#Rooms & Rituals

[andersonfilms]

❝ LONG NIGHT, LONG RIDE ❞ ✶ ABBY ANDERSON !

★⠀warning y disclaimers — eighteen+, nsfw themes, country!abby, petname usage (sweetheart, darling), mechanical bullrider!abby, abby is a big ass flirt, kinda shy!reader, dub-con (alcohol involved). 

RAY RAMBLES ★ idk a random thought and i kinda ran with it. if you like, i have a part in mind with smut for my slutty friends. to be continued ...

you’ve never seen a woman move like she did. it wasn’t the first time you’d seen her there. nestled deep in the heart of texas, tattered-blue denim jeans hugging her thick thighs deliciously, white tank top accentuating her toned abdomen. worn-in brown boots on her feet, blonde hair as carefree as she appeared, hips in sync with the mechanic bull as her skillful hips ride as the operator strategically tries to rid her off of it. s’not an easy task by any means. 

she has the face you can’t quite seem to forget. you never really do. it’s become a ritual of yours. every friday night, you end up in this rundown bar, the only one in this nothing town. maybe it’s pathetic to pine over someone so clearly out of your league. but she’s easy on the eyes, the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. surely, it wouldn’t hurt to just look. 

the girl of your dreams is riding the bull again, and looking goddamn hot doing it. possibly even hotter than this texas heat in the beginning of summer’s warmth. someone as muscular, toned, and broad as her shouldn’t be doing it so gracefully. it’s been a month of watching her. every friday night you nurse the ice bear, condensation dripping down to your fingertips, soaking your wrists as the liquid drips further. 

she’s making quite the show of it tonight. anderson, ever the performer. 

the only name you’ve heard being used, quite loose lips of the small town groupies. apparently, anderson, is the talk of the town and tonight the girls next to you at the bar are as chatty as ever. you only pick up remnants. bits and pieces of their drunken gossip. 

she broke up with her girlfriend. been two months actually according to nora. time to make a move. 

anderson wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole. 

whatever. i’m going to make sure she’s riding me tonight. you’ll see. 

you force yourself to disengage the eavesdropping and look away from the scene of her riding the bull. you’ve seen her do it so many times you know it’ll be over soon. it’s pathetic how you know that in the first place. 

you’ll leave soon, the commitment of work bright and early looks over your intoxicated brain. but then you hear loud boots stomping their way to you. looking over you notice it’s her and she makes conversation with the bartender as she sips on the chilled bottle of beer. 

“seen you here every friday for the best month, darling. do you like the show?” anderson chuckles as her body inches forward. her thumb picking at label on her beverage.

she’s noticed you before? 

“mhm, not sure. still trying to figure out if i do.” 

she nods smoothly, amping you nerves as she scoots the bar stool closer to yours, before taking a seat. meaty, strong, legs opened wide as they rest on each side, supporting the weight of her built frame.

“hm.” she hums, watching as you take another swing of your beer. 

she opens her mouth, more of her southern drawl seeping out but the girls from before manage to squeeze through the small space between you and the mysteriously hot woman who occupies your brain. 

“anderson, you look really good tonight.” the girl from before resurfaces, her sultry tone sharp enough to cut through the entire room, her hands making connection with her toned, freckled bicep descending down her forearm. you make yourself scarce to the bathroom, not enjoying the sudden storm in your stomach. 

it’s just there. 

jealousy storming it before you could even stop it. it’s clear anderson is more than sought after. she’s everyone’s dream, yourself included. you’ve had one short lived conversation. maybe she’s an asshole, a cheater, an ego the size of this massive state.

it’s what you told yourself as you washed your hands in the washroom. it’s the only thing you could tell yourself. the hint of rejection was even more unsettling so you decided to pay your tab and get the hell out of here. 

the vibrator tucked in your nightstand drawer had never done you wrong. why break a good thing? right? god, there’s never been a more pathetic moment on earth. you and your wand against the world of scorned loneliness. but then she’s in there with you. you’re frozen, unable to move as walks in. confidently, resting her broad back against the wooden door. the single use bathroom does not give you much room to breathe. 

anderson crosses her arms, muscles flexing as her arms visibly look bigger, as if they weren’t already delicious enough. she looks down as you’re slightly bent over the short sink, suddenly taking interest in your ass. 

well, it seems sudden to you. 

“you really didn’t have to run off.” she tuts, as you find her frame in the mirror. you swear she bucks her hips slightly but you must be imagining it. taking note of her golden locks flowing past her sculpted shoulders, brown stetson hat concealing her eyes from you, for the most part.

“i don’t know. you seem pretty preoccupied. didn’t wanna put a damper on your night.” once you were done rinsing your hands, you turned around, arms placed at your side. every single bone of your body incredibly nervous to speak with her. especially to be alone together.

“besides, it seems like you have a lot of fans mesmerized by you, anderson. everyone seems to talk about you.” 

“maybe? but i wanna talk to you, darling.” pushing off the door, anderson inches herself closer towards you.

“would this be something you want? my attention?” raising her head, tilting it to the side as she awaits your response. 

“you’re… forward.” you grasp at straws, trying to find the right words but nothing seems right. 

“jus’ know what i want when i see it.” anderson admits. you’re not sure what to think. the sinfully hot woman, everyone’s vying for her attention, and she’s decided to extend her interest in you. why? you’re not sure. “what?” 

“i-i just don’t know what to say to you, anderson.” she smirks, the sly smile of hers on display. “anderson, huh?” 

“isn’t that your name?” you perch yourself onto the sink. clearly, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. “sort of. it’s what everyone here knows at least. but you should call me by my name. my real one.” 

you’re honored with a privilege, a simple one, just for you. it’s intoxicating how special she can make you feel. your heart beating out of your chest the more she takes. affecting all and any rational thought occupying your brain. it’s just her. 

“abigail, but you can call me abby. abs.” she takes a few steps forward inching closer to the space between your open thighs.

“whatever you want, really. as long as these pretty lips are talking to me. hm? how does that sound to you?” 

you visibly gulp as  she inches closer and closer…

“uh, um, abigail’s pretty.” she’s got you now. utterly fucking trapped. 

abby chuckles. if she wasn’t this hot, it would be downright condescending. “mmm, think i’m pretty, sweetheart?” she’s so sure of what she wants, eyes set on you and it’s s’much to handle. the trap’s been set and you’re falling into her southern charm far easier than you would have if it were anyone else.

you barely nod your head, shyly biting your lip. finally, giving her something to work with. abby’s thinking about devouring you whole, eating you right up, bringing you home with her, pulling you into her bedroom, tearing you apart in every way she knows how. 

the light shining in your eyes makes her think you’d let her. 

“y-yeah, i do.” abby makes home between your thighs, standing at her full height, stammering six feet tall. firmly grabbing your legs before wrapping them around her torso. “bet you do, sweetheart. i’m sure you think about all sorts of things, especially about me.” 

your breath hitches as abby removes her hat, shaking her blonde hair to the side, sunkissed skin even more exquisite up close. freckled cheeks, the adorable bump in her nose, her nipples hard and now poking through the tank top, chest nearly against yours as she wedges herself impossibly close to you. perfectly shaped lips moving closer to yours. 

“why don’t you tell me what you think about when i’m riding the bull? when my hips roll, my head tossed back, and my back arched. be a sweetheart and tell me, darling.” her hat is placed in free hand while the other softly grips your chin, thumb smoothing over the soft skin.

“be real good and tell me.” 

you pause for a moment, doing your best not to fumble over your words, just this once. 

“most of the time, i can’t stop looking at your hips. how in control you look, so confident and my mind just…drifts.” you linger, eyes meeting her baby blues and fuck. fuck. fuck. 

you’ve never been so doomed to fall. 

“darling, don’t leave me hanging. what does it drift to?” abby asks, dipping her lips to your neck, ghosting over the access point, until she lightly kisses at your collarbones. so light, it makes you question if this is just some cruel, fever dream you’ll wake up from.

“shit.” abby takes it as a sign to continue her lips dip into your chest, hardly divulging to where you need her, before she’s ascending back up to your neck. “you gonna be good for me?” she whispers in your ear, her breath calm and even. 

you nod and abby bites your ear playfully as you moan, pulling her in by your legs. “hm, if i keep whispering pretty little things in your ear? can you handle me, sweetheart?” her southern accent further cementing you in her honey grip. 

“maybe? i don’t know. fuck, yes?” abby giggles, her voice dropping an octave as she goes in for the kill. “oh sweetheart. i might just kill this pussy of yours with what i have to say next.” on instinct, your hands tangle themselves into the root of her blonde hair, tugging her closer to you. wanting to suffocate her in your scent, but she’s already halfway there. 

“abigail, just say it. please?” she nods, loving how you’re already using your manners. fuck, so good for her already, not even having to ask twice. abby feels the heartbeat of her clit stirring in her pants as it chases the sound of your voice. she’s so feral, already. yeah, you may feel like a goner but if only you knew she is by far so much worse. 

“i noticed you the first night. those pretty fucking eyes staring at me. wouldn’t fucking leave me for anything, even when the bartender was trying to get your attention. those bambi eyes on me, bright eyed and practically begging for me….” abby’s purposely whines in your ear, causing you to grind into her. she can’t stop the chuckle leaving her lips. 

“you’re being mean. just tell me.” abby pauses as she grins like the cheshire cat. you tug her hair back tightly, the moan she emits is loud. her eyes nearly roll back into her head, but she’s able to stop it before it goes too far. before you push her to the subspace she can so easily get to when push comes to shove. for now, she’ll bask in the dominance. 

all of it so new, so fresh. “oh, i’m being mean?” abby threatens cockily. “i have  been awfully mean, huh? letting those pretty girls flirt with me right in front of you.” she kisses lightly underneath your ear before continuing.

“been thinking about you the last couple of weeks when i’m riding.” abby teases.

“you do?” your jaw slacks, your grip on abby’s head releases. “sure have, darling. m’thinking about how you want to ride me instead. pretty thighs rubbing together when you’d look my way.” abby’s hand drops to your thigh, rubbing your inner thighs with her thumb. basking in how you open them even wider, unprompted. just a small mention and you’re right back to her riding the bull. whimpered out for her, needing her to do anything, something. 

“why don’t we get out of here and you can come home with me?” she pleads, pressing a kiss to your temple. sweet and sultry with half-lidded eyes looking at you. your eyes looking at the hat in her hands. 

you nod, “yeah, i’d like that.” shyly, scratching the nape of your neck. 

“are you going to put your hat back on?” 

“mhm, not sure.” abby bites the inside of her cheek, anxious as the next thought plagues her mind. you won’t know what a big deal it is, but everyone in the bar will know. she will know, but you won’t and somehow it makes it easier when the request flies off her lips. 

“you could wear it? if you want, sweetheart.” abby asks sweetly. you’re quiet for a moment, pondering. “who knows. might be too big or too small.” you shrug your shoulders as if you’re not interested. 

“well, why don’t we try then, sweetheart? won’t know until you do.” she maneuvers the white cowboy hat, placing it carefully in your head. 

you smile happily at her. “look! a perfect fit.” 

abby knows there’s not a damn soul who looks better than you. “yeah, sure is perfect.”

DAILY CLICK + DONT BUY TLOU + DONATE

[rel124c41]

VISCERA. floyd leech

Held in Floyd’s hand is a single fish fork. It incandesces like a lamp, and when you blink, the contour is burnt on your inner eyelids. “Can I taste you?” OR; Floyd is trying and failing to confess to Mostro Lounge's new line-cook.

tags: cooking, not actually unrequited love, courting rituals, cannibalistic thoughts, developing relationships, food as a metaphor for love, blood kink, first kiss, wingman jade, underage smoking, culinary crucible (twst), they're sooo in love ur honor

word count: 17,669

You do not like the look in Azul’s eyes. To be frank, you do not think you have once seen a favorable expression on the roulette wheel of masks Azul Ashengrotto wears. So, backtracking, you have never liked the look in Azul’s eyes (even more so now).

This one you have seen before: right at the point where the words ‘I heard if someone makes a deal with you, you’ll grant any wish’ fell from your mouth when you wanted to snip anemones off Grim, Deuce, and Ace’s heads. 

Originally, you did not have the drive to save all two hundred and twenty-five students. Only those three. Even with the title Prefect, you could have cared less about NRC’s student body until Azul sought to amp up the risk and reward. You accepted his offer for thrill and entertainment, loving the taste of it. 

Now, you stand in the VIP room with that similar atmosphere perfuming the air. Old paper and pen ink, the scent of an odious deal about to be struck. You challenge Azul’s self-assured look with an equally authoritative simmer. Your expressions size each other up like claymores on a battlefield. Azul is the first one to break first. He raises a hand and says, “Jade. Floyd. You are dismissed.” He even sends away his reinforcements in this warfare. 

Leaving himself vulnerable like that? … No, backtrack again, Azul is far from a vulnerable student. 

“Aw, but I wanna hear her answer!”

“Come now, Floyd. We shall be made aware of their decision at a later time.”

“No fun Azul.” Still, the door closes behind the twins. Now, it is just you and Azul alone. Like two shipwrecked survivors in a rowing boat. You are sure he knows you will go for the jugular upon the sight or scent of blood.

He gestures towards the space between you two, two sofas and a table. “Prefect, why don’t –”

“I’ll stand.”

Ah, Azul thinks fondly, that callousness that managed to ensnare one of Octavinelle’s slipperiest and mischievous fish. Still. A knot forms in Azul’s cheek in vexation. Your audacity and Azul’s are matched up so evenly that he almost wonders if you two share the same Zodiac sign. 

“So be it.”

You cross your arms as Azul continues. “A talent of yours has been brought to my attention. I was hoping that we could discuss it peacefully,” his blue eyes narrow, taking your stone-like stature, “without any hostility … But, no matter, it is still worth discussing.”

“I thought the Ramshackle dorm is the only asset of mine that has value.” Your posture shifts, straightening. “If it has to Aduece or Grim, you can forget it.”

“Aduece …? Um, no, nothing of the sort. It is strictly something brought to my attention during –”

There is this thing about Octavinelle. More like Octavinelle’s atmosphere. It clings in the air like a heavy candle scent, suctioning itself to the wallpaper, aquarium tank glass panels, and each stitch of the Octavinelle uniform. Something that stalks like a shark. It is a presence you label: viscera. 

A stomach and intestines is a viscera and a viscera is a stomach and intestines. You feel if you ever drop your armor around Octavinelle, gastrointestinal acid will come to consume you. The jaws tunneling down to the belly of Jonah’s whale is just a show of weakness away. It is why you act so callous now.

You always try to keep yourself schooled in the trio’s presence. “--During the Culinary Crucible.” And with that, viscera returns to you when those words leave Azul’s mouth. You feel like you just drank spoiled milk. Before he can accuse you of anything, you speak.

“You were one of my judges. I hope you aren’t going to make a baseless acquisition like food-poisoning. Remember, two other people ate what I served you.”

“I also remember, quite clearly, that you were one of the four students able to get a perfect score of thirty.”

Spoiled milk is too weak of a rotten flavor. You feel like you have just dug into a garbage bin and picked the last mold-crusted food item, all the way at the bottom of the barrel, sponging up all other rotten seasonings. To have something of yours peak Azul's interest again … it is not a nice taste. You are quick to shut down what you know has probably already been formulating in Azul’s head. 

“Dumb luck. Floyd also got a perfect score.” Him, Trey, Jamil, and yourself.

“You seem to forget I was one of your judges too. I thought you had a more effective memory than that, Prefect.” 

Floyd getting a perfect score could be more closely aligned to dumb luck than you. Which is not to say it was dumb luck. Nonetheless, stars and planets happened to align as Floyd was in a good mood while cooking and Jade was a judge out of three others; it just happened. Your food though? Azul runs a restaurant. He can taste experience and talent on the edge of a fork. 

Coupled with your experience and talent, you are not an ignorant individual either. Which is why you sit down, imaging that this conversation is going to drag. You ignore Azul’s smile. 

Elbows on knees, you drill in, “So, what? You want me to replicate a meal for you? Getting the twins to drag me here is a bit excessive for another bite of lamb and oysters.”

“I would rather monopolize that talent beyond just one simple meal. You’re thinking too small, Prefect.”

“You’re thinking too big.” 

You really wish you had magic, just to reverse time. Even if you were a mage, you doubt you would even have the skill to master such a complex spell. But, you would master it. To reverse time and find a way to get a different judge not named Azul Ashengrotto. The line-up for your judges at the Culinary Crucible was three housewardens: Riddle Rosehearts, Kalim Al-Asim, and Azul Ashengrotto. Grim had panicked at the trio, thinking both of you would be losing your elective credit. As always, you took the reins and got you both out of the whale’s stomach before digestion. 

“I was thinking: the fruits of your talents are quite wasted. Who do you cook for? That ungrateful cat-beast has no refined palate; he would eat table scraps if presented to him. Ace and Deuce, neither of them are grateful for the meals you must provide. You are surely underappreciated.”

“Wow, you clearly don’t think at all.” You eye a section of the VIP room in exasperation, close enough to the eye-roll you desperately want to do. “You think – what? – I don’t get enough thank you’s and I’m suddenly going to do what exactly?”

Azul almost deflates. It is surprising how easy you can sometimes manage to get him that way. He chooses to straighten a few pencils on his desk as a means to straighten and iron out the imperfections of his approach. Glasses tilted down, Azul answers, “I mean no offense to your friends. But, I think you are not getting proper payment. No, that I know.”

“Unbelievable.” You tsk, falling into the embrace of the seat. “You think the world runs on money.”

“Does it not?”

“...”

“Your silence tells me all I need to know.”

“You want me to work at the Lounge, don’t you?”

“Yes. A much better use of your talents, don’t you think?” 

In your head, you imagine the taste of umami takoyaki. A cleaver is raised with the vindication of a French guillotine; when judgment falls, it hits the thick part of Azul’s upper arm. Which would be more ironic: selling Azul’s body parts or eating them?

Below you, your foot taps on the wooden floor. A restless rabbit pittering that gives the housewarden some insight into your otherwise stone expression. Azul must be so certain that you are thinking of throwing in the towel right then and there. Really, you are thinking of Ruggie. Ruggie and the Intra-school Competition. For that time briefly, he had worked in Mostro Lounge, wearing his ceremony robes. 

You and Ruggie are very close, lesser than the trio you had dubbed your own, but still more than your other first-years. So one day, he regaled you with the story of working for Azul Ashengrotto just to fill up talking space.

The situation of the broken glass and Floyd’s moodiness. The situation of the kitchen lacking people and Azul having to send servers into the back to help cook. Those are two factors you really have to roll around in your head. You do not like to be rushed and you are wary of Floyd’s penduluming moods. 

Though Ruggie has a positive outlook of the rewards he reaps from that time, you do not think you can handle working in Mostro Lounge. You squeeze by with the money you make. However, “You pay well?”

“I assure you will have proper compensation for your labor.”

“Could you stop being scummy and just tell me the hourly rate?”

“For your skills – if they aren’t dumb luck – you’re looking at twenty-eight per hour.” 

You know what? The world really does run on money. 

While not an expert at mental math, even you know that with just a twenty hour work week, that kind of money would shift the motion of your boat, put more wind under your sails. Monetary motivation is perhaps the most powerful thing in the world.

Expression still schooled, you contemplate it. Accepting this … you imagine yourself tiny, using a tongue as a diving-board into a devilish pit of gnashing teeth and churning tentacles. Right into the belly of the beast. The conjured up image makes you want to shudder. Instead, your soft enamels move and your tongue articulates, “I’m gonna need smoke breaks every two hours.” 

Oddly enough, out of all the times you pressed him, this one catches Azul by visible surprise. “Sm-Smoke breaks? … why, I suppose that is acceptable.” That is far from unreasonable, surprising but not unreasonable. “I’m glad that we could come to –”

“And I’m going to need more time to even consider it. That isn’t a yes. I’m outlining terms.”

“Perfectly fine. I was actually going to outline this,” you and Azul lock eyes. “Just in case what I tasted was dumb luck, in a week, I wanted you to return to Mostro Lounge during closing hours. You’ll cook a meal for three judges again, myself included. Then, this conversation will become serious.”

“I will not sign a contract.”

“This is employment; no contract is required. You labor – cook. I pay. Such is the usual transaction of jobs.” 

Despite the feeling of a tongue slimming itself across your spine and teeth nibbling on your toes like garra rufa, you think that does not sound too devastating.

A week passes; you decide to keep your discussion with Azul concealed to yourself. There is this epidemic going around NRC called the lost art of keeping a secret. You decide for your mental well-being that you will wait for a week to pass, serve your meal to Azul and two other mysterious persons, and then, spill your guts to Ace, Deuce, and Grim. 

You have a close call though, guts almost prematurely ripped from your abdomen. The familiar feeling of teeth on your jugular creeps up onto you in the cafeteria. Fingers agile, you press your plastic fork into another’s jugular and greet him, “Hi Floyd.”

Held hostage by your plastic fork dug into his throat, Floyd smiles and cheers, “Shrimpyyy! Thought I could surprise you this time.”

“Nah, not fast enough. Next time though.” You smile sweetly..

You do not hate Floyd Leech. Though, he is far from your favorite student. The label of friendship does not really fit on him (despite the fact he thinks the opposite). Out of everyone in Octavinelle, the presence of viscera glues itself to him. Carnivorous teeth coupled with his predator adroitness screams belly of the beast to you. 

Which is why you fend him off with a plastic fork.

“Hehehe, next time then,” Floyd grins. He leans in, uncaring of how plastic folds on his pallid throat. “Azul-y told me that ya remembered I got a perfect score.”

