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It truly was a shame when the leader of the Oak Family died and left behind two siblings, still sorrowing over their father. The change of plans of The Family, deciding to transfer Gallagher as the new head of the Oaks was not.
At first it was infuriating, in what universe do they think he would serve The Oak Family over his own?! But he calmed down after the bittersweet realisation that the new role means more power and that The Family trusts him enough to give him a higher position. UAnd while the need for strength is the womb for chaos, he is resistant enough to not cave in and abuse whatever they're giving to him. The others of the Bloodhounds didn't take his parting as a betrayal, gladly congratulating and cheering him the best of luck before finally moving in.
The countless maids and servants of the Oaks were still grieving over his death, who would've guessed that Death could touch something as powerful and as mighty as him?
The two children weren't any different than the staff, the younger Halovian was way too innocent to realise what it meant that her papa was gone and will never come back, while the eldest barely approached Gallagher the moment he stepped foot inside his home.
Poor children, he would feel bad for them, even if he could. They could use his demise for their development, sometimes it takes the rough path to be successful.
Now, it's been over a few months since his placement and the management has been aggressive. To this day Gallagher has no idea what a general could do to be selected as the leader of this branch. The training has been fairly understandable, but sweet Aeons, he under-anticipated the whole arrangements he'd have to manage.
Apart from picking up whatever that old man left unresolved, a part of him felt obligated to interact with his offsprings. Even if they're growing up fulfilled and disciplined by the maids, ignoring them after their father's demise left him with an absurd hole in his chest. It's odd of him to feel empathy towards them, knowing they'll grow up to be the same as the one who raised them, but he couldn't help it.
The youngest really liked him. As far as Gallagher remembers, Robin? Robin, maybe, that was her name, the girl with long hair, wearing white dresses and matching knee socks, the one that marches everywhere and settles for freedom.
She'd always come to him for help, and while he might not be the best father figure to her, tying her shoelaces or braiding her hair was a piece of cake, which always left her grinning and thanking him vigorously.
Her older sibling didn't like him as much. He was named after one of the days of the week– err.. Sunday? Seems fitting considering how faithful and pure he looks when he's all alone, nose buried in holy books and face covered by the angelic wings growing from his head. The (now ex) Bloodhound always found him fascinating. While his younger sister was swarming Gallagher with questions and demanding stories from him, Sunday seemed to avoid him. How humorous! It felt as if he senses that there's something rotten in the middle of his transfer. The last times when he tried to interact with the child, he would always shut him down or just look at him with deceitful eyes, pretending to listen before setting off and continuing his business.
It was clear he didn't like him, which was fine, he did not have to be liked by anyone, but it was weird. What does that brat know that it makes him be so sceptical about him?
He must know what causes poor Sunday to distrust him. He couldn't risk anything, knowing that he will take his father's place and can decapitate him anytime after this happens. Even if there are years until then, it's better to gain his trust as a child, enough so he will be a complete submissive dog to him when he will grow to his dead father's expectations.
Thus he began his ‘quest’ of trying to befriend him. Everyday Gallagher tried to engage in small conversations with him, conversations often left with dry replies, sometimes even ignored.
Then, he tried to offer him small gifts, but the young boy either refused them, or accepted them only to throw them away in the trash later.
Quality time didn't work. No matter how much he'd try to convince him to even speak to him, Sunday already made up his mind and shut him down. Gallagher still has his hopes up. That boy might be selective, but there are countless love languages he might be responsive to.
His decision remained to give him time to adjust to the new change in The Family turned out to be the best. Eventually he sought him out on his own.
It was unexpected, really, not in a million years did he expect the quiet and reserved child to come to him like that. One really late night, when the roles reverted and Gallagher was the one nose-buried in sheets of paper needing reading and approvals, he noticed a faint silhouette next to the doorframe. He often hallucinated due to the lack of sleep, it was only natural for him to brush it off, until he caught a glimpse of a golden halo, reflecting the faint dimness in the room.
The man turned his face towards the silhouette, expecting the young girl coming to pester him again, but instead it was none other but young Sunday.
