karmicbias

[karmicbias]

[karmicbias]

[karmicbias]

[karmicbias]

cat can:

snuggle

biting you

eat food AND plastic

so scared of car sounds

locate Bug

Make sounds

[karmicbias]

did someone say Perpetua foot fetish (what? PERPETUA HIMSELF SAID PERPETUA FOOT FETISH????)

'You Seem Tired'

Perpetua/Reader reader has a vagina, foot stuff

!NSFW!

You had been working yourself to the bone. You're the newest sibling of sin, assigned to tour duties when the new ghoul came in. It's your first time getting to tour with a Papa, and it's exciting as it is tiring. You had assumed that it would be a walk in the park-- make sure soundcheck goes smoothly, ensure everyone has access to water, help out with costume changes, and then enjoy some live music in between, with lots of downtime as you travel. Easy, right?

You were so wrong. You're constantly on your feet, stumbling around huge new venues every day, offering help wherever it's needed (and boy, is it always needed), then rushing around backstage every night, ensuring that the ghouls and Papa are well cared for and the show goes off without a hitch. Every night when you return to the crew bus, you find yourself collapsing into your bunk and falling asleep immediately-- only to be awakened far too soon to do it all over again.

It's fun and rewarding in ways that you could have never imagined, but you're only mortal, and the stress and strain of it all is more than you're used to.

And that stress is why you feel hot tears threatening to pour down your cheeks when you stumble across Perpetua's dressing room, spilling the black coffee you were fetching for him.

"Sorry, I'm s-so sorry," You hurriedly say, glancing up to see him watching you through the mirror where he's putting the final touches on his makeup, "I'll get you a new one right away--"

"Are you alright?" He asks, standing up and turning towards you, genuine concern in his soft voice, "You didn't get burned, did you?"

You shake your head and put on a reassuring smile, though you can still feel embarrassed tears prickling at your eyes, "I'm fine! I'll be right back with--"

"No, no, this is fine, see?" He steps up to you with a few long strides and plucks the half cup of coffee from your hands before raising it in a cheers and taking a sip, only to sputter at how hot it is.

"C-careful!" You pat at the air in panic, feeling awful for making him hurt himself in order to make you feel better.

You see his tongue soothe his bottom lip, obviously stinging, before he grins widely at you. "All is well, so do not worry your pretty head over it, hm?"

"S-sorry," You say again, the burning in your eyes subsiding and being replaced with heat in your cheeks, "I'll...I'll be more careful next time."

You're not really sure what to say. You've shared some passing words with Papa, but it's always in the frenzy of work. Nothing as personal and quiet as this. The weight of his stare-- level and kind, yet off-kilter in a way you can't quite place, as well as his close proximity has you feeling small and shy.

"My, you look exhausted..." His voice, already soft and sweet, dips down to a near whisper, full of a tenderness that feels far too intimate for the situation. You've noticed the quirk on stage-- how Perpetua seems to overly express, how any small thing that catches his interest is the center of his world in that moment. It's overwhelming to be the one that's under his attention. "Why don't you have a seat? Take a little break, before you fall over..."

Your mouth is opening to object, but the gloved hand that slides across your lower back before urging you forward makes any noise in your throat dry up.

He leads you to the couch and gently guides you down. As silly as you feel, you can't deny how nice it is to just sit down for a moment. You sigh tiredly before looking up at Perpetua, his cool, piercing eyes still on you, and smile.

"Thank you...I needed this."

"I could tell," He responds, a smile of his own splitting his face, wide and toothy, "You've been working hard for your Papa, haven't you?"

"I-I would like to think so," You say, trying to tamp down the flutter in your stomach, "Sorry for the trouble, I-I'm new, so I'm still..."

"Adjusting? Learning the ropes?" He offers, smile growing, "Me too."

With how flawlessly he's stepped into the papacy, it's easy to forget that he's new to this, too. You find yourself relaxing-- the tension in your shoulders drops and the stilted professionalism you tried to maintain melts from your voice.

"I really do appreciate this...I've been running myself ragged." You press your hands together, like you're offering him a prayer, "This is a godsend."

"I'd say it's a gift from the other guy," Perpetua points towards the ground with a smile.

"Y-yes, of course!" You quickly backtrack, "I didn't mean it like--"

"I know. I'm only teasing." Perpetua crouches in front of you and tuts before settling comfortably onto the floor. "But ragged, you say? No wonder you lost your footing..."

You're baffled, having him sit in front of you while there's plenty of space on the couch.

It all makes sense a moment later when a gloved hand slides along the back of your calf and brings your leg forward, into his lap.

You squeak out a surprised noise before waving your hands frantically in front of yourself, "Th-that's not necessary--!"

"Shh, shh," Perpetua shushes you with a soft but stern face, already tugging your shoe off, "You've been taking care of your Papa so well...It's time for your Papa to take care of you."

Your stomach dips at his praise and you have to fight to keep your breath even as he sets your socked foot down on his thigh before bringing your other leg to his lap. He pulls off your other shoe and sets them neatly beside the couch before running his gloved hands along the underside of your calves. You jolt at the tender touch, your muscles flexing under his palms, and he shushes you again.

"Shhh, it's alright...Relax, just relax for me..."

Having him coo out those words has the opposite effect on you, though you try to hide it.

It's jarring beyond belief, seeing the man heading this entire operation on the floor in front of you, sitting criss-cross as casually as anyone else, the metal of his mask catching on the light as he looks down at your feet--at the socks, plain white and tiredly tugged on without a thought this morning. How the gloves that would be gripping onto a mic stand in a few short hours are now wrapping around one of your sore feet, his thumbs already pressing and circling along the bottom in a firm massage. You can't help but wonder if you're still fast asleep on the tour bus, still heading towards the next venue.

"You've gone quiet," Perpetua tilts his head up to look at you, his hypnotic gaze dragging along your face, "Does that mean I'm doing good, or bad?"

"It's..."

You had been so absorbed in the oddity of the situation that the feelings of the massage itself weren't registering. You take a deep breath to ground yourself, focusing on the soft ministrations of Perpetua's fingers. It feels...

"Good," You sigh, smiling down at him shyly.

"But could be better?" He tilts his head as he asks, an action that's so open and innocent, you find your breath catching.

"No, no, it's perfect," You assure him.

He hums to himself like he's not entirely convinced, then sets your foot back on his thigh.

"Let's take these off," He mumbles mainly to himself as he tugs at the fingers of his gloves. You find yourself enamored with the reveal of his hands-- it's so odd, seeing that there's skin under that leather. A silly thought, assuredly, but you can't help it. Perpetua is an unholy being, larger than life...it's so easy to forget that he's still only a man. A man with very nice hands. Long, thin fingers that are as graceful as they are powerful. Lean bones along the top of his hands that flutter and shift under his pale skin as he sets his gloves beside your shoes and wiggles his fingers playfully. Clean, even nails that shine in the light as he points down at your feet, "May I take these off too?"

Your attention is so drawn in by his hands that it takes you a second to register what he's asking, and another to answer.

"S-sure..."

He takes his time, lifting each foot and gently peeling off your socks. You feel embarrassment heat your cheeks at your chipped nail polish--you hadn't had the time nor the reason to touch it up since the tour started, and now Perpetua is holding your foot, face leaning in close as he gently rolls your ankle, seemingly interested in the purple sparkles in the paint.

"Very pretty," He murmurs, close enough to your toes that you can feel the hot breath of the words.

"S-sorry, I would have, you know, painted them again if I had known--" You give a small laugh, feeling rambly and jittery with his attention, "Not that I would have ever thought that this would..."

"I would have brought some supplies, if I had known we'd be doing this." Perpetua finally lifts his gaze from your toes and smiles at you, his fingers wrapping around your foot and setting in to a steady, even pressure, "I would have treated you to a full pedicure."

Thinking of the Papa giving you a pedicure makes you laugh, and he shares in the sound, but it's a little hesitant, like he's only making it a joke based on your reaction. You're not sure what to make of that, and find yourself falling silent once more, a warm, nervous glow building in your stomach.

"See, doesn't that feel better?" Perpetua says softly, his fingers surprisingly cool as he wraps them around one toe and tugs gently, massaging, before moving on to the next one, "It feels nicer like this, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," you swallow thickly, head feeling dizzy with the feeling of his expert fingers on your skin, "It really does."

He hums again, this time in approval, as he slides his palm along the bottom of your foot before taking a knuckle and rotating it against your arch. You gasp and flinch, surprised by just how sore the area is.

"Oh, does it hurt?" He softens his touch but continues working the area, his steady gaze on your face as he rubs and soothes the ache, "But it's a good kind of hurt, no?"

"Y-yes," You manage, trying to bat away perverse thoughts as the soreness of your tired foot slowly melts into a pleasant warmth. It really does feel good-- The initial pain is subsiding, the overworked muscles loosening and relaxing under his expert ministrations. "Fuck..."

The breathy expletive leaves you before you can catch yourself, and you can feel your cheeks prickling with how fast they heat up. You had practically moaned the word...You don't know when it happened, but you're reclining against the couch, and you quickly sit up.

Perpetua grins, hand cupping the ball of your foot as he squeezes it rhythmically, "Don't be afraid to make noise. I like to know that you're feeling good."

Why does everything he say feel so...

"Are you doing that on purpose?" You try to say it playfully, but there's a shake in your voice that makes your words feel little.

He cocks his head to the side and gives you an innocent look but it feels calculated, a little too oblivious. Especially when he slides a finger between two of your toes slowly, purposefully, "Doing what?"

"Everything you're saying, it feels..." You trail off, knowing he catches your meaning and not wanting to say it out loud.

"Perverted?" He finishes, eyes flitting over your face. He slides his finger out from between your toes and holds your foot, hands finally stilling as he looks meaningfully up at you, voice growing a shade softer, "I can stop, if you want."

"N-no, that's not what I-- I mean I just--" You flounder with your words, feeling yourself sweat under his unwaveringly sincere gaze, "I just didn't know if I was, you know...." You've already dug your hole, so you sigh and lay yourself in it, for better or worse. "I didn't know if I was reading too much into it, is all."