For a second, you have no idea what he is talking about. You share a grand amount of two classes with Floyd; you do not remember him getting perfect marks in either subjects. Until it dawns on you, that far-off conversation with Azul, the Culinary Crucible. For some reason, your neck feels warm as if you should not have made that observation; like noticing Floyd’s perfect score is a rude thing to do. “Ah. Yeah, I did. Good job again.”

Floyd laughs; you feel the noise through the connection of fork and skin, finally lowering it at the sensation. “Shrimpy did pretty good too. Ya gonna cook me something sometime? Not fair that Azul is the only one who got to taste your cookin’.”

You lower your voice to a suspicious whisper as a thought dawns on you. “... Hey, why does Azul need me working there if you cook so good?” 

Unlike Azul, you had not been mystified by food at the Culinary Crucible. During the entire ordeal of being transported to a tropical beach via book, Floyd had cooked at the abandoned cottage. You had been amazed by his skills, gorging yourself on the delicious spread.

His eyes shift up to the left, avoiding your slight interrogation. Almost hiding something. “Eeeh, I don’t know. Azul’s always complainin’ even though he can barely cook. His food is super boring; Shrimpy’s probably tastes better.” 

“Talk to Azul about it. I’m sure it can be – Grim, paws off my food.” You brandish your makeshift fork-slash-claymore at your little beast.

“Ah, but I want Shrimpy to cook for me because they wanna.”

“Heh, yeah,” you trail off, unsure of how to respond to that. Mostly failing to come up with a response because you cannot see a possibility of that ever happening. “Like I said, um, Azul.” And that is all you really can articulate because, that’s a cool thought but I can’t see myself cooking for him. 

Besides; to you, love is an ingredient stored in the kitchen. And, to you, love is about finding people to be in the kitchen with. Your philosophies do not synchronize with your feelings with Floyd Leech. 

“Mmm,” Floyd hums, dissatisfied with your answer. He watches you place your fork down; glances at Baby Seal who has been watching this go down (Ace and Deuce still in the cafeteria line). “Guess I’ll just have to wait to taste Shrimpy’s cookin’ on Sunday, hehe. Caaan’t wait!”

“What’s on Sunday? –”

“I suppose you will. Bye for now, Floyd,” you interrupt Grim.

“See ya, Shrimpy.” He leaves you with a peace-sign.

Slowly, the feeling of being slobbered on like a squeak-toy in a dog’s mouth ebbs. The indent of teeth loosen with each step that Floyd takes, rejoining Jade and Azul outside the cafeteria entrance. When Ace asks what that is all about, you threaten him too with your plastic fork. Sometimes, a girl has business of her own to take care of, your fork emphasizes to the trio. Thus, you manage to keep it secret despite hiccups. 

Eventually, Floyd’s statement does come to fruition. Because like you said, a week has passed. On Sunday, he gets to taste your cooking because: “I didn’t know you two were the other judges.” 

“Aw, not excited to see us,” Floyd asks with a fake frown. He is leaning over your shoulder, hands in his pockets, and looking far too much like a vulture. 

“Did you honestly expect someone else,” Jade asks, following you inside. 

Despite the fact they were assigned to guide you in, you take up the front and walk with purpose into the stomach. Mostro Lounge has finally closed and you trudge into it, yawning. Sections of blue lighting twist up the ceiling like a tunneling rib-cage. When blue gleams on Jade’s smile, more importantly on his teeth, you think of viscera. 

Rolling your shoulder, you reply, “Guess I didn’t put much thought into it.”

“At least, you came prepared with some strategy. I imagine that must have taken up priority in your mind.”

“Not at all.” The toothpick clenched in your teeth wobbles with your words. Floyd giggles happily; his contagious high-pitched giggle has you fighting back a smile. You manage to knock the mirth away when yours and Azul’s eyes collide. “You two will just have to see if I’m as good as he claims. Isn’t that right, Azul?”

“Seriously, Prefect, did you come here with zero preparation?”

“I was busy with schoolwork. Piss off.” 

Azul lets out a tired sigh. You shuffle in front of him, body like the condiments in a sandwich between six-foot-one eel-mer-shaped bread. “So, I’m assuming this is going to be more or less like the Culinary Crucible. I’ll cook, you three will judge. Sounds simple enough.”

“Yes, that is the gist of it. Floyd, if you will.”

“Here ya go, Shrimpy.” 

In front of you is Floyd’s hat turned upside down like a beached turtle. Inside lie about twenty or so folded slips of paper. The eel-mer uses the proximity to touch his bicep to yours. So moving that hand off the point of contact, you reach in. “Cioppino with mussels,” you read from the paper. “That’s relatively an easy meal … Give me another slip of paper.”

“But, why?” Azul questions.

“But I’m not going to cook unless I have a challenge,” you say. Over your shoulders, Floyd grins wide at your words almost as if in agreement. 

“Now,” Jade pushes your hand back into the hat before you can unfold the second slip of paper. “While I may understand your reasoning, it is quite late. We delegated to write down meals that could be cooked in under an hour. All of them are easy.”

“C’mon, let Shrimpy pick another, Jade.”

“Floyd.”

“Fiiine.”

“Fiiine,” you whine in a matching tone, looking at the Nunito font spelling out the meal you have to make. You frown when realizing you and Floyd accidentally matched up. Before anything can be said, you direct a question at Azul, “Can I listen to music? They didn’t let me at the Culinary Crucible.”

“Of course. However you wish to go about artistic expression, don’t let me stop that.”

“Thanks.”

From the closed door, the sound of guitar that more closely resembles the sound of a chainsaw starts up, horridly grating. Like a surgeon orchestrating with his tools of carnage. Commencing this operatic butchery of a feast. Body and blood. 

Loitering, you start to thumb an unheard beat on the bakery box in hand. In your mouth, a toothpick swings up and down and tumbles left to right like a gymnast. Students file past you to enter the classroom you are waiting by and … ugh, why is this taking so long!

Quickly and a bit peeved, you check your phone. You and him agreed upon this time before Defense Magic class could start. The bell should ring in about five minutes and he should have been here five minutes ago.

Glancing into the open doorway where a long fighting platform and multiple seats await, you consider just leaving it on his desk. If you do that then you can still make it to your next class … you are just about to jump in to fluidly join the swimming crowd walking in the class when —

“SHRIMPY!!!”

The toothpick in your mouth breaks into splinters, guillotined by your teeth.

Cradling fallen wooden bits in your hand, you look up at Floyd with an expression that is beyond peeved. It does little to deter him. Hands in his pockets and brother shoulder to shoulder with him, Floyd stalks over to you energetically, grinning wide.

“Hello Prefect.”

“You switchin’ to a second year class, little shrimp? Defense Magic gets a bit rowdy, hehe.”

“Hi Jade. Hi Floyd. No, I’m waiting for someone right now.”

“Aw, Shrimpy, ya miss me that much?”

“If you were so eager to see us before your first day at the Lounge, you only need to say so, Prefect.”

Oh, backtracking, you got the job. Another perfect score of thirty. You start later this afternoon … that is all normal and expected. 

There is this odd thing that has been bugging you though. After you had presented the dishes, toweling down your hands and asking for a smoke break, you came back to see: Jade ate the entire meal, scraping the plate clean like a suctioning tube; Azul ate but left a reasonable amount of leftovers that were both alternatively acceptable to trash or save; Floyd took a few careful nibbles then left the rest untouched. Guess I’ll just have to wait to taste Shrimpy’s cookin’ on Sunday, hehe. Caaan’t wait! Such untrue words. Why even say something like that if he would just pick at it like a finicky child? 

It seems Floyd never has a long-lasting objective.

Holding the bakery box with one hand, you reach in your pocket to discard your broken toothpick and grab a new one. As you do, Floyd folds cursory arms over your head, leaning over you like a bar-table to talk to his brother.

“Caaan’t believe it; Shrimpy’s big day in the ocean blue starts today.”

“Yes, I’m sure it will be quite interesting.”

“All that delicious food … I should show her how to make takoyaki.” 

“Now, Floyd, she must follow along with the orders placed.”

“Aw, boooring.”

“Who's gonna be training me?” 

“I believe Azul designated the job to Floyd.”

“Aha ha, hear that Shrimpy? We get to hang out all night tonight~” Floyd leans in a way that you can see his wide, visceral grin. 

A human has a set of thirty-two made of enamel and root cementum. Omnivorous with molars in the back for plants along with incisors and canines in the front for meat. Floyd has a set of forty-two teeth. Quite unlike humans, his teeth are made of cartilage – a human body could never adapt to safely chew with cartilage-made teeth. Floyd’s teeth shine in a glass-esque glow.

And: “you got something in your teeth” you say to him, pointing to your own mouth. Because there is a medium-sized piece of something wedged between his glimmering teeth. 

“Huh?” 

You watch him momentarily jam a fingernail in his mouth, trying to find whatever you are pointing out. And completely missing the mark too. He is so annoying. It is on the bottom row of teeth, not the top, you seethe. 

“Ugh, let me.”

Downward, the bakery box finds the floor. Instead of just one, you shake two bamboo toothpicks out of your pack. One flips easily into your mouth and the other pirouettes between middle and index. By the lapel of his incorrectly put on jacket, you pull Floyd down to your height. “It’s not even in your top row of teeth,” you scold. “Open.”

Your command is ignored. It surprisingly seems like Floyd will never open his mouth again. Tight-lipped and staring, his mismatched eyes look at you like you have suddenly grown an extra head. Then, a slow mounting blush grows on his face that peaks at crimson. Hell, the whites of his eyes almost glow when backdropped by the flush on his face. 

Did the temperature spike or something? You are at a comfortable temperature. It is certainly odd – your train of thought ends when Jade chuckles behind you, “My, how scandalous. And right in the middle of the hallway too. I never thought of you as such an audacious person, (Name).”

“Huh?” You raise an unamused eyebrow at Jade. Your own toothpick in mouth tilts down in ire. “You know what, forget it. Look stupid the rest of the day.”

Serves you right for trying to help … stupid twins.

“Wh – Wait! I’ll open my mouth!” Floyd’s tongue lolls out.

Ah, it seems the temperature has spiked. This is why you try not to interact with Octavinelle and all their consuming ways. And because! “Your fucking teeth! Dude, I just need to see your teeth!” Jade’s laughter grows in volume. 

Eventually, a bit pissy that this has become a whole ordeal, you manage to get the piece out of Floyd’s teeth. Both of you share a bit of warmth on your faces. 

The toothpick is flicked into the trash inside the Defense Magic classroom. You want to forget all about this interaction already.

“Thanks Shrimpy. You’re a lifesaver!” Floyd gives a big, boyish grin, all forty-two of his teeth cleaned. Pink is still a sandstorm dusting on his cheeks.

You look away from Floyd with a twitch in your cheek. Finally – “Ruggie!” The hyena’s ears twitch on the top of his head. You pick up the bakery box of donuts from the ground and meet him halfway. “You’re late,” but you scold Ruggie with a smile rather than a frown. 

“Sorry, Leona had me running an impromptu errand. Work never ends.”

“Oh, I know what you mean.”

And you and Ruggie share a bone-deep sigh, despite smiling, that only Leona’s and Crowley’s errand-runner could possibly sympathize with on equal footing.

“Well, payment as arranged,” you say, going to hand Ruggie his payment when – “Jade!”

“Oya, was this the person you were waiting for, Prefect?”

“Yes, now give that back.”

“You said this was payment? What an unusual transaction. I wonder what it could be for.” He opens up the bakery box. Six different types of donuts stare back at him.

You stare right alongside them. You would rather not have him or his brother knowing that you get study guides from Ruggie. In exchange for them, you bake Ruggie donuts and other sweets. Information like that would be valuable to Azul. You remember Deuce, Grim, and Ace taking study guides from Azul in November; you are smart enough to make deals with less odious individuals. 

You can even imagine what Jade would say upon learning you require help in your classes, “My brother and I would be happy to tutor you, Prefect.” Why Jade includes his brother when trying to interact with you, you will never know. You doubt Floyd could sit still for one math equation. 

“Keep wondering,” then, you retrieve the bakery box from Jade with a huffing puff. 

Yet before you can even give Ruggie his payment, an arm hooks around your neck in a chokehold. Gasping startled, you look up to see Floyd’s fluorescent smile hanging above you like the moon on a riverbank. Yet when he speaks, he does not look at you.

“See ya tonight, Shrimpy?”

“Um … yeah.”

“‘Kay Shrimpy! Hehehe!”

As you walk off, you rub your neck wondering what that was all about. 

You are prepared like someone might put the finishing touches on a cake. Azul gives you your Octavinelle hat and apron while Jade explains how they go about business. A slip of paper from Jade tells you the connection between abbreviations and meals. 

“But if you have any questions on what a certain abbreviation stands for, Floyd will assist you.” You then asked why you would need help; they all personally tasted how capable you were at making meals. Abbreviations are relatively easy to understand too. Jade simply laughed before opening two swinging doors to the kitchen. A tongue lolls out and on the beastly carpet, Floyd stands, dressed up in cooking attire rather than waiter attire. 

“Have fun you two,” are the words Jade leaves you with an hour or so ago, standing in the whale’s guts. Fun? You think Floyd is having the most fun out of the two of you because –

Blood hits the floor and soaks into the linoleum. Little stardust sprinkles of red between both of your awestruck bodies. Each droplet holds such a weight that you are almost surprised that the red splatter does not start burning holes through the floor like stomach acid. 

Floyd is bent over like he has chronic stomach pain. Teal hair covers his face as he shudders. Backtracking, he was looking at you a minute ago. Pestering you, he had tried to change what you were making. You were not dealing with that. (A knife suddenly falls in the path of Floyd’s hand.

“Please keep your filthy hand to your side of the kitchen.”

“That just makes me wanna touch your side more, Shrimpy.”

“Then, you must also not be fond of your fingers. Unexpected but nothing I cannot work with. A pinch of seasoning and I’m sure even you will be easy to swallow.”

“I have something else you could – FUCK!”)

Now, Floyd is bleeding all over the floor. The metallic stench has you squirming.  

Oh, I am getting fired. Or, squeezed. Or, Ace and Deuce are going to find my drowned dead body. The dumpster fire of thought explodes like an atomic bomb when Floyd’s head lifts up. The grin on his face splits from ear to ear. All forty-two teeth catching the light a certain way. Forget all that! I’m going to be eaten alive!! The thought runs a strangely pleasant shiver up your spine. 

Is money worth this stress? Because you are dealing with parts of yourself that you do not want to address.

It is the day after and Floyd is staring enraptured at his palm. 

Perhaps English language cannot house the absolute devotion that Floyd stares at his palm with; however, Jade believes enraptured is one-fourth close enough given language’s constrictions. His twin brother looks at the innards of his hand with the same expression when he saw fireworks for the first time or experienced the sight of red for the first time. Looking at it like it is the first time he has seen his palm. It is because something new lies on his palm. A new difference between Floyd and himself as identical twins.

Scheming, Jade decides he wants to poke at that wound. So, tearing paper off his notepad, he leaves the pending order with one of the kitchen staff and does not pick up the tray designated for him. Pocketing work, Jade slithers over to the bar.

With his non-dominant right hand, Floyd starts to trace the innard of his palm. That look of enrapturement is so strong now. As if he is only happy when observing that plane of skin. It even changes his eyes, speckles of their natural bioluminescence floating in them. Enraptured so deeply like black-hole is sucking him in.

“Did you happen to forget you have five fingers?” That does not work. Still leaning on the countertop, Floyd glides his hand contently on his palm. “Happen to be missing home?”

That knocks Floyd out of his stupor. “Huh?” On the other side of the countertop, Jade stands at the most empty bar, because customers seem to recognize they aren’t going to get a drink from such a distracted Floyd. Jade smiles politely. 

“You are staring at your hand as if you’re trying to will your fins back.” 

Jade suspects there is more to it. And he is proven correct when Floyd tights his dominant hand into a fist. The blood-lamp in his eyes dim just a bit, growing timid … no, his brother is acting shy right now? Mumbled into Floyd’s shoulder when he turns away: “I’s nothin’.”

Oh, this is going to be fun. Teeth on display, Jade interrogates, “With that look, I wholeheartedly doubt such a statement. And you are retreating like a pitiful hermit crab right now.”

“Fuck off.” 

“(Name) happens to have the day off. I happen to wonder if that has any correlation, with this sudden hand-staring. Did your hands happen to touch, going for the same ingredient?”

“I happen to wonder how many punches it’ll take till ya have a black eye.”

“Fufufufu. To think that all your efforts to get her attention and employed here; and she ends up cutting you on her first day.”

Floyd’s mood lightens. A lovey-dovey sigh escapes him. “I know. Ain’t she perfect~”

You found out only two weeks into your employment that you were getting paid more than ninety percent of the staff.

(One of your fellow line-cooks spit out of his drink when he heard you mumble under your breath during lunch rush, “twenty-eight dollars per hour, twenty-eight dollars per hour, twenty-eight –” like a momentary mantra to convince yourself to not stress too much. Apparently you are getting paid forteen more dollars than the average kitchen staff. You do not get to speculate with him why. Azul comes rushing in, scolding anyone who does not have a hundred and one percent of their attention on their work station. 

When you ask Floyd about it, he becomes uncharacteristically less fidgety than normal. How juxtaposing. People that are put-off usually squirm but Floyd goes comatose-like when bothered.) You have decided to drop it since then; why look a gifted horse in the mouth?

The money is such a darling incentive to come into work that you have yet to miss a single shift. At least, it is never boring. Not that you think Floyd would allow you to wilt in the industrial-ness of cooking in a restaurant instead of tender, domestic cooking. You two manage to have this weird mixture of fun and prodding.

And when a customer puts in an order for lobsters, you are not going to waste the opportunity.

“I’ll think I’ll name him Floyd 2,” you say, holding up the crustacean. Twitching antennas wave at you when his rubber-band claws cannot. Floyd glances at you out of the corner of his eye, golden iris like a supernova star. Just as he goes to talk, you drop Floyd 2 into the pot of boiling water. “Whoops.”

“Shrimpyyy.”

“My hand slipped,” you smile.

“Why’s Shrimpy so callous all the time? Ya got a hard shell just like this lobster. Look.” A blackish-orange, uncooked lobster is shoved in your face as you laugh.

“What do you even mean?”

“You’re a real serious type like Azul. But you were all giggles when you and Sea Otter were riding on my back over Winter Break. You danced really funny at the banquet.”

“I dance funny?”

“Yeah, like this,” Floyd starts to shimmy the lobster back and forth. You take it from him with a smile, dropping it into your pot. All four lobsters boiling, you switch your attention to cutting up the appetizer salads by your station. “Ya doing anything after work, Shrimpy?”

“Just going to Ruggie’s Spelldrive practice tonight.”

“You should come to one of my practices, Shrimpy. Way cooler than Spelldrive.”

Your knife falls on the midpoint of five or so slices of washed lettuce. Glancing up, you see as Floyd washes the rest of the vegetables, he is oddly still. His bandaged left hand clenches around the handle. Usually, he taps a rhythm to the side of the sieve. 

That is really odd because his voice is so light and carefree. But you can dissect his body language.

“No way, Spelldrive is so cool. You used magic to control the disc but it’s exactly like football.” Your world already had basketball, but Spelldrive is an entirely new thing.

“What’s football?”

“Ah, nevermind,” but Floyd presses for more answers with a smile. “It’s the same as the rules of Spelldrive. Instead of using brooms, you run. And, the control that the players have on their magic plus the second and third years who ride brooms are super impressive. The level of mastery is … on another level!”

Floyd’s face twists at that. “It’s just ridin’ a broom. Ain’t so hard.”

“I thought you, your brother, and Azul were bad at riding brooms. Y’know, sea legs and all that.”

“I’m waaay better than those two.”

“Whatever you say,” you dismiss the conversation just as you slide the cut lettuce into two bowls. You want to drop the conversation and work on the next entree. Floyd does not share that sentiment. 

Shaking water out of the sieve, he whines, “Spelldrive’s so boooring. It just a bunch of guys throwin’ around a disk.”

“And basketball is just a bunch of guys passing around a ball.”

“C’mon Shrimpyyy.”

“I guess I could make the time to attend one practice.” Floyd lights up at that. Evangelical light shines in his mouth. Something boils over in you like the stove’s temperature has been turned up.

You are being eaten alive. It is not so bad. 

However, backtracking, it starts with kisses. 

Whoever is kissing you – crowding above you like a nebulous night sky and draping each warm star finger on the cold surface of your face, mandible to cheekbone – has never kissed anyone before. And it is surprisingly endearing to you. Having to guide the night to properly understand kissing is not biting. Tentatively having to pinch or pull hair when a tongue ventures too far down your throat or a pair of needle teeth bite too hard on your lips. This is how it starts.

Happiness is like the calcium in your bones. You are awfully pleased to be kissing this pair of midnight lips. Speed of kissing escalates and deescalates in intervals; sometimes, the two of you press into each other like you are afraid one of you will leave come morning before falling into slow pecks like time has suddenly become infinite. 

In this anonymous kissing, you lie happy on some hard, uncomfortable surface. But with how elevated you feel, it feels like a cloud is cradling your body. Euphoria is a well-versed painkiller. 

Peppermint burns your nostrils as the face above you gasps. Ah, despite how you had been chiding off teeth on your lips, you are the one that actually breaks skin. Three pupils of blood fall on your closed lips. Your sheepish tongue pokes out and licks red rain away. Blood falls into the sizzling grill of your mouth and you gasp in response.

Taste is categorized into five groups. This tastes like a sixth. Suddenly, all other tastes pale in comparison. The revelation makes you shudder, each bone vibrating. 

You never want to taste anything else. You will never pick up a cigarette if you get to taste this again. 

The taste gradually dims when the face finally pulls away, revealing who you are kissing. “Floyd?” Spherical blood sits, a tiny cherry, on the middle of his bottom lip. He blushes like he is sunburnt by your attentive eyes. Before you can ask why he is kissing you, Floyd leans back, sitting on his haunches.