“Well look who's still awake, shouldn't you be in bed, kiddo?” He teased, trying to look slightly pleased to see him, just like you'd act with children. The only problem being that he was a sharp one, definitely not like the rest of children, you could blow away with a story and then call it a day. No, no, he can be naive, just how old was he? Eight? Nine? Whatever, young Sunday was an age where he could understand certain things with no issue– but adult emotions? The stress of what will come for him when he will grow old enough to take the lead of his position?
However, Gallagher's grin quickly dropped the moment he saw the bags under his eyes and frowned lips.
“Ey, what's with that face? Anything bothering you, kid?” His expression softened, maybe it would be the best to start with creating a comfortable environment for him since he finally decided to approach him.
“Can't sleep..” Sunday sighed, his hand idly playing with the edges of the frame while his eyes were still avoiding him. How bitter..
“Ehh? And you want this old man to help you?” Gallagher chuckled, taking note in the shift in the younger’s expression at his words. He nodded slightly.
“Can I.. uh.. Can I stay with you?” He asked, making him sound so humble, as if he wasn't a pure-blood, growing up to be the most respected man of Penacony. At his question, the Bloodhound hummed, parting away his thighs before patting the velvet fabric on his thigh.
“Sure thing, sit right there kiddo.” He clenched his teeth as the younger boy let go of the door and approached him, still unable to keep his gaze on him.
What a shame though. His arrogance aside, many claimed that he was approachable. Does this kid really know too much? To this day he's not sure what to do to oppose him in this scenario. Getting rid of him would raise suspicions, but what else is there to do?
Gallagher watched as young Sunday sat on his thigh, looking all naive and confused at the paperwork scattered all over his desk and folders. For some reason it awoke a weird sensation in him to feel the young child so close to him considering that he's never been like this to him. The Bloodhound can't put it into words, it's a sensation that was leaving his soul all dry and sore, but it was sweet, like red wine.
Little Robin would hop in him constantly, straddling his thighs or shoulders, asking him for stories from all across the moments of his miserable life. Back then he wouldn't feel like this, but Gallagher just assumes it's some sort of personal satisfaction for finally ‘taming’ this small brat.
“What’s stoppin’ you from sleeping, kiddo?” He asked, right after Sunday sat on his thigh. Unsure how to soften his fangs and present himself as less threatening than before.
“Um.. Monsters..” The boy mumbled, hands in his crotch as he kept looking down at the floor with shame. “T-There really are monsters in the mansion! Really.. A-And– They keep making noises.. It's all over my room..”
“Monsters, eh?” Gallagher repeated.
“Y-You don't believe me, don't you?” At his reply, Sunday sighed again, his wings flapping to cover his face. There was this undertone of embarrassment, that of a child that is not taken seriously or loved properly.
“No, no, I do believe you kiddo, I saw on my own all types of creatures during my own life.” He reassured the little boy, patting his shoulder with his big hand, before taking it away and presenting to him the gradient of scars on his arm. “See? I tell you, I'm takin’ monster threats seriously all of the time! ‘Can't let those wrecks cause harm to other people.”
Sunday let out a surprised gasp as he inspected the arm of the Bloodhound, without asking for permission or anything, he stretched out his tiny hands and touched the wide red marks on his toned arms.
“D-Did the monsters in Penacony do this to you..?” He asked after a few seconds of his uncalled touches, his fingers lingering a little longer. “But… You killed them, right?”
“You bet I did!” Gallagher snarled, praising himself, taking his arm away just so he could ruffle through the light blue locks of the boy's hair, earning an honest laugh from him. “If any monsters scare you, just let me at ‘em!”
“Thank you..” Sunday muttered, finally gathering enough courage to look up at him and oh– Gallagher's heart could literally melt at how sweet the little boy looked like this. He glared at the older man for a little, before his gaze shifted towards his desk. “Wait.. What is that?” He asked, pointing to a coloured can of alcohol.
“Ah– That? One of my best refreshments, SoulGlad and Champagne.” He explained, before taking the cold can in his gloved hand and approaching it to them. “Wanna try?”
“Can I…? I-I mean.. My Father never let me, he said I'm too young to drink those..” The young boy looked insistently in Gallagher’s fiery eyes, awaiting more approval from the older man, but at that cute face of his, it's impossible to say no! Why must that depraved dead man adopt such a sweet boy like him?