"Perhaps I've been teasing you too much," Perpetua's voice is nearly a whisper, his eyes burning into you with a weight that makes it hard to breathe, "Would you like for me to be more direct?"

You swear you feel your heart stop. Even with the situation, his expression, his words, you still can't help but think that you're misinterpreting something, because there's no way that Papa-- the Papa-- is flirting with you, right?

Not trusting your words, you give a small nod.

You feel his touch tighten ever so slightly around your foot, "Are you sure?"

You nod again.

He holds your gaze as he brings your foot towards himself, slowly, meaningfully, as if to give you ample time to pull away, to stop him.

You don't.

He holds your leg over his lap and you see his tongue swipe along his painted bottom lip before he gently sets your foot down, along his upper thigh. You immediately understand why-- you can feel his erection pressing against the side of your foot. When had he gotten hard? Had be been hard this entire time? Your mind races as you stare at each other, a long, heavy silence pulling between you as you feel his cock throb softly, excitedly against you.

"Is that direct enough for you?" He says, a small smile pulling at his lips-- devilish, yet nervous.

Rather than stumble out a reply, you raise your big toe and rub up against his cock. The movement feels clumsy, but Perpetua shivers nonetheless, his eyelids fluttering as he lets out a small, breathy noise.

"O-oh..." He looks down, hands sliding up to gently hold your ankle as he watches your toes flex and move along his length. He seems transfixed, breaths light and fast, lips parted as his thighs flex and tremble.

You slide your foot down his thigh, letting the side of it drag down his cock, then move back up, then back down...

Perpetua moans softly, breathily, then clears his throat, his head raising to look at you. His pupils have blown wide, his expression downright debauched as he shifts his hands to your neglected leg. He begins to massage your other foot, his touch far more weighted and sensual now. Every press and rub has your core flexing and a pleased groan leaves you-- and it's not just for show. Now that he's moving the way he wants, he's really getting into it, working deep into your sore muscles, his hips rolling up against the foot on his cock as his fingers deftly find and massage every ache. You can feel your heartbeat in your pussy and part your knees, wondering if he can smell your arousal from his spot on the floor. The action draws his eyes down between your legs before they flitter back to your face.

"Is that, mmm--" He bites his lip and bucks his hips against your foot before continuing, "An invitation?"

You open your mouth to moan out an answer, but you're cut off as you hear the door open. The both of you whip your heads around and see Jesus poking his head in the door, his bored expression turning to shock, then sheepishness as he quickly closes the door. A moment later, you hear his muffled voice.

"Sound check in 5, Papa."

Perpetua holds his pose for a moment more before deflating with a sigh and raising his voice, "Thank you." He turns back to you, disappointment bordering on despair written across his face as he looks you over. "Sorry...Duty calls, it seems."

Your heart is hammering with shock (and a fair share of your own disappointment) as you nod and sit up, your foot regretfully sliding away from it's position against Perpetua's cock. You reach towards your shoes, but Perpetua is quicker, picking up your socks and sliding them back on.

He looks up at you quickly as he grabs one of your shoes and helps you into it, "Perhaps...If you aren't too tired after the Ritual--"

"Yes." you say before he can finish.

He grins as he puts on your other shoe, "Good." He gives your feet a pat when he finishes and hops up, straightening his jacket. "Until tonight, then."

He offers you a little bow before turning on his heel and heading towards the door.

[karmicbias]

Might have to use a sword to open my treatsies again

[karmicbias]

technically we’re ALL, always LARPing, because the Self is only a construct,

[karmicbias]

and here, class, we see a heifer attempting to impregnate a bull:

[karmicbias]

PBS being like we want a celebrity to host our science show, let's ask this guy who's famous for playing a doctor, and then that guy being like sure but I want to actually do science, and then spending the next decade complaining that the producers were trying to kill him, and then actually almost dying while literally just hanging out an observatory

[karmicbias]

AI industry groups are urging an appeals court to block what they say is the largest copyright class action ever certified. They’ve warned that a single lawsuit raised by three authors over Anthropic’s AI training now threatens to “financially ruin” the entire AI industry if up to 7 million claimants end up joining the litigation and forcing a settlement.

well…darn

[karmicbias]

.... I have no excuse for this other than "I was not stopped".

A follow-up to my Mean!Rain fic from the other day. I lamented that I wish I'd made more of the last section, @traayaa said "what about what happened afterwards", @forlorn-crows and @feralghxuls encouraged me, and then it was 2.5k words later and I'd plumbed a depth of my own psyche I didn't even know existed.

What resulted was this, containing: far too much cum eating, a bit of edging, Dewdrop's pathological need to be better than Swiss, ace Rain unleashing his true bastard side, and something that I'm only calling subspace because I can't think of a more accurate term.

I don't think I'm allowed to say I don't write smut anymore.

Usually, what Rain gives Swiss in the drum closet is all he needs. He just needs to work off the energy, whatever kind of energy that might be, and then he can shake it off like an animal shaking its ears dry, and get back to what he was doing before. 

Not today, apparently. 

Today, it feels like Swiss has been pushed in entirely the opposite direction, going from pliable and desperate to an unmanageable nightmare. His grins are wider, his movements are looser, he refuses to stop making innuendoes, every other line he sings is moaned like he's in heat, and he spends the whole second half of rehearsal grinding on his mic stand like a damn stripper pole. Rain swears he saw him lick it at one point. 

Under normal circumstances, he’d be content to leave it. Swiss’s moods have always been capricious, and Rain could just as easily palm him off on Dew and spend the evening playing video games and drinking wine with Cirrus. They’re overdue a night just for them. But… well. Just because he doesn’t have a sex drive, doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy a bit of lust every now and then. 

Swiss is fun when he’s like this. 

And Dew is fun when he's like this. 

Together? Asmodeus himself must watch in awe sometimes. 

So, when Copia finally calls a halt to the day’s work, Rain barely takes the time to smirk knowingly at Aether, who rolls his eyes and turns his back pointedly, before he grabs Swiss by the collar and gestures sharply at Dew. 

“Come.” 

“Oh, I’m sure he will,” Cumulus mutters with a sweet grin. Rain shoots her a wink that his captives don’t see as he stalks out of the room. 

Dew follows obediently. Rain doesn’t look back at his face, but he can feel the barely-suppressed smugness in his mind. 

Swiss snorts out a laugh. “Why’s he here?” 

Rain doesn’t look back. He just tightens his grip on Swiss’s collar as he walks. “You’ll see.” 

Twenty minutes later, it occurs to him that getting Dew involved was probably what got Swiss into this mood in the first place. But, looking at the situation he finds himself in, he can’t bring himself to complain. 

Swiss lets out a quiet whine of frustration as his naked hips grind uselessly into Rain’s lap. “Rain, come on -” 

“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” Rain interrupts smoothly. Swiss makes a noise that only escapes being called a growl because it’s so shaky and high-pitched as Rain’s fist slides torturously slow down his length again. He turns his head to the side, meeting a flickering orange gaze that’s starting to go blue around the edges. “How are your knees?” 

“Stiff,” Dew admits from his position on the floor. “Hurts.” He doesn’t make the slightest attempt to even wriggle. Rain hums appreciatively at his obedience, and a faint orange blush creeps up Dew’s cheeks. He’s pleased with himself, Rain knows it, he can see the satisfaction in every line of his face. And, really, he deserves to be. He knows how much Dew struggles with this, how he usually has to have submission dragged out of him along with blood, spit and bile. But he’d dropped to his knees almost before Rain had needed to give him the instruction, and hasn’t moved a muscle since, except to open his mouth. 

Speaking of that. 

Swiss keens out a low groan as Rain’s fist slides up his cock again, hips bucking desperately into the tight circle of his grip. Rain watches in satisfaction as a thick, pearly drop forms at the tip, waiting for it to threaten to fall before he swipes it up with his thumb. For one brief moment, he’s tempted to take it for himself, more out of curiosity than anything else, but the hunger in the two pairs of eyes fixed on him soon pushes that thought out of his mind. He can’t deprive them like that. 

“Up.” He gestures with his free hand at Dew, carefully balancing the thick drop on his thumb, and Dew gracefully rises onto his knees, hiding his wince as the movement makes the stiff joints click audibly. 

Swiss makes the kind of noise that indicates that, if his feet weren't folded under himself, he’d be kicking them like a kit throwing a tantrum. “Rain, come on, please, this isn’t fair, you’re -” 

“You’re already on my last nerve, Swiss, don’t make things worse for yourself,” Rain sighs without even glancing at him. Dew’s eyes flash wickedly, but he stays silent. “Open.” 

Dew opens his mouth wide, long split tongue stretched out expectantly, and Swiss nearly starts sobbing again as Rain smears his thumb over it, leaving a thick, shiny trail behind it that has Dew’s eyes flickering closed in bliss. 

“You can sit down.” 

Dew sinks back to sit on his heels again, but not before he closes his lips around Rain’s thumb tightly, settling down to suck and lick every last trace of Swiss from the skin with a low, contented moan. 

“Good,” Rain murmurs. Dew hums around his thumb, and Rain doesn’t bother to resist the urge to stroke his jawline softly with his fingers while Dew pins his hand in place. “You’re unusually docile today.” 

Dew’s eyes open slightly, flicking upwards at Swiss, and Rain sees the smirk on his lips at the same time he feels the vibration of Swiss’s furious growl. 

Oh. Of course. 

It’s not obedience. 

It’s spite. 

Well. Does it matter, really? 

“Stop,” he murmurs, and, reluctantly, Dew opens his mouth with a lascivious pop. A long string of spit connects his thumb to Dew’s bottom lip, and he smears it roughly up the fire ghoul’s cheek. From the pleased rumble Dew lets out, anyone would think Rain had kissed him. “Good boy.” 

“Yeah, and what the fuck about me, huh?” Swiss whines. Rain tuts tiredly and rolls not only his eyes, but his whole head as he turns to fix him with a bored glare. “I was good, I came quickly, I kept quiet, I didn’t stare at you for the rest of rehearsal…” His hands settle on Rain’s chest, a desperate, grasping gesture that Rain isn’t even sure he knows he’s making until he grabs one of Swiss’s wrists and squeezes. 

