torments for the seven deadly sins
(1. sloth, 2. lust, 3. gluttony, 4. envy, 5. greed, 6. wrath, and 7. pride)
hand-illuminated engravings from a printed work on parchment, an edition of the compost et kalendrier des bergiers printed by guy marchant, paris, 1493
source: Angers, Bibliothèque municipale, Rés. SA 3390, ff. 33v-36v
𝕊𝕪𝕟𝕠𝕡𝕤𝕚𝕤: Someone has been breaking in your apartment, and you, forever determined, to see who it might be, willing the risk to see who the 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕗𝕦𝕝 creature might be.
It started a few months ago. A few things out of place here and there; your journal closed instead of open how you had left it the night before, a mug that was dirty now suspiciously clean after coming home from work, nothing that couldn’t be dismissed as forgotten you had done those things.
Then a few pieces of clothes were missing. A shirt you sometimes wore to bed, a sports bra you wore when you worked out in the early mornings, even a few pieces of underwear that you liked to wear. They just… vanished.
You haven’t told anyone about it, not even your best friend, Crowe, whom you told almost everything to. Not even to Sol, a friend you had made just this year. No one knew. No one but you.
So, you made a plan. A stupid plan but a plan nonetheless. You made it while sitting with Crowe and the others, mindlessly picking at your food from the cafeteria, soft music playing in your headphones, unintentionally blocking the others out.
Crowe had asked what you had been thinking about all lunch during your English class, and you just gave him a vague answer about having to go to work after school. He took it as an answer enough. It wasn’t really the truth, just a small white lie to make him stop asking. Might be a little rude of you to lie to your best friend, but you couldn’t tell him the real reason.
Oh well. You’ll make it up to him later.
Now, you lie awake at night, laying on your side, facing away from your window with the broken lock, your breathing even to make your intruder think you were asleep. You look towards your alarm on your nightstand.
12:05 a.m.
Five minutes late.
He’s usually right on the dot at 12. Strange. Is he not coming tonight? Just as you were about to give up on waiting, you heard something. A faint noise. Then the window slowly opened. Clothes rustingling softly as your intruder entered your bedroom. A soft sigh escaped him. Soft footsteps followed after a sigh and then a stop. He stopped?
Then something touched you.
He slowly caressed your arm with his index finger. His finger felt cold against your skin. You bit your bottom lip from making any sounds as his finger trailed up and down your arm in a slow motion, as if mesmerized by how you felt.
“You’re so pretty…” He whispered softly, a soft compliment that was meant to go unheard. But it didn’t.
He stopped his movement with his finger, pulling back his hand away from your arm. You waited. There was faint movement and then it stopped. Your heart was pounding in your chest, pounding faintly in your ears as you waited. So much waiting.
Then you felt him place a soft, light kiss on the back of your neck, through your hair. You froze. Then You felt him move your hair and place another soft kiss on your now bare neck. And then another. He let out a soft sigh from the feeling of your skin on his lips.
“Oh, how I missed you today…” He whispered softly against your skin, his lips moving to your shoulder, kissing the exposed skin there. You kept your eyes closed, your bottom lip in between your teeth, trying so very hard to not make any sounds. But he was making it difficult.
He let out a soft sigh, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin, before gently sucking that spot in between your shoulder and neck. A soft noise escaped you from his action, earning a soft chuckle from him.
“You’re quite ticklish, aren't you?” He whispered to you. His voice… it sounded familiar. Where have you heard it before? His nose grazed the back of your neck, inhaling your scent. His nose was cold. Fuck, he was cold. Why was he so fucking cold?
He gently placed his hand on your hip, slowly trailing up your side, feeling the tank top fabric with his fingers. He hummed softly, a happy tune. Or somewhat of it.
“Did you wear this for me, pumpkin? How sweet…” He said, his fingers stopping just below your breasts. He kissed the back of your neck again, his fingers moving slowly upwards to touch your breasts.
Fuck it.