“Mmm.. Yes, yes of course, go on.. I promise I won't tell anyone about this..” Sunday's face lit up at his response. It seems like he's old enough to understand how knotty it would be if the others found out, which is better. It's a worry to cut off his head as long as he keeps his mouth sealed.
Gripping the metal can with his fragile, small hands, the young boy approached it to his mouth, taking a small sip of the contents inside before pulling away and making a foul face as alcohol burnt his tongue and the back of the throat. At what happened, Gallagher couldn't help but chuckle, it's always adorable (and rare) to see people's first reaction to this dazzling, damned substance.
“It's.. sweet.. but it really hurts my mouth.” Sunday let out a shaky breath, genuinely unprepared for the mix and its reactions. At his words, the man petted his shoulders again. How much alcohol had this mix? –Maybe around 16%, it's not written on the can either way..
“Haha, it's normal to be like this since it's your first time, don't worry! The more you drink, the more you get used to it.” He reassured the young boy, glaring at his innocent face, listening careful to his words. “You can have some more if you want, maybe it'll make you sleepy.”
At his words, Sunday endured to take a larger sip of the mix, swallowing little by little the contents and forcing himself to maintain a normal face in order to not embarrass himself in front of the older man.
“How is it now, kiddo?” He asked, keeping his hand on his small shoulder. And as he keeps thinking about it, maybe seeing a drunk little Sunday wouldn't be that bad.. Is it bad to drink at such a precocious age as his, yes, but a little alcohol now and then wouldn't definitely hurt him, right?
“…A little better. It still stings my throat but it's not as bad as it was before..” The little boy spoke, trying to look braver. Gallagher just smirked, tugging a strand of his light hair behind his ear, careful to not hurt his pure wings.
“That’s my good boy.” He praised him with delight and immediately – a more mischievous idea brewed into his head. “If you want to try something else, I can try mixing you other types of drinks.”
“R-Really?” Sunday's wings suddenly rose up, looking at him with surprises. Oh, he was too gullible…
“Mhmm, I should have some more types of alcohol somewhere..” Gallagher explained, removing his hand from the boy and stretching to open the cabinet in his desk, where he keeps most of his booze. Emergency savings, as he often calls them.
He quickly got his hands on a half empty bottle of Practitioner Pepper and another one of Soothing Soda, putting them on top of his desk, not caring in the slightest about the important papers lying dead on the cold surface. Then, he looked back to see what else he could use, not long before grabbing a clean glass from there. It's not the best one for this mix, but it will do.
After a minute or so of preparation, behold, there it was: a bright, yet light coloured drink made specially for him. The colours really reminded Gallagher of the younger boy's sister, but maybe, if he were to add SoulGlad instead it would assemble him better at the cost of a bitter flavour.
“Here, try this and tell me if it's better than the other!” The older man passed the glass to Sunday, at which he took it in and drank a mouthful of it's contents. This drink should be softer and more favoured than SoulGlad and Champagne. Surprisingly, the young boy kept his face still and Gallagher watched thoroughly as he swallowed the mix of booze as if it was juice. Guess he'd have to teach him the proper way of drinking alcohol later.
“It's really good..!” Sunday exclaimed, delighted by the mix. “It still hurts my mouth, but it's not as bad as the other one, I like this one..”
“That's how alcohol is, kiddo!” The older man kept his smirk on, listening careful to his words. “I'm afraid that's as soft as I can go, there are other drinks being lighter on the booze, but I either don't have ‘em or you either won't like ‘em…”
“..Ah..” The young boy let out a short response, before taking another mouthful of the soft cocktail he prepared. “..My Father would always drink something red.. Do you know what it could be?” He asked after finishing, putting the now-empty glass down. “I never tried it, but he would drink it sometimes while eating, or just when he was alone, or with important people..”
“Eh, you mean wine?” Gallagher asked almost immediately. It has to be red wine based on the description. “I have some in the back if ya want, but it's bitter.”
“Yes..! I'd love to try it..” Sunday slurred, passing the glass back to the older man. Aww, was he getting drunk already? It's cute, his mind really tries to reason with him to stop giving alcohol to such a young boy like him.. but Gallagher really can't decline him, not when he makes this cute half-drunk face.
