buzzing of the fluorescent lights above, the click of the key turning around in its lock penetrated the air like a gunshot, and made Paul’s wildly beating heart skip a beat.

Like a predator nearing its prey, you made slow, calculated steps towards the man, keeping your eyes on him the entire time. He watched, transfixed, not daring to move a muscle until you appeared right in front of him, showing no intention of stopping. Paul took a step back, then another, then another, up until his back made contact with the cool wooden wall of the rec centre. You looked at him appreciatively, his pupils were blown so wide it made his eyes appear entirely black, and it was rather obvious the priest was trying very hard to control his breathing.

You were in his space now, so close you felt each of his shuddering exhales on your cheeks. A single sweet, reassuring smile is what you gave him, before looking down slightly and placing your hands on his shoulders. They made their way down his arms little by little, fingers squeezing the muscles there, the muscles he’d been teasing you with the entire afternoon. Finally, you reached his wrists, and, in a single quick movement, closed your fingers around them hard and lifted his arms up to pin them against the wall above his head. This move caused his body to get effectively trapped between you and the wall. A single small whimper escaped his lips.

Father Paul was obviously stronger than you, could easily escape the confinement, could push you back and flip you around without the slightest difficulty and both of you knew it. Neither of you cared. Paul obediently held his hands up against the wall, a little shiver involuntarily running through him as his t-shirt rode up and exposed a strip of the soft skin of his lower belly. Giving him one more smile, this time a devilish one, you lunged forward to capture his lips in a rough, bruising kiss. The man let you ravish his mouth to your satisfaction, feeling each little nip and bite shoot straight into his already painfully hard cock.

Soon your mouth left his rapidly swelling lips to latch onto his neck instead. His eyes were fluttering now and more little sounds were leaving him. A bit of shuffling and suddenly his chin was grabbed, forcing him to open his eyes. In his haze he hadn’t even noticed that his wrists were crossed and held in a single hand, while you administered attention upon his throat. You held his gaze firmly, your thumb now stroking against his lower lip: “Now… behave.” Paul nodded. You returned to sucking on his neck while your free hand now travelled down, across his chest and stomach, before it snuck below the fabric of his t-shirt and moved back up.

You drew circles around his nipples with your thumb until they hardened into little pearls, and only then you lightly pinched one of them. At the same time, you bit just a little harder on a spot which would be hidden under his collar, and ground your hips into his. His loud gasp turned into groan and the priest was now an absolute putty in your hands. Leaving his nipples be for the time being, you let your hand go down again, until it reached the waistband of Paul’s work trousers. You ran your fingers up and down his dark happy trail, making him squirm and thrust his hips, trying to get some friction against his aching member. You moved back before he had the chance however and he let out an unhappy whine, hips thrusting into thin air instead.

“Shh…,” you said, moving so you could whisper in his ear, “I told you to behave, didn’t I?” Paul whined once more, but his hips stilled. You waited for a little while, letting him calm down slightly before you carried on. “Good,” you whispered at last and moved back close to him, fingers reaching to tease at the hair leading to his crotch again. He didn’t try to buck into your hand now, so you took mercy on him. “Very good,” you praised, “you’re doing so good, love.” Finally you slipped your hand past the waistband and into his trousers and underwear. His organ was damp and hot, releasing little drops of precum from the tip. With hands still pinned to the wall above, Paul let his head fall down on your shoulder, releasing an almost pathetic little sound as you finally took hold of him.

You pumped his cock slow and hard, sucking a mark onto that little spot just above his collarbone. You chuckled when you felt Paul’s knees buckle slightly, and a deep moan sounded right next to your ear. “Mhm, f-fuck … you’re going to make me come into my pants,” said the priest, his voice high and breathy. It was neither a question, nor a warning, it was a simple statement of the truth - he knew that was your plan from the start. You grinned against the already purpling spot circled by a reddened imprint of teeth and pulled your hand out. After you made him raise his head and turn his attention to you, you made a show of sucking the remains of his precum from your digits, humming appreciatively at his taste.

He looked like a glorious mess, with his hair out of place and sweat glistening on his skin. His beautiful mouth was raw from your bruising kisses and eyes unfocused. You moved closer again, your free hand moving up once more to grasp at one of his wrists. Placing one of your legs between his, you pressed your thigh against his poor clothed member, slowly moving in an up-and-down motion before stopping. One more intense look was all it took for him to understand and he thrusted his hips, rutting against your thigh. “Go on, love, you’re doing well,” you breathed and put your leg even closer to help him.

He gave a thrust after another, finding a rhythm, before his head fell onto your shoulder once more. His arms stung with fatigue after being pinned above his head for so long, so even if he wanted to resist your hold, he now physically couldn’t. Of course, resisting was the last thing he wanted. Right now, the only thing on his mind was the tremendous need for release, as he desperately dry-humped your leg, his pace growing faster and faster. His face was contorted and he was certain some of the sounds he made were positively whorish, and that he’d be very embarrassed about them, hadn’t his brain been drowning in endorphins and his cock throbbing violently, pre-cum flowing in a steady stream and ruining his underwear.

His pace was feverish now, frenzied, and he rutted harder and harder to get more friction on his weeping organ, you had to hold onto his wrists extra hard to not get thrown off by the ferocity of his thrusts. Finally you had enough leverage to move one of your hands down again and into his hair. You grabbed as many strands as you could and tugged hard. The priest’s head fell back and his hips stuttered. A broken moan fell from his lips and his hips jerked involuntarily for several seconds, as Paul’s orgasm rolled over him like a hurricane and his cock finally released a thick spurt after spurt of cum.

You slowly let go of his wrists and the poor man nearly collapsed on you right there and then, his body overcome with pleasure and exhaustion, but you managed to hold him up by pressing his body against the wall with your own. You felt wetness on your thigh, as Paul’s spunk actually managed to seep through both his pants and trousers. After a while you shifted slightly and accidentally ground your hips against him, which made both of you whine, Paul with overstimulation, and you with your own until now ignored arousal. The priest’s long arms landed heavily on your shoulders, but they were entirely too weak now to really embrace you. Yours were too, after all, you had been the one to hold them there. Even in his post-coital bliss, however, father Paul got a brilliant idea, and slowly he slid down the wall, taking you with him, until he was sitting down, his legs bent at the knees. You automatically climbed into his lap and curled into him, pressing little soothing licks to the love bite you made.

Paul's breathing and heartbeat slowed down little by little, and he finally closed his arms around you with his head craned back and eyes closed, still riding out the last remains of his orgasm. You stayed like this for a while, with Paul’s arms slowly regaining their strength he started stroking intricate patterns on your back and hips, sometimes sliding underneath your top to feel your soft skin. The priest then lifted your head up from his neck by putting his finger under your chin, just so he could capture your lips in a messy delicious kiss, the intensity of it growing by the second. The flame in your core returned and you shifted your hips a little.

Father Paul pulled back to look into your eyes, his own darker than night. “Ride my face,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling, but there was a pleading undertone to it. You smiled softly, your thumb stroking over his pretty lips. “You want me to ride your face?” you asked teasingly, “want me to rut against your mouth, make your face all wet with my juices until all you can see, smell and taste is me?” The priest groaned and licked his lips, and you felt a stir under your backside. Paul’s cock was getting interested once more. You wiggled a tad, pressing yourself against the twitching organ before moving away and standing up. Paul looked at you, alarmed. “Be good and wait here, I’ll be right back,” you said and started walking towards the rec centre’s supply cabinet - there were blankets, pillows, some simple lightweight mattresses, all the things one would need were they to use this place as a shelter.

You came back with these items. They were all light enough to carry in a single arm. Paul eyed you questioningly, sitting in the exact same spot where you left him, not appearing to have moved a muscle. “I don’t want you just lying on the floor,” you explained. Some dominant play from time to time? Sure, but even when you got a little rough, you still wanted the other to feel comfortable. The rec centre’s floor was cold and hard, and you didn’t want Paul’s head dragged across the linoleum each time you thrusted against his mouth. You set the mattress down and put the pillow on it. The blanket you set aside for now.

“Get up,” you spoke softly with a smile. It wasn’t really a command, but it wasn’t a question either. Paul obeyed and stood, his legs just a little unsteady. “Come here, love,” your hand extended towards him and he took it as he reached you. “Now strip. I want to see you.” Not breaking eye contact unless inevitable, the priest began pulling at his clothes. First to go was the t-shirt, slightly stained from when he wiped his hands against it while carrying the pumpkins. His skin was soft and smooth, with a golden hue to it. His dark pink nipples hardened under the chill of the room and gooseflesh appeared on his arms. The mark you made above his collarbone stood out beautifully. He carelessly kicked off his shoes and toed off the socks. Paul reached for the zipper on his work trousers, but then stopped.

“Is… is the back door locked?” he asked quietly then. “Locked, and the key’s in the lock. I checked when I fetched the mattress,” you replied patiently, standing with your arms crossed and admiring the view before you. Finally he pulled the zipper down and popped the button open. Hooking his thumbs under the waistline of his trousers and underwear, he pulled it down, cringing at the wet sticky mess inside. “I think these are beyond salvation,” he murmured as he finally got rid of the clothes. He unceremoniously dropped them at his feet and looked at you expectantly, waiting for your next directions. His shaft was half hard again, glistening wetly with his release still, and throbbing slightly every now and then.

“Lie down, make yourself comfortable,” you said and began undressing as well, slow in your movements. He lied down, naked as the day he was born, resting on his elbows so he could watch you better. The priest didn’t care how many times he saw you bare before, each time it felt like the first time. Each time he was just so fascinated with how beautiful you are, every inch of you was an inch of perfection, your flesh made to be loved and adored and worshipped. He marvelled at your breasts, freed from the confines of your bra, the way they moved and bounced depending on what you were doing. He ate up the sight of your hips as if he were a starving man, the feel of them in his hands as he held them to thrust into you was tattooed under his skin, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Once you too put away your shoes and socks and began peeling off your own jeans, his breath caught in his throat.

No, he decided, he will never have enough of this. Unlike him, you kept your panties on, and he shivered once he saw they were soaked with your arousal and clinging onto your most precious jewel, the sweetest forbidden fruit he wanted to taste over and over and always. You walked over to the mattress and onto it, your feet on either side of the priest’s rising and falling chest. Very slowly you kneeled, your clothed sex no more than twenty centimetres from Paul’s face in this position. He wasted no time. His hands took hold of your backside and the priest pulled you closer, his mouth immediately finding your clitoris through the damp fabric and he licked at it desperately. You sighed in pleasure, your ache finally attended to. Your hand went back into his hair and you gently massaged his scalp. You gave a little tug each time Paul’s wicked tongue sneaked under the cotton to lick at your folds. “Alright…” you breathed out airily after a while and pulled his head away, “lie down.”