He sees the moment Swiss realises he’s in trouble, and if he was hard, he’s pretty sure his cock would have twitched at the sight. 

“Did I tell you you could touch me?” he asks, silky smooth and dangerous, and he hears Dew let out a nearly-silent snicker, barely more than a huff of breath as Swiss’s eyes go wide. 

“No, but -” 

“Then why did you touch me?” 

Swiss gives a nervous chuckle. “What, I can’t touch you now?” 

“No.” 

“Rain, come on -” 

“Can you get up, Dew?” Rain cuts over him, holding out a hand for Dew. At first he doesn’t take it, but when he stumbles as his stiff, sore knees straighten out, he grabs onto it frantically. “You okay?” 

Dew nods. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Good.” With the barest tug on the waistband of Dew’s jeans, Rain tempts him down into a slow, languid kiss, and Swiss lets out a pathetic, agonised groan as Dew makes damn sure he sees how their tongues slide over each other. When they break apart, Rain presses one last, chaste peck to his lips, silently brushing against his mind with a wicked-tasting thought, one that speaks volumes of their years of shared mischief, as he murmurs just loud enough for Swiss to hear. “You want to be good for me?” 

“Yes, sir,” Dew breathes, playing along flawlessly, and Rain hears Swiss scoff in disbelief. Graciously, he decides to ignore him, choosing instead to trail his fingertips over Dew’s cheek in a gesture that would be tender if he wasn’t smearing spit and precum over the curve of his cheekbone. 

“Hold his arms for me.” 

Dew moves so fast, Swiss doesn’t even have time to do much more than whine before his arms are pinned behind his back. Rain can’t hold back his satisfied hum at the sight before him, at the look of utter betrayal on Swiss’s face and Dew’s smug smirk, his chin hooked over Swiss’s shoulder. 

“You’re such a bastard today,” Swiss snarls, thrashing ineffectively against Dew’s deceptive strength. 

“And you are edging me closer and closer to a complete loss of my extensive patience.” 

“I think he’s the one being edged,” Dew smirks, leaning in to nip at Swiss’s earlobe with sharp fangs, and Swiss lets out a noise of the most abject misery as the sting makes him buck up into Rain’s fist. 

“What’s even your…” Swiss trails off into a pathetic moan as Rain’s hand tightens on an upstroke, methodically working out another bead of pre from the head of his cock. “What’s your end-goal here?” he finishes eventually, his chest heaving as he pants through the heavy weight of the slow, cruel pleasure Rain’s wringing out of him. “What are you even punishing me for?” 

Rain hums softly as he swipes up Dew’s prize on two callused fingertips and holds it up between them, turning his hand slowly to observe the way it shines in the dying sunlight. Dew whines softly over Swiss’s shoulder, and Rain has to hide a laugh at the way their captive's body moves in his lap as Dew grinds against his back. 

He reaches up and wipes it across Swiss’s cheek. 

Swiss’s cock twitches in his hand and he sobs openly at last as Dew leans in to lick it up. He teases, slow and wanton, letting out the most obscene moan Rain’s ever heard as he savours the taste of salt and metal and the rasp of Swiss’s stubble under his tongue. 

“Who says this has anything to do with you?” Rain answers at last, over Dew’s satisfied groans. Swiss lets out a soft choked sound as Dew’s long fingers wrap around his throat to keep his head in place. “I’m giving Dew a treat. The only reason you’re even here is because I needed your cock.” 

A low, keening whimper slips out of Swiss’s lips as a faint shimmer finally appears between his closed eyelids. 

Finally satisfied with how clean Swiss’s cheek is, Dew drags one final, long lick over his cheekbone. “He’s so vain.” 

“So self-absorbed,” Rain agrees, gently tucking a strand of Dew’s hair behind his ear with the hand that’s not steadily milking pre out of Swiss’s aching, twitching cock. Swiss whimpers again and tries to thrust up into him, but, caught between the iron grip Rain has on him and Dew’s immovable pressure on his back, he can’t do much more than writhe pitifully, thighs shaking with a tell-tale tension around Rain’s hips. “It’s lucky for him that we actually want him to cum, hm?” 

Dew hums out a soft agreement, nosing idly under Swiss’s ear. “Otherwise you might keep him on edge for hours. Aching and desperate and begging. Instead of letting him cum all over himself, all over your fingers, just so I can lap it all up…” Swiss shakes as he sobs quietly, his thighs trembling around Rain’s legs, and Rain can see the sharp glee in Dew’s eyes that means he knows exactly how close Swiss is. He leans in and nips sharply at Swiss’s earlobe, and Rain feels the sensation ratchet Swiss right to the very edge. He’s going to cum now, no matter what they do, and he can see the panic in Swiss’s eyes as his hand slows, fear that the orgasm he's been chasing for half an hour is going to be ruined, until Dew hisses his final blow right against his ear. “Fuck, I can’t wait to taste it.” 

Swiss arches his back so hard as he cums, it pushes Dew back a step. 

Rain works him through it till he twitches, steadily and methodically pumping every drop of Dew’s prize out of him, first in long, pearly streaks up his stomach and chest, and then in weak spurts that barely manage to dribble out and leak over Rain's knuckles. He only stops when Swiss’s gasping, frantic moans turn to whimpers of overstimulation, easing his hand off the head of his cock with a flick of his wrist just to wring one final mewl out of him, and Swiss slumps against Dew’s chest, breath ragged and hips still twitching feebly. 

Rain catches Dew’s eye, and he sees the same adoration for the ghoul between them he feels in his own chest reflected there. It’s hidden beneath his vicious, determined need to best Swiss and his cumdrunk haze, but it’s there, unmistakeable. 

Dew has the common decency to wait until Swiss looks like he’s at least partially back in his body before he starts whining impatiently, grinding against his back again and pushing him forward in Rain’s lap as he leans in for Rain’s fingers. “Come on, gimme…” 

“Have some manners,” Rain tuts. Swiss whines quietly without opening his eyes, limp and tired in Rain’s lap. 

“Please,” Dew groans, lust-clouded eyes fixed on the white stains on Rain’s fingers. “Please let me have it, let me taste him on your fingers…” 

“Good boy.” 

Swiss makes the most pathetic attempt to intercept Rain’s fingers before Dew can get his tongue on them, but all he achieves is a small smudge on his chin that he knows better than to try and lick off. 

Dew moans like he’s the one who just came as he sucks Rain’s fingers clean greedily, forked tongue swiping hungrily over the skin in search of every last drop. Even with the easy connection he has to Swiss's mind, Rain can only imagine how he must feel with those moans and those wet, hungry sounds so close to his ear. His cock is already twitching weakly again. 

“Good?” 

“So fucking good,” Dew gasps in between dragging a particularly long lick over Rain’s palm and sucking his middle finger so deep into his mouth, Rain thinks he could flick his tonsils if he tried. There’s no artifice in his desperation, Rain knows it all too well - this is just how he gets when he’s given the chance to swallow his favorite treat. He finally pulls his head back, satisfied that he’s caught every last drop. “Thank you, sir.” 

“You are so welcome, my good boy,” Rain purrs as he swipes up another streak of cum from Swiss’s stomach, ignoring the shiver that makes those tight muscles twitch beneath his touch. Dew darts forward just as greedily to start cleaning his fingers again, a hungry sigh falling from his lips before they close tight around Rain’s knuckles. “Let’s see how many we can get out of him before he has nothing left for you.” 

Swiss whimpers out a tired sob.

[karmicbias]

Osculum Obscenum

Do not talk to me, do not look at me, this is all @anotherghoul666's fault. @nocturnalghoul you wanted to read this too so here, enjoy the nonsense.

It's 3.1k of two characters who were never supposed to be anything and I'm now fucking obsessed with them. Why am I like thissssssSSSSS.

Featuring: period-typical internalised homophobia, arcane drug use, the author using their characters as a mouthpiece for venting about religious bigotry, Omega being a badass, Clay being a golden retriever and Asmodeo being... Asmodeo. No smut but there is gratuitous amounts of kissing, mild gore (non-graphic mentions of a tendon injury) and references to sex. Clay's also covered in his own blood, if that's relevant.

“Can you flex your fingers for me?” 

Clay winced as he tried to obey. His thumb didn’t move. 

“Shit, man, it -” 

“Hush.” The calm tone of the other guy’s voice washed over him like a soft wave, crushing the swell of panic that was trying to fill Clay’s chest. The other guy tutted as he turned Clay’s hand over carefully, before a burst of warmth filled his wrist, and… 

His thumb twitched lazily. 

The man holding his hand made a quiet noise that Clay assumed was satisfaction. “There. All good.” 

“You sure, man?” He pulled his hand back, flexing his fingers again and examining them all carefully. They moved without any sign anything had ever been wrong. “... Huh. Okay, yeah, sure. All good.” 

The man huffed out a small laugh through his nose. “I know what I’m doing, don’t worry. I've had to do this exact thing far more than I'd like to admit.” 

The girl standing behind him groaned quietly. “Megs, I swear, this time I didn’t mean -” 

The guy - Meg? What kind of name was that for a dude? - held up a hand, and she fell silent immediately. “I don’t want to hear it. Just don’t do it again. Okay?” Clay heard her hum out her agreement as she nodded. “Run off and have fun somewhere else. Preferably without biting anyone, hm?” 

Clay heard the rapid click of her heels as she scurried away, and Meg sighed. 

“Sorry about her. She gets carried away easily.” 

“Nah, it’s fine, bro. If a chick like that wants to play vampire, she can drink me down like a cheap scotch.” He tried to grin with his usual cockiness, but he could feel it was weak and unconvincing. Meg rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket. 

“Have you taken anything tonight?” 

“What are you, a cop?” Clay drawled. Meg raised an eyebrow, and Clay felt his whole soul fill with apprehension, and a rock-solid certainty that he should do everything he could to avoid pissing this guy off. “No.” 