You two are laid on a table. The table stretches so far out into the distance that it enters a void. Behind Floyd, it shrinks down until it blurs away; when you tilt your head back, it fades due to distance. The range of your eyesight cannot comprehend the length of the surface. 

Everything else is swallowed and lost to the chewing void. When you tilt your head left and right, tenebrous ebon greets you like a wall. Your eyes are magnetized to the only light source now that Floyd’s lips are too far away to kiss. 

Held in Floyd’s hand is a single fish fork. It incandesces like a lamp, and when you blink, the contour is burnt on your inner eyelids. 

Puffy, swollen lips move to speak but Floyd beats you to the punch. Out of his mouth falls an even sweeter palate beyond his blood. Your real name – in his voice, nasally, a bit lightfully high-pitched, a bit annoying and a bit liberating –  on his tongue, pronounced and said with a hefty weight. 

“(Name).”

“Yeah?” You answer, breathless from kisses and that word.

“Can I taste you?”

You think back to how each of you were feasting on each other in your liplock,  a sudden amorous meal.

“Yeah.”

Instead of him leaning down, the fish fork in Floyd’s hand starts to move. Your eyes track it with intrigue. Beyond the valley of your chest, you are caught off guard seeing your button-up undone and open like wings. Into an abyss known as the midline sternotomy, Floyd’s fish fork digs in.

A dog-esque whimper falls from your lips. The toes of your right foot curl behind Floyd when you feel a fork scraping past rib bones. Three prongs pierce convulsing muscle tissue. Lithe fingers twist the utensil. Arousal coats like goosebumps on your flesh as a section of you is taken. Eyelids half mast, you watch Floyd bring the red fork to his lips. A section of still-beating, still-drumming muscle disappears into his mouth.

This is more intense than the kissing, that you wake up on fire. 

The fire is metaphorical but the engrossing heat that blankets your entire body is not. In Ramshackle’s bed, you kick awake breathlessly. The pillow you were squeezing gives a wheeze of pain when you hug it to yourself tighter. Propping yourself on your elbows, blinking away a dream, you groan. “Oh fuuuck no.” In your chest, your tell-tale heart pounds.

You fall right back on the embrace of your pillow as it mimics the feel of a lover’s chest. Silk and the fire in your face collide in a burn. As chunks of your dream expand or delete away, you consider the heavy weight of … everything.

Floyd. 

Floyd was eating your heart. Your face smolders on your pillow – you refuse to dwell on the implications of that. 

You dwell on the implications, almost ruminating. In your quad-'apartment stomach, the rumen and reticulum digests the dream, the omasum allows the dream to filter into your bloodstream, and the abomasum finishes up your dream analysis. You metaphorically puke in your own mouth the entire morning, ruminating. 

When the taste becomes too much, you hunt down Jade. 

Stalking halls with eyes and nose trained for locating only him. And when you do, you do not busy yourself with the subtlety of a prowl. You launch right in on the attack. Stabbing him with a question even though he has a forkful of something in his mouth, “What’s Floyd’s deal?”

Caught off guard, Jade blinks at you. It is rare for such a blank look to cross his face that you are almost unnerved. Then, he pulls the fork from his mouth, chewing and dabbing his mouth with his napkin. “I’m afraid I don’t quite know what you mean. My brother and Azul are not under contract.” 

“Not a real deal – ugh, Jade, you know what I mean.”

Sharpened teeth make a beastly smile. A shiver tiptoes up your spine like a spider. 

Turning back to his meal, Jade brushes off your response with, “Vagueness is one step away from misunderstanding. You should clarify for your own sake.” 

He lifts up his fork and your eyes fall to the cafeteria table. Right now, you are on a fake bathroom break during astrology. Azul and Floyd have lunch together while Jade has a separate lunch. It is the perfect time to strangle information out of him, and, like a good predator, you should not waste time on prowling or stalking but –

“I don’t understand how you can eat like that and remain that skinny.”

As a cook, you are well-versed in the balancing of meals. To be frank, Jade’s lunch probably has the most optimal nutrition in terms of carbohydrates, protein, and vegetables. However, lunches are standardly medium-sized. In front of him lies a caesar salad stuffed with chicken, BLT sandwich, and an egg salad lettuce wrap. He’s three-fourth done with the caesar salad and sure to dig into the rest.

“Metabolism is a fascinating genetic function.”

“If I can convince Crewel to make a body-swapping potion, how about a quick switch for a day?” You can only imagine how cultured Jade’s tongue is.

“You in my body and I in yours. Floyd would have a field day with that.”

“Oh my god, what does that mean!”

Jade chuckles at your boiling worry. One hundred and one spine-chilling scenarios flash in your head. Backtracking, you vow to never give your autonomy to Jade Leech of all people. It will only end in misfortune for you. Scolding, you seethe, “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it. Your smile’s too creepy.”

“I’m not thinking about anything in particular. I’ll let you ruminate on it however. I’m sure you can think of much more than I can.”

“You’re the worst.” 

Jade gives a musical hum and forks the last bit of his salad into his mouth. “You know, I could ask the same question: What’s your deal?” His yellow left eye sharpens, taking in the space where you disrupt the atmosphere. Remembering what that evil star could reel out your throat (truth, awful truths you have not made peace with), you scoot back on the table’s seat. 

The mental image is odious. Jade’s hand hovering over your salivating mouth with the other holds your chin skyward; his fist clenches around a fishing line, yanking; he scoops up everything you keep concealed as you cough up blood like a weak geyser. A violent image. Yet, violence absent of any amatory intent. (So unlike your dream with Floyd.)

Putting distance between you two like a panicked crab, you mutter, “What do you mean?”

“You are good friends with Riddle Rosehearts, yes? You should know that he never indulges Floyd’s whims; he would never agree to working in the same Lounge as Floyd either. Yet, the two of you have gotten quite cozy.”

“I never voluntarily approach him. I work there for the cash.”

“Hm, perhaps. However, you do not shy away when he approaches you. Why is that? What is your deal?”

“We’re supposed to be talking about Floyd’s deal.”

“Alright. Then, let us talk about it.”

“Lets!”

“How do you find his disposition? Too wholesome, too loathsome? You two seem to be becoming fast friends … ah, but that is just my humble, little opinion. No need to look so upset.”

“Floyd is … Floyd … he’s viscera.”

“I assure you my brother has other anatomy beyond his stomach.” As Jade says, he unwraps his egg salad lettuce wrap. The smell burns your nose. You get the egg-scented message that such a description could match Jade with his bottomless stomach.

“No, it’s not literal. It’s – Being around him feels like being in the belly of the beast.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. Why don't you give me an example?”

“You know what? Okay.” You contemplate for a moment, thumbing through the notecards of your memory. Finally getting it, you snap your fingers. “Okay! Okay. Last week, Tuesday, during my shift. He stood behind me the entire four hours of my shift. Like I mean, stood there. Just breathing down my neck, all pissed off. I thought he was going to take a bite out of me, Jade!”

Ah, Jade remembers that day well. It was the day you had a laundry mishap, procrastinating on the chore to the point where you had no clean slacks. Nothing too interesting – so what you forgot to do laundry, that happens in the life of a busy Prefect! The only thing is:

(“Shrimpy’s wearing leggings! Shrimpy’s – fuck!”

Jade looks up from his paperwork, hovering over Azul’s shoulder. Holed up in the VIP room, he and Azul are going over the month’s numbers of hours delegated to the staff. Measuring punchcard times and figuring where to subtract or add hours for each staff member. Numbers on papers become quite boring when Jade sees the state his brother is in.

“Floyd. Do not knock over the table.” Strife laces Azul’s voice.

Sprawled on the ground, Floyd half-sits and half-kneels on the violet carpet. In his excitement, he had bumped into the table set between the two couches. Pushing himself up, the grin on Floyd’s face is mammoth and energized. “Shrimpy’s wearing leggings!”

So it seems you were, Jade would find out later. Skin-tight leggings; black with flared bottoms. You had walked in with your button-up untucked to hide what Floyd cites is the prettiest ass he has ever seen. That particular article of clothing left little to the imagination – snug so tightly on each tantalizing curve of yours.

“Is that so,” Jade asks, having yet to see you during your shift. Looking at the clock, he notices that you have only been clocked in for about three minutes. 

“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” Floyd breathes starstruck, hand clutched to his wrinkled shirt. 

With that, an evil thought comes into Jade’s head.

“I am sure today will be an equally blissful day for the staff of Mostro Lounge.”

“Huh? What ya mean?”

“I mean, she is not invisible. Obviously, if she is such a sight to behold, the staff will be looking as well.” 

Jade puts his own hand up to his heart, polite smile on his lips, and closes his eyes. He reopens them when the VIP room door slams shut – the wind carrying Floyd’s worsening mood and threats against the entire staff. The clock shows you are only four minutes into your four hour shift. The politeness of his smile morphs into something sinisterly serene as if a cunning plan of his has come to fruition. And it has, in just a few small minutes. 

Ah, what an unfortunate start to your shift it seems. Fufufu.)

But it was far from unfortunate for Jade, who chuckled every time he opened the kitchen door to see Floyd standing protectively behind you, crowding around you to cover you up while refusing to let you reach for anything on a high shelf. He would bare his teeth at whoever glanced in your direction for mere seconds. 

“I doubt he would have bitten you,” Jade placates, not wanting you to misread Floyd’s intent.

Emphasizing each word, you seethe, “He was breathing down my neck. He sounded one breath away from tearing apart my jugular!” Even though Jade seems to be reminiscing, he is obviously looking back through with a damaged pair of glasses – one temple broken off and one lens cracked.

You remember it much better: the wind-chill of a predator’s breath kissing your cervical; the uneven, spontaneous growls that would bloom behind your ear and have you pressing tighter to the stove; the intimate fear pierced into your spine through the morbid surgery of Floyd’s presence. You still wonder what you did to upset him so badly that he felt the need to monitor you for your entire shift. 

“Listen,” your face pulls into a frown as you stare down Jade. “Your brother has life sorted into two categories: fun and boring. I’m in a category I don’t want to be in. Just tell me what I need to do to make myself unappetizing to him.” 

So I don’t have another dream like that ever again.

“Ah,” Jade puts on a mask like he is going to tell you devastating news. “I’m afraid you’re quite a delicacy to him. Floyd has always been known to hold on tight to his food and eat in painful little bites. How unfortunate for you~” 

You hang your head like the strife of Floyd is a guillotine snapping the cervical bones in your neck. To be so consumed by him like this mentally … it’s tearing you up inside. 

“If I may pry, why are you so insistent on knowing about my brother? I sincerely hope it is not for ill intents, dear Prefect.” You are starting to catch onto the theme that most of Jade’s smiles are just threatening. 

Insistent? Out of the two of you, Floyd is the insistent one, binding himself tight around you. But – you still Jade’s words linger in your mind. Why were you so insistent … You imagine a fake reality where you answer his question with, ‘because I burnt food for the first time in my entire life this morning. Because this morning, I ate overdone scrambled eggs that crunched in my mouth like pretzels. Because I think I’ve unknowingly developed a crush on him and it hit me so hard this morning that Ramshackle would have gone up in smoke if Grim and the ghosts took a minute longer to notice the burning stove.’ 

Instead, you answer, “Just want my peace of mind back.”

It is a partial truth that Jade does not have to use hooks to create red, wet aqueducts in your throat to get the answer. No need to use magic like Shock the Heart on you; you have already had your heart-attack this morning!

“I sincerely think there is more to it than that.”

“I promise that is it. I want to know Floyd’s deal to get him off my back.”

“See, but you’re acting in such a contradictory way, Prefect. Perhaps I should use something to loosen your tongue. Holding so many barnacles of thoughts in your head must be tiring.” His left eye starts to fluctuate with pulsing gleams.

“OH! Would you look at the time! My bathroom break – it’s uh! I’m gonna be late for class! Bye Jade!!” You race off mouse-esque.

You have not seen Floyd today … which is admittedly very nice.

At least I only had to put up with one fake eel and one real eel today. Two real eels is too many, you think as you pluck a tender cigarette from the package. Despite having a closing shift, you have yet to see Floyd since he invaded your dreams. A beady eye of red is born as you pocket your lighter. Breathing in, you contemplate on this slight blessing.

Apparently, Floyd has been neglecting schoolwork for the past week. 

Whenever he was on his laptop, Jade mistakenly thought Floyd was doing his assignments. Turns out for seven nights he had been browsing GOAT for shoes and organizing each one on documents – so his typing mimicked the sound of doing assignments. Caring in a far too sinister way, Jade has locked Floyd in their room with a spell too advanced for it to be broken by one mage. 

(“I don’t quite understand why he even would look at shoes; you see, he’s low on cash at the moment. Oh, but I am truly sorry to have to separate you two tonight.” Jade apologizes as if you are upset over the matter. Your deadpan look is far from mournful. 

“However, I told him I would let him out when he has at least completed three-fourths. I believe he should be successful as long as he can find the correct playlist.” Jade’s yellow eye gleams at you, almost winking. “Plus, he has proper motivation to finish up sooner.”

“The hell –? I just asked if I could go on my smoke break.”

“Yes, but your constipated expression told me that you had more on your mind. Besides, isn’t this part of Floyd’s ‘deal’? His day to day – I thought I’d graciously keep you updated.”

You flip him off as you walk out the backroom.) Now here you sit, a wall embracing your back. 

Usually, you would stand but you think you might mistakenly pour cement in your shoes. Soreness is like molten lead in your bloodstream, weighing you down. You have never felt such agony in your hamstrings and thighs. Thus, you sit on an awful, treacherous thought. 

Would Floyd accept any study-guides you get from Ruggie? 

There are multiple faucets to why this is a cretinous thought. Wouldn’t Azul have study-guides for the twins; would Floyd swallow his pride to accept anything; did Ruggie even have the topics that Floyd was struggling with – because you have no idea which schoolwork Floyd is skimping out on! Like you said, it is a cretinous thought. For some reason though, you would really like to help Floyd – paying back nothing yet paying back everything too. 

Your blooming cloud of smoke asks Why am I acting so selfless for a selfish eel before it evaporates slowly into the oceanic air. There is not really any sensible answer hidden in your soul.

Twisted Wonderland is without a doubt as senseless as your soul. Even now, where you sit smoking is so world-shatteringly different from the typical ‘go out back and smoke’ area. The Octavinelle dorm is enveloped in water. The night sky outside of Mostro Lounge is a unique pocket that isn’t really a pocket at all. In a bubble, on the edge of a cliff that dips down into black, you sit staring at the swimming stars of fish. 

Even the classes are an oddity. The two classes you share with Floyd are Art and History of Magic. As far as you have observed, he does well in both of those subjects. So, you doubt he needs a study-guide for either. 

Which subject could it be: Astrology, Magic Analysis, Ancient Curses –

A pair of arms wrap serpentine around your shoulders. The anaconda has bound around his unexpecting prey. As a passenger to your train of thoughts, your mind goes blissfully blank. It is an odd sensation: to have been ruminating the entire day over a dream and when confronted with the only corporal part of the dream, you feel at peace..

You breathe out a dragon’s breath and a greeting, “Hi Floyd.” 

Mmmmmmph. Is the response spoken into your right shoulder. Reaching behind, you take the hand still pinching your cigarette and stiffly pat the top of Floyd’s head, sharing his tired-tinted sentiment.

You have been eating your heart out, and puking in your mouth all morning. It is an exhausting activity, anguishing yourself over a silly dream, over your dream. “Did you get all your work done?” You stop petting teal hair to return your cigarette between your lips.

Mmmmmph! Anaconda-esque embrace squeezing tighter and tighter, you are really unsure of how you should take that sentiment. It sounds more frustrated than anything – can you share in Floyd’s frustration? Heartbeat lines of waves fall over you two from the overhanging light. No, you have transferred all your strife out of like the emotion is but a colony of bees smoked out of a hive.

When tobacco and paper wrapping has burnt away to about halfway, you receive a clearer insight to Floyd’s misery. “I’m never lookin’ at stars again.”

“Ah, astrology.”

“Mmmguuuh.” 

Throat-held vibrations tickle against your shoulder. Floyd depresses his face on the ledge of your collarbone, weight so crushing like he wants to melt into you. Pinioned up in his grip, you just accept the heat of his cheek and the rhythm of his groans. 

Pretending to hold an intelligent conversation: “Totally agree with you there. Stupid scorpion.” Ash is tapped off the side of your steel-toed work boots. “I’m a –” then you tell Floyd which animal/symbol aligns up with your Zodiac.

The weight on your shoulder ebbs slowly as Floyd lifts himself up. Then, his bony chin digs into your shoulder causing you to squirm. Arms tighten to stop your earthworm motions and Floyd remarks sleepily, “Mmm, I like shrimps better.”

“You know I can never wrap my head around that nickname. I get why Grim’s a seal because he’s shaped similarly. I don’t get mine. Eels eat shrimp or something?”

“ – Or something.”

“That’s vague.”

“What? Ya want me to eat ya, Shrimpy?”

In cartoons, when a character is punched in the face, stars start to prance and bounce around their head. Floyd’s words are equivalent to a face-impacting wallop. Words crash into you with all the grace of a burning space-shuttle ripping through air. BANG! Bunny-esque stars start to dance around your head, reeling as if all those letters had condensed into a fist.

Lightning of pain branches across your face, and you only get to save yourself by doing one thing. You turn your head to where Floyd’s chin perches and blow smoke into his face. As he falls back, coughing up a storm, you quickly work to get control of the weather inside you.

The turbulent sea of a crush is something calamitous. Lunar shadow-waves tilt across Floyd’s body as you breathe in more smoke. Still coughing, Floyd grumbles, “Why do - ack - ya do that? Smells funky.”

“No asking questions if you don’t answer questions.”

Elbow protecting his nose and eyes seething, he grumbles again, “I told ya, or something.”

“Not good enough. I don’t like roundabout answers.”

“Shrimpyyy.”

“Hey, no calling me that if you can’t tell me why.”

Floyd avoids eye-contact. Not blushing but with all his grimacing teeth on display, he whines, “But it’s embarrassing.” 

“Now you have to tell me.” 

And he really does because Floyd being embarrassed is alien. You go to deal your own physical blow on Floyd. Aiming a hit that is intercepted, you gloat, “Or this little shrimp is going to take down a big eel.” 

When Floyd interlocks your fingers together, you fight back. You fight back through depressing pressure on it; you do not fight the borderline amatory gesture. His hand feels nice in yours. The lighting-shaped lesion in his inner palm that you created feels so warm.

Your mark, your heart sings. Killing that melody, you start to wrestle slightly with Floyd. Horseplaying, your joint hands press against one another, moving back and forth with each playful jab you throw at one another.

“No waaaay, you’re too weak.”

“Says the person about to be beat.”

“I’m fending you off with one hand!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Ack - ak! That’s – uuk – cheating!”

“Why am I called Shrimpy!”

“Because I’mma squeeze you like a Shrimpy!”

“Oh my God,” you laugh. “That’s an even bullshit-er answer than ‘or something’!”

“It’s true! Come here!”

“Ahahaha!” 

Sportive laughter blooms from you. Pouncing like a dog seeing its owner after a week long vacation, Floyd pushes you down onto the ground. You squeal breathlessly, “Oh my God!” The back of your head collides with his other protective palm rather than ground. You two are still entwined at the hands – his left and your right. You slap and wrench your left hand this way and that. Floyd follows with his right, trying to grab that too. A foot scuffles up to his lower stomach, pushing. No way are you going to accept a Leech squeeze without a proper fight. You two twist and squirm on the floor, laughing together. 

All the while, the caress between your right hand and his left hand remains an independent variable. Unchangeable in this discord of rapid-moving limbs. A caress of interlocked fingers.

“Shrimpy’s gonna – AH HAHA – Shrimpy’s gonna get squeezed!” A mouthful of sharp piscine teeth gleams over your face. You kick at Floyd’s intestines hard enough where his mouth goes circular instead of being crescent.

“Nuh – hahaha – no way!” Floyd makes another grab at your left arm. You twist on your side, crushing his grip on the cement below you, as your heart pounds in your eardrums. You arch in a giggling shriek when Floyd tickles your side, exposing your left arm.

“Aha!” Floyd shouts victorious when he manages a squeeze to your bicep. 

Yet, before a shrimp can be squeezed, a door opens. “(Name), your break has been over – oh.” 

Jade drinks in the sight of you and his brother like it is a recherché tea blend he has never seen before. A gloved hand covers the uniform pressed over Jade’s chest. Well, this is his first time seeing his twin have a crush so: “Oh, I am so glad to see Floyd getting along with his little shrimp. Warms my brotherly heart.” 

Frozen on the ground, you and Floyd show Jade your teeth in matching, disgruntled, and cringing grimaces. All thirty-two square enamels of yours; all forty-two triangle enamels of Floyd’s. 

“My, what sour expressions! Fufufu!”

“Why are you making that face!”

“I’m gonna shove this down your throat so you stop saying such stupid shit,” your fork moves with each word you say.

“All I said was –”

“I heard you. Do not repeat it.”

Oh, how you heard Ace, loud and clear. With all the agonizing clarity of a centipede squirming in your ear, his words made an invasion in your body. Not even a full minute ago, Ace had commented, “you and Floyd seem pretty close now.” Those words got you to instantly drop your waving hand, Floyd’s scarred palm still up and waving buh-bye to you, before you rounded on Ace with your fork. 

More frequently, between class breaks, Floyd has been visiting you during the time you and your trio have lunch. It is nothing eccentrically different. Floyd has been a persistent leech on you since Jamil Viper’s overblot … but you never reciprocated in conversation until now. Which is probably why Ace brings up the one basketball practice you attended fourteen days ago: 

“You know that one time you came to our practice, I think he played the best he has in  – FUCK!”