Paul did just so, and you stood up once more to remove your last piece of clothing. Then you went to straddle him once more, this time right on his chest. You sat down now, your knees on each side of his head, his arms on your calves and hands closing around your thighs. “Please…” he said with that soft smile, his expression completely open, love and lust written on it so clearly, like black ink on a white page. You leaned forward to brace your hands on the mattress behind his head and he helped move you until your cunt was lined with his face. And then he lunged forward.

He moaned against your sensitive skin once he was flush with your dripping sex, tongue instantly darting out to lap up your juices and taste every single inch of your womanhood. Still, he pulled at your thighs, until you were close to sitting on his face. You let out soft gasps and sighs, feeling the knot in your stomach slowly coming into existence. You then shifted more of your weight onto your hands and rolled your hips, making Paul’s mouth drag over your slit and nub, and moaned at the sensation. The priest's eyes bore into you from his position, cloudy and half-lidded, but unwilling to miss a single second. You rolled your hips once more and released another moan, when his tongue slipped into your fluttering hole.

Now every time you thrusted, the tongue moved within you, his mouth was sucking hard and Paul’s nose bumped into your clit, sending tremors through your body. You found a rhythm and slowly climbed up the hill of pleasure, your moans becoming louder and more frequent under the priest’s wicked mouth. Your arms began shaking slightly and you were forced to relieve them of some of the weight, sitting on your lover’s face even more. He didn’t seem to mind however, his arms still pulling you closer and closer. Your mewls and whimpers filled the room, along with his own. You looked behind you to see his hips jerking unconsciously, his cock completely hard and dark red, standing against the priest’s stomach and leaking drops of precum into his own belly button, the clear fluid sticking to the hair underneath.

Paul felt you getting close, your walls fluttering around his probing tongue, his greedy mouth hungrily swallowing everything you could give him. You really were the only thing he could see, smell and taste, and he never wanted to stop. He was getting close too, your taste, all those sounds you made, the way your face showed all the pleasure he was giving you. The man was certain he could come untouched just from having you ride his face. You had different ideas, however. He whimpered when you put your weight back on your hands and lifted your cunt from his face. He even tried to pull you back, but you slipped from his arms and sat further away, on his waist.

Your pupils were blown so wide, only a tiny strip of your iris was visible and you were breathing hard. Paul felt your wetness mixing with the pre-cum on his stomach and it pushed him ever so closer to his peak. “I want you inside,” you said between rapid breaths, your voice no longer a command or a direction, it was a plea. “I’m not going to last,” Paul replied, barely recognising his own voice. You smiled at him from above, a drunken smile, white teeth contrasting with your flushed cheeks: “Yeah, me neither…” His hands took a hold of your hips and then travelled north, over your sides, sliding behind to stroke up your back until they reached your neck. He pulled you down, gently and connected your lips. His mouth, nose, cheeks and chin were all wet with your arousal and Paul wasted no time in pushing his tongue into your mouth, fucking it like he fucked your hole.

“How?” he asked after you had to part for breath. You thought for a moment, pleasure clouding your mind: “From behind, please.” Paul nodded and you went to change your positions. In the end, you were on your hands and knees, pushing your bum up into the air. Paul’s hands were spreading your cheeks apart, his thumbs parting your sopping wet folds and revealing your pink entrance. A tiny drop of arousal slipped out and rolled down your aching sex. “Oh, fuck ,” groaned Paul and moved forward once more, chasing the drop with his tongue and licked a long stripe between your labia. You shuddered and your head dropped forward: “Please Paul, please just take me already!” you were openly begging now, last bits of your dominance melting under the need for release, the need to be filled.

The priest climbed over you, his chest resting on your back and one of his hands moving to turn your head to him. When you did, he kissed you again, softly at first, but then he once more pushed his tongue past your lips and, at the same time, pushed his hard cock into your warmth. He easily slid all the way in on the first thrust and you had to pull away from his kiss to gasp and throw your head back. Your fingers dug into the mattress and a shiver ran through you. The priest filled you so perfectly you could cry. He gave you a few moments to adjust, but then his hips snapped harshly and you very nearly fell forward, all the while releasing a pathetic needy whimper.

Paul grabbed your face now and kissed you again, his other arm sneaking under your body to take a hold of your shoulder from below, and with that he began thrusting. His hold of you allowed him to deliver deep, hard thrusts while keeping you in place, all yours for him to take. The kiss was positively filthy, all tongues and saliva, shuddering whimpers and needy whines. “L-look at you, taking my cock so well…” said father Paul against your mouth, the snapping of his hips becoming faster, “like you were b-built to take me, and only me. I-I’ll, ah! Oh God, fuck! I’ll fill you so good, pump your pretty little h-hole so full of cum.” It was your turn to produce a very whorish sound as your eyes closed in rapture.

It drove you mad when father Paul talked dirty. Words that would sound crude from anyone else made your cunt clench on its fleshy intruder when they were spoken by him. You didn’t know why it was, perhaps it was the way his rich voice kept breaking, maybe it was the fact the pleasure he was feeling made him stutter. Maybe it was because he spoke them while kissing you, looking at you with such wonder and adoration. You were so close, your and his arousals were seeping out of your clenching heat and running down your thigh, and you felt blissful tears in your eyes. His hand finally released your face and stroked down your body, over your bouncing breasts and down your belly before it found its goal.

His fingers harshly pressed against your lovebud and your arms finally gave out. With a moan you fell forward and your face hit the mattress. Your hands were in front of you, scrambling for anything to hold on to, before they found the pillow and you buried your fingers into it, knuckles soon going white. Paul’s pace was brutal now and he ground himself into you, his bollocks slapping into the back of your thighs, his shaft hidden within you completely, all the while he carried on with the merciless attacks on your clit. You could no longer moan, only able to release small wretched whimpers as your lover pounded into you with reckless abandon. Your whimpers, his moans, the skin slapping against skin wetly all echoed through the mostly empty space, sounding extremely obscene and the air was filled with the smell of sex.

Paul leaned down and pressed open mouth kisses on your neck, shoulder, cheek, everywhere he could reach. “I’m so c-close, my angel. Come on, c-cum for me,” he said, his voice an octave higher and flicked over your clit hard. Your toes curled and your back arched, and you came so hard you nearly lost vision. Your walls squeezed the priest’s manhood in a vice grip and that was all he needed as he sheathed himself into you completely once more and released. He shuddered out a long groan and ropes of hot cum filled you, so very deep you could almost feel them in your belly. He shallowly thrusted as he was riding out his second orgasm that day, pushing his seed even deeper into you.

You lay boneless, too exhausted, too fucked out to move. The priest pressed more kisses against your shoulder and then pulled his softening member out of you, making you wince. He fascinatedly observed your still gaping, fluttering entrance as pearly cum began weeping out of it. He used his fingers to catch a few drops and push them into his mouth. Then he gathered more of your mixed releases and held the hand in front of your face, your head still on the mattress. You obediently opened your mouth, sucked the cum off his fingers and swallowed. Finally, your lover lowered his head to catch the escaping proof of your passion from your thigh before pushing it back inside of you with his tongue. You whined miserably, overstimulation and the sting from your wild coupling making you shy away from Paul’s soft tongue.

He took mercy on you and helped move you on your side on the mattress, your head on the pillow. He lied beside you and covered the both of you with the blanket you brought earlier. His strong arms enveloped you and you nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his usual scent mixed with the unmistakable smell of physical pleasure. You couldn’t stay long, of course, you already felt Paul’s come dripping out of you, and your thighs were getting sticky with the drying remains of seed your lover hasn't licked away. Right now, though, you were simply happy to be held and cuddled by him while you came down from your high, your bodies calming and cooling, brains regaining control of higher functions once more.

“You okay?” Paul asked after a while, his voice back to normal. “Yeah,” you whispered back and pressed a kiss on the mark you made earlier, “are you?” His fingers began combing through your hair softly and he sighed happily: “Couldn’t be better. Though, I’m not looking forward to putting on those pants again,” his nose crinkled cutely, “even if it’s just for the walk home.” You giggled quietly.

You got a little cleaned up in the rec centre’s restroom and wrapped your filthy underwear in some paper towels. You both decided going commando for the short walk back to the rectory was more agreeable than the mess you made of the undergarments. To be safe, you also pulled the sheets off the mattress to take with you, the pillow and blanket as well. A quick cycle in the washing machine and no one will be the wiser. Paul opened all the windows to get the heavy odour of sex out and you both inspected the floor for any proof of your little tryst. Feeling content nobody would ever know, you finally left the recreation centre, turned off the lights and locked the doors from the outside. Darkness fell while you were seeking the pleasure of each other’s arms, and the only sound around was the crashing of waves from the shore and a light gust of wind blowing through the wooded area behind the rectory.

You made your way to Paul’s little home, holding hands and enjoying the sounds of night. Once inside, you kissed his upper lip and excused yourself, so you could go load the washing machine in his bathroom. He joined you there not five minutes later, pressing his warm body against your back and gently curling his arms around your waist. He began pressing small butterfly kisses on your neck, while you fiddled with the washing cycles. You turned in his arms once you finally set one and the machine’s deep rumbling tore through the quiet. You reciprocated the kisses slowly. “Mhm… shower?” he offered. You smiled against his neck.

Hiya, I hope you enjoyed reading the 4.8k words of unashamed p0rn, because I sure enjoyed writing it :3 If you’d like, check out this story and the entire series on my AO3. I love feedback so much, if I’d love it any more I’d propose to it <3

#father paul hill #father paul smut #midnight mass #father paul #midnight mass fanfiction #father paul x reader #father paul x you #father paul hill x reader #fluff #smut and fluff

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bae-del-moon · 7 months

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RULE #5 | Kevin Moon | Teaser #2

Summary: The things you do for a thesis--and friendship.

Pairing: Kevin Moon x F!Reader

Genre: Haunted House Hotel!AU, University Students!AU (graduate students), Horror, Romance, Angst, Supernatural Teaser Warnings: mentions of sex

Words: 410

a/n: cant get more specific or I'll end up spoiling the story. also, this will be rated mature when fully posted! enjoy!

☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡

The room they were in plunged into a dead silence. The air around them turned uncomfortably still, and nobody moved at the sudden change that brought goosebumps onto the skin of their arms.

Then, like a needle piercing through skin, a wail of pain broke the silence. Sharp and thin, it lasted no more than a couple of seconds, but it drove them to hold their hands over their ears and into a startled crouch.

The cameras Changmin and Younghoon held fell onto the floor. Only Haknyeon managed to keep his own in his hands, though it pointed at the ceiling while he tried to cover his ears.

“What was that?” You asked when you finally felt it was safe enough to uncover your ears.

“I don’t know, but I didn’t like it,” Younghoon answered.

“It sounded like someone was crying.” Sunwoo swallowed, then added, “Like someone was in pain.”

“A ghost?” Eric yelped.