“Good.” Meg grabbed an abandoned glass of wine from the table next to him and dropped in a small green ball. It fizzed for a few seconds, before dissolving completely in a swirl of blue bubbles. Meg handed the glass to him. “Drink that slowly. Make it last ten minutes, if you can.” 

“What is it?” Clay asked, holding the glass up to the light and turning it. There wasn’t a single trace that anything except wine had ever been there. 

“It’ll help replenish your blood.” 

Clay stared at him incredulously. “Come on, man, she didn’t really drink my blood.” 

Meg sighed as he stood up. “You believe that, if it makes you feel better.” He clapped Clay on the shoulder with the tired exasperation of an older brother. “Look after yourself and stay away from that girl. I’m going to have a word with her.”

“Can you give her my number?” 

Meg didn’t respond. When Clay turned to look, he had vanished completely into the crowd. 

Warily, he sniffed the wine. It didn’t smell of anything except cheap white wine. Maybe a faint hint of… aniseed? He took a cautious sip, and found that trace of aniseed still, with something sweet. Something like maple syrup, but earthier. It took a considerable amount of his willpower not to chug the whole thing in one go - something about the memory of Meg’s eyes stuck in his mind and made him want to obey. 

There was no way they were actually purple. He was just drunk already, that had to be it. 

He wandered through the party idly, taking in the sights, the wild outfits, the casual debauchery. A few people glanced his way, but he felt like it was more for the fact he'd lost his shirt somewhere, rather than the fake blood smeared all over his arms and chest. One girl, wearing so much eyeshadow he thought she might have been wearing a panda costume, gave him a hungry smirk from across the room, and he raised his glass in a cheeky salute. 

As she turned away to mutter to her friend, he thought for sure he saw orange flash in her eyes. 

This party was fucking weird. 

Eventually, he managed to wander his way through a huge set of French windows and out into a blessedly cool evening. His eyes fluttered closed and he let out a quiet sigh of relief as the breeze whispered across his overwarm skin. He swore he could hear it whispering in his ear, too, quiet tempting words of peace and happiness. He felt a hand ghost over his bare waist, but when he opened his eyes, there was no-one there. 

Well. Almost no-one. 

Across the wide stone-paved terrace, a figure, half-veiled in shadows, perched on the low wall that looked down over the gardens. As he approached, the figure’s head whipped round, attention caught by the sound of clattering gravel, and behind the curtain of long hair, Clay saw a familiar, corpse-painted face. 

It stared, dead-eyed, and then grinned at him like a ghost in a cheap horror movie. 

“Almost didn’t recognise you with your shirt off,” he said, unfolding himself from his seat on the wall. Clay decided not to risk pissing him off by pointing out what a stupid thing that was to say. “Having fun?”

“Yeah, man, your chicks know how to party.” He gestured briefly towards the house with his wineglass. 

The guy caught his wrist and pulled the glass to his face to sniff it, and barked out a laugh. “Oh, the twins got you, huh?” 

“The… huh?” 

The guy let his gaze drag over Clay’s chest and arm obviously. 

Something twisted oddly in his gut at the obvious approval in those painted eyes. 

“Yeah, they got you,” he murmured with a quiet chuckle, almost to himself. Clay tried to laugh along with him. “Bet Megs patch you right up, though.” 

“The big guy?” Clay gestured with the glass again. “Yeah, he, uh… gave me something to drink, did something to my wrist. Think the one with the big hair pulled one of my tendons or something.” 

“Or something,” the guy echoed with a distant, knowing smile. 

He fixed Clay with one of the most piercing looks he’d ever experienced. 

It went on for longer than he could say. He’d never felt so… exposed, under one man’s eyes. And he couldn’t do anything except meet that gaze meekly, letting him take whatever it was he was looking for. 

A thought flashed across his mind, searing hot and tempting, and he shoved it away with an almost physical effort. And it was what finally managed to break the pressure of his new companion’s stare. 

Frantically scrabbling for something to do to break the awkward tension, he held his free hand out. “Clay.” 

The other guy stared at his hand for a moment, before looking back up to him. A smirk curled the edges of his lips. “Asmodeo.” 

Clay chuckled. “Nice name, you get it from a book?” 

“Yes, actually.” 

Clay jumped slightly as cold fingers finally wrapped around his own. But, instead of a brief handshake and a hasty retreat, Asmodeo slowly, deliberately, lifted Clay’s hand to his lips. 

And, cold dark eyes never leaving his, kissed his knuckles. 

He was so dumbfounded, it took him a good five seconds, five seconds filled with staring blankly with his mouth hanging open, before he snatched his hand back. “What the fuck, man?” 

Asmodeo just gave another one of those amused, wide-eyed grins. “What?” 

“Look, you’ve been real sweet letting me and Neil crash your party, but -” 

“Neil?” Asmodeo cut across him, confused. 

Clay gestured vaguely at his own head, intending to indicate Neil’s short black hair. “The guy I got here with.” 

Asmodeo’s eyes lit up suddenly as he burst into a sharp, high-pitched laugh that seemed to drag its fingers up Clay’s spine. “Oh, she’s going to love that…”

“But I’m not…” Clay interrupted, flailing desperately a little with his free hand. Almost unconsciously, he lifted the wineglass to his lips and drained the last of its contents. 

Asmodeo raised an eyebrow pointedly. “Not what?”

Clay followed his dark gaze to the elegant, slender wineglass hanging limply from his fingers. 

He looked back at Asmodeo. 

Asmodeo grinned knowingly. 

He hurled the glass across the garden like it had turned into a snake. 

The other man tutted as he watched its trajectory. “That’s the eleventh glass we’ve lost tonight,” he muttered mournfully. 

“Look, man, I’m fucking flattered, really I am!” Clay almost screeched. “But I’m not… you know…” Asmodeo turned his gaze back to him just in time to see him make an effeminate gesture with his wrist. He raised an eyebrow disapprovingly. 

“How do you know?” 

“I’ve never fucked a dude, man!” Clay almost whimpered. 

Asmodeo gave a smirk that wouldn’t look out of place on a shark. “Nor have I.” 

Nothing could have forced his brain to come up with any sort of response to that. 

The skinny man sighed, pushing a strand of his long hair back behind his ear as he looked at Clay almost pityingly. “Look, my friend. I’m not saying you are or you’re not. It’s not my business. But at least consider why you're getting this upset about it.” 

“Cause… it’s…” Clay floundered, pinned under Asmodeo’s piercing gaze. “It’s… it’s not right, man, y’know?” 

“And who says it’s not right?” 

Clay’s mouth opened and closed a few times, silently. 

“The Church, right? God?” He spat the word with a vehemence that made Clay flinch. He nodded silently, and Asmodeo returned the gesture tightly. “Are you a godly kind of man, Clay?” 

“Not really,” he muttered, shifting on the balls of his feet like a schoolboy being scolded. “I mean, I go with my grandma at Christmas, but…” 

“But you don’t really believe it,” Asmodeo finished for him, and there was nothing unkind in his voice. In fact, he sounded understanding. Relieved, almost. Clay shook his head. “It’s just what you do because you’ve been taught to do it. Because it makes your grandmother happy. But she doesn’t live your life, you do. So why are you letting yourself be beholden to the senseless, hateful restrictions of a religion you don’t believe in?” 

“Shit, man, I don’t know, I just -” 

Clay’s guilty mumbling was cut off by a soft touch on his cheek as a long, elegant hand settled along his jawline. A gentle touch, something meant only to distract, to shock him into silence, retreating immediately once Clay closed his mouth. 

He felt himself whine at the loss of the contact. Asmodeo smiled - not the wild-eyed grins Clay was already used to, but something softer. More human, almost. 

“It’s okay.” 

He hadn’t realised how much he’d needed, his whole life, to hear someone say that to him. The only reason he didn’t choke on the knot of emotion in his throat was the calm, steadying pressure of Asmodeo’s gaze in his own. 

“You don’t need to stay here, Clay,” he murmured. “If you go home tonight and you never want to think about this place again, that’s okay. That’s your choice to make.” Long cold fingers brushed against his own, and he grabbed at them unconsciously, twisting his grip around Asmodeo’s till he felt the smaller man squeeze back just as tightly. “But if you want to stay, you can. And you can work out for yourself what you want to find here.” 

His breath shook as he let it out in a long, quiet exhale, and he saw something flicker in Asmodeo’s eyes. Something he wanted, so badly, to believe was concern. Affection. God, he wanted to believe this weird, fucked-up skuzz bucket cared what happened to him. That anyone cared, but especially him. 

That cold touch brushed softly over his knuckles again, and he let Asmodeo lift his hand again, let him press it to his lips again while those grave-deep eyes bored into him without respite.

“What did you want to find?” he finally managed to whisper. 

Asmodeo let out a quiet huff of laughter, and Clay thought he heard a tinge of melancholy in the sound. Long buried, but once so heavy. “A home.” 

Oh, that hurt more than he would ever have been able to imagine even a few hours ago. “And you found it?” 

Asmodeo smiled against his knuckles with a brightness in his eyes that made Clay’s heart ache happily. “Yeah, I found it. I found everything I ever wanted, and everything it never occurred to me to want.”

Clay swallowed quietly, unable to pull his gaze away from Asmodeo’s. “I don’t know what to want.” 

Asmodeo’s smile turned dark. Inviting. “Then start with something simple. Want happiness.” His other hand began to trace gently up Clay’s bare arm, a light touch that left plenty of space for him to pull away. “Or… pleasure.” 

Clay heard himself gasp, the sound devastatingly loud in the still night air, as Asmodeo’s touch came to rest under his chin, holding him in place with nothing but the light pressure of the point of his knuckle. Asmodeo’s lips curled knowingly, and Clay couldn’t help his eye being drawn to them. 

He knew he was staring. He couldn’t make himself stop. Under the messy, smudged black paint, those lips looked so fucking inviting. 

“I’ve never kissed a guy before,” he whispered, barely even aware of telling his lips to move. 