As Ace nurses the four indents on his throat, you fake a moue, “Oh, what was that? You have to speak clearly Ace.” 

The sound of your best friend’s hacking and your other best friends’ laughter is a tranquil balm. Enough to where you can stop stressing over the lack of distance now between (Name) (Last Name) and Floyd Leech.

Okay, maybe you never stop thinking about the lack of distance. You are a person who always backtracks into previous thoughts. Reversing time in your mind and puking in your own mouth is perpetual. Therefore, you end up stewing away in your mind, moving a spoon through a bowl of wet rice. Ah … closeness is such a flimsy concept. 

You and Floyd seem pretty close now? Perhaps.

‘Cannibalism Cooking’ is a teaching segment on how to erase the distance between self and other? Perhaps.

You think too much? Yes. 

Despite your ire, there has been a shift. It is could be in something small like how instead of cooking alive lobsters you name Floyd 1, Floyd 2, Floyd 3, etcetera; you have taken to making stories up for each lobster with Floyd, humanizing them in jest like one does with Barbie dolls, as Floyd’s lobster mourns the death of your lobster who fell into the boiling pot. It could be something large like how you will look at Floyd at times and think of how you want to devour him down to the bones — cooking him on the very stove in Mostro Lounge that you work, your own lai d'ignaure.

Stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking, you repeat to yourself in threes. You try to focus on the preparation of rice.

For almost three months you have worked at Mostro Lounge and it has gone on without a hitch. Which is odd because backtracking … you think back on Ruggie and the Intra-School Competition. You have yet to see Floyd in a bad mood, and that cannot last forever. 

Eventually, the thing Ruggie foretold comes to pass. Three days later. It is like a weatherman reporting a category four hurricane, an inevitable part of the atmosphere that cannot be avoided. Floyd has fallen into one of his bad moods. And it is worse than any natural disaster.

Double swinging doors open like a maw of roaring teeth. One door happens to smack the tray out of an employee’s hand, just about to exit to the dining hall. That is what causes your eyes to flicker up. Calamity comes in the sound of crackling porcelain and squishing food. Two dishes have clattered to the floor, food wasted. Your eyes flicker up from the discord of pasta, seafood, and vegetables to see the criminal of the crime. Floyd Leech who has the meanest maw that would put any apex predator to shame.

That monstrous look? You guarantee that the credit for crafting it belongs to the sauce splattered on Floyd’s slacks and shoes. Shadows settle over the eel-mer’s face. His hand comes up to hold his own shoulder in an iron grip.

Besides you, a line-cook bemoans, “Well, it was nice knowing him.”

Every employee is aware of the rules: if one of the employees is not following the rules, squeezing is permitted. One of the unspoken rules: do not piss off Floyd Leech. Ruining his shoes is a swift way to get his mood down.

You and your fellow line-cook share a grimace. The employee – you think he might be a Scarabia or Savanaclaw student, too far away to tell the color of his arm-band – is shaking in Floyd’s presence. Watching Floyd’s mouth and eyebrows twitch and the student’s hands move in apologetic measures, you consider something heavy on your tongue. 

I really don’t have to go out of my way to help that nameless student, you think just as your mouth opens. Really, though, you only think that because you do not want to confront the reality of who you are helping. “Hey!” The kitchen staff switches their attention from the scene to you. Ugh.

“Which table was that for?”

The Scarabia/Savanaclaw student almost looks ready to fall to his knees in gratitude. Shaking, he replies, “It wa-was for Table N-Nuh-Nine.” 

“Well, clean up Table Nine’s mess. Mop’s in the supply closet,” you hope the student is sharp enough to pick up the message: stay there until Floyd is calm. “Then, get out on the floor and offer Table Nine complimentary drinks because of the delay. Move it.”

“Yes, right away!” You think he might be Savanaclaw because you have never seen a person run that fast before.

It is like those stare-down between two predators on nature documentaries. You and Floyd size each other, him pissed that you let his punching bag escape and you pissed that he caused perfectly fine food to spoil. Eye contact locks in place; confrontation like a rumbling storm cloud separates you two. Whoever yields is going to have the face and accept the bite of the other. It comes as a surprise to the kitchen staff when you look right into the sun, challenging that mean eye. Lips pulling back to grimace, it comes to an even greater shock to everyone when Floyd looks away first. When his sheepish eyes glance back up, you move a finger in a ‘come here’ motion. 

It would be ideal if he could move without kicking a wad of spaghetti across the vinyl floor … but you take what you can get. 

“Hand me that stool,” you say. Refusing to take your eyes off Floyd, you hold your open fingers out behind your back towards your fellow line-cook who has a stool by his oven. When Floyd passes some cooks, they press their stomachs up to the burning stove-plates, dangerously leaning inward to avoid the immediate danger of a grumpy eel. Still, you two look daggers at each other. 

The stool finds your hand and you set it down in front of you – right by your own designated stove . 

“Sit,” you instruct and he wordlessly obeys. 

Even while listening, he is glaring at you. A sculptor named Animosity has molded his features; he looks at you like he wants your head to fly off, probably thinking you are going to scold him like Azul and Jade do. Instead, you turn on a third burner (bottom right) and look around for a frying pan. 

You were warned by Jade and Azul around the first week of your employment, Azul’s words far-off yet intimately close too: We tell all long-lasting staff but I ask that you heed this more than the others, Prefect. It is better to leave Floyd alone when he is in a bad mood.

Floyd is silent as he watches. His lilac vest and white button-up is wrinkled with his slouched posture. Tie still undone. No hat this time around. Sitting and slouching, he still comes up to about your elbow. On the stool’s footrest, he hooks his shoes on them, just glaring and glaring at you. 

No matter, you think, retrieving slices of bread. I can deal with a childish glare. You start to lather up the slices with garlic Parmesan butter as the pan heats up gradually. But – you have to go to the refrigerator to retrieve two ingredients you do not have on hand.

Just as you go to ask your fellow line-cook to fetch those ingredients that you needed, a hand grabs your slacks. Mild surprise seasons your face as you look down. Burying itself into your black slacks is Floyd’s left hand. 

“Why aren’t ya yellin’ at me?”

“Would you like me to?”

Floyd shows you all forty-two of his teeth in a disgusted grimace. Like the mere notion of you yelling at him leaves a bad taste in his mouth. 

“Don’t ask for it then,” you scold lightheartedly before finally asking yet another favor of your co-worker. Floyd remains silent but keeps his hand attached to you.

You are baking something quick because you need Floyd’s spirits lifted before that student comes back with the mop. Heat kisses on the plain of your forearm skin as you put the bread slices on the pan. Dial up to eight, a perfect temperature for this little meal. When you get the other ingredients you need, you quickly assemble Floyd’s sandwich.

While you cook each side for four minutes, Floyd bounces his left leg in dismay. His eyes trace over your countertop surface where all your preparation lies but you make sure to keep his eyes away from the stove. His hand is content on your pant leg. 

“Here,” you say, holding a sea-turtle green plate out to Floyd. You set it down on the countertop. He eyes it with disinterest yet stops slouching. Quickly turning off the third burner, you move the frying pan to the top right to cool off. 

“Grilled cheese?”

“Oh, please, I would never make something so boring.”

Foyd’s eyes glow a bit when he is intrigued. Right now, his eyes are pricked with little firefly holes of light because of your words. That sentence motivates Floyd to pick it up. 

Which you only really consider a success when he looks at you wide-eyed, chewing on his first bite. “Tis so goe.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. I can’t understand a word.”

“This is so good.” 

Oh.

Why does your chest hurt right now? 

“Damn Shrimpy, this is really something!” Floyd praises as he takes another bite, uncaring of the heat.

Oh your bittersweet organ pounds. Maybe – just maybe – because it is Floyd, that praise settles on you a little differently than previous praise. Not that you are unappreciative of those that eat your food. As Grim really thinks anything you make tastes great, as Ace or Deuce did not come from a lineage of highly sophisticated and picky taste-buds, Floyd’s praise is different. Floyd is not as easy to please as he seems. The glaring fact that your food has brought a smile to his face causes your heart to pound in an alternative rhythm that you have never felt before.

Before you can start thinking about that more, you explain what makes the grilled cheese so different: “It’s a combination of grilled cheese, pizza, and garlic bread. The pepperoni and garlic butter add a punch, while it really just looks like a normal grilled cheese. Figured you’d like it.”

He really does like it. It is evident as he takes a gigantic bite, listening to you explain your mixture of three types of bread-based foods combined into one. Stringy cheese connects from his lips to his food. It is a little distracting how fluidly he gathers up the flexible intestines of your grilled pepperoni sandwich. His tongue and teeth are inhuman after all. 

Hell, should you turn down one of the burners? Why are you feeling so hot? You watch a slice of pepperoni disappear into Floyd’s chipmunk cheeks before he says:

“Shrimpy’s a real good cook.”

“Of course, it was why I was hired here. But … Thank you. That’s very nice to hear from you.”

“And ya made it especially for little me.”

“Hm?”

“Shrimpy cooked just for me.”

“Uuk –” Caught just like that. You were hoping he would somehow overlook it, either because of his bad mood or his admiration towards the food. Before you can open your mouth to embarrass yourself with pointless retorts, another calamity steals your attention.

You look towards the noise by the double doors, and before you lies the best sight you have ever seen at Night Raven College. Azul. Flat on his ass, having slipped because of where that student mopped. The octo-mer’s glasses are tilted and blue paints his cheeks. “HAHAHAHA!” You quickly slap a hand over your mouth so you do not join Floyd’s laughter. Though, your shoulders shake quite a bit.

It is also the best sight in Night Raven College because it allows you to procrastinate on the philosophy of how love, to you, is finding people to be in the kitchen with. 

But, mostly, it is the best because it is Azul having slipped on his ass. “Hehehe.”

Eggs in a carton. That is what they look like. Eyes in a mask of skin. A twin set of eggs, turned sideways and unblemished. Staring up at you, those eggs remain open and bulge from the concave carton made of skin. One yolk is yellow and the other is a plain olive-rust. 

There is a third part to your philosophies – the idea of Heaven that I see is a slice of you staring up at me. If love is an ingredient then the body full of love is a banquet hall. 

A dish acts as his pillow. His locks are combed back with gravity, teal and black angel hair seasoning the meal. What you have on your plate is Floyd’s upside-down head which unblinkingly stares at you. He looks coherent. You are not sure if that makes it better or worse … because it means he can hear (along with you) the words Azul is saying:

“Unadon is just one of the many delicacies made from eel. The average chef knows about nine ways to prepare eel into different meals – braised or stewed or fried or grilled. Today, the Culinary Crucible asks that you prepare this catch with your heart as the writer of the recipe.”

And what awful words they are. 

Timid, you look up at Azul while he walks the length of the room. He is dressed in his Culinary Crucible uniform; hair tucked behind his ear, cotton table cloth on his hip, sleeves of the double-breasted jacket rolled up to his elbows. He is reading off a clipboard. His glasses steal in the limited light, glowing like a kitchen knife, each motion of those lenses keen as a stab. Each step of his is perfumed with the scent of viscera. 

It only makes sense because you are in the belly of the beast.

“Cooking eels is particularly challenging. Unlike other finfish, the skin needs to be removed as soon as the eel is dead due to the slippery consistency. On average, a chef invests a number of years into mastering and perfecting the craft of making a mouth-watering meal.”

Reddish-mauve muscle layers drape across the wall like curtains. Hardly noticeable but the walls shudder with digestion. Incurvate muscle layers are connected together by towering bone pillars. In the thinner layers, between this fusion of stomach and rib-cage, reddish-mauve turns a reddish-orange with light.

Food acts as the flooring. A runny egg yolk about the size of pillow nestles into a crimson tomato that is equal to the size of a beanbag chair. Juicy ribs decorate the floor like carpeting. Baguettes underfoot crunchy softly with each step Azul takes. You look down at what is holding yourself and your chair up. 

Underneath your feet is a cucumber. Kaleidoscope-esque seeds are arranged in the shape of a sun. Foamy white-green has a moist caress on you, and, when you test it with your toes, white plasma froths up with the pressure. 

“Harriet Van Horne was an American newspaper colonist with her career starting in 1940’s. In 1956, she wrote an article titled ‘Not for Jiffy Cooks’ and, in it, she wrote the following words: Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all. Chefs. (Name). The Culinary Crucible asks that you enter with this love. Or never cook again. Please begin.”

Begin?

There is such a momentous weight before starting. Not limited to cooking, there is always a kind of second breath curled up in the first breath before one starts a new task. Breathing with more effort to steady yourself in your resolve.

The breath you take suctions in a perfume, aligned with the floral notes of sweetness found in sugar-peppered churros, sourness found in slobbering grapefruit, saltiness found in prickling flakes on fries, bitterness found in melting dark chocolate, and savoriness found in – you don’t know yet.

Cooking is like love, you reflect amorously. You maneuver with a careful approach, gently moving the plate closer to you. Keeping him upside down, you take the hook of his mandible between your thumb and index. Dentist-like, you open his mouth. Paralyzed with an active consciousness, Floyd’s tongue hangs in his mouth like a stillborn, pink mole rat.

It stretches. Stretching like taffy with cheesy elasticity, you tug it between your dull square enamels. Pulling inch by inch, you hold Floyd’s tongue with tongs made of teeth. When it disconnects from his buccal cavity with a wet, ripping sound – spuuuul-ck! – evangelical light burns from your mouth to your retinas. 

My – My bedroom. I’m in my bedroom. Gently, your teeth move off the object you were biting down in a violent grip. Salvia soaken into your pillowcase, you let out a quiet groan. You fall back down on the pillow, finding a dry patch to rest your cheek on, having just woken up.

Not good … Not fucking good at all. 

That stupid eel; will you ever get a goodnight sleep again because of him … him and stupid sweet laughter, sour eyes, salty lips, bitter touch, and savory kiss. Kiss? Kiss! You blink and reel yourself from the image your brain was starting to paint.

“No way,” you breathe flustered. “I don’t want to kiss Floyd.” You hold that thought on your tongue like a cough drop. The flavor seeps in and – “Fuck, I want to kiss Floyd.”

Grim, who sleeps belly-up, gives a little kick next to the cradle your left thigh has on him. Quieting down, you think of a conversation you and Floyd had about a month ago. You still need to answer that question – “You know I can never wrap my head around that nickname. I get why Grim’s a seal because he’s shaped similarly. I don’t get mine. Eels eat shrimp or something?” / “ – Or something.” / “That’s vague.” / “What? Ya want me to eat ya, Shrimpy?”

With determination, you reach over your pillow to your bedside table. Hand locked on the phone, your first sight of the morning is a tiny Grim blooming alive on the screen. You coo at the picture of Grim sleeping, tail tucked closed to his body and eyes drawn shut. Cutie, you think, sliding up the screen. 

Now back to being a soldier on a mission, you click on Safari and type away. Eels and shrimps. You click search. Not wanting a long hunt, you hit the first website. MORAY EEL and CLEANER SHRIMP writes itself out on a blue webpage. Relief fills you to find the article is only two paragraphs worth of reading.

Okay, Floyd. Time to see what is so embarrassing about a tiny nickname. There is no comprehensible way that his embarrassment could possibly tip your own embarrassment off the scales. Two dreams intimately cannibalistic is much harder to admit than the reason for a silly nickname. 

The two paragraphs read:

“There are approximately 200 species of Moray Eel, most of which are exclusively marine although a small number inhabit brackish water and fresh water. Its eyes are small and vision limited, so the eel relies on a sophisticated sense of smell to detect prey, which consists primarily of cephalopods and crustacea. They possess one long dorsal fin that extends from the neck to the anal fin, allowing smooth propulsion through the water. Snake-like in appearance, with wide mouths full of misshapen teeth, the Moray Eel looks ferocious but is in fact a shy, mostly solitary creature living most of its life in burrows and caves.”

Shy? You scoff at the very idea of it. Continuing on, you read the second paragraph.

“For some species, the only regular companions are cleaner shrimp, which live in a symbiotic relationship with the eel. The shrimp congregate in teams called a ‘cleaning station’ and move across the whole body of the eel – including inside the mouth – removing parasites and dead skin, which is their food. This cleaning ensures good health for the eel, so both species benefit.”

Your hands clap over your face as if the pressure can push down the geysering flush that is overriding your skin and hide away all these emotions. 

“(Name), could you retrieve something from the walk-in freezer for me?”

It has been a torturous week. Being co-workers with someone you have developed a crush on; you imagine creating a big X with your arms, you do not recommend it. It is such a delicate tight-rope walk across a boiling pot of scalding water. 

Even while working without him as a constant leech, he remains there. 

On your body and inside your body. Inside your body, it is how he infects your thoughts. On your body though is a bracelet made of teeth (beastman, merman, fae, and human). Floyd made it for in Art; even took the red string and tied it himself around your wrist. (“I don’t have any stuff for an earring so I hadda improvise. I think humans wear shark necklaces sometimes; bracelets are like necklaces for the wrists!”) There might just casually be a tooth from each of the seven dorms on your wrist. You are currently stirring scallops around in an oiled skillet, watching a golden crust form on them and admiring your recently made jewelry.

Floyd’s very odd, you think as you look up from your station. To see who needs you to retrieve something from the walk-in freezer. A pair of heterochromic eyes size you up. “What do you need me to get,” you ask. “I can’t really leave these to burn.”

“It will only be a matter of seconds. Turn the temperature down a bit.”

Lawfully, you decide not to argue against it. Jade is just one ring lower from being your boss. The blue flame lowers slowly. You walk away from the oven, keeping your apron on, and follow after Jade.

“Thank you. I cannot quite carry it all myself.”

“No problem. What are we grabbing?”

“A shipment of veal and fresh beef. Two boxes each.”

You nod your agreement to help. When you two come up upon the steel door, Jade takes the handle in his gloved hand and pulls towards himself to remove it from the first locking mechanism. Cold rushes towards you with a bear-hug-esque strength. You give one hard shiver before falling still. Jade almost seems to smile in the face of frosty air, lips quirked up.

“By the way, have you seen Floyd today? He’s always around on the weekends but I haven’t seen him enter the kitchen yet.”

“Still interested in his day to day?”

“You know what, forget I said anything,” you say, stepping in front of Jade. Like a deflating flower, your toothpick lowers to the ground in disappointment. “I’m sure I’ll see him later.”

“Who knows it might be earlier than expected.”

“Huh?”

Then, Jade gives you a shove hard enough to send you sprawled on the floor inside the walk-in freezer. You almost end up puncturing a hole in your cheek with your toothpick. That bastard!

The thing about freezers is a majority of them have plastic sheeting between the steel door and the inside to keep the temperature below zero. Long, seven inches wide stripes of plastic hang like party streamers from the entrance. Coated in ice, it is extremely difficult to see through, whether in or out. 

Which is why you do not notice until you are inside the freezer that Floyd is there too. He looks at you down on your hands and knees, confusion a mere flicker until a flame of rage consumes it. Standing up, Floyd rushes past you. At the hanging plastic and entrance, he screams.

“Jade – you fucking bas – !”

“The human body takes four to six hours to succumb to hypothermia in zero degree weather. So, take however long you need.” And though the difference is not too noticeable, the room grows a bit dimmer. The very noticeable part is the sound of the lock clicking in place.

“Jade!” A fist flies through the icy plastic, banging loud against steel. “Jade, I’m gonna strangle you when I’m out! I’m gonna break your fuckin’ terrariums!” You think you just saw the steel door dent with the force of Floyd’s kick. 

A pregnant moment of silence settles between you two. Floyd refuses to turn around. After a few more threats and punches to the door, he still remains spine facing you. 

By now, you have picked yourself from the ground, hugging yourself. All you are wearing is a thin unbutton, apron, slacks, and a thin tank top. Your shoes and Octavinelle hat might keep some heat circulating. Four to six hours? That is too generous for what you are wearing; Jade probably got that statistic about people wearing winter gear.

When another shiver races down your vertebrates and Floyd still has not moved, you quietly poke, “Um, Floyd. Do you know what’s up with Jade?”

“Ugh, I told him I had this handled.”

“What handled?”

It seems you were not supposed to hear that because Floyd finally turns around. Droopy eyes give you a fleeting, disinterested once over. Besides his usual fidgeting, he appears unbothered by the cold. Spinning around with a sigh, Floyd aims at his vitriol at you with a glare.

When he stalks toward you like a predator, you straighten up. While not entirely experienced in fights, you are not going to be the squeeze-toy thrown to an angry mongrel to be torn apart until stuffing flies like snow. The fist you were preparing loosens when Floyd simply reclaims his spot on the ground, leaning against the opposite wall. Huh?

“I’mma go to sleep. Wake me up when Jade opens the door.”

Huh!

“Wait, but can’t you get us out with magic?”

“Jade used that spell again; needs two mages to unlock it.”

A curse sizzles under your breath. It grows into a mushroom cloud of air in front of your face, crystalizing. Fuck, it is like a miniature Antartica. Not wanting to display any weakness, you only rub your hand up your left arm instead of rubbing both like you desperately want to. “Well, there’s got to be a reason why. Revenge for slacking off?”

Floyd does not answer you. He just sits with his legs pulled up and chin resting on his knees. “Look, I gotta get out of here. I’ll freeze to death.” At that his eyes grow a bit more alive, flickering up to you. A weak half-smile is aimed at you.

“Well, I don’t want a popsicle Shrimpy.”

“So, you can get the door open? Oh, that’s a relief!”

Turns out Floyd cannot get the door open because all he does is start stripping. HUH! Floyd might be a little too late in stopping you from turning into a popsicle; you remain frozen solid, openly leering with questions. You only unthaw when you see it is just his Octavinelle jacket and scarf he is taking off. Those two items he offers you in an outstretched hold. 