As fast as you could be, you reached under my pillow, grabbing the kitchen knife you had grabbed before going to bed, and turning, grabbing him by the face with your other hand and pushing him off you and onto the floor with you on top of him.
Thump.
His eyes widened in shock, looking up at you, feeling the cold blade pressing against his cheek, your hand covering his mouth. You looked down at him, seeing those familiar central heterochromia red orange eyes looking at you with shock.
You blinked once. Twice. Breathing heavy to catch your breath from pushing him to the floor.
“Sol..?” You said his name like a question, surprise and confusion laced in your voice. His hands were beside his head, as if in surrender. He had on a black jacket that wasn’t zipped up over his black t-shirt, his hood up over his black and green streaked hair.
What. The. Fuck.
He made a muffled noise against your hand, a drop of sweat sliding down his forehead to his temple. Slowly, you lowered your hand off his mouth, but kept the blade on his cheek. He was still your intruder, after all.
“Pumpkin… please, I-I can explain…” He started, his voice stuttering and rushed, staying completely still under you.
You stared at him, processing this. What were you supposed to do?
“Sol.. why?” You asked, your brows furrowing at him. He averted his gaze from yours, unable to look at you.
“I couldn’t… I-I couldn’t help it. I needed to see you again. I-I didn’t see you today or y-yesterday..” He tried to explain, his words stuttering as he spoke. What? He finally met your gaze, his eyes less shocked but more… pleading. And that look did something to you, something you weren’t going to admit. Not yet.
“P-please, Pumpkin, move the knife..” He pleaded softly, hoping you’d move the knife away from his face. You kept staring at him, something stirring inside you. What was it? Adrenaline and something else.
Slowly, you moved the knife from his face, but not from his skin. Ever so slowly, you moved the knife down, moving from his cheek to his chin, the tip of the knife grazing his skin. His breath hitched softly from the feeling.
He said move the knife, but to never remove it from his skin.
You tilted your head slightly to the side, your gaze on the knife that pressed into his chin slightly, not enough to break the skin, but enough to remind him who was in control now.
“Sol. Who would’ve known you were a little pervert. Stealing my clothes and underwear, breaking into my apartment while I’m sleeping,” You listed off a few things, his cheeks growing red from it. You continued, your voice calm as you moved the knife lower, moving the tip of the kitchen knife down to his throat.
You leaned down, your face getting close to his, his breath catching in his throat by the movement. You leaned down to his ear, your hot breath against his ear when you spoke, making a shiver go down his spine.
“Where are your manners?”
He blinked, not expecting the change in attitude. One moment you were determined to see who your intruder was and now, now you are determined to break Sol. To break him down for what he did.
You moved the knife lower, moving it to his chest. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, from the closeness of you, from the knife dragging down his chest. He was in a dangerous position, but he didn’t care. Not about the knife at least.
You could feel the bulge in his pants, pressing against your pajama shorts. You shifted slightly, just slightly, on top of him. He let out a soft whimper, feeling you shift on him. You sat up, one hand on his chest, the other keeping the knife on his chest.
“What am I going to do with you?” You asked, tilting your head again, contemplating. There was a dangerous look in your eyes, something that made Sol nothing but a mess under you.
“A-Anything you want.. P-please…” He pleaded with you softly. You hummed and shifted on him again, grounding yourself on his bulge, hearing him gasp from the feeling.
“Anything?” You asked him, in response, he nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. You lifted the knife up from his chest back to his face, up to his cheek as you leaned down slowly again, your lips dangerously close to his.
“Beg for forgiveness.” You whispered to him. He swallowed hard, his eyes wide, his breathing uneven from how close your face is to his again.
“W-what?” He asked, his voice trembling slightly. You hummed, sitting up on him again, moving your hips again on him once, earning a soft groan from him, his fingers twitching from suppressing the urge to hold your hips.