Asmodeo’s thumb brushed gently over Clay’s chin. “You should try it. You might like it.” 

“What if I don’t?” 

He breathed out a quiet laugh. “Then you don’t need to do it again.” 

Clay nodded distractedly, eyes still fixed on those thin lips, the paint-stained stubble around them. His whole mind was filled with nothing except the thought of what it might feel like brushing against his own. “What if… what if I do?” 

Another laugh, louder, more inviting. “Then you'll have fun finding out.” 

Clay was kissing him before he realised he’d moved. His body surged forward of its own accord, and the first he knew of it was when he felt Asmodeo’s stubble scratching against his own and his mind filled with nothing but yes, good, strange but good, more. He felt Asmodeo’s chest rumble against his own as he sighed out a noise of satisfaction, and shivered as that cold hand under his chin slid to cradle the back of his head carefully. 

He’d never felt so… cared for. 

He felt a thumb brush across his cheek, and couldn’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed about the tears he felt being brushed away under the touch. 

Asmodeo’s lips moved slowly against his own, so much warmer than his hands and just as careful, rougher than any woman he’d ever kissed but gentler, somehow, like he knew how fast Clay’s mind was racing and wanted to contrast it. To give him something caring to cling to. He heard himself whine into the kiss as something warm and slick traced along his bottom lip, and he was opening for it before he’d even fully realised it was Asmodeo’s tongue. 

A guy had his tongue in his mouth, sliding hot and wet against his own, and he was loving it. 

He pulled away just as suddenly as he had leaned in, gasping for breath in a way that had nothing to do with how long the kiss had lasted and staring at Asmodeo with wide, wild eyes. He looked back at him, calm and composed and barely flustered, nothing except a faint pink glow creeping down under the black circles of his eyes to indicate anything had happened. 

“I think I'm in love with my best friend,” Clay blurted out. 

Asmodeo burst out laughing, his eyes full of the unpredictable wild energy that Clay already couldn’t get enough of. “Of course you are. Everyone’s in love with their best friend.” He reached up and pushed a strand of hair back from Clay’s forehead. “And that one’s something very special indeed.” He gave a knowing smile that Clay didn’t quite know how to interpret. “Stick close to him. He’s going to need friends like you.” 

“What do you -” 

“‘Deo, Her Highness is asking for you,” a voice - a familiar voice - called from the French windows, and Clay pushed down the instinct to step away from Asmodeo. Something inside his soul told him that kind of caution wasn’t needed here. Meg stepped out of the house and into the darkness of the night, his features clarifying as the shadows won out over the lights of the party, and even in the dim light Clay could see the quirk of his eyebrow as his eyes flickered over the black paint that was doubtlessly smeared all over his chin. “Do I need to tell Cain anything?” he asked. 

Asmodeo laughed. “You can tell Cain whatever you like, he’ll just be mad I didn’t let him watch.” He clapped Clay on the shoulder warmly, squeezing just a little, and Clay covered the long cold fingers with his own almost unconsciously. “Come find me if you need anything, okay? Ask anyone, they’ll know where I am.” 

“Wait -” Clay tried to ignore the way his stomach lurched as Asmodeo’s hand left his shoulder, the loss of the touch of his hand on his bare skin almost too much too bear for a fraction of a second. “What… where are you going?” 

He winced internally at how fucking childish he sounded, but Asmodeo didn’t seem to notice, or care. “I’ve got some work to do.” He reached out and brushed his knuckles over Clay’s cheek gently for a moment. “It won’t take all night. If you’re still here when I’m done, I’ll find you.” 

“Okay. Yeah.” He didn’t have the strength to be embarrassed at how eager he sounded. 

Asmodeo gave another of those wild-eyed grins and vanished back into the house. 

Clay stared after him for a good ten seconds. 

“He doesn’t fuck, you know,” Meg told him, the sound of his voice startling Clay out of his reverie. 

He turned to stare at the guy, and in this light, he could clearly see the glint of purple in his eyes. 

It should have scared him.

Instead, something tight and frayed in his chest snapped at last, leaving behind nothing but the strongest sense of freedom he had ever felt. 

“Do you?” 

Meg stared at him for a second, before a slow, amused smile spread over his face. “You couldn’t handle it.” 

“Try me,” he demanded. 

Meg laughed out loud, a deep sound that seemed to rattle all the way through Clay’s soul. “Careful what you wish for, bold one,” he murmured, taking one long, slow step in towards Clay. “You’re new here. You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“So show me,” Clay demanded, holding out his hand. 

Meg looked down at it for a moment. 

He looked up again, caught Clay’s gaze in his own, and took his hand. 

“If you insist.”

[karmicbias]

writing tip #3901:

if you don't want some weirdo on the internet to accuse you of using AI, just STOP using em dashes, semicolons, ellipses, commas, long words, letters,

[karmicbias]

hiya! I know you wanted to take a break from writing so this is for whenever you feel like you want to get back into it. I’d love your take on Copia and Perpetua playing video games together. <3 -stellargh0ul

oh, cute! spiritual successor to this. copia x reader; papa v & reader (platonic). everyone is friends, but they are still brothers so the cain instinct never fully goes away. influenced by this adorable piece of fanart. enjoy @stellargh0ul!

"No, see, you've got to drift, or you'll just slide right off the edge of the road."

"I am drifting."

"No you're not, you're pressing the item button."

"It's hard with the claws," Perpetua snaps, but he still manages to squeak first place anyway, and Copia glares at him from across his controller.

"If you can't get along I'm unplugging the console," you say, and the two of them look at you like you've threatened to throw a puppy off the roof. "Anyway, here's your sodas."

You pass Copia his diet cola, opened with a little straw in it, along with a kiss to his cheek. Perpetua asked for his still sealed, and when he takes it you see why - he pierces the side of the can with his fangs and seals his mouth over the punctures, as if he's feeding from it like an artery. You and Copia watch in half-horror, half-amazement.

"Thank you, you're very kind, and a gracious host," he says with a smile. It's hard not to return it when he seems so sincere.

"I think you're a gracious host too, amore mio," Copia adds quickly, and you roll your eyes.

"Thank you, baby. Why don't the two of you play TimeSplitters? Then you're playing together, rather than competing," you reason. Also you don't want to keep listening to them bicker, you're trying to enjoy listening to a podcast in the other room and it's getting on your nerves.

"Oh, yes, good idea! You will like TimeSplitters, fratello, it's silly," Copia says, clambering over to the TV to switch discs. You have to smile at the sight of them getting along. A scant few weeks ago Copia hated his brother's guts, and now the two of them are as thick as thieves. They are prone to squabbling, but they're twins, so it's sort of part of the territory. There are more good days than bad ones now, though, Copia finally settling into being Frater, no longer viciously jealous of Perpetua's success as frontman.

You also find Perpetua effortlessly endearing. Your heart melted a bit when he told you he'd never had a real family before and here, now, all gangly limbs tucked in neatly to fit on your sofa, you're finding you enjoy having a brother, too.

"Do you want to stay for dinner, Perpetua?" you ask.

"Oh, if it's not too much trouble..."

"Of course it's no trouble. We will all get pizza, my treat, okiedokie?" Copia says, settling back in his place on the couch.

"Okiedokie," Perpetua repeats, smile splitting his face in two.

[karmicbias]

A Touch Too Close - Prologue

My new fic finally begins! A few of you voted on a poll a while back for this concept, and I am VERY excited to start sharing this with you.

Summary: With a life of care-free traveling and adventure wearing thin, a new job opportunity may have arrived at exactly the right time - Papa Emeritus IV's personal masseuse for the upcoming Ghost tour. Ready to settle down but not really having anywhere to call home, will one last adventure help you decide where you belong?

Rating: will be Explicit 18+, MDNI! Since this is more of an intro to set the scene, you can read this first part in full below, or on AO3. In future, I'll be posting links to new chapters as they're uploaded.

A light breeze from the open balcony door roused you unapologetically from your afternoon siesta. You groaned as you opened your eyes; the glow of the sunset still too bright for your lingering hangover. While you were grateful for a comfortable bed to wake up in, it took you a moment to remember where you were. That tended to happen when traveling, never staying in one place for more than a few days before growing restless for the next adventure and the next brand new place to see. That ever-present need to explore and keep moving had been your only driving force for as long as you could remember. An until now comforting constant in the chaos of always chasing something, anything new.

It had crept up on you slowly. You weren't sure you could pinpoint when it had started, but somehow the excitement of living moment to moment had in itself become routine. The freedom of so much choice now came with a side of anxiety. And the realisation that even if you wanted to go home you couldn't think of where that might be tinged everything with a hint of loneliness.

Rolling out of bed, you grabbed your phone and padded over to the balcony while rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The sea air and the glittering calm water below was enough to ground you, at least for a moment, but it didn't last long as your phone vibrated. Stifling a yawn, you opened the text message - the schedule availability for the massage parlor that had offered you some part time work. You begrudgingly replied, agreeing to a few shifts over the next couple of days. Whether that money would be used for more nights in this hotel or for a plane ticket was still undecided.

Its contents still playing on your mind from last night, you then opened your emails and stared at the most recent one. You re-read the same section over and over in your mind.

Thank you for making us aware that your license has expired. We appreciate your honesty in this regard and, as your recommendation comes from a trusted source, our offer of employment still stands.

Although the job description had been strange, you did actually have experience of being a personal masseuse to touring musicians. It had never been such a formal arrangement and had either been for free travel or because you were dating one of the band members, but you did know it was a position you could handle. Even if there was an expectation of "extra" services, at least this time you would be being generously compensated for them. Obviously, in a professional job offer they had not stated this as part of the deal but the chances of being asked were never zero, especially, you assumed, from this particular organisation.

As you were pondering your options, your phone buzzed again with a text message from the only person who could have possibly been their trusted source.

Please tell me you've said yes? At the very least it means we maybe get to see each other and catch up. It's been too long! xxx

You couldn't help but smile. You were exceedingly lucky to have a best friend who didn't mind you disappearing for months or, in the most recent case, years at a time. Of course you would text back and forth every so often, mostly so she wouldn't worry something awful had happened to you, but she was right that you were long overdue a face-to-face.