“I thought you could get us out of here,” you mourn with a whine.

“Unless you gain magic, I can’t. Here, it’s not going bite –”

You barely let Floyd get out another word before you are throwing on his jacket and mummifying yourself with his scarf. Screw humility, you bet half your salary that this freezer dips into the negatives at times. Oversized, his jacket falls at the midpoint of your thighs. You squeeze yourself in an imaginary embrace, trying to bottle up all your warmth and –

“Why are you holding your hand out still?”

“I don’t really mind the cold. You’re gonna start shiverin’. You should sit.”

“I’m fine.” Your toothpick flies up and down in your mouth, moving to the beat of your full body shivers. “I’ll still be able to move when Jade unlocks the door.”

“C’mon Shrimpy.”

“I’m not going to cuddle up with you for warmth.”

“It’s not cuddlin’, it’s squeezin’.”

“Same thing.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yuh uh.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yuh uh!”

“Nuh uh!”

You end up letting Floyd squeeze you to keep you warm; it is not cuddling. 

Sitting between his long legs, accepting his arms which wrap around your waist, letting him rest his sleepy head on your shoulder as the black strand tickles your cheek. It is not cuddling because he holds you with cement arms instead of in soft amatory. Despite that, it is helping with fending off hypothermia. 

Floyd’s hands are flushed pink, almost frostbitten. When you look down at where his embrace locks, you see the crimson flesh of his phalanges and your own hands ache from just looking at them. Your hands are tucked in Floyd’s jacket sleeves. Only equipped with a button-up now, there isn’t much to keep him protected from the frigid ventilation. 

“Pu-Put your hands under my jacket.” You break a silence that has been stretching on seemingly infinitely. Snotty slugs run down your nose and you sniff them back into their home. “You’re going to lose a finger.”

“I’m fiiine,” Floyd mumbles into your shoulder. He has been drifting in and out of sleep for, well, you do not know how long truthfully. He seems to be stewing deep in thought.

It takes only a minute (you counted in your head) to get him to put his hands under your tank-top and all the layers above it. They feel unnaturally hot against your skin. Moderate frostbite. You thank him for listening then go back to counting the number of boxes in the room for a third time.

“There’s got to be some kind of loose screw or like weak area in the magic, right?”

Frustrated, you pat the steel door, nudging the plastic out of your way with your shoulders. After whittling down so many toothpicks, you start to grow fidgety. You need to go outside and take a smoke break; hell, you would forgo the cigarette just to get a breath of fresh air. 

Claustrophobia settling in, you press your frostbitten fingers over the seam of the metal door and wall. Maybe you can use something to push the lock open. “Maybe I can knock something into this spot and unlock the door.”

“Jadio sealed it up with magic. It ain’t gonna open.”

“If you’re not gonna help, zip it.”

“You talked to me first.”

“That’s it! Quiet game starting now!”

You lie on Floyd’s side, sharing his jacket like a blanket, when you murmur, “Floyd, I’m sorry about earlier.”

“... Ya lose the quiet game, Shrimpy.”

“Hehe, damn, you’re right.” You two watch your laughter float up in clouds of cold air.

It takes until Floyd gets the start of deep frostbite and you get the start of superficial frostbite when he admits softly, “I think I know something that might work.”

You look up with shiny eyes. Growing really frustrated, unshed tears have started to cling to your eyelashes. Not that they would really vanish if you ended up crying. The image of tears freezing on your face is much more appropriate. 

Poking your mouth out of Floyd’s scarf like a timid turtle, you ask, “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinkin’ –” Floyd trails off, oddly shy. He is already flushed from the chill but you watch crimson spread like an infection. He will not look at you.

His red expression reminds you of the time you took a toothpick to pick food out his teeth … wait, a minute: The shrimp congregate in teams called a ‘cleaning station’ and move across the whole body of the eel – including inside the mouth – removing parasites and dead skin. Now you two definitely match on levels of blushing. 

Why do I think of that now; you startle when Floyd’s eyes narrow down at you. 

He drinks in each atom and molecule of you with his eyes. Snotty nose, flushed face, shivering tremors all ingredients used to make the messy image that is you at this very moment. Floyd could not ask for a better sight. A little apprehensive at his intense staring, you hide your chin in his lilac scarf. He looks like he wants to take a bite of you –

“Shrimpy, I love you.”

“...

“Huh?”

“You don’t needa say it back or anything. 

“Just,” Floyd then pronounces his next words like someone speaking to customer service, making sure each syllable is clear. “Shrimpy. I. Love. You.” Your face creases at his odd tone until you hear it – the click of the steel door being unlocked. Your eyes widen in shock. “There we go,” Floyd says, reaching one hand through the plastic hangers to push open the entrance.

“Ya can just forget this – mmh!”

Reviewing and backtracking, a stomach and intestines is viscera and viscera is a stomach and intestines. Each organ of your own viscera is working itself into this violent kiss. Churning and ruminating like lustful waves. You have to digest each part of Floyd Leech in this kiss or you will starve. 

This has marinated long enough.

It is even better than your dreams. 

When you take his tongue in your mouth, each nerve on your tongue flares up in a sweet vibration. Warmth melts through your bones as you grasp at Floyd’s hair and he pulls you up by your waist. He is a bit inexperienced but he is surely reacting positively to it. 

This savory flavor is unlike anything you have ever tasted. Tagging and twisting tongues, you two devour each other like you are each other’s three star michelin feast. With harsh bites, you two switch flavor profiles with which area that is explored.

Like an inmate on death row, you take care and time with making sure each lick and bite is savored. Peppermint and meat. A laugh huffs into Floyd’s mouth, you were not expecting such a weird combination.

You two break apart momentarily, panting breaths beating out in tiny clouds against the cold. Sharing a moment where you both just want to stare at each other. His olive-brown and gold eyes are like heavenly light. There are sand-flickers of a dozen different hues in each one, all shades deliquescing together to make them glow slightly. He has such a tender look in them.

Five seconds is far too long to pause kissing; you and Floyd both agree, throwing yourself back at each other.  

Each part that Floyd touches on you ignites with a hellish fire. Not even the negative temperatures of the freezer can subdue such a flaming sensation. He cradles your organ and skeletal system with such care, moving kidney to lung to lymph nodes, moving ilium to scapula to xiphoid process. Every part of you worshiped.

You are never going to come up for air. You both have waited far too long for this. 

I’m gonna fucking bite his lips off, you think with untamed carnivorous desire. It seems Floyd agrees to the sentiment. Because he eagerly follows when you move him by a handful of his hair on the right side, black and teal threading through fierce fingers.

“Aah,” Floyd gasps when you pull.

“Mmmm,” you moan when Floyd squeezes. 

“Ah,” Jade squeaks surprised. 

You pull away first, head snapping towards the open door. Iron hot warmth burns your lips. You look at Floyd’s twin with horror when you realize you definitely have salvia coated generously on your lips. Mourning that it is not blood on your tongue, you listen as Jade says, “I felt the spell break, but it looks like I made an ill-thought-out decision to check. My apologies; please continue.”

But you cannot because – “my fucking scallops, Jade! If those are burnt, I’m going to break your terrariums!”

“My, what flaming anger. Perhaps another hour in the freezer.”

Both you and Floyd run at Jade just as he unclips his magic pen. 

This should not be that big of a deal. 

You have done this a hundred times over and will continue to do it a hundred times over. So there is absolutely no rational reason for your hands to be shaking on this avalanche level intensity. Still – looking down at them, clutched around a tiny red coffin – there your hands are … at the end of your wrists … shaking. 

There is still time to dispose of the evidence. On both hands you can count the number of people who would be more than grateful to receive this little tomb. Two of them happened to have beast features on the top of their heads, and one of the two already expressed interest in it.

(“How does this smell?”

“Shishishi, smells delicious. I didn’t know today was payday.”

“Wait! Aaah, don’t touch it please – this isn’t payment.”

“Hm,” confusion knits Ruggie’s face. “Then why bother asking?”

You cannot meet his eyes at that moment. Shuffling shoes suddenly seem more interesting as you murmur sheepishly under your breath. “It’s a little embarrassing.” Unable to elaborate further, you open up the red box. Aroma and warmth swims through the air. Ruggie’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight.

“Oh. I get it now.”

You ruminate at that moment, vomiting out all your insecurities. You barely even stop between each word. All of it pulled from you by an imaginary fish hook: “It’s so embarrassing; I’m going to throw it out!!”

“Don’t you dare.” Ruggie yells as you rush off to find a trash-can.) Eventually, Ruggie did manage to convince you to keep it in a very cop-talks-down-a-suicide-jumper with the cop being him and the suicide jumper, the bento box. 

Floyd will – backtrack, Floyd is going to laugh at it. You are just stuck on predicting if his high-pitched laughter will be mocking or amused. Perhaps, his dominant hand will come to rest on his right shoulder, miffed beyond sensibility. The bento contains a mini-hot-dog-faced bear sleeping under a blanket of rice, dyed to look like a watermelon, with dreams of corn, cucumbers, and meat floating above his head. Is that amusing or aggravating?

Waking up so early in the morning to make another lunch on top of the ones prepared for yourself and Grim … what illness have you caught, fever turning your hands into fretful shaking limbs … what happens if he hates the bear and would prefer a bunny or panda … you even stressed over picking an aquatic themed bento, but decided it against it because it was too on-the-nose for your tastes. 

If a heart is made of meaty worries and anxieties, you put your heart into this meal. Head down, roaming Night Raven’s halls, you blush hard at the thought. 

Things have been escalating fast between you two. Floyd’s shyness melted away when you two stumbled out of the walk-in freezer. His body and blood eagerly reveal his own matching hunger. You still remember last night kneading dough at Ramshackle, him nestling you from behind and pressing more and more kisses to your pulse point. Both of you devour each other in lip to lip kisses.

Love, an ingredient in the kitchen.

By the time you have arrived at your destination, your face has thankfully cooled down. There he stands. He is caught up in a conversation with Jade as Azul patiently waits off to the side. I shouldn’t interrupt them, you think and gladly grab onto that detour. If you turn down the left hallway, you can avoid this and pass Ruggie’s D period class. This vulnerability is worse than the vulnerability of being magicless. I should go. They seem busy –

“Shrimpy!” Your heart knocks hard on the muscles of your throat at that nickname. How does he always know when you are around?

Closing the gap, refusing to make eye-contact. You can feel the casual observation of Azul and Jade on you as you display what is in your hands. Stop shaking, you big baby, you scold yourself. “Floyd. This is – um –.”

“Is that for me? Aw, does Shrimpy like me or something? That’s cute — a little shrimp with a little crush.”

You finally look up. An amused, mismatched pair of eyes squint impishly at you. Miles of intestines give a teapot boiling over sound in rage. Okay, two can play at that: 

“Jade. How nice to see you! I happened to make extra for my own lunch; I noticed your habit of eating more than one meal at lunch and thought you would enjoy this.”

“My, what a gracious offer. Thank you, (Name). I will be sure to savor every bite.”

What you are offering to Jade is suddenly swiped: “HEY, THAT’S MINE!” 

Your lips quirk up, expecting that. His next move you are much less prepared for. Halfhazardlessly, he flips open the box as if to check that Jade has not eaten anything from the tomb. All of his energy drips out of him, bloodletting-esque. He almost appears paler.

His only response is a slow blink directed at you. 

“You don’t have to eat it. Grim or Ruggie will – And! And I get it! It’s pretty embarrassing. I totally get –” Your word vomit is swallowed by a pair of lips. 

Floyd does not even give you a chance to reciprocate, pulling away with laughter on his tongue. Not mocking or amused. Lovey-dovey laughter. 

Love has such a wonderful flavor. Right there, in the belly of the beast.

[liorae]

Where is My Mind ୨୧ 𝓟ark 𝓙ongseong

pair: guitarbf!jay x fem!reader | genre: fluff, established relationship | warning(s): kissing | wc: 669 | synopsis: your boyfriend helps you recreate a tiktok video he oversaw you watching.

The soft hum of your phone’s speaker fills the room as you scroll through TikTok, the volume set just high enough to keep you engaged but not overwhelm the tranquil evening. Jay lounges against the headboard, his fingers tapping out a gentle rhythm on his knee, a comfortable silence enveloping the space between you.

You pause on a video of a couple effortlessly strumming "Where Is My Mind?" by Pixies on an electric guitar. The melody is nostalgic and captivating, and you’re instantly hooked. You hadn’t realized you’d been looping the video until the bed starts to sink slightly on your left side. Jay’s presence is warm and close as he peers over your shoulder, curiosity piqued.

“Cute. Want to try it?” he asks softly, his voice a tender caress in the dim light. His eyes sparkle with playful mischief, and his smile is as genuine as the love you feel in your heart.

Your face lights up, a grin spreading from ear to ear as if you’ve just been handed a treasure. “Of course!” you exclaim, your excitement bubbling over like the first day of summer vacation.

Jay’s smile widens, and he pulls out his phone, quickly skimming through the tabs for the song. You spring into action, setting up his guitar and amp with a sense of eager anticipation. The ritual of preparation—plugging in the cables, adjusting the amp—feels like part of a shared dance between you two.

As Jay immerses himself in the song, you watch him with adoring eyes. The love you have for him is profound, a gentle force that fills every corner of your being. It’s a love so real and deep, it makes the world seem like it’s perfectly in tune.

Jay pats his lap, drawing you out of your reverie. “Come here,” he murmurs, his voice tender and inviting.

You carefully position yourself on his lap, settling into the warmth of his embrace. Jay places the guitar in front of both of you, his touch both guiding and reassuring. “I’m going to strum it a few times. Watch closely,” he instructs with a gentle authority.

He strums the intro, his fingers dancing over the strings with practiced ease. You follow his lead, your own fingers slowly finding the right places on the guitar’s neck. Each note you play is met with Jay’s encouraging smile and soft, approving nods. His gaze is fixed on you, filled with an adoration that makes your heart swell with a love you’ve never known before.

“You’re getting it, love,” Jay says, his voice rich with pride. “Ready to try together?”

With a heart full of anticipation, you nod and adjust your hands on the guitar’s neck. Jay’s fingers glide over the strings, and you mirror his movements, your playing growing more confident with each pass. The melody begins to take shape, and as you both reach the desired speed, the sound becomes a perfect echo of the original song.

When you finally finish, Jay places the guitar aside and leans in, his lips gently grazing your neck. His kisses are soft and affectionate, each one a testament to the depth of his love. Your laughter escapes in small, happy bursts as you savor the tender moment.

You turn to face him, your heart full to bursting, and your lips find his in a kiss that’s both sweet and profound. The connection between you two is palpable, a dance of emotions that transcends words. You wrap one arm around his neck, your other hand playing with his hair, feeling every bit of his love as if it’s a tangible thing.

In that kiss, you experience a love so pure and genuine that it feels like the universe has aligned just for you both. To be seen and cherished by him is to feel truly loved in a way you’ve never imagined before. And in his arms, you know with every fiber of your being that this is the love you’ve always dreamed of—beautiful, enduring, and perfectly yours.

[hippiegoth97]

She-Bop: Eddie Munson x Reader

Collage by Me :)

Master List

Tag List: @rafescurtainbangz @voyeurmunson @xxbimbobunnyxx @taintedcigs @mediocredreams

@slowandsteddie @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @babygorewhore

@rattkween86 @violetpixiedust @bimbobaggins69 @purplehazed-h @morning-rituals

@eddie-van-munson @msgexymunson @munsoneightysixx @impmunson @mysticalstar30

@jenniquinn @oneforthemunny @succubusmunson @ddeadly-succubus @prettyboyeddiemunson

@sanctumdemunson @stalactitekilla @s6raphic @hellfirenacht @birdysaturne

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@costellation-hunter @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @yourdailymemedelivery @spacedoutdaydreamer

Description: Eddie is out late with his band, and you're alone in your shared apartment. You miss him and start feeling needy. Eddie catches you in the act...

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: smut, swearing, female reader, masturbation, spanking, fingering, oral sex, praise/degradation, unprotected sex

Word Count: 2.8k

Divider by @strangergraphics

She-Bop

You lay on the couch in the apartment you share with Eddie. He's out late rehearsing with Corroded Coffin. Most times you'd be there too, but the band's working on a secret song that they don't want anyone to hear yet. Eddie assured you it was going to be worth the wait, but you enjoy watching him practice. He plays like a rock god, and his voice is so sexy. Rehearsing always amps Eddie up too, and he fucks you senseless whenever you both return home. You sigh, flipping through channels to find something to distract yourself until your love comes back. You settle on Magnum P.I. You've always had a soft spot for Tom Selleck, that mustache is something else.

You try your best to focus on the show, but your mind keeps drifting back to how you imagine Eddie looks right now. Sleeves rolled up, his hair wild as he strikes every chord perfectly. His eyes blazing into yours as he sings, putting you under his spell. You're getting wet just thinking about him, you curse the time as there's still an hour before he'll be back. You decide to lay down, closing your eyes. Maybe a nap will help, next thing you know, Eddie will be shaking you awake. You try to relax, shoving Eddie's charms into a closet in your mind. Unfortunately for you, his voice begins flowing from under that closet door. His siren song calls to you, and you can't help but heed it.

You imagine him here with you, kissing you, holding you close. You picture him kissing your neck, setting your skin on fire with his touch. Eddie's hands roam over your chest, squeezing your tits through your tank top. Your hand mimics the actions you're imagining, causing you to moan as you knead your own breast. You see him slowly moving his way down, his hand going inside your shorts. Your own hand mirrors his, feeling your slick folds. "Eddie." You moan out quietly. He's smiling up at you, working your clit in slow circles. More moans escape your lips as you slip two fingers inside yourself, pretending they're his own instead. Pumping in and out of you, you hit the spot inside yourself again and again. Eddie's much better at this, his fingers are longer, able to please you completely. But for now, your own will have to do.

Your pace quickens, curling your digits as you work yourself over. Your pleasure is building, a knot tightening itself in your belly. You imagine Eddie giving you all his usual praises, pet names, telling you how much of a good girl you are. "Oh, Eddie." You moan his name over and over, seeing him finger you at a punishing rhythm. His thumb circles your clit as his fingers continue to thrust. "Fuck, Eddie." You whine, your knot tightens with every movement, threatening to snap at any moment. You almost reach your high, when you hear the door to the apartment swing open.

"Sorry I'm late, sweetheart-" He calls to you as he walks into the room, kicking off his shoes. "What the fuck, Y/N?" Your eyes snap open to see Eddie standing in front of you. He's caught you in the act, his eyes wide and mouth agape. Your cheeks burn as you slowly remove your hand from your shorts. He stands there a moment, crossing his arms. You're in for it now. "What have I told you about touching yourself when I'm not here, Y/N?" He asks, slightly angry. He walks over to the couch, standing over you. You can't help but look down to his crotch, noticing his cock already hardening in his jeans. "I asked you a question. Look at me." Your eyes return to his, you swallow hard.

"I'm sorry, Eddie. I just missed you, I couldn't get you out of my mind. I-" He cuts you off by pulling you up from the couch, smashing his lips on yours. You join him in the kiss, your hands tangling in his frizzy locks. You tug on them, making him groan. His hands grip your hips roughly. You know not all is forgiven just yet, he just can't help himself. He can't help but love the idea of you touching yourself while thinking about him. But you still need to be punished, and he knows just what he has to do. He breaks the kiss, breathing heavily in your face.

"Go to the bedroom. Now." He lets go of you, waiting for you to obey his command. You walk past him, doing as he says. He follows close behind you, smacking your ass hard as you open the bedroom door. You moan loudly at this, making his cock twitch. "Strip." He says lowly. Eddie slams the door shut, then he sits on the bed. You take off your tank top and shorts, and Eddie smirks at the fact you have nothing on underneath them. "Come here." You move to stand in front of him. His hand reaches out to caress you, moving from your thigh up to your breast. He grabs it roughly, kneading it in his large hand. His rings feel cold on your skin, you shiver. "Lay over my lap, sweetheart." You heed his order, positioning yourself over him. Your knees sit on the floor, and Eddie grabs your ass. You feel his erection underneath you, pressing into your stomach. You moan slightly as Eddie's right hand raises, you anticipate him bringing it back down to spank you. Warm wetness gathers in your folds again. "Count for me, Y/N. Count until you think you've been punished fairly."

"One." You breathe out, your voice laced with lust. His hand makes contact with your ass, and you moan again.

"Two." Smack. You moan louder. Arousal drips from between your legs onto the floor. You love when Eddie punishes you. The pain from his hand turns you on in such a primal way.

"Three." Smack. "Fuck, Eddie. You make me so wet when you do that."

Eddie leans down to whisper in your ear. "You like when I hit you?” He asks, and you nod silently. “Mmm, you're such a dirty girl, Y/N. Keep going."

"Four." Smack. You swear you could cum just from this, the sting of every slap spurs you on further.

"Five." Smack.

"Six!" Smack.

"SEVEN!" Smack. Your eyes are watering now. Your ass is red, and it stings when Eddie caresses it. You wince at his touch. He snatches the hand away when he hears your pain.

"I think that's enough, princess. You were so good for me." He rubs your back now, comforting you. You breathe out shakily, and he helps you sit on the bed beside him. He faces you, wiping away the tears running down your cheeks. "Was I too rough, love?" He asks, you hear the worry in his voice.

"No, Eddie. It's okay. I was the one counting, right?" You smile at him, sniffling a little.

"That you were, my sexy girl." He smirks at you. He takes your hands in his, lifting them up to kiss them. You giggle as he does. "Since you took your punishment like such a good girl, how about a reward?" His eyes are dark with lust as his smile widens. He leans in closer, making his way to your neck. "I happen to be feeling quite generous tonight." His lips connect with your throat, and you moan. He takes this as his cue to bite down on the skin, marking you as his.

