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☽ Oh, she's beautiful

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Oh, she's beautiful

A little better than a man deserves 


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"Urgh!" Gutturally unhealthy, deeply hoarse undertones prominently imbued the older man's uneven grunt sloppily dripping from his chapped mouth, while you manifested strong-willedly headstrong to drag his heavier figure on your way to the final destination.

"Don't worry, Timothy! We are almost home!" Incapable of giving up in the middle of your last resort towards your flat, consequently you maneuvered one of your elvish, femininely feather-soft hands to pat affably, lightly his shoulder as friendly reminder to billow elegantly gracious his worries and series of diabolically profound grunts. "We can do it. Believe me!" Reassuringly serene chuckle clicked emphatically the roof of your mouth, whilst the ambitious Monsignor manipulated his pearly-white teeth to gnaw smoothly the inside of his cheek continuously, his citrine-cinnamon brown optics relentlessly coasted its gawk of the neighbourhood houses and trees, besides absent-mindedly reckless scanning in a fleetly swift glimpse the concrete. In the interval, the luminous glint of stark overweariness billowed ruthlessly his citrine-cinnamon brown gaze and your E/C cabochons ominously headstrong imbibed every surrounding you passed at snail's pace.

In a long quarter an hour of embarrassing ambles towards the tall building, throughout you ushered nimbly your fingers to retrieve the keys to unlock the front door and then venture inside until you used the elevator that was amusingly functioning properly.

"Damn!" For a moment when you stood before the door in the middle of the sufficiently expansive hallway and channelling your solely free elvish, creamy hand's orthodoxy pristine fingers to shove the rusty key inside the keyhole, the haphazardness of the explicitive utmost sweeping the beginning of the British compatriot's dry tongue due to the fiercely fiery impulse coursing through his veins caught you off guard followed by his devilishly deep, heartlessly raspy snicker grinding on his mouth to curl his lips curtly. "What place this on earth is, Y/N?" Without awkwardly frosty oscillation searing heinously villainous your vortex of thoughts, everything roared its unfamiliarity to the British compatriot, trying to manage a slight jerk of his head to obscure the generous layer of cloudy thin veil unmasking the sheer vista of the absolute reality painted with the candidly nimble brushes of the vivid nuances.

"Hush, Timothy!" Shortly after turning the key in the keyhole to click once utterly unlocked the front door of your apartment upstairs, the subsequence of the nefariously mousy whine purred when the door swung broadly opened at the pitch-black corridor. "We're finally home!" When you both set foot inside the corridor and you kicked backward to slam shut the front door harmlessly, thus your great deal of arduous efforts to wobble diligently the larger frame towards your bedroom and dropping him gingerly, welcomingly sympathetic on top of the double bed that was adorned with promisingly vibrant amber silken duvet, matching with the conveniently cotton pillows.

Hypodermic Transgression ✝Monsignor Timothy Howard x FEM! Reader✝Where stories live. Discover now