She had a similar sense of adventure as you but it just so happened that her adventure was joining the ministry of a Satanic church. You had traveled together for a while after college, but once she had found them, she couldn't bring herself to leave. You had been surprised and more than a little suspicious but whatever made her happy, you supposed. And while you hadn't followed them closely, you couldn't deny that what little you had heard of their musical side project was pretty good.

Even if it was a ruse just to get you back to her, you know your best friend wouldn't sign you up to work for someone awful, nor would she have stayed with them for so long if they were. You would still be traveling and it would be something a bit different. If nothing else, it would give you some time to figure out something longer term alongside a steady, sizable pay cheque.

And so, out loud to the empty room, you said what you always did before making any important decision.

"Fuck it."

———————————— Sinking into his chair, Copia closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. The tour was barely a week away and there was still so much to do. He had managed to wriggle his way out of most of his meetings in the last few days, citing the need to rest his voice or by pretending he needed more costume fittings, but he was still exhausted. However, he knew he would be fine once they were on the road - once he could perform again it would all be worth it.

Just as he was about to doze off, the vibration of his phone in his pocket jolted him awake. Pulling it out, he groaned as he saw the alert of a schedule change for tomorrow: MEETING 4PM.

"You've got to be shitting me," he muttered. "As if I'm not busy enough, motherfuckers."

Before he could wind himself up about it any more, there was a knock at the door, swiftly followed by Sister Imperator entering before he could respond.

"Cardi!" she said cheerfully, as Copia shot out of the chair to stand. "I was just passing and I thought I'd see if you needed anything?"

"Well, I-"

"Good. You know about the meeting tomorrow afternoon, yes?"

"About tha-"

"Excellent. Your masseuse gets into town tonight. It'll be good for you to meet before the tour starts, get to know each other a bit."

"Huh? My, uh, masseuse?"

"Yes? Did nobody tell you?" Copia shook his head. "Ah. Well, surprise! When you brought it up the other day I wasn't going to give it another thought, but the Sister who brought in our refreshments in that meeting had someone she wanted to recommend."

Copia thought for a moment. He remembered that he had, in fact, been the one to bring it up, but only in a sarcastic rant about the ever-expanding tour budget. While he wasn't opposed to being more comfortable on the road, he thought he might earn some brownie points with Sister for trying to keep it under control - clearly he hadn't quite managed to communicate the need for some restraint effectively. He wasn't sure he would need to, as Sister was usually the first one to demand it.

As Copia frowned, staying silent with his confused thoughts, Sister continued.

"With the project's recent success, we can afford to spend a little extra this time. Think of it as in investment in your continued health and well-being. You are no use to us as Papa if you get hurt or are too stressed to perform on the road. No use to us at all."

The pointedness of her tone shook Copia back to reality. "Right. Okie dokie, that makes sense, I suppose…"

"Unless you would like me to put her straight back on the plane as soon as she lands? Completely wasting the cost of her flight here?"

"No, no," he sighed. "Since she is already on her way…"

"I have to admit, this is not the response I was expecting. You asked for something, I have made it happen. A wonderful addition to make the tour easier for you and you seem… disappointed. Annoyed, even."

Copia knew better than to assume Sister wanted an explanation. She was making it clear that she wanted gratitude and that this was, as everything else, her decision to make. He could point out that it hadn't been a serious request, but it wouldn't make any difference. He could also point out that it should have been discussed with him further, but the longer he thought about it, he wasn't really sure why he would fight this. For once, the urge to point out how sick he was about being left out of certain decisions was outweighed by the recognition that he had somehow unlocked a new Papa perk.

"Of course not, Sister Imperator. I was just, uh, surprised. Very thoughtful, and smart to think of such a thing. Thank you for thinking of my comfort."

"Hmmm, very good. I will not be attending the meeting but I will check in on you afterwards. I trust there will be no issues."

Again, not a concern, just a statement. And again, not waiting for any response, Sister left, slamming the door behind her.

Copia let out a large breath he always seemed to hold in when navigating conversations with her, and threw himself back on to the chair behind him. Staring at the ceiling, he couldn't help but feel uneasy. He was still frustrated that, yet again, a decision was made about something that directly affected him without his input. He was still frustrated that they clearly hadn't listened to most of what he had said in that meeting, and now he had to be grateful for a gift he did not ask for but that would still be framed as his idea.

Rubbing his face with his hands, he straightened himself up while looking around the room filled with half packed cases. It was a reminder that he still had other things to focus on to be ready to leave next week. Regardless of how it happened, there was someone new joining them. Someone who was tasked with helping him relax and keeping him well. In a rare moment of clarity, Copia wondered - was this really something worth being angry about? Surely, this was a good thing? Maybe being suspicious of something nice wasn't the best use of his time, especially right now.

Copia decided, right then, his perhaps misplaced apprehension was no use to him. The somewhat comfortable slide into suspicion was something he would resist for now. At the very least, he could meet the masseuse tomorrow and assess if she would be a good fit. Sure.

"Fuck it."

[karmicbias]

Every single woman should have hairy ass armpits and they should always wear tank tops and show it off at every convenience

[karmicbias]

a demon walks into a bar

mary goore x female oc // ao3 link // prologue

dirt and grime - mary is welcomed back to the ministry

(c) michael johansson

"all my friends are digging grave and i'm handing them their shovels."

Two attendants from the Ministry waited at the top of the hellmouth as daylight filtered through the trees. They had received Mary's message, alerted the proper channels, and signaled back that he was welcome. Sitting on a nearby bench, they casually sipped coffee and gossiped. Their casual clothes reflected the organization's more relaxed, modern approach.

"Right on time," remarked the older one, a senior Sister with years of experience, shielding her eyes from the morning sun. "He's coming through."

Her companion, newer to the Ministry, watched with interest as Mary's head emerged from the ground, face contorted with effort, golden eyes adjusting to the bright daylight. His shoulders followed, then his torso, until he dragged himself fully onto the ministry's manicured lawn, leaving a ragged hole in his wake. A series of sickening cracks echoed through the morning as Mary's bones shifted and realigned.

Despite the transformation, his fingertips and hands remained blackened, as did his feet and legs—a permanent mark of his infernal origins.

"Welcome back, Mr. Goore," said the senior attendant, approaching with a friendly smile. She held out a hand to help him up. "Glad to see you made it through smoothly. We've got your clothes from your last visit still in storage."

Mary accepted the help with dirt-encrusted fingers, standing shakily on transformed legs. The younger attendant approached with a towel and bottle of water, trying to mask the fear in her eyes.

"We've prepared the guest shower for you," she offered shakily. "And your accommodations are ready whenever you'd like to rest.”

Mary finally spoke, his voice like rusted hinges creaking open. "Not staying here." As he rose to his feet, dirt fell from his naked form. His eyes blazed a bright, unnatural green that gradually faded to a more human shade. His lips were vivid red, as if freshly smeared with blood, and the hollowed-out black cheeks and dark shadows around his eyes made him look like he belonged in a grave. “Will take a shower, though.”

The shower room was blissfully empty when Mary entered. He set the water to the hottest setting, steam billowing up almost instantly to fog the mirrors and windows. Standing under the scalding spray, he placed both palms against the tiled wall, head hanging between his shoulders as water coursed over his back.

No matter how hot the water, no matter how vigorously he scrubbed, the black stains on his extremities remained. The grime of hell was not something that could be washed away with soap and water. The scorching water beat against his skin, nearly hot enough to melt the flesh off of any human, but after the fires below, it felt merely warm, even comfortable to him. After nearly twenty minutes, the water finally began to cool, a sign that the Ministry's hot water tank had its limits.

Mary turned off the shower, stepping out to find a his clothes waiting for him on a bench—a beat up Morbid Angel sleeveless tee, ripped black jeans and a pair of boots.

He picked up his shirt and immediately scrunched his nose. It smelled so... clean. Too clean. The scent of fabric softener was overwhelming. Ugh. He couldn't be this clean. The pristine condition of his clothes felt almost insulting.

Mary was pissed. He yanked the clothes on, grimacing at the softness of fabric that had clearly been washed with fabric softener. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he stormed out of the shower room, heavy boots stomping down the hallway.

He rounded a corner and nearly collided with Cardinal Copia, who jumped back with a startled yelp, papers flying from his hands.

"Mary!" Cardinal Copia's eyes widened with both shock and unmistakable excitement. "You're here! I—I wasn't told you would be arriving today." He scrambled to gather his fallen documents, his leather-gloved hands trembling slightly.

Mary glared down at him. His hair was still damp. "These clothes. They're too fucking clean," he snarled, plucking at his shirt with disgust. "Smells like spring."

Copia straightened, clutching his papers to his chest, mismatched eyes darting nervously over Mary's imposing figure.

"It’s not exactly sanitary or good for clothes to just, ehhh… keep them dirty," he offered with an awkward chuckle. "But it's so good to see you! The Ministry has been rather dull without your presence. Papa says—"

"Where are the Ghouls?" Mary interrupted, not interested in small talk.

Copia blinked. "Oh! They're out back. Digging new graves for an upcoming ceremony."

Mary nodded curtly. "Good. I'm going to join them. Need to get this clean stink off me."

A small smile tugged at Copia's painted lips. "Of course, of course. Eh, shall I escort you? I could use some fresh air myself, and it would be an honor to—"

But Mary was already walking away, leaving the Cardinal mid-sentence. Copia hesitated only a moment before scurrying after him, his excitement palpable despite being so blatantly ignored. Mary didn't acknowledge him, but didn't explicitly send him away either.

The cemetery lay behind the Ministry grounds, and as they approached, Mary could hear the rhythmic sound of shovels hitting dirt. It was music to his ears, and he felt a slight easing of the tension in his shoulders. Soon he'd have grave dirt under his nails again, and he’d smell of earth and decay.

The Ghouls, masked figures in matching black suits, looked up from their labor as Mary approached. Their silver masks caught the afternoon light, making their eyes seem to glow from the shadowed eye-holes. Mary nodded toward them.