Grabbing a dark bottle, the older man read the words gaved on the aesthetically designed etiquette, “Light Red Wine” and “Pinot Noir”, this should be it..
“Here ya go.” The Bloodhound added, after opening the newly bought bottle and filling the glass halfway and passing it to the young boy. The bloody red booze looked so pure like this, ignoring the wrong recipient. As far as he remembers, this should be a rocks glass anyway.
Without saying anything, Sunday gripped the glass and silently drank its contents. He tried to maintain a straight face, but failed.
“It's sweet, similar to grape juice… but it really dries my tongue.. Is this normal?” He asked, before taking another mouthful of its content.
“That's how wine is, kiddo. White wine tends to be more bitter, but this red one is brand quality, adding more to the flavour than alcohol.” Gallagher explained, seeing the glass empty in no time. “Want another one of my mixes to fresh you up?” He asked, unaware that the one glass would turn into another one, and another one, and another…
It got to the point where the mix of yellow and purple in his eyes was sparking and his cheeks flushed red. Maybe then he should have stopped.
He can tell by the distorted look that he lost his capacity to think properly and his brain is probably a hot mess of hard-fried cables and circuits. Oh, Gallagher knows this sensation way too well. It's the bliss, the mania of drunkenness before spiralling down into the regret of knowing people you thought you got over.
Nothing better than imagining shapes and colours, convincing yourself that they're real and that you're not as affected, if it wasn't for the look giving it away.
He got a child drunk for the first time in his life.
All dizzy and unable to think, stinking of the familiar alcohol fragrance. Does he even realise where he is now? What is he doing? How bad is this?
Not wanting to let him drink alone, the Bloodhound, whatever, Oak member now, poured himself some booze as well, which obviously resulted in him being hit, maybe not as hard, by alcohol.
And all the small talk, trying to impress the little boy made Gallagher realise one of the reasons as ofwhy he was feeling like this around Sunday. Maybe it was just him trying to accommodate himself with the boy after countless attempts of befriending him, or maybe it was something just so innocent and pure about him that attracted him from the start.
The alcohol makes his heart ache to the extreme, it feels as if a thousand pins were impaling it, making it so hard to function properly. The guilt overtakes him, especially when Sunday is still on his thigh and the side effects of red wine created an obvious bulge in his pants.
Just how old is he to know of such things? He wouldn't notice either way, but it's so hard to stay in control when the alcohol makes him ao active.
Tired eyes glare up at the clock, signalling the death of the night and yet his Sunday was still up, talking to him about old memories of his father and sister. He would find it cute if it wasn't for the way the little boy wasn't this close to his crotch. It felt as if sparks were travelling all over his mind, trying to take control of him, and they were really succeeding. Fuck.
The hole in his chest only accentuates with the guilt of having such intentions with a kid like him.
“Wanna give me a hand with something?” Without even realising, he asked the younger boy. Only regretting what he said after hearing himself. At his words, the light haired boy turned his head to him, humming in curiosity and Gallagher felt an invisible barrier stopping him from backing out. Like dismembered hands covering his back, his throat, his eyes, forcing him to continue what he just started.
Sighing, in attempts to attenuate his filth, the older man reached to the zipper of his pants, trying to eliberate his now aching cock from its cage. Why did the air in the room become so much hotter now…?
He could hear Sunday gasping at the sight of his huge manhood, now leaning on his pelvis, leaking with precum.
“What do I do…?” He asked and his innocence both hurt and turned him on.
“Just.. Wrap your hands around it… – Gallagher instructed him, watching as the boy did just as he was told – Careful, don't put much pressure on it… A-And move your hands up and down..” The Bloodhound tried to maintain his strained voice as the boy followed his commands, careful to not hurt him.
“Woah.. I-It’s so big…” Sunday slurred as he kept his pace of jerking him, unaware of how bad it is for a young child like him to engage in something like this. The more Gallagher thinks about it, the more he realises that it was doomed from the start. “What's this substance..?” Sunday asked, referring to his precum, adding more to the lubrication, making his tiny hands slide with ease around his cock
“This..?” The older man couldn't stop a gasp from escaping his mouth, no matter how much he tried to cover it. “Ah.. This usually comes when us men feel really good..”