"Eddie." You gasp. He keeps littering your neck with kisses as he maneuvers you to lay down on the bed. Your legs are dangling off the edge, with Eddie positioned between them. As he continues marking you, you realize he's still fully clothed. And you can't have that. You push him away lightly, he looks at you in confusion. "You're overdressed, babe." You say, poking his chest with your finger playfully. He rolls his eyes and stands up, pulling his shirt over his head. You take a moment to look at his chest, it's slightly toned, but not too much. Tattoos adorn his perfect skin, and you sit up to run your hands up and down on him. You love touching him in any way you can, it's like an addiction at times.

"You love getting handsy, don't you princess?" He's looking down at you, watching you caress him. You nod at him, lowering your hands to his belt. You pull on it to bring him closer. You palm him through his jeans with one hand while the other undoes the belt. "Fuck, Y/N. You're playing with fire here." He groans, grabbing the back of your head roughly. You know what he wants, and make quick work of removing his pants and boxers. He kicks them away, and removes his socks. His dick is right in front of your lips, and Eddie maintains his grip on your head. "Suck, Y/N." He commands, slightly pushing your face closer.

You take him in your mouth, fitting as much of his length as you can. He moans at how wet and warm your mouth is. You love doing this to him, it makes your mouth water. You bob back and forth on him, working what can't fit with your hand. You pick up the pace, swirling your tongue around his cock as you move. Eddie moans your name, and calls you all your pet names as you work. He's so fucked for you, bucking his hips forward every so often. You gag each time as he's hitting the back of your throat, which causes him to groan even louder.

"Jesus, fuck. Y/N, don't stop." Eddie whimpers. You start moving even faster, knowing he's close to the edge. You gag on him over and over, pushing yourself to deepthroat him. You want him to cum down your throat, you crave the taste of his release. He's not like most guys who are so salty, he tastes sweet like candy. You're not sure how or why, but it makes you enjoy blowing him almost as much as fucking him. Your eyes water again as you keep gagging on him, determined to make him come undone. "Gonna cum, princess." He chokes out, his body tensing up. You feel the white ropes filling your throat, and you stay on him until his high subsides. You make sure to swallow every last drop, then you finally release him with a pop.

"You taste so good, babe. I love having your dick in my mouth." You say as you smile up at him. He meets your gaze, in awe of you. Usually you're quite shy about saying such vulgar things, but he loves it when you have a bit of confidence in the bedroom. He feels himself hardening again from your filthy words. Eddie gently pushes you backwards to lay on the bed again, and drops to his knees on the floor. He spreads your legs wider, holding your thighs in place. Your breath hitches as his left hand moves to stroke your folds. He feels how wet you are for him and doesn't hesitate to push two fingers inside of you. "Fuck, Eddie!" You cry out, your hands balling up the blanket beneath you.

"You like having my fingers inside you, love? Seemed like you were enjoying your own just fine earlier." He keeps his fingers still inside you. He wants you to tell him how much he pleases you before he goes further.

"Yours are so much better, babe. Please don't tease me. I need you." You're begging him to do something, anything. You're so hungry for him, and he's making you squirm for just one taste. His fingers begin to move, pumping in and out of you rapidly. Your back arches off the bed, and you moan out his name. His thumb makes circles on your clit as he continues to speed up. He's hitting your g spot with every stroke, and you feel the knot tightening again. The room feels like it's caught fire, and your body is melting in the heat. Moans and curses fly from your lips and into Eddie's ears.

"Who makes you feel this good, princess?" He asks, bringing his face to your cunt to replace his fingers. His tongue begins licking stripes on you, going inside you every so often. You almost scream at the new sensation, clutching the blanket even tighter.

"You, Eddie…only you." You can barely form the words. Eddie's relentless, making all the right moves to keep tightening the knot inside you. You want to cum so badly, you feel like you'll burst into flames if you don’t. "Fuck, Eddie. Don't stop, please. Make me cum." You cry out to him.

"You've earned it, sweetheart. Cum for me." He says just before sucking your clit into his mouth. You feel the knot finally snap, and you scream his name. Your legs shake, hips involuntarily bucking off the bed. He holds you steady as you ride out your high, and he strokes your thighs lovingly to help ground you. You're still seeing stars as Eddie guides you to stand up with him. His arms wrap around your waist, holding you close. He kisses you hungrily, still wanting more. You return the kiss roughly, already very aroused again. You feel his dick pressing against you, and you lightly stroke it with your hand. His breath hitches at your touch. "Turn around darling, and bend over." He commands you again, grinning. You do as he says, placing your hands on the bed, ass in the air facing him. You feel him behind you, wrapping his arm around your stomach to keep a hold on you. His cock strokes the outside of your cunt, making both of you moan. He keeps teasing you, drawing out as many noises as he can from you.

"Eddie, please. Just fuck me already. I can't take the teasing." You whine, and he happily obliges you. He shoves his dick into you roughly, knocking the wind out of you. When your breath returns, he begins thrusting at a merciless pace. Your moans and the sound of skin slapping together fill the room. You love when he fucks you like this, his cock manages to hit your g spot every single time, making you see stars. Your walls flutter around him as your orgasm slowly builds.

"Who fucks you better than anyone else, princess?" Eddie growls between thrusts. He feels himself nearing the edge again.

"You do, love. Only you." You whimper. He's pounding into you now, his rings making indentations on your skin as he holds you like his life depends on it. He's doing everything he can to set you off, chasing your high along with his own. He wants so badly for you to clamp down on him, screaming his name. He lets one hand creep down your front to your clit, rubbing in circles. "I'm so close, Eddie. Don't stop."

"Just a little longer." He says, his breath hitching at his impending high. You try your best to hold back your orgasm, but the knot desperately wants to be let go. His thrusts become a bit sloppy, signaling his release. "Cum with me, darling." His words are all it takes, and you feel yourself come undone. Waves of bliss wash over you, making you scream. Your cunt squeezes his cock, all of its contents filling you up. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, your knees buckle beneath you. Eddie holds you up as he rides out the remainder of his high. He pulls out of you, and you fall face first into the bed. He collapses beside you, panting. You both lie here for a moment, waiting for your hearts to stop pounding.

You roll over to face Eddie. "I love you, babe." You say quietly. He looks over at you, still catching his breath.

"I love you too, princess. Come here." He pulls you into his arms, kissing you passionately before laying your head on his chest. His right hand strokes your hair. "You're so beautiful, Y/N. I don't know how I got so lucky."

"I'm pretty lucky too, you know." You giggle into his chest. "You're so sexy, and you're so sweet and kind. You're the perfect man for me, Eddie. I wouldn't have it any other way." You sigh in contentment. You're finding it hard to keep your eyes open, and you try to hold back a yawn.

"Come on, darling. Let's get under the covers, you're so tired." He lifts you off of him, moving the blankets to cover the both of you. He pulls you even closer now, kissing the top of your head. "Sleep well, sweetheart." You barely hear him, already drifting off to sleep.

The end.

[bougiebutchbinch]

That Trans!A-Train Concept That's Been Haunting Me, feat. a tiny bit of Deeptrain

Rating: M

TW: transphobia, queerphobia, the threat of outing, and A-Train using 'tr*nny' self-deprecatingly. No one actually gets outed, but the fear is real. Also, Homelander is a creep. I love him, but poor A-Train does not.

###

“Deep. Blow A-Train.”

The world sharpens into focus. Reggie had been zoning, as is his habit when Homelander starts spouting shit and everyone dislocates their damn jaws to be first to agree with him. Now though, the meeting room at the top of Vought tower is inescapable – as is the weight of Homelander’s stare. That’s settled on Deep, for now, but Reggie still tenses.

No way did he hear that right. Right?

“What?” asks Deep.

Homelander’s expression doesn’t change. “Did I stutter? A-Train, stand up.”

Fuck. Fuck.

Reggie refuses to let his hands shake as he pushes back his chair, though his jaw is tensed so tight a muscle ticks in his neck. Homelander’s dead-eyed gaze remains glued to Deep, as he orders him onto his knees. But Reggie knows that this isn’t a lesson (a ritual humiliation? A sadistic game?) designed for one.

The fucker knows. He knows I sold out his Nazi bitch. He knows I’m fucking sick of eating Vought’s shit. He knows fucking everything…

Thoughts race through his head, fast as he can run. His heart – still fucking weird, to think of the hunk of muscle in his chest as his – pounds so hard he’s half-afraid of going into cardiac arrest again.

Hell, that might be a blessing. It’d get him out of this.

Deep looks up at Reggie with big spooked eyes. A silent communion passes between them. The only choice being exercised here is Homelander’s. They don’t get a say. They’re just… puppets. Fucking hand-puppets, with Homelander’s fists lodged wrist-deep.

“Sexuality’s just a spectrum,” mumbles Deep, pinching Reggie’s zipper. “Right, bro?”

Reggie rolls his eyes to the ceiling and lets them linger there. Behind his zipper, he’s dry and clenched and fucking terrified. On the outside though? Chill as a New York winter.

He has to be. The only thing worse than being publicly outed, like Maeve, is showing that you give a fuck. If you give a fuck, they can hurt you. Reggie learnt a long time ago that it’s safer to never give anyone that kind of power over you.

Down goes the zipper. Reggie doesn’t flinch at the rasp, but only because he’s doing his utmost to mentally evacuate his body, blowing out like he's emptying himself, watching from a distance, preparing for the inevitable –

“Get the fuck up,” snaps Homelander. He looks disgusted. Like he didn't just order them into these positions, on the implicit threat of burny, lasery death.

Deep springs away, relief shining bright on his dumb-bitch face. But he frowns when he notices Reggie’s hands (stupid fucking hands) wobbling too much to pull up the zipper. Doesn’t mention it though.

Thank fuck. Reggie hates the guy, not least because he’s thick as a post-pepperoni-meatfeast shit, but at least he has the sense to keep his mouth shut. It’s prey instinct, or something. The two of them cower like fluffy li’l bunnies under the piercing stare of an eagle, hoping that if they’re small enough and quiet enough, he’ll fly on by.

Reggie adjusts his packer in his boxers. He finally wrestles up his fly, and scurries back to his seat. Deep follows him. As Homelander launches into a diatribe against brown-nosing, Deep leans over.

“I wouldn’t have actually done it,” he whispers. Reggie just shakes his head and goes back to staring at nothing at all.

He’s first to leave once they're dismissed. It’s tempting to amp up the super-speed and sprint to his apartment, but caution drags teeth along the back of his neck.

Don’t show him that he got to you. Don’t show it. Don’t…

Homelander knows. That’s the worst part. He'd known ever since A-Train’s debut, back when he was all bright-eyed and shiny and unruined by the world. Like all of them start out. During Reggie's first week at the tower, the jackass cornered him in an elevator. He loomed over him, hands clasped behind his back, and breathed.

“My, oh my,” he said, head cocked to one side. Curious, almost. Like a scientist dissecting a bug. “Aren’t you excited. All this fame and power really does it for you, hm?”

Reggie hadn’t understood what he was saying. Yeah, he was revved. Sue him, he’d just come from his biggest press conference yet – fucking killed it, for the record. He’d made a save a few minutes beforehand (carefully staged, rehearsed, and captured from the optimal angles), and swaggered onstage to an eruption of applause so loud it was like Mt Saint Helens had gone for round two.

“Yeah, bossman,” he’d said, flashing a grin. “Happy to be here, I guess?”

“I’ll say. You're practically dripping.”

Reggie’s smile had frozen on his face. “Um. What?”

Homelander settled back on his heels, smiling blandly at the mirrored inside of the elevator doors. “Your cunt. It’s wet. I can smell it.”

Reggie felt like he’d grown twenty inches since strutting off stage. With those words, that extra height crumbled. Everything slowed down, like when he blurred into hyperspeed. It was always a strange feeling. Not like he’d sped up, but like the rest of the world had simply… stopped.

Homelander’s voice though? That just kept on going.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to tell. Why would I? It’d hardly be good for our viewings if one of us was revealed to be some sort of degenerate…” A dismissive shrug. “Whatever-you-are. Just take this as a reminder, hm? My team can enjoy whatever scratches their itches, but I do insist upon discretion.”

The elevator pinged, doors reeling open. Homelander winked – fucking winked – and strode out, leaving Reggie battling the urge to run and run and run, until Vought tower was lost to New York’s bustling skyline.

Eight years on T at that point – he’d started before he and Nate put their all into this superhero shit. Before he and his big brother took apart plain ol’ Reggie Franklin and built A-Train in his place. And for what?

Homelander sussed him with a fucking sniff.

He hasn’t brought it up since. Reggie has done his utmost not to give him a reason to.

It sickens him to think about. There’d be a media circus, like with poor fucking Maeve. Debates too, where he’d have to defend his continued presence in the Seven to their shareholders (are trans guys as marketable as lesbians?)

No one can be normal about a dude with a cunt. Ridiculous, really. For Reggie, it’s as normal as breathing.

He wants to be A-Train, fastest in the world. Not A-Train, fastest in the world, and he’s a tranny; oh my god, did you know? Let’s all sit around on a late-night chat show and discuss what’s in his pants and whether he’s a bad example for the children.

By the time he gets to his room (at normal, if slightly elevated walking speed, thank you very much) the stupid shake’s back in his hands. Reggie fumbles out his phone as soon as the door shuts. Opening his chat with Nate still happens on muscle memory, though Nate hasn’t replied to his messages in over a month.

Reggie types out a dozen versions of ‘I know you hate me and I know I deserve it and I know I fucked up and I keep fucking up, but please can I come over because I need a fucking hug from my brother’ before giving up. He backspaces the last half-formatted string of text and throws the phone on the bed, then follows it, flopping his face down in the pillows.

He hates the racist pig, but he can’t deny Bluehawk’s heart is doing a decent job. Better than his old one would’ve. He's still in tachy, no doubt about it, but there’s no warning clench in his back and down his left arm, no yawning sinkhole of dread.

He survived. Nothing happened. Nobody knows his secret but Homelander – unless he’s forgotten, which Reggie wouldn’t put past him. A-Train’s so far beneath his notice he’s practically an ant.

He doesn’t need coddling. He doesn’t need Nate. He doesn’t need anyone.

He focuses on the breathing exercises Popclaw used to make him do, until thoughts of Popclaw well up behind his eyes, along with every other fucking thing that’s gone wrong in his life. Or rather, everything he’s done wrong. Killing Campbell’s girl. Snitching on Supersonic. Not walking away from Vought while Nathan could still use his fucking legs…

Suffice to say, by the time the thump sounds at his door, Reggie is way redder around the eyes than anyone is allowed to see but the miserable face in the mirror. He unpeels himself from his damp pillow, dragging on his sunglasses.

“Fuck off!” he yells, in vague hope that’ll work. No such luck.

“Uh,” comes Deep’s low, nervous voice from the other side of the door. “Knock knock? We good, bro?”

“What part of fuck off sounds good to you?” But he’s already dragging himself to the door. Deep might be a dipshit. Might be a goddamn serial rapist with a fetish for sea creatures – but right now he’s also the closest thing to a friend Reggie’s got.

And – fuck. If that ain’t an indictment of the sorry state of the world…

Deep strolls in like he owns the place, thumbs tucked in his waistband. Reggie spent enough time studying the boys at the park, mirroring their swagger, to recognize how he’s bigging himself up.

“So,” he says, all gruff. He’s made his voice deeper, too. “That was fucking crazy, yeah?”

“Just the usual bullshit,” says Reggie, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Homelander’s screwing with us. S’how he gets his kicks.”

“Yeah.” Deep scratches the back of his head. “But you seemed… I dunno. Rattled?”

Why does he have to be a dumbass until it inconveniences Reggie most? “What’s weirder – to be freaked out by him ordering us to do that shit, or to just get on your knees?”

Deep shrinks back, eyes all big like Reggie kicked his pet lobster. Power rushes through Reggie: the sharp-tasting satisfaction of being able to hurt someone just with his words. It feels staler than it used to.

“Hey, I didn’t wanna get lasered. I’m not a queer or anything, yeah?”

“No shit,” drawls Reggie. They have different words for the sort of freak Deep is. Like fish-fucker. And pretty sure that’s a felony. “Is that all?”

Deep shrugs. “Just wanted to make sure we’re good, bro.”

I’m not your bro. But he’s the closest Reggie has to a brother too, since Nate decided he wasn't worth his spit. Even though he hates Deep's gill-slit guts and doesn’t trust him an inch.

“Yeah,” he says, sidling closer. Budging his shoulder against Deep so their biceps rest together, just for a moment, before pulling away. “We’re good. We were just playing along so we didn’t get lasered. Like you said. Now fuck off back to your aquarium.”

Deep flips him double-birds as he leaves, but his usual gormless grin is back on his face. Reggie does his best to match it.

Once Deep’s gone, he returns to his phone, tapping out a quick message to Nate and hitting send before he can wuss out.

Stay safe. I’m sorry.

That echoes all the other sorries that end his other messages, reeling up and up the one-sided text chain into infinity.

Funny, how Reggie never used to utter apologies, if he could help it – and certainly didn’t mean them, if he did. Nowadays, it feels like he can’t repeat them enough.

He selects another contact, one recently added, disguised with a picture of a massive pair of tits. This is both to dodge suspicion, should any of the Intel snoops peek at his phone, and because… well, what sorta whack-ass name is Mother’s Milk, anyway?

Just got out of a meeting, he sends. He absorbed enough of Homelander’s delusional rambling to pass on, even if it provides the Boys with no further information than ‘after executing anyone who dared stand up to him, Homelander’s suddenly decided he’s sick of sycophancy’. Still, his thumbs hover over the keys a full minute before he commits to the next words – we should talk.  

[mirage-aera]

Hi, I’m new here! I’m not sure if requests are open or if you’re currently writing for ghost, but could we have a scenario where there is a new female ghoul and they’re trying to figure out where they fit in the hierarchy. She’s bratty and challenges sodo, but he’s having none of it and it gets a bit smutty/suggestive and has her submitting. Thank you and my apologies if you don’t write anything like this!

Hello there! They are open, so thank you for the request. I am also terribly sorry for the very long wait. I have been having trouble with my writing motivation but it's back!

•°. *࿐ Rocky start

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Take Me Back To Eden - Sleep Token

Sodo x fem!reader

The new ghoulette challenges Sodo, he’s not amused in the slightest.

Word count: 1.590

Ghost masterlist

It’s been a while since you’ve been summoned to the top. You were summoned to replace Aether for the upcoming tour while he stays back to help around the clergy. Copia and the other ghouls and ghoulettes have noticed that you are having a harder time adjusting to the surface than previous ghouls. For a quintessence ghoulette, you’re a bit more snappy than usual. As days go by, some ghoul’s patience is running thin. That certain ghoul is Sodo. There isn’t a time of day when you two aren’t arguing. To their confusion, you are a lot more agitated around Sodo than the others. Yes, you have your moments with the others but it’s never as bad as it is when you’re around the fire ghoul. Sodo has noticed it too and isn’t too thrilled, to say the least.

You’re in the practice room with the rest of the band, rehearsing for the upcoming shows. Currently, you are on a short break so everyone is conversing or playing something random. Sodo is trying to fix his solo since he kept messing it up previously during the rehearsal. You, wanting to annoy him a little bit, decide to play the solo as well but add your little twist. As he's nearing the solo you start getting ready and crank your amp up. You both start playing, at first he doesn't notice but as he messes up again, he growls and throws his pick across the room. You, however, continue playing. You finish his solo perfectly. You place your guitar down and give him a sly smirk, "wanna try again, Sodo?" Some snickers could be heard throughout the room. He snarls and flips you off, "yeah yeah, whatever." Just as you open your mouth to say something Copia pipes up, "Alright, ghouls and ghoulettes. From the top!"

***

As the rehearsal goes on. Everyone within the room can tell how fired up Sodo is. At least, more than usual. He plays with a lot more passion, aggression, and spirit. At some point during the rehearsal, you were going to match or top his attitude to get a rise out of him, but the look that Copia gives you says enough. It’s like he’s saying, ‘Don’t aggravate him further.’ And for once, you pull back a little on your playing and continue as if there isn’t tension in the room. An early practice already sets off the fire ghoul and topping it with your attitude isn’t the ideal morning for the said ghoul.

You can see from the corner of your eye that he’s fiddling with his pedals. His guitar and pedals have been giving issues as of late, during practice and the rituals. “Fuck!! Stupid thing won’t work!” He shouts out with frustration. He fiddles with it once more before giving up and throwing his pick at it. “Maybe if you stop throwing shit at it, it would work.” You mumble out. He hears it and snaps his head to you, “what did you just say?” he asks in a low tone. “I said, maybe if you stop throwing shit and kicking at it, it would work.” He glares at you, “maybe if you mind your own business I can get it to work.” He retaliates. Copia sighs, “(Y/n), take over his parts until he fixes it. We don't have time for this.” You nod and smile triumphantly at Sodo. “Oh! Of course, she gets my parts! What a fucking joke.” Copia gives him a pointed look, “Sodo if you need a minute to cool off, feel free to do it outside of this room.” He takes of the strap of his guitar and holds the guitar by its neck and storms off, “fine!! You don't need me anyway! Do this stupid rehearsal without me!” and with that he slams the door behind him closed. Looks are exchanged with each other throughout the room.

“Should one of us talk to him?”

“He won't set the clergy on fire, right?”

“Maybe one of us should go after him, to calm him down.”

“I can go.” You propose to the group. Swiss chuckles, “no offense, he hates you the most. You'll just set him off more.” Copa sighs and pinches his nose bridge, “no one needs to go after him. He’ll calm down on his own. And no, he won't set the clergy on fire. He has enough self-control. Okay from the top now, 5, 6, 7, 8.” You all look at each other and shrug. Deciding to trust his judgment you continue playing, without Sodo.