"Mind if I join?" he asked, voice still rough from disuse.

The tallest Ghoul wordlessly extended a spare shovel toward him, handle first. The others simply nodded and returned to their digging, making room for him in their line.

Mary took the shovel, feeling its weight in his blackened hands. Fingers curled around the handle as he drifted away for a moment. Back to hell, back to handling tools of torment and labor. He snorted to himself, then thrust the shovel into the ground. The afternoon sun beat down on his back, warming skin that had known only infernal heat for so long. Mary found himself almost smiling as the artificial scent of detergent was gradually replaced by the rich, organic smell of cemetery soil.

The afternoon sun had dipped, casting long shadows across the cemetery. Mary and the Ghouls had been working for hours and the fresh graves were nearly complete. Mary had achieved his desired level of filth - clothes now properly stained with grave dirt and sweat, the clean smell replaced by grime.

"Mary!" Copia called out from up the hill. "I found something that belongs to you!”

The Ghouls paused in their work suddenly, leaning on their shovels. The Cardinal came down the hill, cautious and careful. In his hands was Mary's leather jacket - worn and weathered. “We kept it in storage after your last... departure. I thought you might want it back."

Mary stabbed his shovel into the ground and climbed out of the grave he'd been digging. His jet-black hair fell messily across his face while other parts stood up at odd angles. He took the jacket, running his blackened fingers over the familiar material. It smelled like him—like smoke.

"Thanks," he muttered, slipping it on over his now dirt-stained shirt. It fit perfectly, like a second skin.

Copia beamed at the acknowledgment. "Done for the day?"

Mary glanced at the Ghouls, who had returned to their work, then back at the Cardinal's hopeful face. He shrugged. "Yeah, guess so."

“Let me walk you back.”

Mary rolled his eyes at the Cardinal's eager expression. "Sure," he said, voice flat but not entirely dismissive. The Cardinal was annoying, but he wasn't the worst company Mary had kept over the centuries.

As they walked back toward the main building, Copia chattered excitedly. "We've opened a new enterprise—a bar downtown for recruiting the public. Quite popular already. Papa thought it help us spread sin throughout the city."

"A bar?" Mary raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, yes. Quite fun, actually," Copia said with a mysterious smile, not elaborating further. "It's bringing in new members . Something to do tonight. I know, eh, you like to go out on the town.”

Mary eyed the Cardinal's secretive expression, curious despite himself. "Maybe," he conceded as they reached the Ministry's back entrance, the last rays of sunlight casting long shadows ahead of them.

Mary dug his hand into his pocket and found an old pack of cigarettes. Still full. He smiled, taking one out. The cigarette lit with a touch of Mary's own finger, a small flame appearing at the tip of his blackened digit. He inhaled deeply, letting the harsh smoke fill his lungs. It reminded him of hell—the familiar burn, the acrid taste. But this was different. This was his choice. It felt good.

Copia stood there awkwardly while Mary smoked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The silence stretched between them, neither man making an effort to fill it. Mary's eyes were focused on some distant point, his thoughts clearly elsewhere as smoke curled from his lips into the evening air.

After what felt like an eternity, Copia cleared his throat. "Well, I should get back to my duties. Much paperwork to attend to, you understand." He gave a small, nervous laugh that Mary didn't acknowledge.

When it became clear that Mary had no intention of responding, the Cardinal nodded to himself. "Right. Well. Good to have you back, Mary." He turned to leave, his footsteps fading as he retreated into the building.

"Wait," Mary said, before he could fully eave. "What's the name of this bar?"

"Ah! It's called 'The Pinnacle Lounge,'" Copia replied with an enthusiastic smile. "Quite fitting, no?"

Mary gave a small nod.

He stood in the fading light, smoking without thinking too hard about anything for a moment. The nicotine buzz hit his system, a nice mild sensation. It didn’t take long for him to grow bored of his surroundings, definitively deciding not to hang around the Abbey all night. Mary wandered out to one of the parking lots and followed the long back road to the city.

Everywhere he looked, humans bustled about. Some of them were heading to late dinners, others spilling out of office buildings after a long work day, each making their own decisions for how to spend their precious evening hours. It felt remarkably good for Mary to make a choice of his own. He found himself drawn to the darker corners, eager to slip into the shadows and observe them until the moment was right to step forward and nudge them toward temptation, toward sin. The hunger within him was palpable, an almost physical ache low in his gut.

His mouth watered as he approached The Pinnacle Lounge.

It was after 10pm. The demon could smell the partying humans from across the street, their sweat and booze and desire wafting through the night air. His nostrils flared, taking in the scents that had been absent in the sulfurous pits of hell. He exhaled slow before a cruel smile tugged at his lips. This was what he was here for.

Once he was inside, he ordered a whiskey, neat – then another. The alcohol burned his throat, a pleasant reminder he was back among the living. He scanned the room, catching fragments of conversations and took in the vibe.

The Pinnacle Lounge was dark and gothic, which is exactly what he would have guessed a bar run by the Clergy would look like. Gold fixtures adorned the black walls, catching what little light filtered through the space. The most striking feature was the supernatural green glow that seeped from the ceiling, casting an eerie light over the guests below.

The ghouls behind the bar had an eye on him. The Clergy would have communicated that they'd have a demon patron tonight. Wordlessly watching behind their masks, they communicated with subtle nods and gestures. Their gloved hands cleaned glasses methodically while never fully turning their backs to him. One slid his third drink across the bar, keeping a careful distance from Mary's blackened fingertips.

The demon moved to the pool tables in the back corner, eyes gleaming with mischief. He picked up a cue stick, weighing it in his hands like a weapon. Mary challenged a couple of douchebags to a game, feigning inexperience while they laid down cash on the table. The guys took one look at him and his unkempt appearance and agreed immediately, clearly thinking they'd found an easy mark. His movements were deliberately clumsy at first – missing easy shots, scratching on simple plays.

"Ah, shit," he grumbled, putting down another bill. “Rematch? Double or nothin’?"

“Yeah, sure, bro,” one of them said before racking the balls again. As they began their rematch, Mary had no patience for pageantry. He finished the game within minutes, mechanically nailing every shot.

The quick realization that they had just been hustled was delicious to him. He pocketed their money with a wink, savoring their humiliation more than the cash.

He felt a prick on the back of his neck. Someone was watching him. Were the Ghouls upset he had hustled their patrons? Mary clenched his jaw and lifted his head, scanning the bar until he found a pair of dark eyes fixed on him intently. A woman with dark hair at the far end of the bar whose friend was talking to her, but she wasn't paying attention, too focused on him.She had dark hair. Her lips were full, painted a deep red that matched the rim of her cocktail glass. Brown eyes that lingered on him with undisguised interest. She wore a leather skirt with black tights and a tight black sleeveless turtleneck that hugged her curves.

Their gazes fully met and her eyes widened, caught. He watched her blush and turn back to her friend. He could smell her interest and he sure liked what he saw but it unnerved him that someone seemed so intently focused on him. His whole schtick was to remain unnoticeable, to stay in the shadows until it was time to reveal himself. But she clocked him.

He decided to ignore her for now. Maybe he had just caught her eye in that moment. He did look nearly dead - all pale skin and sunken features. Mary took another shot of whiskey, enjoying the burn of alcohol down his throat before turning his attention back to the pool table and racked up the balls for a solo game. He played for a while and the woman had left his mind, until he felt another prickle.

She and her friend, a petite blonde, made their way to an empty pool table nearby. They were clearly not serious players. The blonde kept dropping the chalk and giggling, while his mystery woman held her cue stick awkwardly, like she'd never played before.

"No, like this," the blonde demonstrated, leaning over the edge of the pool table. "You've got to get low."

"I look stupid," the dark-haired woman protested, but she was smiling, attempting to mimic her friend's stance. Her shot went wild, missing everything.

Mary watched them from the corner of his eye, pretending to focus on his own game. The women were having fun, unbothered by their terrible playing. After keeping an eye on them for another minute, Mary downed the rest of his drink and made his way over. The alcohol had softened his edges just enough to make conversation seem like a good idea at that point.

"Need some help with that?" he asked, his voice carrying a gravelly undertone that made both women look up.

The blonde's eyes widened slightly, taking in his appearance, but the dark-haired woman met his gaze steadily, her lips curving into a small smile.

"Depends. Are you good?" she challenged, leaning against her cue stick.

Mary grinned, showing teeth that were just a bit too sharp. "Better than you two, from what I've seen."

The blonde giggled nervously, but the dark-haired woman extended her hand. "I'm Madeline. This is Katie."

Mary took her hand, noticing how warm it felt against his perpetually cool skin. "Mary. Mary Goore."

"Mary?" Katie questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't that a—"

"It's short for something," he interrupted, not breaking eye contact with Madeline. "Something old and unpronounceable."

Madeline withdrew her hand but kept looking at him with curious eyes. "Well, Mary Goore, go on, then. Do good at pool, or whatever."

Mary took the cue from her, their fingers brushing in the exchange. He positioned himself at the table, making a show of lining up a difficult shot. The ball rolled smoothly into the pocket.

"Not bad," Madeline admitted. "But definitely could've been beginner's luck."

"Not a beginner. Been playing games a long, long time."

An hour later, Katie had wandered off to chat with someone at the bar, leaving Mary and Madeline alone at the pool table. They'd given up any pretense of a serious game, instead using the table as an excuse to circle each other, trading barbs and stories between shots.

Madeline leaned against the pool table, her cue stick forgotten in her hand. Her eyes had a slight glaze – she'd had enough drinks to loosen her inhibitions but not enough to lose control. Mary could see the flush on her cheeks, hear the slight slur in her words that wasn't there an hour ago.

"So," she said, tilting her head as she studied him, "do you work here or something? You've got this whole..." she waved her hand vaguely at his appearance, "aesthetic going on. Like the staff. The creepy ones in the masks."

"I know the owners." He chalked his cue with deliberate strokes.

“Oh, nice. Are they, like, normal? Or are they creepy, too?”