“Really?” He asked, pressing his finger around his tip and wiping a few droplets of his precum off him, before bringing his finger to his mouth and licking it off. “Awh, it's really salty…”
Gallagher didn't say anything, instead he watched as the boy kept working him up. Fuck… For his age he is really good at what he's doing…
He could feel him tracing his hands around every sensitive area, every vein, oh– especially his tip, nervous of what he was doing.
“Fuck… Y-You're doing such a good job kiddo..” The man praised, unable to control himself as the younger's hands wandered everywhere on his cock. It felt as if he was worshipping him and it only added fuel to the fire. Sunday, poor him, was all red and flushed, smiling like an idiot at his words.
“..D-Do ya want to try something different?” He asked between heavy breaths and the boy immediately stopped (he hated it, he wanted more), nodding again in complete submission. “Mm, that's good…” Gallagher sighed, reaching out his hands to pick the boy up and set him on the desk.
“W-What are we doing..?” Sunday let out a heavy breath, barely keeping still on the cold surface. He used his shaking hands to support him due to all the alcohol in his system and spreading his legs as soon as Gallagher put his hands on his thighs.
“You'll see, kiddo, trust your old man, you'll really like it.” He comforted him, before reaching to his tiny pair of shorts and pulling them down on his thighs. Oh, the bloodhound was flushing at the sight of his perfect skin and features. There is something wrong about the way he was feeling about Sunday's still developing body, but he couldn't care. His thin thighs were awakening something inside of him and the way his small dick was soft was making the air harder to breathe.
Tugging them along with his underwear down to his feet, Gallagher forgot about his clothes for a little, before reaching back to his nightshirt, unbuttoning it. Sunday did not oppose, instead he just let him do his thing until he was stripped naked by the older man.
With a shaky breath, Gallagher pressed his hand on his puffy thighs, spreading them open enough to reveal his virgin hole to him. Perfect. It's going to be hard to go inside without quite literally splitting the young boy in two considering how big he is compared to him. To make matters more comfortable, the man took off his white glov before slipping two fingers in his mouth, tracing his tongue around them in desperate attempts to get them covered in his spit.
Sunday just remained on his desk full of ruined paperworks, watching attentively every action of his.
“This will feel strange at first, but don't worry, it's all normal, you will get used to it.” The Bloodhound instructed him before pulling out. His other hand kept his legs spread, making space for his middle finger to press against the younger boy's rim, not quite entering in. Sunday winched at the sudden touch, causing his ass to gap open around nothing, threatening to suck his finger in.
“I-It’s really cold..” He gasped, trying to hide his face from him. Gallagher just nodded, circling his fingertip around his entrance and smearing his saliva all over. Gathering enough spit in his mouth, he spat on his hole again and entered his first finger in.
“How about this..” The man asked, too frenzied in the way his little hole was taking his thick fingers in to realise how much Sunday was shattering under his touch. “Does it feel any different..?”
“Mm! A-Ah…It really does…” The boy replied, jerking his hips in an attempt to both get away and get more of the sensation.
“Does it feel weird? Do you want this to stop?”
“N-No! It's… It's really weird, but I want to get more…” Even if Gallagher felt like a bad influence, which he definitely is, the way Sunday was shaking his head and his wings flapped, trying to cover his face from him were of grave satisfaction to him.
Smirking, he added a second finger inside, watching as his hole stretched and his walls were pulsating against his fingers, trying to push them out.
“A-Aaahh.. S-So deep..” Sunday slurred yet again, if it wasn't for his wings, Gallagher would've loved to see the look in his dilated eyes as he kept stretching him. Hunching over his frail body, he tried to get more of the view, but he could get only this much.
“Hey… Look at me..” He commanded him as his fingers started thrusting in-and-out of his hole, sloppy wet sounds already coming out. The boy hesitated at first before finally folding his wings and looking at him and oh– Gallagher felt like he could cum on spot. His pure eyes were almost soaked in tears, unable to maintain their focus yet he was still smiling. The way he kept trying to appear ‘normal’ and sober to him but failing miserably only turned him more and more.