“It was probably Sangyeon.” Changmin shook his head. “He probably put speakers somewhere in the building to test us, change our experiences. Right, Haknyeon?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “He didn’t tell me. But, yeah.”

“But what if it wasn’t for his thesis? What if someone’s actually hurt?” You insisted, still unsettled by the change that had shifted in the atmosphere.

“Look, I might not know what’s going on, but I do know horror movies. And horror movies have rules, spoken and unspoken. One of those is not going toward imminent danger.”

“Why would you even say that?” Eric frowned. “I thought you said we were safe.”

“I never said we were safe. I said it was part of Sangyeon’s experiment. Besides, ghosts aren’t real, and it’s never a bad idea to follow horror movie rules.”

“Follow horror movie rules?” You asked, not understanding what Changmin was trying to imply.

“Don’t go off on your own,” Changmin huffed. “Don’t babysit on Halloween.”

“Don’t go into creepy or abandoned places,” Younghoon frowned.

“Exactly.” Changmin frowned. “And while we’re at it,” he turned to look at you, “Don’t split up from the group just to have sex.”

“Wha—” you sputtered at his singling you out.

“That goes for you too, Eric.” He continued, ignoring your sounds of indignation. “I don’t know how, but I know you’d find a way.”

“Hey!”

Changmin shook his head, “We’re in a “haunted” hotel, after all, and I know that aside from Haknyeon, the rest of you do believe in the supernatural. Act like it.”

☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡⏎☡

Coming Soon!

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the-haunted-office · 2 months

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The Ruined Office - Episode 1

Thursday is no stranger to other Offices.

With the way hers is connected to and heavily influenced by the In-Between, she's been to dozens. Offices identical to her own, before all the renovations were done. Offices sporting different layouts. Offices flooded with water. Offices encased in fire. Offices literally turned upside down. Offices literally turned inside out. Offices with walls pulsating with what looked like real, living, actual veins. Offices that were... actual offices full of people who were just trying to do their jobs, leaving Thursday in the very awkward position of trying to see her way out the front door.

This one is the very first ruined Office she's ever been to.

Not that she's never heard of them. She's heard of plenty, and that's because she knows who ruined them. She knows their Story, as it is her own - or very nearly was before she derailed it.

There's something uncanny about being in one of them, though. It's distinctly different than having heard of them, or even being in her own when she was in the midst of ruining it alongside her ghostly alternate. That's who was doing all the ruining, you see. Doomsday. She didn't come by that name from nowhere, after all.

The inside of this Office is utterly gutted. The ugly orange carpet is ripped and torn more than it’s not, and where it isn’t ripped and torn it’s stained and pocked with what appear to be massive patches of burn marks. These burn marks are further accentuated by smoke damage that crawls up the walls and clots the ceiling in puffs of black and gray, at least where it’s still intact.

Where the ceiling isn’t intact, bundles of wires and cords dangle down like intestines ripped out of some great animal, left there to rot. Broken, uneven piece of ceiling tiles lay strewn about, and the floor is littered with shattered glass and filament from what used to be the overhead florescent lights.

Those are out too, and the entire Office is utterly dark. Every cubicle and desk and printer and wall and filing cabinet, everything, is lying in ruin. Not a single piece of the Office has been left untouched. Everything is… just broken and ruined and it’s kind of sad. It looks like a tornado came through and chewed up and spat out everything in its path.

Thursday can remember how her Office looked very much the same when Doomsday first appeared. How she had told her she was going to die in a month. How she, Thursday, had felt knowing that not only was she going to die, that everyone would abandon her, how she would die alone, suffering and in pain. Herself had told her so, that it had happened 999 times before, so how could she believe otherwise? Destroying the Office felt sensible and cathartic at the time.

Burn it all to the ground.

Everywhere glass and debris is crunching underfoot as Thursday walks around, trying her best to tread carefully lest she fall through the floor as that's rotting away too with the rest of everything else. She can't help but wonder which Thursday this Office belonged to, or if this actually is one of the Offices Doomsday visited. It's possible that it isn't.

That possibility is all but instantaneously erased when two pairs of black hole eyes suddenly loom out of the shadows at her, rearing up on what appear to be white blankets draped over two five-foot-pairs of stilts. They look like some kid’s idea of silly ghost costumes, except these two kids aren’t holding out Halloween buckets and asking for candy, and one of them is baring a ridiculously large mouth full of needle-sharp teeth at her.

At least until they all at once seem to recognize her, and then the teeth get folded away neatly.

Thursday had only taken a couple of steps back in very understandable surprise, although now she's pretty sure she recognizes these two creatures as well.

A trio of voices all go off at once, two in Thursday's head, Thursday's own spoken aloud:

"Cyrus? Aurora? Is that you?" Thursday says.

"Thursday?" one of the Nightcrawlers inquires, his voice unmistakably identical to the one Thursday knows as Cyrus.

"How can that be you?" asks the other, whom Thursday recognizes as Aurora.

All three voices are laced with utter surprise.

While Thursday understands that these two are alternates of the Cyrus and Aurora she knows, this Cyrus and Aurora aren't quite sure what they are seeing. They think they might be seeing a ghost.

They rush to meet this apparent ghost to embrace her.

Having known what likely happened to their Thursday here, Thursday allows it, for as long as they need.

#the ruined office #writing for days #to be continued!#also i cheated a bit when described the ruined office - i reused some of the descriptions from a starter i wrote before bc i was lazy :p

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pompous-puffed-up-penguin · 2 years

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Misattribution (Pt. 2) (Jonathan Crane x Reader)

AO3 mirror: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42671673/chapters/107435904#workskin

Tags and Warnings: Teacher-Student Relationship, light smut, dubious consent everywhere

AN: Here is my Halloween present to everyone. And if you have any ideas of what I should write next, send me a message. My inbox is open!

There’s no other way around it, exams are kicking your ass. You just barely manage to scrape by, but all your late-night studying and cram sessions are starting to wear on you. And that weird dream the other night isn’t helping, either. Or was it a dream? It felt so real, the crook of your arm still felt sore from the ‘needle’ when you woke up. When you had a moment to yourself to collect your thoughts, the dream always crept into your inner eye.

Especially The Scarecrow’s face. You can’t get those eyes out of your head. And that smile, with razor sharp teeth that could rip and tear the skin off your bones. The growls mixed in with his voice sent shudders through you just thinking about it. As much as it frightened you, he made himself a resident in your mind. You made it a point to stay away from the news as best as you could.

But it isn’t completely horrible these days. Ever since that night he found you studying late at night in the university library, Professor Crane seems to pay more attention to you in his classes. You can see him looking in your direction during his lectures, though he acts disinterested as he continued. As he asks if anyone had any questions, it feels like he’s waiting for you to respond before moving on.

This was an anomaly to the other students. He was knowledgeable in his field, but he ran through his material as if he was bored with it. He barely stopped to answer questions, and if he did acknowledge you, he would give the answer and berate you for not paying attention. Crane ran his classes like a military camp. If you weren’t on his level, there was barely any hope for you, especially during exams. Mercy was for the weak to him.

That doesn’t stop him from asking to see you after class one day. After everyone left (noticing more than a few suspicious glances from your classmates), you and Professor Crane are now alone in his classroom. He stares at you with hazel eyes as you approach, fidgeting with the drawstring on your hoodie.

“You were distracted today.” His tone is soft, the opposite of his ‘teacher’ voice. “Is something bothering you?”

Well, yes. But it wasn’t really something he could solve, you tell him.

He hums as he leans back in his chair. “Tension can be released by talking about the problem. Perhaps you can even find the solution through casual conversation.”

Even in ‘casual conversation’, he still talks like an academic.

“I’m only communicating my thoughts in the purest form. I don’t believe in ‘sugarcoating’ the truth.”

That’s obvious to anyone who knows him.

Crane stands up and takes a step towards you, scanning you. “If there is any aspect about today’s lecture that bothered you, we can discuss it further.”

You thought about it. Halloween was coming up, so the professor dedicated today to fear. And he was unusually animated today, talking about the origin of phobias, the physical signs of someone who was anxious or afraid, and the different ways people conquered their fears. Honestly, it was a refreshing change of pace from the usual classes that seemed to drag on.

It couldn’t hurt to tell him about your nightmare, right? So, you decide to tell him so. You can’t stop thinking about a dream you had a few days ago.

“Hm. Examining your dream can lead to discovering what is causing your stress through analysis. May I ask what happened during it?”

Alright, he knows who The Scarecrow is, right?

He blinks and rests his head in his hand. “I’m…familiar.”

What if you told him that you had a dream where he was holding you captive?

A smirk creeps along the edge of his lips, but he quickly erases it. “I would say you have anxiety regarding him. Especially given his reputation. You’re afraid of him to the point that you can’t stop thinking about what would happen if he took notice of you. But I think many people share that fear of him.” The smirk appears again, staying this time as he continues. “I wouldn’t be surprised if others had nightmares regarding him. They’re afraid of him stalking them, bringing fears to life with his toxin, rendering them-“

What if…

He raises an eyebrow as you interrupt. “If?”

What if he did something to you in that dream? Something you have a hard time forgetting?

Crane pauses, gazing into your eyes with an intensity that was unusual for him. His passive expression hardens as he stands. “Is it something that you wish to forget?”

You blink. What did he mean, of course you want to forget about it. It’s practically embedded into your thoughts. It’s starting to seep into your-

You stop. This is getting to be TMI, especially for your professor.

Crane continues gazing at you, first to your lips, your hands, and finally back to your eyes. “Do you celebrate Halloween?”

Frowning, you ask what that has to do with anything.

“Fear is normally seen as a negative emotion. If we are afraid of something, we are compelled to create distance between ourselves and the source. It’s an instinct that’s been with us since cave dwelling times.” He stands, and without meaning to, you take a step back. There was something intense about his presence now. “But fear is what helps us survive. If we weren’t afraid of snakes, we would succumb to its venom. If we weren’t afraid of the dark, we wouldn’t be aware of what beasts might be lurking within.” He takes a step forward. Though you want to look away, you find that you only want to keep staring as he approaches. “So why do we seek out fear? It’s especially prevalent on Halloween, but it happens every day. Humans jump off cliffs, flee from bulls, swim with sharks, and for what?”

He pauses, waiting for you to answer. The speech reminds you of the time you were dared to explore the abandoned hospital along Thomas Boulevard. It was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop, but it still set you on edge. But once you got out, you were exhilarated, rushing with adrenaline.

“And how did it make you feel?”

Amazing. Like you were invincible.

“Yes, that’s part of it. We feel like we’ve beaten the odds of surviving, and that gives us a rush that can be addicting. But I believe there’s a difference between your adventure and your nightmare. Tell me and be honest.”

He’s looking down at you now, barely standing a foot away from you. Blinking, you gulp as your vision blurs. You look away, but Crane reaches out with a hand and tilts your chin back towards him. Your breath freezes in your lungs.

Why are you getting déjà vu?