Mary laughed, taking his time to consider his answer. "They're definitely not normal at all. But, this place isn’t really for normies, is it?" He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You into all this spooky shit?"

Madeline smiled and shifted closer to him. Mary noticed the flush of her cheeks, which drew a smile to his own lips. Her eyes were locked on his as she spoke."I mean, I definitely love all things horror and spooky. It's cool that a place like this opened here. But, um, I'm not summoning demons in my apartment or anything." She laughed, taking another sip of her drink.

Mary's grin widened. "No need for that," he said, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We find our way to you just fine." He enjoyed the way her eyes widened slightly before she laughed it off as a joke. If only she knew how close she was standing to the real thing – practically close enough for him to feel the pulse in her throat. Mary could feel it – the way her eyes lingered on him, how she leaned slightly closer than necessary when speaking. The hunger inside him stirred, recognizing the desire in her gaze. She was definitely into him, and he was equally drawn to her.

It would be so easy to tip this moment over the edge. To close the distance between them and satisfy the urge that had been building all night. But something made him pause. Why rush what could be savored?

"I need a smoke," he said abruptly, his green eyes still locked with hers. "Got caught up in the game and forgot my nicotine fix."

Madeline nodded. "I'll be here when you get back," she promised, twirling the pool cue in her hands. "Unless Katie decides to throw up on my shoes."

He waded through the crowd until he made it to one of the back doors, stepping through it to the outside, feeling the sudden cool air against his face. He leaned against the stone wall, enjoying the momentary quiet as he reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, tapping one out and quickly lighting it between his lips.

"Back among the living and already chasing trouble, I see."

Mary didn't have to look to know who it was. He'd recognize that smooth, faintly accented voice anywhere.

"Papa Emeritus the Third," Mary drawled, exhaling a plume of smoke. "Still lurking?"

Terzo stepped closer, his mismatched eyes gleaming with amusement in the darkness. His robes had been traded for something more casual – a tailored black suit, though his papal paint remained. The face of the ministry even during off-hours.

"Someone must keep an eye on demons fresh from the pit," Terzo replied, plucking the cigarette from Mary's fingers and taking a long drag before handing it back. "Particularly ones with such a penchant for trouble."

Mary chuckled, the sound like gravel underfoot. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were worried about me."

"Worried for everyone else, perhaps." Terzo leaned against the wall beside him, their shoulders nearly touching. "I saw you working your charm on that woman inside. Poor thing has no idea what she's dealing with."

"That's half the fun," Mary grinned, showing teeth. "Besides, when did you become the moral compass of the ministry? Last time I was topside, you were corrupting choir girls and drinking communion wine straight from the bottle."

Terzo laughed, the sound rich and warm. "I never claimed to be a saint. Only suggesting moderation." He produced a silver flask from inside his jacket and offered it to Mary. "Speaking of which..."

Mary accepted it gratefully, taking a long pull. The liquid burned pleasantly going down – not regular alcohol, but something much stronger.

"Good shit," he murmured appreciatively, handing it back.

"Only the best for old friends," Terzo replied. He studied Mary's face for a moment. "How was it this time? Eh, below."

Mary's expression darkened momentarily. "Same as always. Hot. Tedious. Not enough variations in screams." He took another drag of his cigarette. "Better question is what's been happening up here while I was gone. Any good scandals? Cardinal Copia still making a fool of himself?"

Terzo grinned, clearly delighted to share gossip. "Oh, you've missed quite the story. He was caught fingering a woman in the hallway inside..."

Mary choked on the smoke from his cigarette, laughing. "You can't be serious," he managed between coughs. "Copia? In the hallway? Fingering?”

It felt good to laugh with Terzo. They'd always gotten along – two troublemakers with a shared appreciation for life's pleasures and a healthy disrespect for rules.

"We should celebrate your return properly," Terzo said eventually, as Mary stubbed out his second cigarette. "I've got more of this back at the Abbey." He wiggled his flask.

Mary considered it. A night of debauchery with Terzo and his entourage sounded exactly like what he needed after his stint in hell. But his thoughts drifted back to the dark-haired woman at the pool table. Madeline.

"Tempting," he admitted. "Rain check? Got something I'm working on tonight."

Terzo followed his gaze back toward the back door of the lounge and smirked knowingly. "Ah, I see. The chase is on." He clapped Mary on the shoulder. "Very well. But don't forget who your real friends are, eh? The night is young, and my invitation stands."

Mary nodded, giving Terzo a half-smile. "I'll keep it in mind."

The anti-pope disappeared inside, leaving Mary alone in the alleyway with nothing but the glow of his cigarette. He took one last deep inhale, anticipation building within him. The demon smoked until the cigarette was nothing but a burning nub, then flicked it away, watching the orange fade before he pushed himself off the wall and headed back inside, eager to see if Madeline was still waiting.

Back inside, Mary scanned the room for Madeline, finding her next to the bar with one arm around Katie, who looked distinctly green around the edges. As he approached, Madeline's face lit up at the sight of him before her smile quickly shifted to a frown.

She reached out with her free hand, grabbing his arm. Her touch sent an unexpected jolt through him, a sensation that both startled and delighted him.

"We ordered an Uber," she explained, still holding his arm. Her fingers pressed into his sleeve with just enough pressure to feel intentional. "Katie didn’t throw up on my shoes but she’s definitely had way too much."

Mary glanced at Katie, who was swaying slightly despite Madeline's supportive grip. The blonde's eyes were unfocused, her makeup smudged beneath one eye. Disappointment flashed across his face before he got a handle on himself.

“Bummer,” he murmured, watching her disappointment mirror his own.

"I'm really sorry. I was having fun."

Their eyes locked. Mary felt something shift in the air between them. It was annoying and intriguing all at once.

"Your friend looks like she's about to unload her dinner onto the floor," he sighs, nodding toward Katie who was now breathing deeply with her eyes closed. "Better get her outside."

Madeline helped Katie up, supporting her weight as they made their way toward the door. Mary followed a few steps behind, watching how Madeline managed to stay graceful even while half-carrying her friend. At the door, she paused and looked back at him over her shoulder.

"Um, so do you come here a lot? Since you know the owners and all…" she drifted off.

Mary's lips twitched into a grin. “Yeah, I do." Not necessarily the truth, but he would make time for her to see this through properly.

"Ah, okay. Well… maybe I'll come by tomorrow, or something, if you’re planning on being here,” she offered, and he could tell by the look on her face she was trying to be casual.

"I’ll be here,” the demon’s voice dropped low again, “get her home safe." Madeline nodded and forced herself to focus on her friend. Their Uber arrived seconds later and they quickly got in, with Mary staying outside to watch them go.

The pleasant warmth of anticipation faded, replaced by a familiar, restless irritation. The night was still young and energy still thrummed through his veins with nowhere to go.

Outside, the street had gotten busier. A line had formed at the entrance, and small groups of partiers milled about on the sidewalk. Mary leaned against the wall, lighting another cigarette as he surveyed the scene with narrowed eyes.

Two men stood a few feet away, their voices rising as they argued over something trivial. One was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing an expensive watch that caught the streetlight. The other was shorter but equally muscled, his stance aggressive as he jabbed a finger at his companion's chest.

"—can't believe you just cut in line like that," the shorter one was saying, his words slightly slurred. "People have been waiting for twenty minutes, man."

The taller one scoffed. "There wasn't even a proper line. Not my fault if you can't figure out how to get to the front."

Mary smiled to himself, flicking ash onto the ground as he sauntered closer to them. Entertainment, at last.

"Couldn't help overhearing," he interjected smoothly, earning surprised glances from both men. "Sounds like quite the misunderstanding."

The shorter man frowned. "Mind your own business, freak."

Mary's smile widened, showing teeth. "Now, that's not very friendly." He turned to the taller man. "Your friend here seems a bit tense. Maybe he's worried about what other social norms you might ignore."

The taller man huffed out a laugh, looking Mary up and down with a dismissive glance. "Look, whatever you are, this isn't your concern."

"Whatever I am?" Mary echoed, his voice dropping lower as he stepped closer. "What do you think I am?"

The man faltered slightly at Mary's sudden proximity but stood his ground. "Some goth weirdo looking for trouble."

Mary laughed, the sound unnaturally sharp in the night air. "Close enough." He leaned in, voice pitched for the taller man's ears only. "I saw you push past that group of girls to get to the front. They were pretty upset. One of them is dating the bouncer, you know."

The man's face contorted with confusion. "What? I didn't—"

Mary turned to the shorter man before he could finish. "Your friend here was just telling me he thinks waiting in line is for losers. Said he always cuts and no one's tough enough to stop him."

The effect was immediate. The shorter man's face flushed dark with anger. "You think I'm not tough enough to stop you?"

The taller man threw up his hands. "I never said that! This guy is making shit up!"

Mary stepped back, watching with satisfaction as the confusion and anger escalated. The first punch came fast, catching the taller man on the jaw. He staggered back, then lunged forward with a roar. Soon they were grappling on the sidewalk, people scattering around them as security from the bar rushed to intervene. Mary melted back into the shadows, watching the chaos unfold with a cold smile. It wasn't as satisfying as what he'd planned for the evening, but there was a certain pleasure in stirring up trouble.

He considered finding another bar, another target for the night. But somehow the thrill had gone out of it. His thoughts kept returning to Madeline—to the warmth of her hand on his arm, to the invitation in her eyes when she mentioned potentially seeing him the next day.

With the fight outside breaking up and his interest in further mayhem waning, Mary found himself back at the bar counter. His mind drifted, thinking back to Hell, the Abbey and always circling back to Madeline and how good her lips must taste. He ordered another whiskey, then another, drinking steadily as the night wore on.

The bartender eventually cut him off around 2 AM, though Mary could easily keep drinking. Rather than leave, he slid into one of the corner booths, slouching against the worn leather. The combination of whiskey and the strange emotions stirred by his encounter with Madeline lulled him into an unusual state of lethargy.

Before he knew it, his eyes were closing, the sounds of the bar's last patrons fading as he drifted into an alcohol-induced sleep.