***

You can't help but dwell on Swiss’ words the whole morning. ‘He hates you the most.’ It hurts to think about it. ‘Does he actually hate you?’ you ask yourself. You hope not, you actually like him a bit, even if it doesn't look like it. You walk mindlessly through the halls of the clergy, some halls you haven’t even seen before. Eventually, you reach the gardens. You decide to spend a couple of hours there. You look around the scenery. It is well kept by the earth ghouls. You spot Mountain among them, you smile and give him a subtle wave. He notices and smiles and waves back. You see a tree near the pond where the water ghouls like to spend their time, especially during the warm summer heat. You take a seat at the base of the tree and watch the handful of water ghouls swim around, splash around, and relaxing. You look around some more and you see the air ghouls playing around with the kits. And the fire ghouls... well they are being typical fire ghouls. Messing around with the other ghouls and goofing off. Even the few multie ghouls that the clergy has are scattered about. They’re spending time with the other elements. But you see no quintessence ghouls. What are their roles? What is your role in the clergy? Eventually, the sun sets and the ghouls are heading back inside. You, however, decide to take in the serenity of the garden while you can.

You spend how many minutes before Aether walks up to you. You look up at him and give him a questioning look. “I thought I'd find you here. Come inside, before they start eating your dinner.” You nod and take his hand that he outstretched for you. He pulls you up and leads you inside.

“Aether?” he hums in acknowledgment. “What do we quintessence ghouls do? All the other elements are outside doing different stuff.” He chuckles, “is this why you are bothering Sodo so much? He's your mate, isn't he?” You slap him on the arm, to which he laughs at. You're only proving his point. “Well, we help out the papa’s if they need it. We also occasionally help out Sister Imperator and the other sisters and brothers. A simple job really, not much to it if I do say so myself.” You thank him, and before you know it you're at the dinner table. You sit across from Sodo, who's picking at his food. All the other ghouls and ghoulettes at the table have already finished if not, almost finished with their food. Sodo usually finishes by now. You put your knife and fork down, “Sodo?” He raises a brow, acknowledging you but not saying a word. “I’m sorry about earlier during rehearsals, and for the earlier weeks. I have been giving you a hard time for no reason.” Sodo grunts before standing up and stalking over towards you. He wraps his hand around your arm and pulls you up from your chair. Aether looks at you to ask if you need him to intervene. You shake your head, wanting to see what Sodo wants. He drags you out of the mess hall. He walks over to his room and nearly throws you inside. He pins you to the wall and gets close to you, so close that you can feel him heavily breathing. “You know we are mates, correct?” He asks you. You nod timidly, clearly having lost your tongue. “Then why have you been giving me a hard time the whole fucking time since you have arrived here?! You have been nothing but rude to me, insulting me, trying to put me down. I can't even hate you for it, because I love you too much.” You raise a brow, “you love me? Even after all of that?” He nods, “when you have a mate, you just want to be close with them, love them. But you make it so fucking difficult. Why have you been doing this?”

You sigh, “I don't know.” He looks at you incredulously, “you don't know?” He repeats. You hesitate before continuing, “I loved you, I still do. I just didn't know where I belonged. I was confused, angry, and upset for being suddenly summoned, expected to know everything and take over Aether’s position so soon. And I took it out on you, I realize it was wrong of me to do so. I'm sorry Sodo.” He loosens his hold on you, “you could've just said so. We would've helped you. I would've helped you. All you needed to do was ask.” You hang your head low, ashamed of your actions. He lifts your chin up with his finger, “but I forgive you. We are mates after all. We can't be separated.”

You give him a look, “does this mean?…” you trail off. He chuckles, “I'm yours, and you are mine. At last.” You smile brightly, “I like the sound of that. You're mine, and I'm yours.”

[ghulehthezombiequeen]

Here kitty kitty - Sodo x reader

masterlist.

author's note: i felt bad after dropping three angst fics and then disappearing into the void so have some wholesome sodo 🫶

also i have a headcanon that all the ghouls purr whenever someone pets/scratches their sweet spots and they just melt in your arms and its just so absjdifhfbdbdjsjak i'm in love

other things to note: no pronouns used for reader, sodo gets kinda subby so if you squint there's a bit of suggestive tones (you'll have to squint so hard you can't see though)

word count: 877

“Hey, is it true that ghoul biology is similar to a cat’s?” You asked curiously, looking up from the book you were studying. You and Sodo were in the rehearsal room; Sodo was sitting down on an amp, practicing his solos for the recording of an upcoming album, and he wanted to get it down perfectly. You were just there because you didn’t want him to be lonely. “Um, yeah, why?” Sodo asked, keeping his eyes on his guitar. 

“Well, I’m just studying for my test, and… it says that to earn bonus points on the test, if I’m able to, I have to… um… make a ghoul purr.” You felt your cheeks burn as the words rolled off your tongue, and Sodo stopped playing abruptly. He stared up at you, trying to decipher if you were being serious or not. 

“…You what?” 

“It says only if I’m able to!” You defended yourself.  “Wait, wait, wait… let me get this straight.” Sodo uncrossed his legs, putting his guitar to the side gently. He then looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “You’re asking me… to help you get bonus points on a test… and you have to make me… purr?” He grimaced. 

“Um… yeah. That- that’s what the book says, anyway.” 

“Also, remind me why are you even taking that ghoul biology class? You’re not even a ghoul!” He frowned. 

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Papa Secondo says that it’s good for a Sibling of Sin to memorize the biology of a ghoul inside and out just in case a ritual goes wrong and someone gets hurt. And it’s a required class for me to take before I take his Latin class.” 

“….Alright, that does seem like a valid point. Alright,” He sighed, folding his arms and standing up, walking over to the couch you were sitting on and looked down at you. “I’ll help you. But only because I know how cranky Papa Secondo can get.” 

You gave him a cheeky grin. “Wait, really?! Oh my gosh, thank you thank you thank you!” You jumped up and excitedly gave him a hug. You thought you were going to have to ask Rain or Mountain to help you, which would probably take longer considering their schedules were filled to the brim with activities. 

“Yeah yeah yeah, alright, okay, get off.” He grumbled, blushing as he automatically put his hands on your waist. He’d never admit it, but he loved hugs. 

“Sorry, sorry.” You giggled, pulling away. 

“Alright, so what do I have to do?” He sighed. He looked like he was already over it, although it had barely started. 

“Here, sit next to me.” You beckoned, and he sat to your left. You glanced at your book, reading the common sweet spots to scratch. “Alright, let’s try… the ears.” 

Your hand slowly went behind his ears, your nails gently scratching the soft fluff, making them twitch at first but stilled as you continued. Sodo let out a small hiss, not expecting the sudden stimulation there. His fangs started to poke out of his lips. 

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” You asked as you stopped scratching once he hissed.  “No… you’re fine. I just- wasn’t expecting it to feel like that.” He mumbled. 

“M’kay.” You continued scratching behind his ears, which flickered down then stilled. You felt a low vibration begin, and your eyes wandered to Sodo’s eyes, which were closed tight. “M…m…mrr….” He grumbled, causing you to laugh.  “Aw, this feels good, doesn’t it?” You asked, and he nodded vigorously. You glanced over his shoulder at the open book, reading that another sensitive spot was the top of their heads and their chins. You opted for his chin, bringing your other hand to rub his soft jawline.  “Mmm… Mrrrr… mrow… ah..” Sodo’s eyes widened as his mewls grew louder, his cheeks turning red. You bit your lip to hold back another giggle, but you couldn’t contain the smirk on your face. 

“Mrrrow…. Ah- hey! D-Don’t…. Mrow… Don’t laugh at me….” He growled, but it morphed into a purr, causing your giggles to spill out of your mouth.  “Awww, you’re so cute! Are you a good kitty? Yeah?” You cooed, continuing to scratch his chin and now the top of his head where his scalp was. When you moved your hand to the new area, his tail flicked against the back of the couch, hard. It then started wagging, tapping against the soft pillow behind him. 

He started purring like crazy, nodding vigorously at your question. “Mrow… y-yes, yes…. I’m good.. I’m a g-good kitty…” 

He started to curl up closer to you, his leg already on your lap. You scooped him up in your arms so that he was curled safely on your lap, continuing to scratch and pet him. 

You had sneakily pulled out your phone and snapped a few photos of Sodo in your lap, as he never usually acted like this. He hissed as he saw you put your phone back, to which you replied with a giggle, “Photo evidence. It’s what the book says.” 

He grumbled something incoherent but kept mewing and purring. 

As you reveled in this moment, you remembered: you’ll have to do this again for the end of the year-review test. 

[riconas]

Aeon trying a new move on stage and unexpectedly turning someone on…

Fun ensues..

i wrote this FAST. i hope it's alright!

tags: blowjobs, face fucking, the one move bug does during mummy dust (you know the one)

He doesn't mean for it to happen. He'd slept wrong the night before, and his shoulder is sore today, and it's just a moment, really, how bad can it be? Papa won't notice if he props his guitar on his knee for a second, right? The Fantomens are so heavy, too, and Aeon's really not that much bigger than Dew. It's just to take the edge off, honestly. No biggie.

Just so happens that Rain's right beside him. Just so happens that Rain stares and stares, and stares even after he's gone back to playing the Correct Way. He doesn't tear his eyes away, even with Dew pretending to jack himself off on his side of the stage, and that's suspicious because Aeon knows Rain loves to watch Dew jack off.

And Rain sticks to him after that. Leans over his shoulder, tall beanstalk that he is, and tucks his chin against Aeon's neck. Bonks his helmet a couple of times, like he's trying to kiss him, or lick the back of his head.

Aeon doesn't mind the attention. He loves it, in fact. Presses back against Rain, tips his head onto Rain's shoulder, rubs his back against Rain's chest like a cat on a scratching pole. Pushes his hips nice and firm to the front of Rain's pants, and—

"Aeon," Rain warns.

Between the clicking of the metronome in his earpiece and the earth shaking blare of the amps, Aeon barely hears him. He feels him, rather, a gentle vibration in Rain's chest. The urge to purr is overpowering.

He is, unfortunately, far more distracted by the fact that Rain is hard.

"Yeah," he says, even though there's no way Rain can hear him. He pushes back again, and—oh, Rain's grinding against him, humping his ass in subtle circles, pushing that erection into the small of his back. He groans, mind blanking, fingers moving on his fretboard automatically now.

"Later," Rain growls in his ear, and it's a threat. "Wait for me."

Aeon's knees threaten to buckle.

The rest of the ritual passes by in a blur. He kneels for Dew, teases Papa, tosses a setlist to a very nice audience member in exchange for a pretty flower. He gives the flower to Aurora, who pats his helmet and blows him a kiss in thanks. Swiss smacks his ass, as usual, which doesn't help hide his raging boner in the slightest. Cumulus pretends to accidentally step on his toes, which does help, but only slightly.

He stands next to Rain in the lineup. Rain doesn't so much as glance at him, so Aeon tears his eyes away from the bulge in Rain's pants. They bow, and bow again, and when they run off backstage, Rain doesn't let go of his hand.

Aeon wants.

"On your knees," Rain demands, the moment they're back in their dressing room and the door is securely locked, masks and balaclavas strewn aside in a very disrespecting-Papa manner. Aeon drops to the carpet just in front of the door.

From his perch at the dresser, Dew raises his eyebrow. "What did he do?"

"He knows what he did."

Rain's pants are tight. Aeon fumbles with the laces, undoing them with fingers that should definitely be more dextrous than this, and tugs his pants down just enough to free his cock. It springs up in his face, stiff and leaking. He wraps his hands around the base, licks his lips, and swallows him down to the hilt.

"Shit," Rain groans. "Wanted this since you pulled that stupid move. Wanted to put you on your knees right there in front if everyone."

"He's a good boy," Dew says, and now there's a smirk in his voice, an undertone of mischief. He walks over slowly, slow enough that his shadow grows on the ground in front of Aeon, and threads his fingers through Aeon's hair so he can push it back, out of his face. "Aren't you, bug? Gonna let Rainy fuck your face?"

He says it so casually. Aeon blinks, and nods. The sound of Rain's cock moving in his throat is wet, sloppy. He takes Rain's hand and puts it on the back of his head in encouragement.

Dew slaps his cheek gently, feeling for the shape of Rain's dick inside his mouth. "Do it."

Rain thrusts, and Aeon gags. He forgets how big Rain really is, how it feels when he forces his way down Aeon's throat, past that tight ring of resistance. Aeon won't say he's the best at giving blowjobs, but he'd like to think he's decent, at least. He'd like to believe the sounds Rain's making are because of him.

"Deeper," Rain orders. "Relax your throat. You can take it deeper."

He massages the sides of Aeon's neck, coaxing him to let go. Determined and insistent. Aeon closes his eyes, braces his hands on Rain's thighs, and swallows.

"Fuck!" Rain shouts, then presses the back of his hand to his own mouth, muffling himself. "Fuck, just like that. Again, Aeon, good boy—"

Oh, Aeon is ruined. He's addicted. He can't get enough. He's going to pull that move at every ritual after this, going to pull it when they rehearse at the Abbey, just for the chance to get Rain like this again. He hears the delighted chime of Dew's laugh, a hot palm at the back of his neck.

Dew's next, he realises, with no small amount of satisfaction.

"You like that, don't you?" Dew asks, hands roving all over his face, all over his chest. "Back up a little. Against the wall, just like that."

Pressed to the wall like this, Aeon is cornered. He could gag, choke, push Rain's hips away, but he wouldn't be able to escape. He's almost ashamed how much it turns him on.

"Gonna cum in your mouth," Rain breathes, and Aeon has just enough time to take a deep breath through his nose before the first drops hit his tongue, warm and salty and so very good. He gazes up at Rain through his lashes as his throat works to swallow, blinking reflex tears out of his eyes. He wants to hear it again.

Rain yanks him off his dick the second he starts to soften.

"You came so quick," Dew says to Rain, never taking his eyes off Aeon. "Is his mouth really that good?"

They're talking about Aeon like he isn't even there. He'd be lying if he said it didn't make him feel some kind of way.

Aeon paws at Rain's pants. "I am right here."

Rain ignores him. "See for yourself," he replies, petting over Aeon's sweaty head. To Aeon, he says: "You'd better have swallowed all of that. I don't want to see a single drop on the floor."

Aeon nods. He's feeling s little lightheaded from holding his breath for so long. He starts to clamber to his feet, but Dew stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

"My turn," he says, his voice steely.

Rain hisses, pulling Aeon up by the arm. At some point between Aeon swallowing and Dew ogling, he must have pulled his pants up. "No. You'll get your turn later. Come, Aeon. Let's get you cleaned up."

Still reeling, Aeon lets himself be let out to the showers, feet dragging before his brain catches up. Dew stares as he goes, an unspoken promise in his eyes.

"You okay?" Rain murmurs, once they're out of earshot. "I was pretty rough."

"All good," Aeon says, albeit a little hoarsely.

Maybe, if he's lucky, Papa will let him room with Dew.

[sparkplgggrrrrrrr]

Affogato Cookie Headcanons 🤤

WARNING: religious trauma, religious abuse, cults ________________________________

⭑.ᐟ Affogato has long pointed nails that he has a disciple maintain for him

⭑.ᐟ His skin tone is less saturated, not because he doesn’t moisturize but because the moisturizer he is able to get is too weak for the cold climate in the cacao kingdom’s environment.

⭑.ᐟ Affogato’s canonical apathy towards other people is apart of a predisposed mental disorder that he has from his genes that increased in intensity as his trauma progressed, I headcanon specifically that he has ASPD [Antisocial personality disorder] (NOTE: I do NOT view people with ASPD as villains just because I see ASPD criteria in a character that happens to be a villain. People with ASPD are HUMAN, treat them like humans.) because he fits three or more of the DSM-5 criteria:

• Impulsivity or failure to plan.

• Deceitfulness, repeated lying, use of aliases, or conning others for pleasure or personal profit.

• Reckless disregard for the safety of self or others.

• Lack of remorse, indifference to or rationalizing having hurt, mistreated, or stolen from another person.

• The individual is at least age 18.

• The occurrence of antisocial behavior is not exclusively during the course of schizophrenia or bipolar disorder.

⭑.ᐟ Affogato’s actions are not to be forgiven, excused, or pardoned just because he shows signs of a vulnerability and a complex disorder. He is not this way because he hates himself, he is this way because he’s fucked up beyond saving, acting the way he does is his defense from being broken down.

⭑.ᐟ Affogato uses eating as a coping mechanism for stress, boredom, depression, and anxiety. He does this as he did not have this method of coping as a younger person, so now that he has this opportunity, he’ll take it to the fullest extent.

⭑.ᐟ I also headcanon that Affogato experiences manic episodes, not related to bipolar disorder’s hypomania, or schizophrenic mania., but manic episodes regardless, as impulsivity is a core component of ASPD.

⭑.ᐟ Affogato DOES NOT have NPD OR bipolar disorder., a trait of NPD is lying to avoid shame, a trait of ASPD is lying without remorse and/or for gain. There’s a misconception I’ve seen where people tend to view Affogato as a person with NPD, but, NPD is often confused for ASPD.

⭑.ᐟ Affogato makes his disciples pray by way of altars in their individual chambers, by which they offer expensive materialistic items or food they made from the citadel’s ovens to Fortuna. Affogato checks at the end of every week to see if they’ve offered, and then he takes the items from the altar, saying that they will be burned to send off to Fortuna, but in reality, are kept for himself.

⭑.ᐟ Affogato makes his disciples speak in tongues and chants during group rituals,, but the chaos is amped up by exotic Choconilla Swirl birds (a species I made up.) that are kept in cages, as the loud speaking in chanting tongues increases in chaos, the birds are spooked. The birds in cages create loud noise, which overstimulates the disciples, distressing them as they chant to the point of breaking down, these breakdowns lead them to believe that they are being acknowledged by Fortuna. Affogato watches this, occasionally yelling at them to do something more or to direct them in prayer. They do this chanting around a purple fire pit with a hanging idol painting above it on the ceiling, and they’re not allowed to look down from its gaze. Fire is the room’s only light, so disciples are only able to see the flame and the idol painting.

My inspiration for this headcanon was this song by Reverend Kristin Micheal Hayter

[IF YOU HAVE RELIGIOUS TRAUMA LISTEN WITH CAUTION!]

⭑.ᐟ Affogato trains his priests in heavy self discipline, by writing their prayers in the air with smoke from an incense stick for HOURS, until their arms are numb and pained. He does this for his own entertainment, because he knows that he is leading them down a path of undivided devotion and self destruction. And if a priest in training is to not finish a prayer in the time it takes to burn an incense stick down to its last end, he makes them start over.

_____________________________________________

These headcanons were made by both me and my girlfriend 🤤

@magical-fudge-berry

[mists-reading-nook]

how dare you write so amazingly about creator with religious trauma cause you have hit the spot. Not sure if asks are open, but can I ask for continuation? Maybe reader gets progressively depressed and your followers tried everything to make you feel better like triple the worship, more offerings, maybe even sacrifices but nothing works and one time the creator just breaks down about everything that they feeling and how the worshipers never listen to them, and how the all ever wanted is to be friends with all the characters and not some god, and maybe even tell the characters the trauma from their past live

Jwusjsnejjejejenebahked Omg my first ever ask!! I'm so happy <3

Also,asks are 100% open! I love getting stuff like this,so please ask all you want!

Also that is literally the best idea ever anon omg

Anyway,this is what I like to call a "mirror fic". I.E,I write 2 endings!!

Tw: sacrifices,mentions of death,cults,religious trauma,yeah reader isn't ok,but neither are the acolytes

You finally tell them

Ft- Zhongli

It had been months. Months cooped up in this stupid Cathedral that made your stomach twist and your breathing slow. Months getting gifts and offering and prayers you didn't want. You never wanted to be a God. You began to withdraw. You stayed cooped up in your stupid extravagant room,spending more time reading or staring out the window,or even just sleeping. You could barely breathe most of the time,you felt so trapped. Your lovely acolytes were getting worried.

What had they done wrong? What has made the creator so sad? Were they angry with them? So many questions,so little answers. They couldn't just ask you,that would be absurd! So the priests,church leaders,Adepti,Archons,and your main vessels led a project to cheer you up. It was awful. Your "home" stank of blood,mixed with the sickly sweet smell of food offerings. They had amped up the prayers and worship and offerings and sacrifices. You began to have to attend more sermons,more church services that left you terrified and out of breath. You had to sit through sermon after sermon,song after song about you. It was terrifying,and made you want to cry until nothing was left.

You had even begun to attend sacrificial ceremonies in person. Before they would simply offer the remains of the sacrifice,but now you were seeing the rituals. You were forced to watch so many die for your sake. It made you so…sick. So disgusted. It was after one of these ceremonies that you finally broke. You were sitting on your golden throne, your most loyal and coveted acolytes by your side,when you simply began to cry. You cried and cried and you just couldn't stop. You weeped for all the lives lost in your name. You sobbed for all the people that would never see another day because of you. But most of all,you cried for yourself. You let tears fall down your cheeks,hardening into crystals that fell at your feet. You cried for all the horrors you experienced,both in the past and present. You cried for the changes in your body,the golden blood that now ran through your veins,the crystal tears,the shimmering hair.

The world began to quake at your tears. The winds whipped and howled,the rain fell like bullets. Lightning dashed across the sky,and the ground trembled and shook. The world seemed to be weeping with you. It was listening to your cries and responding in the best way it knew how. When a particularly loud sob racked your chest,thunder came crashing down,lighting following soon after. The rain fell harder,and the ground shook even more. Tevyat was mimicking your body language,and the entire world knew of your pain.