“You wouldn’t want to visit that hospital again. But you want to see him again. Don’t you.”

The smell of autumn hangs in the air. Freshly raked leaves. Crane leans forward and hums into your ear.

Sing A Song of Sixpence.

You try to scream, but it hangs in your throat. Instead, you stand there, mouth hanging open as the shivers from your dream return. Rattling your bones, setting your muscles on fire.

“This is an example of a misattribution. Do you recall what that word means?”

The definition falls from your lips before you even have time to think about it. It’s when someone make a wrong assumption about a certain emotion or thought.

Crane chuckles, his voice vibrating through your brain. “Good, you are paying attention.” His hand moves to cup your cheek. It feels cool against your fever. “In this case, what you should be feeling is fear. You should be screaming and running to the police. Instead, you’re letting me get this close to you, even touching you.” He sighs, softly breathing against your neck as his hand moves down your shoulder to your arm, right where you were injected with that toxin. “Your emotions have gotten mixed up.” He suddenly grabs your arm, pulling it towards him so you fall into his chest. His combined warmth and scent make your knees tremble. As he holds one hand on your back to keep you still, his other holds the back of your head. His long fingers intertwine with locks of your hair, and the heat becomes unbearable, especially in your-

“My potion has made you aroused in my presence. Hasn’t it.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. And The Scarecrow knew it.

He laughs, a quiet but maniacal one as he forces you to look up at him. Though his teeth weren’t as sharp, his smile still resembled the one that burned itself into your memory from that night. The hand on your back trails down your spine to your hips. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. The signs of fear and arousal are quite similar. I just had to switch the reactions to certain stimulus around.” He pushes up the hem of your skirt bit by agonizing bit. “Although I did not think it would be this…intense. I wanted you to be attracted to me, yes, but only at a minor level.”

Next, his fingers creep along the waistband of your panties, sneaking beneath it. You instinctively gasp but can only think to clutch his shirt. As he begins to lightly stroke your clit, making tiny circles, you whimper and moan into the fabric. He smells wonderful. It only clouds your mind further as your breath shakes.

Crane tsks as he watches you, fingers moving to your lips. “I’ve barely started touching you, and you’re soaking wet. You poor, pathetic thing.” He teases at the entrance, rubbing and laughing as you beg him to slow down. “Slow down? Interesting. I would have expected you to tell me to stop. You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

Slowly, he slips a finger inside. You want to back away. You want to let him take you. Your mind creates clouds of lust as your opening welcomes a second finger. “Like a bitch in heat,” he hums. “Adorable.” He crooks his fingers in a way that sends shockwaves through your sex. It takes all your strength to not yell out in pleasure. If you could bury yourself in Crane’s shirt, you would. He plays with your insides, keeping you against him with a hand at the back of your head.

“Do you want to come?”

Yes. Oh God, yes. All your self-restraint has flown out the window as you beg and plead for release.

He leans down and growls in your ear. “Come for me, then.”

That sends you over the edge. As if following his command, all the tension releases into one shivering release. You whimper as you feel yourself coating Crane’s fingers.

You sober enough through your orgasm to correct yourself. You didn’t just let your psychology teacher finger you. You just let a sociopathic criminal do this to you.

Why aren’t you ashamed?

Crane shushes you and strokes the back of your neck. “Good girl, that’s a very good girl.” He releases his grip on you, finally letting you step back and take a breath of fresh air.

“Now look at me.”

You oblige, watching him take a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe off your climax from his fingers.

“As soon as you leave this room, this whole experience will fade from your memory. It never happened. The stress of being a university student caused you to have yet another strange dream last night. Do you understand?”

You nod.

He grins. “Good. I hope to see you tomorrow.” And he gently kisses you. Your eyes flutter as you sink into it.

#pom prose #scarecrow #jonathan crane #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane x reader #tw: dubious consent

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sassyduckqueen · 1 year

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A Little Bit of Magic- Lukanette Halloween

Hello guys! It’s been a while but I am back (kind of). I’ve been in a bit of the slump recently. Long story short, personal things going on affected my ability to write but I’m working through them. I can’t promise I’ll be updating ROA straight away but hopefully I’ll get back into the swing of it. Anyway, here’s some spooky lukanette fluff for you that I wrote for Halloween (even if I’m a little late in my country) and the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers 500 followers. Congrats on that by the way guys. Proud of ya! Now admittedly I couldn’t find a prompt from the given list that jumped out at me so I went through some of the older prompts that had been used before and ended up picking cursed so here’s what I’ve done with it. I hope you enjoy it and I hope everyone had a good Halloween :D

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Marinette licked her lips nervously as she paced outside of the shop she had come to visit. Well, visit wasn't exactly the right term. Actually it kind of was but not because she intended to visit. Well, she did but she was here because she felt like she was running out of options. Recently she had experienced severe bad luck that seemed to get worse each day. At first it wasn't bad like pricking her finger with her needles or losing some fabric that she needed for a commission. Annoying but not bad. However, it began to increase. Briefly misplacing her foot soon turned into her falling down a couple of stairs but it didn't stay like that. Soon she found herself getting more and more injured. Her parents got increasingly worried so they made her go to the doctors, despite being an adult yet despite their tests, they found nothing and then the 'bad' luck took a more mysterious turn. Exploding lights and cars nearly hitting her. Animals began to act weird around her, like cats would hiss and hide from her and dogs would whimper and bark. The accidents also kept increasing so she decided to look into causes for her bad luck. She thought maybe it was an unknown or rare medical thing but the only thing that came up in the search was one thing. She had been cursed. At first, she didn't believe it but then with the fire in the bakery when she was visiting and her best friend breaking her leg for no reason , she realised it might be the only option and if it was, she had to find a way to get rid of it before it killed her and hurt anyone else because that's where it appeared to be going. As to why she had been cursed, she couldn't really think of the reason. Sure, there was her rival Chloe Bourgeois. She was the daughter of the fashion Queen Audrey Bourgeois but her style was to humiliate people. Not voodoo. Plus she liked to take credit. It helped with her queen bee act. It also meant that she wasn’t the person behind the curse but Marinette couldn’t think of anyone else who would want to curse her. She got on with everyone but Chloe in her class so she had no idea who it was or how to break it, which is what led her here. Couffaine Curiosities. Apparently, it was an occult shop so maybe they might have a solution for her. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door, only to proceed to trip and knock into a bookshelf which then began to fall on her. She screamed and covered herself with her arms.

“Ezeerf!” A voice shouted, causing the bookshelf and the books to freeze midair. Marinette’s eyes widened as she stared in shock. “Ecalp lufthgir rouy ot nruter,”

The books and bookshelf moved back into its place, causing her to stare in shock even more before footsteps echoed coming closer to her.

“Are you ok?” The same voice asked, causing her to look at its owner. She was half expecting him to be an old wise looking man with a long grey beard and starry robes but to her surprise, he looked nothing like Gandalf or Master Yen Sid from Disney. In fact, he was only a couple of years older than herself and had a punk look going on. His hair was black with blue tips, he wore a blue hood, a jagged stone t-shirt and black ripped joggers with awesome looking shoes (she was sure they were customized). His nails were painted black and he wore several bands on his wrist. Her eyes were a sparkling blue that resembled the ocean and he had the kindest smile, causing her to blush. Especially as he extended his hand to her. She carefully placed hers in it and he pulled her to her feet, making her blush even more before he turned over her hand and frowned. “Seems you have quite the curse on you,”

“Y-You can tell?” She asked, still in awe.

“Well, I am a witch,” He replied, making her blink before he chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m a white witch,”

“A white witch?” She asked, unsure of what he meant.

“I’m the good kind,” He replied, making her breathe out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t realised she had been holding.

“Can you get rid of the curse?” She asked but she was unsure if it was a curse. Still, she hoped he could.

“I can,” He confirmed, nodding. She let out a sigh of relief again. “I wouldn’t be a very good witch if I couldn’t but it will need a little more than an incarnation. Follow me… and keep hold of my hand. I can keep the effects of the curse at bay,”

“R-Really?” Marinette asked, blushing a little. He was really cute after all. He nodded and gave her a soft smile before beginning to lead her through the shop before they came to the back of the store. He pulled across a curtain and led her to a table and chairs. “Have a seat,”

“R-Right,” She nodded, sitting down. He let go of her hand, causing her to feel heavy suddenly. She frowned as he grabbed a bowl before he began to fill it up with plants. “Um… I’m Ma-Ma-Marinette by the way…”

“Hello, Ma-Ma-Marinette,” He replied, smiling as he looked over at her before he turned away and added more to the bowl. Marinette frowned a little as it felt like he was mocking her. He didn’t seem that way at first but maybe he was. Maybe he couldn’t break her curse and was just playing with her. She looked back over at him, only to see that he was looking at her again. However, his expression had changed. He looked embarrassed and remorseful. “Sorry. I tend to make more sense with music. In fact… cisum s'traeh reh yalp,”

Once again, Marinette found herself amazed as the soft sound of a guitar began to play, connecting with her on an emotional level. It was as if it was playing what she was feeling inside. She couldn’t help but close her eyes as she listened. Slowly, the melody faded out.

“Did you enjoy the music?” He asked, making her nod. “I’m glad. Oh… I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Luka,”

“It’s nice to meet you, Luka,” She smiled, causing him to smile back. “Can I ask how you did the trick with the music?”

“Magic,” He replied, smiling. “But you’re still not sure,”

“You're right… but it felt like… me,” She replied as he added another ingredient to the bowl before grabbing something that resembled a tiny club and began to grind the herbs. “Like what I feel,”

“That’s because it was,” He replied, making her blink. “I’m an empath. I can feel people’s emotions and I use music to help me understand what they need. It’s the song from your heart that I had play. You see music is often simpler than words, Marinette,”

“Wow,” She replied, amazed. Luka gave her a smile. She was starting to believe

"Almost done," He replied, continuing to grind the herbs until they were nothing more than a fine dust.

"So what are the plants going to do?"

"They are herbs that are used to break hexes and counter negativity," He replied, looking through the drawers. "The level of your curse is quite powerful so I need more than just the herbs. Did you offend anyone recently?"

"Not that I can think of," She replied, causing him to frown. "How bad is the curse?"

"Well, let's just say you probably should have come here sooner but it's a good thing you finally got here," He replied, taking out a jar and placing it on the table before going back to the cupboards. "Whoever cursed you knew exactly what they were doing,"

"That sounds like it was intentional," Marinette replied, frowning. Why would anyone curse her? She tried to be a good person. Her parents taught her that manners were extremely important and to always help people. She tried to be a good person. She tried so hard. She felt tears fill her eyes but before she could cry, Luka knelt down in front of her.

"Hey, been cursed doesn't mean that you're a bad person," He stated in a calm voice, gently taking her hand in his. Instantly, she felt calm.

"But… then why was I cursed?"