“I don’t like repeating myself.” You said, your hand that was resting on his chest moved up to his neck. He wasn’t wearing his collar like he usually did, so you gently wrapped your hand around his throat, but not squeezing. His breath hitched, his Adam's apple bobbing in your hand as he swallowed again.
“P-please forgive me..” Your hand slowly moved from his throat down his chest. “I-I’m sorry for what I’ve done, Pumpkin..” Lower, my fingers passing his torso to go lower. “Please, forgive me..”
“Do you deserve my forgiveness, Sol?” You asked him, your voice laced with something dark. It made his cock ache from the sound of your voice. He averted his gaze, his face as red as a tomato now. “N-no..” He answered with a simple response. You hummed, your fingers grazing the button of his pants. His eyes looked downward towards your fingers. Waiting.
With a swift move, you unbuttoned his pants, but made no move to do anything else. Yet. You watched his face, the knife momentarily forgotten, watching his expressions, watching every breath he takes. Every. Single. One.
Finally, your fingers slipped past the waistband of his pants, slipping inside his boxers, feeling the soft skin of the base of his cock. He gasped and jerked towards your touch, desperately needing more. You grounded yourself on him again, keeping him still from under you. Your hand moved further in his pants, feeling his hard length with your fingertips.
Jesus. He was big. But you didn’t falter.
It encouraged you to go further, finally setting his cock free from the prison of his pants. He let out a soft groan, looking up at you with those pleading eyes again. Fuck, those eyes could get him in trouble.
You wrapped your hand around his hard length, a firm but gentle grip, one that had his breath catching in his throat. You leaned down, your lips close to his ear, grazing the shell of his ear and piercings lightly.
“I didn’t say you could stop begging.” You whispered to him softly. He bit his lip piercings, his heart close to exploding in his chest. You slowly, so tortuously slow, moved your hand up his cock, stroking it once. He groaned, his hips instinctively thrusting up in your hand, seeing more of your touch, to no avail.
“P-please, Pumpkin, please f-forgive me for my sins..” He started, your hand stroking his cock again, earning a pathetic whimper from him. “I-I am sorry for what I’ve d-done.. P-please forgive me.” You hummed, your lips tracing his jawline lightly, your hand continuing its slow torturous strokes.
“Please— ah! P-pumpkin-” His plea was cut off with a soft kiss to his chin, your hand picking up its pace slightly, keeping a firm grip on his cock, using his precum as lubricant. He moaned, his hips jerking up into your touch. Your hand was moving at a good pace now, not slow nor fast, just enough to keep him on edge.
He was getting close, so close. His hips jerked, searching for his ecstasy from your hand. You squeezed his cock, making him moan and look at you again. Your eyes never strayed from his face as you pumped his cock.
“Don’t cum until I say so.” You told him, earning a soft whimper from him. You moved your hand faster, stroking faster, your lips lightly kissing his jawline. His hands moved to your thighs, gripping tightly, an attempt to hold off from finishing.
But you wanted him to fail, to sin again, to disobey.
You nipped at his jawline, your hand squeezing his cock again as you stroked him, the knife long on the floor beside his head. He let more whimpers and moans spill from his lips, his hips moving in time with your hand, his fingers digging into your thighs. He couldn’t hold back anymore, not with the way you were with his cock.
“S-shit..!” He groaned out, his head tilting back onto the floor, his only warning until you felt his warm cum spill on your hand and his shirt. You sat up, looking down at your hand covered in his cum.
He panted heavily underneath you, his eyes dazed with love and satisfaction. You tsked, annoyed with him despite wanting him to cum.
“Didn’t I tell you to not cum unless I say?” You asked, looking down at him again. He gave you an apologetic look, watching as you raised your cumm-filled hand up to your face, watching you as your tongue darted out, licking your hand. He shuddered from the sight of his cum on your tongue.
“I-I’m sorry, Pumpkin..” He gasped out, but no amount of apologizing will save him now.
He’ll need only your forgiveness and praise for him to be saved, and he won’t get that. Not for a while.