Leaning close, Gallagher's free hand reached to his cheek, bringing the younger into a short kiss. It's to be expected he doesn't know anything about those sloppy kisses, but there's always time to teach him. Sunday couldn't help, but moaned slightly, as he soon retreated his fingers from his insides, leaving his hole gaping around nothing yet again.
“Hey… This thing is going to hurt a little… You're a big boy now but…sure you can handle it, kiddo?” The man asked, still trying to keep his playful voice and failing just as he did.
“Mm.. – Sunday nodded, still unable to take his eyes off him – Y-You're going to put it in..?”
Gallagher just hummed, taking his hand and guiding his cock towards his entrance. Shit. He was almost as big as his thigh and he already knows how painful it's going to be. Sweat trinkets dripped down on his forehead as he aligned his tip to his rim.
“S-Stay still, there's no reason to be this tense. If it hurts, you tell me and I'll stop, how does that sound?” The man asked, before pressing his hands on his thighs and pushing in.
He let out a heavy breath, feeling the younger's walls pulsating yet again, trying to push him out, but this time it was way more intense.
Sunday cried out as soon as Gallagher went past his tip inside, gasping loudly for air while his small wings flapped, trying to attenuate the pain he was feeling as his virgin asshole was stretched beyond. Gallagher saw his reaction and immediately tried to pull out, but he was stopped by the boy raising his hand in his direction.
“W-Wait… Ah.. D-Don’t stop.. I can take it..” He tried to reassure the older man, though tears spilled from his sunset eyes and he was desperate for gasps of air. “...Please..”
At his words, Gallagher shrugged, looking down, he could see a little blood dripping down. Yet he decided to not stop, going in until he was balls deep inside the younger boy and only then giving him time to adjust.
Hunching over him, his hands cupped his chubby cheeks and wiped away his tears, glaring at him in a drunken haze.
“F-Fuck… Sure you don't want this to stop?” He asked yet again, it was the least he could do. Sunday's insides were so tight, it was almost impossible for him to stop now… But maybe… For him.. He could stop…
Sunday, again, shook his head, unable to speak. Was the alcohol wearing off..? Probably, but at least he was in just a down state he couldn't feel all of this pain.
“You're such a good boy for taking it all in.” Gallagher snarled, ruffling his hair and kissing his forehead.
After enough time, around when his muscles finally relaxed, he started moving his hips, tipping out of him before slamming back inside at a painfully slow peace. At his sudden movement, Sunday couldn't help but let out a loud sob, quickly transforming into a moan. With his wings folded, he hid his face in his shoulder, unable to look at the man fucking him.
Letting out a heavy breath, Gallagher took his silence and small sniffles as an invite to proceed. He resumed his pace, giving small, elevated thrusts inside the younger boy in order to not hurt him more than he already had.
“So good… You're being so good…” The more he looks at him, the more he can see his body reacting to his cock being buried deep inside of him. Even if his face remained the same, ruined, Gallagher could tell it hides something more. He took great attention to him and his reaction every time he slammed himself back inside. Every sigh, every whimper, every small noise Sunday thought it would go unnoticeable.
“Does it still hurt, kiddo?” He asked between his thrusts. Picking up the peace, his hips kept moving along, filling the younger boy over and over, his walls contract against his cock every time.
“Nnhh.. N-Not anymore… I feel.. a-ah.. I feel so full..” Sunday's voice was so strained, he could barely think like this.
The desk rocked with them, but the noise alerting anyone wasn't one of Gallagher's main concerns, no matter how risky it was. His hands held the boy closer to him as he was still thrusting into him, ignoring the cries that now seemed to settle down.
Sunday's arms covered his face as he kept getting pounded by him, yet this time he didn't mind it. Gallagher was in too much of a haze of emotions and filth to care about the way the small boy was reacting to him. He could feel it inside – he was coming closer to release and the lightheadedness from the wine was worsening the labyrinth of blank thoughts in his head.
“Fuck… Kiddo, you're so…” The man groaned, too overwhelmed by everything that was happening around him. Holding Sunday's body still, the Bloodhound tried to anchor him to the desk, his big hands pinning him there as he picked up the peace.
With one final thrust, Gallagher buried his cock deep into him, spilling his seed all over his insides. Instinctively, he was holding him close, trying to soothe him from all they did, from his fall from grace, beyond something far worse.