"It could be a number of things," He replied, making her blink. "Envy, Spite or just because they're just a nasty piece of work,"

Marinette nodded as he gently squeezed her hand before getting up again. She couldn’t explain it but she just knew he could help her and that he was good.

"I can also send it back to the caster," He stated, making her blink as he took out some tea light candles.

"But wouldn't that be a curse itself?"

"No, it's simply returning the magic from whence it came," He replied, placing the candles in a circle around the jar before he turned on his heel and disappeared farther into the shop. Marinette frowned as her mind searched for a reason as to why she had been cursed. She replayed every interaction she could remember in her mind but nothing made sense. However, Luka returned from wherever he had gone holding another bowl. It was filled with what appeared to be ash that had been pressed down. He placed it on the table and took a seat across from her, adding a metal disc with a handle to it. Marinette watched as he poured the herb dust into it before picking up a brush and dusting it on the disc, shaping it. Once it was shaped, he carefully removed the disc. “This ritual I’m going to do is known as an uncrossing. It will draw out the dark magic that has been placed on you and then I will trap it in that jar. However, an uncrossing can be extremely uncomfortable so please try to relax your mind and don’t be afraid,”

“O-Ok,” She replied nervously as he took out some matches and lit the candles. “Matches?”

“Fire magic is not my gift,” He replied with a soft smile, taking out another match. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I can be,” She replied, causing him to nod before he lit the match, bringing it to the incense. It briefly caught on fire before it went out, causing smoke to flow. As soon as Marinette smelt its scent, her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she began to shake as if having a seizure. The witch boy grabbed the jar as she let out a scream. It felt like her bones were being broken one by one and the pain was unbearable. Tears began to run down her cheeks and blood began to drip from her nose as she shook violently.

“Enodnu eb esruc!!” He declared, causing her to let out a scream and throw her head back before a black smoke rushed out. Luka opened the jar, causing it to get sucked into it before he closed the lid and screwed it shut. Marinette flopped forward as she breathed in heavily. Luka put down the jar and moved over to her, gently placed his hands on her. She carefully looked up. “Sorry,”

“N-No, it’s fine,” She replied, touching her nose. She felt tired and drained but at the same time, she felt better than she had been for a while. “But have you got a tissue?”

“Of course,” He replied, pulling one out of his sleeve. She let out a little chuckle as he handed it to her. She gently wiped the blood from her nose and the tears from her eyes before looking over at the jar.

“It really was a curse,” She replied, feeling her strength slowly return. In fact, she felt better than before. “Thank you, Luka,”

“No worries,” He replied, sitting back down. Marinette frowned as she noticed he looked visibly tired.

“Um, are you ok?” She asked, frowning.

“Oh… sorry,” He mumbled. “Spells on that level are very powerful and take a lot of energy. Especially given how power the curse was too,”

“Someone really wanted me dead…” She frowned. “Oh god what if they try to harm you?”

“Even if they did, it wouldn’t work,” He replied, reaching into his pocket and taking out a chocolate bar. He opened it and took a bite out of it, eating it.

“How come?”

“I have protection,” He replied, tapping his silver bracelet. “A protection amulet. Keeps all kinds of evil away,”

“How much would it be to get one of those?” Marinette asked before gasping. “And the ritual. How much do I owe you for removing the curse? I don’t have a lot of money but surely, I can give you something,”

“No need for that, Marinette. I don’t charge for my services,” He replied, making her blink. “I don’t need the money,”

“But surely you should get something,” She replied as he got up and picked up the jar. He walked over to one of the cupboards and placed it inside before closing it before he turned back to her.

“Helping people is enough for me,” He replied, looking a little better. “Now I should definitely make you a protection amulet as the witch who cursed you will strike again,”

“Oh that would be wonderful!” She gasped, smiling before she realised that it won’t be ready straight away. Even with his magic. “But what should I do in the meantime? They’ll curse me as soon as they realise, right?”

“Luckily, I have just the thing,” He replied, getting up and offering his hand to her. She smiled and took it, causing him to pull her to her feet before he led her through the store, revealing it was literally bigger on the inside. She glanced around in amazement as he led her through it. It was filled with all kinds of wonderful things. From balls of lights that danced around to amazing creatures that she was sure belonged in a fairytale. In fact, she saw things that she was certain were from the fairytales.

“Are those Cinderella’s shoes?” She asked, glancing at the glass slippers. Luka smiled but didn’t answer. Instead he stopped and picked up a small box.

“Here,” He stated, holding the box to her. She took it and opened them, revealing a pair of earrings that resembled a ladybug. “These are very special earrings that bring the wearer good luck. They should be able to counter the bad luck curse when the witch recasts it until I can make you the protection charm for you,”

“Really?” She replied, causing him to nod. “Thank you so much,”

“No worries, Marinette,” He smiled. “You should probably put them on now though,”

“Right,” She nodded and placed the box down before taking out her current earrings. She placed them on the table as well then took out the ladybug earrings and put them in. Instantly, she felt warmth surround her. It was like a hug that encouraged her and made feel like she was going to be ok. It reminded her of the feeling she got when she made a new dress. Luka smiled gently at her.

“They suit you,” He smiled, making her blush. “I do believe I would explain what wiccan and magic was,”

“I think I have a rough idea now,” She replied. “But I like to learn more,”

“I’d be more than happy to tell you,” Luka smiled before a light blush came over his cheeks. “Maybe over a coffee?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Would you be interested?” He asked, making her blush.

“I would love to,”

#luka couffaine #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #lukanette #lukanette endgame #pro lukamari #pro lukanette #no miraculous au #magic au #Witch!Luka #Bad Luck curse #Fairytale elements #fluff #Halloween #Halloween fic #Not scary though #Just really cute #Or at least I hope it is #White Witch!Luka #Good Witch!Luka

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jungle-angel · 8 months

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Fall Prompts: Part 3

Guys if anybody has any ideas for prompts, send'em in!! I'm running on fumes!! (lol). Taking requests for Top Gun Maverick (any character), Outer Range, Bad Times At the El Royale, Catch 22, Salem's Lot and Press Play.

Waiting at the bus stop with the kids on the first day of school/dropping off/picking up

Walking through a spooky pumpkin patch or graveyards

Pumpkin spice coffee or baked goods

The smell of old books

Snuggling with a black cat

Whiskey/hot spiced liquor

Dyeing wool and spinning it on the spinning wheel

"It's looking a little spooky out there"

The kids playing in a freshly raked/blown pile of leaves

Making chicken soup for their s.o who is sick

"Everything smells like fall"

Binding together a homemade book and watching the leaves and rain fall

Needle-felting

"I can't believe Carhardt weather is here"

Wearing fuzzy slippers/socks

Morning on a fall camping trip

Sunday dinner after church with the family

First frost

Maple sugar candies

Sewing together a fall quilt

Singing a Halloween lullaby to their children

Chilly air that leaves the nose a little red

"God we've already spent a fortune on school supplies"

Fall hiking

"Well, the church pastor certainly knows how to throw an awesome Halloween party"

Feeling the fall breeze while sitting in the porch rockers/porch swing

"I'm loving the new decorations"

The sun setting but the trees are completely bare of leaves

Hot apple/pumpkin pie

Flying over the forest landscape which has turned to fall colors

"I feel like a bear getting ready to hibernate"

Taking pictures of the kids on the first day of school

Crackling fireplace

Making cuddly fall toys for their children

Making their s.o a flower crown using the potted mums on the porch

Their s.o having a drawing book full of cottagecore watercolors and it's also fall themed

"I think the owls are nesting again"

Reading in the candlelight/by the fireplace

Storing the harvest for the winter

"I swear, if I get bonked on the head with one more apple...."

Pressing leaves in an old book

Hand knitted/crocheted scarves and hats

Comfort foods

Sewing little flannel jackets for the kids

The whistling of the teapot and the smell of a hot tea

"This place looks like a real life gingerbread house!"

Falling asleep under the flannel blankets and sheets after a long day

Toasted pumpkin seeds

The family dog jumping in the leaf piles with the kids

Sleeping in their s.o's hoodie

#top gun maverick #outer range #bad times at the el royale #catch 22 hulu #salem's lot #press play #pete maverick mitchell #bradley rooster bradshaw #robert bob floyd #natasha phoenix trace #mickey fanboy garcia #jake hangman seresin #javy coyoyte machado #reuben paybak fitch #rhett abbott #major major #miles miller #ben mears #harrison knott

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rookie-critic · 1 year

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Wendell & Wild (2022, dir. Henry Selick) - review by Rookie-Critic

Wendell & Wild was a wonderful stop-motion animated film with one of the best soundtracks of 2022 and a story that, while nothing spectacularly new, was wildly entertaining and full of Halloween heart. The newest from Coraline and The Nightmare Before Christmas visionary Henry Selick from a script co-written by Selick and Jordan Peele, Wendell & Wild follows Kat, an orphaned girl who, failed by the system, is dumped into a school for girls as a part of a juvenile detention rehabilitation program (the headmaster of which is very much just in it for the funding it gives to his school). Shortly after arriving, Kat starts to notice strange powers arising within her, and sees two demons (the titular Wendell & Wild, played by none other than Keegan-Michael Key & Peele) that tell her they can bring her parents back if she'll summon them to the land of the living. It of course is a bit more complicated than that, but there's your bird's eye view.

The cast of this film is a nice mix of a few veteran names alongside a slurry of fresh talent, and almost all of the newer names give fantastic performances. I'll note that a couple of the performances felt very wooden, and stood out all the more because of the phenomenal job being done by the rest of the cast. Another win for this film is its commitment to positive representation with a number of characters, the most prominent of which being the trans character Raúl. Outside of a handful of moments where the fact that Raúl is trans are brought up, the character is allowed to exist and not have his whole character defined by his gender, but rather by his loyalty and artistry. It just really seems like a lot of love and care went into making sure his character, as well as other characters representative of a marginalized group, were not portrayed as a token character of that group, but just as another character in the movie, who are fully realized personalities that are not just pigeonholed into "the trans character" or "the disabled character." That effort did not go unnoticed and I applaud Selick and Peele for making that happen. I'll also applaud this film for daring to be dark and go places that a traditional "family friendly" film wouldn't and discuss themes that most studios would say are "too mature" for a younger audience. Discussing death and loss in such a direct way, and especially framing that loss as a child losing both of their parents at an intensely young age, is a bold move on Selick's part. He, of course, is no stranger to darker themes, having made movies like Coraline, but somehow Wendell & Wild feels more grounded, more real in its depiction of death, even though it still has a foot firmly planted in the darkly fantastical, and I appreciate a movie that's willing to give a younger demographic a little more credit and give them the exposure to mature themes with the idea that they can understand and handle them.

Now it's time to give a shout out to the biggest pro this film has in its corner: the soundtrack. The needle drops in this film are insanely well done with near Guardians of the Galaxy levels of style and precision, with a track list mostly consisting of punk rock music from the late 70s/early 80s, but that ventures into alternative rock acts like TV on the Radio, and even throws in some ska for good measure. Every track hits as intended when it plays in the film, and I could not be more of a fan. If this collection of songs were available for purchase on vinyl or even CD, I'd be first in line to buy it. This one's been at the back of my head, buried in my much-neglected "streaming watch list," ever since it dropped on Netflix back in late October, and I'm glad I finally took the time to sit down and check it out.

Score: 9/10

Currently streaming on Netflix.

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rj-drive-in · 6 months

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Strange Brew Department:

Happy Halloween! It's the most wonderful tiiime of the year....

For October Wine, one must gather the ingredients one year in advance, because that’s how long it must ferment.

Wet orange maple leaves collected from the forest floor no later than the ides; pine cones that have yet to drop, along with a bed of needles for their repose; a cupped handful of wild blueberries picked at dawn; a handful of chestnuts no bigger than your thumbnail; the longest continuous strip of birch bark possible; a baker’s dozen of Honeysuckle flowers collected while trespassing; a pumpkin; a patch of moss; and, most importantly, seven Hedgehog Mushrooms, collected in the nude under the full moon.

Halloween night, as the Witching Hour approached, I gathered the ingredients on my kitchen counter and pulled out my grandmother’s yellow, crumbling recipe, sealed in its clear plastic sleeve (no fear– I also scanned it and backed it up to the cloud).

Normally I would use that nice vintner kit that I got from Amazon a couple of years ago, but this was to be something special. I used Gramma’s old fermenting bottle. It was the size of a large baby and made of thick green glass, with a finger handle and an ancient cork clamp lid.

Following the recipe to the last handwritten letter, I poured the mix into the mason jar, sealed it tight, and stored it away in a cabinet in the back of my garage.

An eventful year passed, and most of the events were not welcome. Few of them, but all of them, affected me personally.

As October rolled around again, many felt that the gallows humor and graveyard mischief of Halloween were inappropriate after all that had happened, but my appreciation of the holiday ran deeper than that.

Keisha caught up with me at the mall on Friday. “Hey, Hester,” she said, hugging me. “I’m having a little get together at my place on Halloween. Just a quiet thing, no costumes or anything. I hope you can be there.”

“I think I’ll just stay home,” I lied.

“Just a half dozen people or so. Some single boys.”

I laughed. “That’s okay.”

“Chips and hard cider.”

“Nah.”

“Still missing your gramma, huh?”

“Yeah. Always.”

“She was a real sweethearted lady.”

“Best ever.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” I smiled for her.

She hugged me again. “Okay, but the invitation is open if you change your mind. We’d love to have you.”

“Thank you. I’ll think it over.”

She continued on her way and I continued on mine.

I met Violet coming out of the supermarket with an armload of Halloween candy, just as I was going in.

“Hi, hon,” she said with a one-armed hug and a cheek kiss. “I guess you’re all ready for All Hallow’s Eve.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sexy Hippie costume.”

“Just my regular clothes,” I laughed.

“Same thing,” she said. “What are your plans?”

“Just home,” I lied.

“No date?”

I shook my head and she shook hers back at me teasingly. “You’ve got to move on eventually,” she said.

“And I will. But it was nice. I’ll let it linger a little.”

“Mmm,” she said. “I know what you mean. That’s why I never brush my teeth right after eating ice cream.”

I laughed. She was always coming up with crazy, but accurate, metaphors like that. “What about you two?” I asked.

“We’re staying the weekend at his sister’s place in Nashua. We still don’t want to take too many chances with the pandemic.”

“Good idea.”

“Well, I gotta run. Stay safe.”

She continued on her way and I continued on mine.

Piyali got me on Skype me that night from her parents’ house in New Jersey. She was still recovering from the injury to her face that she got at the beach over the Summer, and I’m pretty sure she had some kind of post-traumatic stress thing going on.

“Sorry I haven’t kept in touch,” she said.

“That’s okay. How have you been doing?”

“All right. Mom and Dad want me to stay for the Winter, so I might not be back in town until Spring.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “I’m getting some therapy. Dad offered to pay for plastic surgery. It’s cosmetic, so the insurance won’t cover it.”

“They’re hardly noticeable.”

She shrugged. “I just want them gone.”

“I understand,” I told her. “What are you doing for Halloween.”

“Staying in. Dad likes those old black-and-white monster movies.”

“Same here,” I lied. “Movies and popcorn.”

“Sounds good,” she said. “I should go now. Let’s talk again before Thanksgiving.”

She continued on her way and I continued on mine.

Halloween night came. I turned off the porch light and most of the indoor lights. I didn’t expect any Trick or Treaters this year, but I didn’t want to deal with any that might show up.

When I brought out the mason jar of October wine and popped it open, it smelled sweet and wet and a bit smoky, just like October should. I took a deep breath of the aroma, but resisted the temptation to try some and closed it back up, leaving it on the kitchen table. Instead, I put on the Turner Classic scary movie marathon in the background, with the sound turned low, and meditated in the darkness as the hours went by.

About 11oclock, I stretched and got up and got ready to leave. In my bedroom, I undressed and put on the short cotton nightgown, blue as a daisy, that Gramma gave me last year when she found out she was going to die. She bought it especially for this occasion and this was the first time I took it out.

I wore my car starter fob on a chain around my neck. I would have to carry my phone and the jug of October wine.

My carport is through a door off the kitchen, so I didn’t have to go outside yet. I used the remote garage door opener and drove out into the quiet streets. There would be few cars and fewer people about at this hour, but I really hoped I wouldn’t get pulled over. The air was chilly enough to raise goosebumps, and the stars in the clear sky were bright and crystalline, despite the suburban streetlamps. I liked the feel of my bare feet on the gas and brake. It was a fifteen-minute drive to Houghton’s Pond.

Blue Hill River Road posed the biggest risk for getting pulled over, but the only other parking lots were on the other side of the pond, which would have meant an hour’s walk through the dark woods before I even got to the right trail. Fortunately, I had no trouble. The parking lot between the picnic grounds and the ballfield was deserted and I sat there in my parked car for a minute, listening to the quiet, before getting out.

The yellow swing gate that blocked the trail to car traffic was right beside the parking lot and easy to find. I didn’t bother using the flashlight app on my phone to light my way, because the Google home page threw enough of a glow to see by in that deep darkness. I went around the gate and, after carefully picking my way barefooted through the weeds and rocks of the disused trail, I came to the edge of a crumbling asphalt road. This was the abandoned ruin of the original Route 128, which has sat here ghostly and mostly forgotten since it was replaced by the new highway system back in the 50s. Here the going got a little easier and I continued down that road for several minutes.

Gramma had left me very specific instructions on what to do next, written on the back of the recipe for her October wine. I’ve scanned that too, but I’m not going to include any details of it here. Let it suffice to say that the passage to the hidden pathway that I needed to find would have been invisible in broad daylight, let alone the dead of night, but her step-by-step guide allowed me to slip unscratched through a wall of thorns, like an interpretive dancer maneuvering through a maze.

The trail on the the other side of the bushes was very narrow and I had to pick my way through carefully so as not to lose it. But it was only a matter of minutes before I broke through to the clearing that Gramma had described.

The clearing was circular, about to fit a Burger King and covered with an even bed of grass. Just as Gramma had said, it looked as well kept as a front lawn, even though nobody ever came this way. The trees that surrounded the clearing were Autumn bare, and I could see the cold white light of the rising Moon starting to peek through them to the East.

I pulled my nightgown off over my head, folded it up and lay it in the grass at the clearing’s edge. Switching my phone to airplane mode, I placed it on top of the nightgown. Then, holding the jug of October wine in my arms like a baby, I walked deeper into the clearing.

About a third of the way across, facing the hint of the rising Moon, I sat down cross legged with the jug in front of me. The grass was cool and moist with dew. It was just before midnight.

After several relaxing breaths, I unclamped the old cork and popped it out, raised the jug to my lips and took my first drink.

It was somewhat thicker than store wine and tasted like wet leaves and berries. It was also warm, and I could feel that warmth go down my throat and spread into my shoulders. I closed my eyes and sipped at it slowly.

When I opened my eyes again, the half disk of the last-quarter Moon had risen above the treetops and was casting shadows across the clearing almost to my knees. A soft breeze moved through the bare branches. It was cool on my skin but I still felt warm. I saw what looked like swarms of fireflies floating lazily in the dark woods, and they seemed to be flying in pairs. Perhaps they were the eyes of Halloween spirits.

Gramma had not told me what to expect, except for anything and everything. I smiled, feeling calm and warm, closed my eyes and took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was higher, lighting more of the clearing. Spread throughout the carpet of grass before me were a thousand mushrooms, some as tall as lilies, some as tall as corn, with slender stalks waving slowly back and forth. They were pale gray, almost white in the moonlight, except for red spots on their small umbrellas. The mushroom closest to me was being ridden by a small snail.

I sat watching the calm waves moving back and forth through the field of unusual growths until I fell in rhythm with them.

Then I closed my eyes and took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was higher and the shadows shorter. The mushrooms were gone, but their place was taken by scores of frogs. There were frogs of all types, from warted bullfrogs as big as footballs to small pebbled tree frogs that would fit in the palm of my hand. They were spread in front of me across the clearing in a great half circle, arranged in rows, like an amphibious parliament.

They sat still and staring at me, slowly blinking, their throats expanding and contracting. Occasionally a distinctive croak would arise from somewhere in the crowd to be answered elsewhere.

Nodding, I closed my eyes and took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was straight overhead and it was now full. This did not seem odd to me. I tilted my head back and looked up and realized that the Moon was also larger than it should be. Every time I blinked, it grew larger still and soon it nearly filled the sky, its edges obscured by the treetops around the clearing. It was so close that I could see the crisp details of mountains and valleys and craters as if I were looking straight down at them. There was the Sea of Tranquility. There was the Apollo lander and the American flag. There were Neil Armstrong’s footprints.

The surface of the Moon was now just inches above my head, almost as close as the cool grass under my bum. I had a brief moment of vertigo and suddenly I was kneeling in the lunar dust and the grassy field was above my head like a low ceiling. The astronauts’ footprints, in their stark clarity, were right in front of me and gray moondust clung to my knees and bare feet. I was afraid to exhale, not knowing if I’d be able to breathe in again.

I reached out to touch the footprint before me and stopped, not wanting to disturb its perfection. There was a moment of vertigo again and I was back in the clearing and the Moon was back in the sky, in its normal phase.

Closing my eyes, I took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was behind me, the shadows of the trees stretching out in front of me. A wide dirt path, almost a road, had opened up in the forest straight ahead on the other side of the clearing. Far off in the distance, at the end of that road, a thousand miles away, was a light, and silhouetted in that light was somebody walking away. He seemed familiar, but he never turned around and soon disappeared down that relentless road.

I blinked and the path was gone.

Closing my eyes, I took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon had almost set, leaving only traces of moonbeams peeking through the woods in back of me. The clearing was very dark now, but I soon became aware that there were other people present, moving quietly at the treeline. They were all separate, spread apart, just shadows in the darkness.

There were three of them, all unaware of me and each other. Each time I blinked, they were in different positions in the field, but seemed to be gradually, randomly, coming nearer to the place where I was sitting.

After a while, I began to make out details. They were all girls, all as naked as I was. One was brown with black curls; one was pale, with red hair and freckles; one was olive with glossy hair to her waist. It was Keisha, Violet, and Piyali.

They continued to drift slowly closer, each in her own world, until they stood in a row in front of me, staring silently at their own feet.

It was hard to find my voice. I felt like I hadn’t spoken in a hundred years. Finally, I managed to say, “What’s the matter?”

I blinked again and the clearing was empty.

With a heavy heart, I took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was gone and the clearing was black, the only light coming from the starry sky above. It took a very long time for my vision to adjust. Eventually, I knew that there was another human figure standing under the trees on the other side of the field. Again, it was a woman, and, again, she was as naked as I was. But this was an old woman. An ancient woman.

This was my Gramma.

She started walking slowly toward me and with each step the years melted away and the stars grew brighter. By the time she reached me, she was young, as young as I was, and I could see her clearly. She sat down cross legged in front of me so that our knees were touching and the jug of October wine sat in the tangle of our ankles.

She tilted her head at me with an odd smile and then lifted up the jug and took a long drink. She seemed to savor it for a moment, and then handed it over to me. I took a sip, but she shook her head with a wry twist to her mouth, so I took a longer drink. I placed it back down between us, feeling a little dizzy.

“It’s very good,” she said.

“I followed your recipe to the letter.”

“Next time you won’t have to.”

She took my hands and placed them on top of the jug, then placed her hands on top of mine, and squeezed firmly. For a long time, she just smiled at me and stared into my eyes with a look of adoration that broke and healed my heart.

“Gramma,” I said.

“Yes, Hester.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You do know what to do.”

“Tell me. What?”

“You don’t need me to tell you what to do,” she said. “You know what to do.”

My eyes suddenly filled with tears and when I wiped them clear, she was gone. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes and took a long last drink.

When I opened my eyes again, the Eastern sky was just barely turning blue. I got to my feet a bit stiffly and stretched out all the kinks with a groan. I replaced the cork in the mason jar of October wine, noting that there was still more than half left. Plenty left over for next year. Plenty for me to continue this old and new tradition.

Picking up my nightgown and phone, I slipped back into the narrow pathway in the forest, retracing my steps to the road and the parking lot and my car and my life. I was ready to continue on my way, knowing that all the other ways, of both the living and the dead, were mine as well.

#micro fiction #microfiction #short story #short fiction #fantasy #halloween #all hallows eve #rick hutchins #rjdiogenes

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monthofsick · 1 year

Text

Nightmare before Halloween

Nov(emeto)ber 2022, Day 11: Unconventional receptacle

OCs: Thien, Tiago, Isaiah, Luka

This was the prompt that made me rack my brain for weeks. I really wanted the receptacle to be unconventional, but no idea seemed good enough - until Halloween came to the rescue. Finally, Thien has the dubious honor to get his own story after only being the designated sympathy puker twice.

TW: Vomit, severe ear infection, side effects of medication

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Thien was determined. Frustrated, unnerved and tired, but still determined to make the most of this evening. He had been looking forward to Tiago’s Halloween party for weeks. His family was out of town, so the friends had an entire house as their private venue. During the spooky season, the cozy Almeida home turned into a dark and twisted witch’s cottage of unspeakable horrors. Painted wooden panels and countless decorations turned the facade into a gingerbread’s house evil twin. Human sized spiders, boiling cauldrons, treacherous witches and an entire army of skillfully crafted jack-o‘-lanterns both attracted and frightened every kid in the neighbourhood.

It didn't stop there – the inside was decked out with fake spider webs, bats hanging from the staircase, a skeleton relaxing in his rocking chair in front of the fireplace. Curtains and carpets were replaced with crimson and black velvet. Red window foil resembling stained glass transformed the living room into a haunting recreation of Prince Prospero's ill-fated costume ball from The Masque of the Red Death. There even was a mannequin dressed in a blood-stained funeral shroud and an ebony clock with an ominous chime.

Honestly, there was no better place to celebrate Halloween. Thien was a connoisseur of classic horror movies and he absolutely adored Vincent Price's performance as the depraved Prospero in the 1964 adaptation of Poe's grim tale. Watching it in a chamber that seemed to have sprung right out of the prince's abbey promised the ultimate immersive experience.

That was until Thien was struck with his very own horror story just a week before the long awaited festivity. He woke up in the middle of the night and scrambled out of bed to take a leak when suddenly, someone drove a power drill straight into his left ear. Thien doubled over, pushing both hands against his head in a desperate attempt to alleviate the sharp pain. When he finally managed to stagger to the bathroom, the floor under his bare feet felt unsteady like soft rubber.

The next morning, Thien woke up in a swimming pool of his own sweat. He wouldn't have believed that it was possible to drown in wet sheets, but his feverish body was determined to prove him otherwise. Freezing and sweating at the same time, Thien got himself some Tylenol and curled up on the couch with a fresh blanket. The fever wasn't impressed by the pill and neither was the stabbing pain in his ear. Thien was grateful that one of his flatmates changed his bedding, he was barely able to muster the strength to even get up again.

Dead tired, yet unable to sleep because of the red hot needle piercing his eardrum, Thien suffered through an unending night. Short fragments of fever dreams were more draining then restful. At dusk, he felt even worse than the evening before. An immense pressure had built up on the left side of his head, contrasted by sudden, intensely painful stings. Thien popped another pill, but it only hurt more and more. Overwhelmed by the certainty that his head was about to explode, Thien pressed his palm over the auricle and buried his face in the pillow. It was like an insane lobotomist hammered an ice pick deep into his ear until the pain reached an agonizing peak – and then, all of a sudden, it stopped.

At first, Thien couldn't help but sigh with relief as the pressure was released. A dull, indifferent earache remained, accompanied by a muffled buzzing. Then, to his dismay, Thien felt some kind of liquid dripping out of his ear canal. Teeth clenched, he struggled out of bed and was instantly hit by vertigo and nausea. Groping along the wall, Thien staggered into the bathroom. When he forced himself to look into the mirror, he saw a yellowish, mucoid substance leaking from his left ear. The sight was enough to make him gag.

It was probably the sign that a visit to the doctor was inevitable.

After shivering in the waiting room for half an hour, Thien was examined by an ENT specialist. She told him that he had a middle ear infection, which was rather uncommon in adults (not helpful) and had caused his eardrum to burst. At least it was a rather small tear that would probably heal up on its own. Thien was prescribed an antibiotic to kill the bacteria responsible for the infection and prevent them from spreading even further.

So it was back to bed with more Tylenol and his new best friend Amoxicillin. Thien had four days until the party to recover and he wanted to make the most of it. Like a model patient, he made sure to drink enough water and tea, took his medication exactly as described in the package leaflet, rested and slept as much as possible and even bribed his flatmates to provide him with healthy meals. The fever did, in fact, go down and after the third day, Thien's temperature was back to normal. A diffuse pain lingered in his ear and sounds were strangely muted on the left side. But overall, he felt a lot better.

Too bad that his stomach didn't like its microbiome-killing visitors. Nausea became Thien's constant companion, but it wasn't so severe that he couldn't keep the pill or his food down. Everything was somewhat tolerable, it just wasn't good. After bemoaning his fate for an hour or two, Thien decided to kick his own butt and went straight into determination mode.

Halloween was his night. So what if things weren't perfect, it wouldn't stop him from having fun. He could rest again the next day.

As impressive as the decoration had been in broad daylight, it paled compared to the spectacle revealed after dark. Flickering candles brought the jack-o'-lanterns to life. Smoke rose from the witch's cauldron and the bubbling brewage emanated an eerie green glow. The giant spiders were looking for their prey with menacing eyes glowing deep red. It was truly a sight to behold and instantly lifted Thien's spirits.

"Damn it, I thought you had to stay in bed", Tiago grinned while he greeted from the doorstep, right next to a large pumpkin with a particularly dreadful grimace. Upon closer inspection, the two of them could very well be brothers.

"Are you scared because I'm bringing the creepy stuff?" Thien raised his bag that was jam-packed with all kinds of horror movies, from cult classics to notorious shockers. "Don't blame me if you wet your sheets!"

"Ugh, leave me alone with your weird fetishes!" Tiago rolled his eyes, then stepped aside to let his friend into the small entrance hall. The lighting was dim and a huge spider web covered the entire coat rack. Thien left his jacket at the tiny bench next to the shoe shelf instead.

The only light source in the adjacent foyer – affectionately known as the batcave – was a blacklight that revealed grisly details hidden in seemingly harmless pantings. Another surprise that had been invisible by day. And then they finally entered the main attraction: the black chamber, formerly known as living room. Everything was draped in black velvet – the couch, the chairs, the table, even the walls. LED torches cast flickering scarlet light through the blood colored windows. The Red Death figure lured in the corner and the sinister ebony clock was about to toll the hour.

It was incredible.

"I… I don't even know what to say except that I ab-so-lute-ly love it!" Thien clasped his hands in excitement. The adrenaline rushing through his veins made him forget about his earache and the queasiness for a minute. "This is just perf-ohmygod!"

Thien jumped as he was suddenly grabbed by the shoulders from behind. Someone let out a distorted scream that turned into laughter just a second later. As Thien whirled around, he looked into the delighted faces of Luka and Isaiah who had been hiding behind one of the velvet tapestries.

"Why are you guys such assholes?", Thien coughed, but couldn't hold back a laughter himself, both as an aftereffect of the scare and relief that he could actually be here. "I'll make you regret this! Especially you, Isa, your stomach is so weak when it comes to gore."

"Hey, I'm not that squeamish… anymore", the redhead objected.

"Well, good luck while you're munching on this." Tiago twisted his lips into a malicious grin and gestured towards the dinner table. It was, quite literally, a feast for the eyes. There was black bean stew with a sour cream spider web drawn on top. Round slices of pimiento-stuffed olives turned deviled eggs into eyeballs. Hot dogs were carved and decorated to look like severed fingers, ketchup blood dripping all over the buns. Cheese bread puffs were wrapped up in strings of dough like mummies and chocolate truffles wore bat wings. Black caipiroska was served in erlenmeyer flasks.

"That is honestly so freaking cute." With glowing eyes, Isaiah grabbed one of the bats.

"No, it's not!" Tiago was visibly shaken by so much ignorance. "It's scary and disgusting! Whatever, dig in. And don't blame me when someone gets poisoned."

The friends loaded their antique plates, then made themselves comfortable in the TV corner. Thien wasn't exactly hungry, but how could he resist such a variety of both mouth-watering and gross looking dishes? At least he wanted to try everything. He had even double checked if alcohol would clash with his antibiotics, which it didn't. However, Thien had no desire to get drunk. It wasn't an enticing prospect when he already felt dizzy and nauseous to begin with.

Just like Thien had hoped, the black room's ghastly atmosphere did wonders for the atrocities on screen. After reveling in the gloomy ambience for a while, Thien brought himself to start eating. He didn't have the strong aversion against food that came with a stomach flu, but his palate was definitely more picky. The bean stew was hearty and flavorful enough to intrigue his tastebuds. The deviled eggs were a bit much though. There was a spicy kick to the yolk paste, probably Tabasco sauce, that irritated Thien's upsets stomach. The small piece of olive was enough to leave a lasting aftertaste that curbed Thien's appetite significantly.

Nothing bad could be said about the mummy bread per se – it was gooey, soft and packed a cheesy punch. Thien couldn't put his finger on what exactly was off-putting about the small round of dough, but it left him with a nagging unease in his belly. Maybe that was the source of his sudden reluctance to try the bloody finger hot dog. The gloriously disgusting design was right up Thien's alley and he wasn't put off by fake blood, no matter if it was in a movie or on a bun. The smell of meat and nitrate, however, didn't exactly appeal to him.

This was perfectly normal food, he told himself. This was food he liked. But the beefy sausage didn't go well with the overly sweet ketchup and even after Thien had swallowed, it left an oily film in his mouth. Thien couldn't bring himself to finish the whole thing. He hoped that the chocolate treat would help him get rid of both taste and mouthfeel, but the gooey fudge mixed with the meat grease in a highly unpleasant way.

At this point, Thien was fed up with anything edible. He placed the plate on the floor next to his chair and sipped on the pitch black cocktail instead. The crisp and tart flavor was enjoyable, until Thien's tastebuds betrayed him again and reported an intrusion of nail polish remover. Thien frowned, put the flask away and hugged his abdomen. His insides felt raw and a burning sensation had taken hold of his stomach. Even focusing on the movie didn't make him feel better anymore. It was like half of the bites he took had been stuck in his throat, pushing against his uvula with every bobbing gulp.

Thien's saliva carried a faint aroma of beans and cheese and chocolatey hot dogs, which would have been repulsive even if the fluid hadn't flooded his mouth like it did. He couldn't help but wonder if his belly was scolding him with angry growls – the TV was loud enough to drown out every other sound, but Thien felt it rumble and churn under his grip. His body was moving towards a direction he didn't like at all and maybe it was already too late to turn back.

"Damn it, I'm about to burst!", Isaiah groaned, taking the words right out of Thien's mouth. "'xcuse me for a minute, I gotta make room for more."

"Open the window when you're done!" Luka demonstratively held his nose. Thien licked his lips nervously. Hopefully, Isaiah wouldn't take too long.

Except that he did. Of course. At least ten minutes passed and Thien's stomach was bubbling like the witch's brew in the garden. He sank deeper into his armchair, only to have the shift in pressure force a burp out of his overboiling gastric kettle. It tasted as bad as it felt, sour and acrid. Thien's sore throat constricted in sync with his contracting abdominal muscles. The abundance of alkaline spit left a bitter taste in his mouth that didn't go away as he swallowed frantically.

Thien had to admit that this wouldn't end well if he stuck to his strategy of watching and waiting.

Careful not to send an unintended evacuation order to his stomach, Thien pushed himself up and left the black room. He teetered through the batcave towards the guest toilet door in the entry hall. It was still locked and Thien heared Isaiah humming inside. He took a deep breath and knocked.

"Aren't you done yet?"

"Uhm… no? I would have left if I was, wouldn't I?" Isaiah wasn't wrong, but that didn't help Thien with his emergency. Hot bile crawled up his throat, burning it like a sandpaper scrub.

"Can you hurry up a bit?", he croaked after forcing the rancid fluid back down. "…please?"

"I can't, especially not if you rush me. Or listen." Isaiah let out an uncomfortable groan. "Privacy, please?"

"Sorry, but I really need to…" Just as Thien was about to explain his dire situation, he was cut off by an unannounced surge of vomit rushing up his esophagus. He tried to swallow it back down, but the stuff just kept on coming. Desperately, Thien clutched his mouth with both hands. There was no way to contain the flood, he needed something to be sick in, and he needed it right now.

The kitchen sink? Too far away, Thien would probably explode on the way and splatter the entire foyer floor with his undigested stomach contents. The umbrella stand? It did look kind of expensive and Thien hadn't forgotten how Tiago had freaked out about Isaiah barfing in his mother's car. Family possessions were serious business to him. In an act of sheer desperation, Thien ripped open the entrance door, fell on his knees and lifted the lid from the big jack-o'-lantern.

Gentle warmth caressed Thien's skin as his face came close to the candle. Then he parted his lips and extinguished the flame with a jet of puke spraying from his very own fire hose. He had not expected the sheer force of the expulsion. Every single muscle from his neck down the chest to his abdomen cramped spasmodically, causing his body to jerk with a violent recoil as more of his dinner gushed from his mouth. Thien caught his glasses just in time before they could fall into the fetid mess bursting out of him. With trembling fingers, Thien put them aside – he had no intention to take a closer look at the cascade of sewage water he spewed into the pumpkin.

The violent heaves made him even more lightheaded, which in turn increased his nausea. One of Thien's hands held on to the jagged edge of the jack-o'-lantern with such strength that his knuckles turned white. The other one pushed against his aching belly that was gripped by a wrenching pain with every single retch. After the first spontaneous projectiles, expelling the remains of his meal became a more arduous task. Each gag pushed the thick mush just a little bit further up his esophagus. The physical strain brought tears to his eyes and pierced his left ear.

Suddenly, Thien felt a hand patting his back.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry!" Isaiah's bad conscience couldn't have been more obvious in his facial expression than it was in his voice. "I should have let you in."

Thien was unable to reply, but the thumps on his back helped his body to push the sick over the threshold. He tensed with another heave before he finally threw up a chunky blend of beans and dough and truffle and sausage bites. It tasted absolutely vile as it pumped up his throat and spurted from his mouth, plopping into the vomit pool below him with moist splats.

"Yeah, get it all out, you got this", Isaiah cheered him on. His closeness and touch did make Thien feel better. He wasn't used to someone taking care of him when he was being sick and he had expected it to only add awkwardness to the physical discomfort. Actually, it helped him to relax a bit and just let things happen. As Thien's body punched itself in the gut again with a vigorous muscle contraction, he leaned into it and bent closer to the jack-o'-lantern. More of the food he had forced down against his better judgment made a noisy return through his gaping mouth.

The messy slop Thien hurled into the pumpkin wasn't the only pattering sound anymore. His vomit had reached the jack-o'-lantern's razor-toothed grin and poured out of the creature's mouth as well. When Thien was finally able to catch his breath, shakily wiping his lips, the ghoulish pumpkin he had infected still kept on barfing down the steps.

"Damn it", Thien croaked. "I didn't think it would be so much."

"It's not your fault." Isaiah still rubbed Thien's back, even though he had stopped puking. "I had no idea you were going to be sick. Sorry I took so long."

"You couldn't have known. Just when I tried to tell you, it all came up." Thien spat out to get rid of the horrible taste sitting comfortable on his tongue. "By the way, did you happen to see cleaning supplies in the bathroom? I'd really like to destroy the evidence before Tiago finds out about this."

"Before I find out about what?"

Both Thien and Isaiah spun around, startled. Tiago was towering over them, arms crossed. Luka peered through the foyer door, curiously watching the scene unfold. Thien sighed in defeat and buried the face in his hands.

"I – I'm so sorry about this", he mumbled against his palms. "It's the antibiotics. My stomach wasn't great the whole week, but I swear this never happened before. Maybe the food was too spicy… or it's getting worse. I just couldn't hold it in."

"So… technically it's Isaiah's fault again because he's the one who was blocking the restroom", Tiago concluded.

"Hey, that's not fair!", Isaiah protested. "Don't make me clean up again."

"Don't blame him, he's not a clairvoyant." With a deep sigh, Thien put his glasses back on and got up from the ground. He was barely standing when a loud scream from the street made him flinch.

A tiny scarecrow pointed at them, then waved at her friends Chucky and Pennywise.

"You gotta check this out!", the little girl squealed. "There's a puking pumpkin!"

"It looks so real!" Pennywise stared at the front door in awe. "Not just dumb seeds and that stringy stuff from inside."

Wide eyed and a bit bashful, the illustrious trio crept closer. Scarecrow raised both her sickle and her tin bucket.

"Trick or treat!", she screeched with a voice resembling nails on a chalkboard. That kid had definitely practiced the grand entrance. While Tiago grabbed the candy bowl that had been strategically placed in the shoe rack, Chucky leaned over to his killer clown friend and whispered:

"It even stinks. This house is the best."

Thien had to bite his lower lip – not because he was embarrassed or nauseous, but to desperately hold back a hysterical giggle. The pint sized horror creatures thanked their chocolate donors with some well-rehearsed poses that were definitely more adorable than scary, then they moved on. As soon as Thien and Isaiah had entered the house and Tiago had closed the door behind them, the friends broke into laughter. Even Tiago couldn't contain himself, although he didn't roll on the ground like Isaiah did.

"That was honestly the funniest shit ever", Luka spluttered, clutching his belly. "Ti, you know that you have to leave the stuff there. They're going to hype up every kid in the neighbourhood."

"Guess there's no need to fear monsters when you have friends like you", Tiago snorted, trying to regain control. "So what. You gotta do anything to one-up your neighbours. Now get your lousy asses back into the living room, we're gonna clean up later."

"We? Did you just say… we?" Thien smiled warily. "So you can be nice if you want to."

"Don't tell anyone or I make you wipe up that barf with your tongue. Understood?" Tiago shoved Thien in the direction of the guest toilet. "Now rinse out that mouth, your breath reeks of puke. And by the way, the only things you get for the rest of the night are tea and saltines."

Thien swallowed down the thank you he had on the tip of his tongue. But the fact that, of all people, Tiago headed to the kitchen to prepare some tea made him feel a little warm and fuzzy. Even though Thien hadn't quite forgiven his body for acting up at the worst time possible, at least it had made this Halloween a night to remember.

#submission #tw vomit #tw emeto #tw medication #tw side effects #tw ear infection #nov(emeto)ber 2022 #novemetober 2022 #2022 day11 #prompt: unconventional receptacle #fandom: original characters #birdnamedenza #thien is so cute oh my gosh #his excitement about the party TT_TT #also i'm not gonna spoil for anyone peeking at tags but the unconventional receptacle... i loveeeee #i think i'm more shook than thien about tiago being nice like who /is/ he #definitely looking forward to seeing more of this gang!!

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