All the things that had happened to you,all the things you'd seen and heard,came rushing back to you like water down a waterfall. The waterfall that manifested your sorrow. Your acolytes were by your side in a moment,kneeling at your feet and begging to know what was wrong. You felt your voice crack through your constant sobs. You let it all spill out,not knowing who you were addressing. You wanted to scream into the void. So you did. You screamed and sobbed and cried, Tevyat crying with you. You howled like the wind,screamed like thunder,spitting word after word like bullets. It all came off your chest in one long rant that didn't even feel real. You let the world feel your pain,as your acolytes kneeled at your feet in shock.

You cried for hours and hours,and you seemed nowhere near done. But then your tears began to dry,and your body felt achey and tired. After what felt like an eternity,your breathing slowed,your sobs turned into sniffles,and your head ached. You fell asleep in your gilded throne,eyes slipping closed despite how they ached,body losing all the tension it had been building just to slump into the plush fabric of the chair. Your acolytes were flabbergasted. What were they to do?

Zhongli proposed to ease the creator back into their role. "They are obviously scared and confused. We must help them remember their status." Many agreed. It would be best for their darling creator to ease back into their status. Only one person proposed letting them live as a regular mortal. They were laughed out of the conference room.

So it was set. They decided to ease you back into your "role" as creator,going as slow as possible so they didn't upset you. Some may have calked it selfish,but they thought they were helping you. After all,who wouldn't want to be god?

When you awoke,your most "loyal" creation sat at the side of your bed. You rubbed sleep from your eyes and stared at the man,waiting for him to speak. Your eyes had lost the sparkle they once had. They looked empty and dull. It looked as if your resolve was finally broken. You had given up on fighting it. Your empty eyes stared at the man,waiting and watching.

"...Your Grace,we understand your pain. We promise to do your best as your loyal followers to make you remember how * divine you truly are." Zhongli stated,straight to the point as always,with a voice as smooth as butter to match. You sat,defeated. They were never going to listen. You were trapped in this endless cycle of worship,and no matter what you did,you couldn't escape. You nodded numbly. Yes,you'd go along with it. There's not much you could do to change it otherwise.

You never wanted this.

*****

Fluff route!

*****

Zhongli proposed to treat the creator as they wished to be treated. "They are obviously scared and confused. We must treat them as they wish,for their own happiness." Many disagreed. It would be most inappropriate to treat you as a simple mortal. In the end,nothing was agreed upon. Zhongli simply shook his head and made his way to your quarters. When you awoke,your most "loyal" creation sat at the side of your bed. You rubbed sleep from your eyes and stared at the man,waiting for him to speak.

"...Your Grace, I apologize for the way i treated you. I didn't understand. I always thought of you as...heavenly....and unapproachable. I never thought you would ever wish to be 'friends' with lesser beings such as myself." Zhongli said,sorrow tracing his tone. To think his God had been suffering all this time…it made him sick. He wanted nothing more than to go on his knees and beg for forgiveness,but he understood that you didn't want that. So he simply sat and waited for your response. You nodded numbly. You let yourself hope,even for just a moment,that you could get out of this. You asked the question that would either make or break your life. The question that would either set you free or trap you further.

"Zhongli,would you like to be my friend?"

*****

And that's all I got lmao

[ghostisun]

tweaking rn so do ignore me but. but. alpha x dew powerplay

cw: smut - minors dni; dew has a pussy; alpha being a tease; D/s

unedited as hell but pls this rare pair has been in my mind for a while now

Thinking about how, even when he's no longer an active ghoul in the ministry, Alpha still has the privilege of breaking the new fire ghoul. And this one—this little thing that’s hissing and sparking on his bed—Alpha has looked forward to with such burning giddiness.

Omega had told him to be gentle; to take his sweet time preparing this one because, "He's well treasured. Do remember that." Alpha's sure Omega only said this to appease his own little protege, that fucking tank of a ghoul who’s too smitten with the little imp that’s glaring at Alpha right now.

Thinking about how Alpha pushes at Dew’s leg to spread it open, his keen senses picking up the gentle scent of Dewdrop’s wetness. It makes him pause, his body racked with tremors. He feels his tongue go heavy in his mouth, his throat parched with the amping desire coursing through him, before meeting Dew’s eyes, some taunt already on the tip of his tongue.

Only, Dew’s looking at him with bright shame, his cheeks burning so prettily, his bottom lip all spit-slicked from all his nervous nibbling. He is beautiful like this, all docile and shy.

Alpha’s words pass through the gaps of his teeth jaggedly, the weight of his lust thrumming from his constricted throat.

“Such a treat f’me, little nymph.” He grins. “Gotta love water ghouls, huh?”

Thinking about the deep plunge of Alpha’s cock in Dew’s cunt. 

It’s all so wet, so messy. Dew is sobbing, hiccupping, his claws digging into the mass of Alpha’s muscles but Alpha doesn’t even care, too delirious with the razing pleasure. Dew’s cunt is a warm vice, so greedy as it sucks him sloppily, the slick press of his walls making room for Alpha’s size.

“-Pha! Alpha!” Dew screams, warbled moans spilling into the miasmic fog between the two of them. 

“That’s right, kitten,” Alpha rumbles, his voice ripped out from the base of his throat. He sounds winded. Primal. “Scream louder, firefly. Be a good boy.”

Dew’s body locks, his head thrashing against the pillow. Alpha grins, a bite too mean because of course. Of course Copia’s little lamb loves being praised. Being adored.

Maybe this is why Dew was the only one fit for the ritual—the only one who can ever fall.

Well now, he thinks to himself, swiping his forked tongue on his lips. One taste is no longer enough.

Thinking about Alpha being so pussy-whipped he mentors Dew …. Of course that’s the excuse he throws out when he’s pulling Dew away from his packmates and into his room.

[dewedup]

satanic wiles (rain ghoul!reader)

She thought the water ghoul was to be her saviour, but maybe he was just the devil in disguise.

-

Or the band's assistant gets into a sticky situation and Rain comes to her rescue, but not before taking advantage of her predicament.

18+ ONLY

Pairing: Rain x reader

Fandom: The Band Ghost

Words: 2,770

Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fingering, Ghouls are not human, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Nameless Ghouls, Restraints, kind of?, Reader is stuck, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Bondage, no beta we die like Nihil, Dewdrop Is A Little Shit (Ghost Sweden Band), Praise Kink

Read below the cut or AO3 link

“Fucking Dewdrop,” She muttered for the third time as she tried in vain to free herself from the amp that was currently holding her hostage. If Dew didn’t spend the majority of rehearsal tossing picks at Swiss and Phantom, she wouldn’t have had to run backstage to a crowded storage room for more, because he couldn't possibly use the perfectly acceptable picks Rain had offered.

Brat.

After diving headfirst over the backup amp, she found the discarded pick bag underneath some extra cables. It was just within reach, her fingers brushing the velvet sack containing the answer to her errand. Being a newly assigned assistant to the band had many perks, like getting to hang out with the ghouls whom she had gotten to know quite well back at the Abbey, and the opportunity to travel the world with the band as they performed rituals wherever the clergy wanted. But it also meant being sent on scavenger hunts for things that should really have been placed in a more convenient location, perhaps beside the stage? Instead, she’s stuck here in a dusty storage room that everything without a home got tossed into when they arrived yesterday with the tour bus.

In hindsight, maybe she should have opted for a t-shirt and jeans to run around and perform her endless tasks, instead of the skirt and corset that called her name this morning. The corset was currently caught in a mounting mechanism attached to the 3-foot-tall amp she was precariously teetering over, her feet dangling uselessly over the edge. If she tried hard enough, she could stretch so the tips of her boots brushed the cement floor beneath her. Not nearly enough leverage to try and free herself.

She flinched at the sound of the door opening behind her, cutting through her thoughts as it swiftly swung shut. She heard the sound of a lock being thrown into place.

“Who’s there?” She raised her voice slightly to be heard from behind the equipment she leaned over. A deep chuckle hit her ears; her eyes narrowed in concentration as she tried to place its owner. “I’m so glad you can find the humour in this situation. How about helping a girl out?” She tried, wiggling ineffectively.

“I came to see if I could offer you a hand, but it looks like you’ll need a bit more assistance," She smiled slightly at the playful tone in Rain’s voice. Of all the ghouls that could come to her rescue, he would be the lesser of evils. If Dew saw her now, she wouldn’t hear the end of it for weeks, probably the entirety of the tour, no doubt with pictures to add to her embarrassment.

“I found the picks, but the amp wanted to get acquainted with my top,” She explained dejectedly, her feet kicking slightly to further her struggle. An involuntary shiver ran down her back as Rain’s hand ghosted along her exposed thigh, resting at the top of her leg. His touch burned her skin, igniting a fire in the pit of her stomach at the way his fingers felt against her flesh.

“Satan himself has graced me today,” Rain mumbled, growling softly as his fingers splayed across her pale skin. She swallowed hard, a damp patch forming shamelessly in her underwear at the tone of his voice. Rain sniffed the air, groaning at the scent of her arousal. Damn if this isn’t the hottest thing to happen to me, she thought as her body reacted pathetically to the ghoul behind her. She squirmed as his fingers moved under her skirt to flirt along the edge of her panties. Thank Lucifer she had the inclination to wear something with lace this morning.

“Colour?” Rain demanded abruptly. Fuck. She jolted as his fingers danced atop the thin fabric separating him from her embarrassingly wet entrance. She whined pathetically as his hand pulled away from her and he repeated his question again, the word pushing through his gritted teeth.

“Green,” She begged pathetically, trying in vain to raise her hips up, desperate for more contact. Rain wasn’t cruel, as soon as the word left her lips his hand was back, immediately pushing past the annoying barrier to run over her slit. He collected her wetness as he circled the edge of her clit. The seconds it took for him to move a finger back over her entrance were agonizing, pulling another embarrassingly needy whine from her lips. He chittered sympathetically as he pushed a single digit in, curling it once he’d gotten down to the knuckle, making her clench around it hungrily.

“So fucking good for me,” Rain praised as he started to move his finger, letting a second digit join to stretch her open further. She moaned as his hand moved with vigour, caressing her from the inside.

“Rain,” She gasped at the feel of a third finger, a pair of lips attaching themselves to her neck. His hand continued its mission to reduce her to a pile of whimpers and cries. She couldn’t recall him taking his helmet off, but the brush of stubble on her bare neck burned her skin sweetly. His scent invaded her nose, petrichor and salt, filling her head with images of what the ghoul behind her looked like behind the mask. She wondered briefly if she begged enough would he flip her over and fuck her while she drank in his features and committed them to memory, able to glimpse exactly what she could do to him, as if his rough voice wasn’t indication enough.

The sound of a zipper sent a tingle of excitement down her spine, the electricity of the feeling fraying her already high-strung body. Rain’s belt buckle clinked as it met the same fate. His pants were no longer a hindrance. She longed to get down on her knees and take him into her mouth. She wanted to see the look on his face as she used her mouth and tongue to take him apart. But the only sight greeting her eyes was the traitorous and long-forgotten velvet pick bag. Would the other ghouls come looking? Surely Dew had reached the end of his current supply of picks and was probably wondering where she had run off to, nearing the storage room only to catch her needy moans and whines as Rain undid her with his skilled fingers.

The thought of being caught was enough to send her over the edge she was already so close to, her orgasm taking her by surprise as she cried out and clenched hard. Rain cursed under his breath as he pulled his hand back, smacking her dripping center lightly. Her depraved mind imagined his fingers coated in her slick wrapping around his cock, sliding and spreading it so that he glistened with her fluid. She could almost come again at the thought of him raising his hand to his face, his tongue darting out to sneak a taste.

A sudden presence at her entrance ripped her from the images her mind had conjured. Rain teased her, rubbing his cock up and down her slit, pressing slightly into the sensitive bundle of nerves above.

“Colour?” His voice was like syrup, sliding over her ears and sweet on the tongue. She bucked her hips slightly, trying to put him exactly where she wanted, earning her a slap to the ass. “Words darling, I need to hear you say it." His mouth was back to her neck, peppering light kisses along the exposed skin, pausing at the junction of her shoulder to nip playfully. Just a phantom touch of his teeth, sharp fangs grazing the skin slightly. Fuck, she wished he would bite down with force, leaving her with a mark to memorialize this scandalous moment. Her silence wore thin on Rain’s patience, his teeth coming to bite a little more forcefully, a sweet, little cry falling from her lips.

“I could always just leave you like this,” Rain threatened softly, his hand wrapping carefully around her throat to pull her head up, creating an uncomfortable but not unwelcome position with how her upper body was still attached to the amp. “Dripping and needy, begging for my cock. I wonder who’d find you next, if they’d fuck you as good as I would." He paused his rambling as she squirmed under him, a pool of warmth flooding from her at the thought of another ghoul taking advantage of her current circumstances. His hips jerked slightly, surprised at the scent of her fresh arousal. “Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” He hissed. Another pass over her slit had her seeing stars.

“Green,” The plea barely left her lips before he pushed in completely, bottoming out inside of her.

“Good girl,” The praise fell from Rain’s lips with a groan. He brought his face to her neck, running his tongue over the overheated skin as he stilled, giving her time to adjust to his size. He was bigger than she expected, filling her with a slight burn that soon turned pleasurable as she got used to the stretch.

“Shit Rain, please fuck me,” She moaned as he listened to her plead, slowly starting to move within her, dragging back, almost pulling completely out, before slamming back in. The edge of the amp dug into her waist with every powerful thrust, pushing the air out of her lungs and creating a dull throb of pain. Rain seemed to acknowledge this, his hands leaving her neck to grip her hips tightly, lifting her slightly up to match his movements and avoid the amp. The angle this created had Rain brushing against the spot that made her see stars with every thrust. If she had use of her legs, they would fail her instantly from the amount of pleasure she was being given.

Rain kept a steady pace, relentlessly pounding into her as her hands roamed desperately to find purchase somewhere. Her nails dug uselessly on the surface of the amp, most likely leaving some incriminating scratch marks. Like he had a direct link to her train of thought, Rain shifted positions, pushing in until he was flush against her, hands leaving her hips to grab both of her wrists and yank them behind her back. Her walls squeezed around him as he transferred both of her wrists to one hand, using the other to snake between her and the amp. A chuckle came from deep in his throat as it found its intended destination.

He teased her clit as he ground into her, circulating his hips in tandem with his fingers and pushing her over the edge of another mind-blowing orgasm. Rain groaned as he fucked her through it, her cries completely unmuffled and announcing their activities to anyone in the immediate vicinity. She wouldn’t be surprised if the fans waiting outside for the front of the pit could hear their favourite bassist bringing her to another climax.

Rain’s hips stuttered as his growing knot began to push against her entrance. She’d never needed something more in her life than to be stuffed full of his cock and knot. She pushed back eagerly but Rain’s hands moved to grip her hips hard, stilling her movement.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, you’ve never taken a knot before,” Rain let out a soft groan as she tried once again to impale herself on him.

“Ask me for a colour,” She demanded breathlessly, clenching down on him with anticipation.

“W-what?” Rain stuttered, his head swimming in the sensation as she squeezed around him again.

“I said ask me for a fucking colour,” She spat, not even having the decency to be ashamed of how badly she needed this, something she’d never experienced.

“Colour?” Rain breathed out, his grip on her hips tightening to an almost painful level.

“Green, holy mother of Satan fucking green, Rain. Please knot me, fill me up, I need you." She begged, and Rain really didn’t need any more convincing. He proceeded to fuck into her, slow and shallow at first, before he began to pick up speed. He brutally thrust until his knot pushed its way in, her opening stretching to an almost painful width to accommodate him. Rain released a primal growl as he spilled his seed deep within her, hitting places she was sure no other man had managed to reach. The pleasure from the overstimulation and pain wrenched another climax from her, a strangled cry leaving her lips at the assault on her senses.

Rain slumped against her, pushing her body into the amplifier. He leaned up to kiss and nibble at her neck as he waited for the swelling of his knot to go down. She melted into him as he moved his hands over her body. They stayed like that, connected in the moment, until Rain chuckled softly.

"What?" She questioned, turning her head to look at him but was met with his hand on her chin, keeping her gaze firmly away. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her temple in apology, but didn't allow her to see his face.

"I won the bet." He spoke the words like a coveted secret, and she supposes it is, since she had no idea what he was talking about. The confusion must have been evident in her body language, as Rain elabortated. "Dew bet the band that he'd be the first to taste you, see you unravel beneath him, to hear the sounds of your pleasure..." He trailed off, seemingly lost in thought.

"So that's all this was? Some stupid bet between you guys?" She couldn't deny the pang of hurt that echoed in her chest. Here she was, having one of the best sexual experiences in her life all because Rain wanted to brag to the band. She felt like a pawn in their game. All her feelings of passion and pleasure were nothing more than a way for them to prove their manhood. She felt traitorous tears pooling her eyes. Rain once again read her like a book, his head pushing into her neck as he purred softly.

"Don't be absurd," He admonished gently. "I've been drawn to you since the moment I laid eyes on you. But while this is has been a fantasy come to life, I admit I will get some sick pleasure in seeing the look on Dew's face when he catches a sniff of my scent all over you." She blushed at the thought, now knowing the ghouls would be able to smell exactly what had taken place in this storage room. It sent a thrill of excitement down her spine, and she had to agree that she was interested in the reactions of his fellow band members.

"I don't suppose you'll make good on your threat from earlier and leave me for the next unsuspecting victim to stumble upon this room?" She still felt slight arousal at the thought of being used by another ghoul, but she was tired and would love to not be stuck in this position any longer. A quick shower and a small nap before the show tonight sounded ideal.

"I think you deserve a reward," Rain chuckled, pulling back and stepping away from her completely. She whined at the loss of his touch, the sound of his belt buckle clinking back into place echoing through the quiet room. Within a few seconds his hands were back around her, lifting her up with one arm. His other hand came underneath to detach her corset from where it was snagged on the amp. He continued to raise her up and over the amp, her hand snatching out quickly to grab the velvet bag that had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

When she turned around in his arms she was slightly disappointed to see his helmet back in place. But the black mouth covering was bunched around his neck, exposing the lower half of his face. Her free hand lifted to run over his stubble-covered cheek. Rain moved a hand under her chin, tilting her face up so he could lean down and place a soft kiss on her lips, his helmet clumsily bumping her nose. They both pulled back chuckling.

"Shall we return those to their rightful owner?" Rain questioned as he moved to open the door for her, motioning down the hallway as a mischievous smirk spread across his lips before he put his mouth cover back in its intended position.

"I'd love to," She replied, stepping out of the room with anticipation of a certain fire ghoul's reaction.

[entriprises]

the two things that bring bradley a bit out of his head are practicing piano and going for a drive. they're both activities that require concentration and therefore make it harder for him to really get too messed up by his thoughts or drown in them.

he's been playing piano since he could sit at the bench-- on top of a couple of phonebooks. he had piano lessons all through his childhood, ending about when he got to high school but he still kept up with piano and the ritual of practicing and dedicating time to it. when things got particularly stressful, piano was one of the few things he didn't run away from but instead ran towards. that's not to say there weren't some years in his childhood and even in college where he was so disinterested in piano and would take breaks. eventually he'd come back around, hear something grand, and want to jump back into it.

the performance aspect of it is a lot of fun. he loves to use it as a party trick, to show off this skill he's spent so long practicing. he likes being able to liven a room up so much that nobody can think -- he's certainly chasing that. there's smugness and comfort in any piano bench. but at home, the songs are slower and he's much less rushed or amped up by it. he doesn't often sing when he practices either, more likely to hum. he could sit at the piano in his home for whole days and get lost in that -- though if he is sitting for more than a half a day it could double back and be less relaxing and turn much more self critical/emotional. there's a line, but he doesn't know where it is and more often than not he doesn't cross it. he walks away from the bench a little lighter

going for a drive can do two things for bradley: offer him a space to be at peace with his thoughts or put him to sleep.

driving demands his attention, it makes him focus on the specific little actions, much like piloting, except it's just him and the road and there's a much larger sense of freedom. it relaxes him, keeps him grounded. it was just him and the car and he was in control. that's also a specific reason why this differs from when he's flying because there he is in control, and it is very specific, but there's so much more room for error with the ground out from under you and so many others relying on him. driving to relax was something he discovered in college and the years shortly after. going for drives, leaving the school area, with or without a destination in mind worked wonders to clear out all the pressures and grief that he was still dealing with.

when he was a baby and then a toddler, the most surefire way of putting him to sleep was taking him for a drive. it started with goose doing that when he had the time and then his mom and grandmother did it all through the rest of his single digits. it's still somewhat effective even at a much older age and with the right quiet atmosphere and smooth drive he can easily fall asleep against the window. he doesn’t usually like sitting passenger anymore though and that’s just a combination of it not feeling the same, not having control, and some trauma

[mis4dv3nture]

𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼

Pairing: Phantom x Rain

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 1.8k

Tags: teasing, choking, oral sex, anal sex, no prepping, dirty talking, degradation, just a dash of praise, MEAN RAIN, breeding kink, knotting, a few drops of blood, a bit of sweetness at the end

A/N: Sorry, this one sucks.

Cover pic credit: me :)

It all started as a joke.

Those teasing interactions on the stage made the crowd go crazy. And he liked that attention.

So why shouldn't he let him do it again? Just a few more rituals, right? Phantom was just trying to put on a show, who was he to stop him?

He didn't expect him to keep going even after the tour ended, he even took that squeeze on his ass after the last show as another joke.

But, back to the ministry, it didn't stop. Maybe, it was even worse.

And Rain couldn't say he didn't like it.

Firstly, during a movie night.

In the common room of the ministry, the quint ghoul sat next to him on the couch. Rain offered him half of his blanket, Phantom happily accepted and got closer to him, snuggling under the blanket between the water ghoul's arms, purring at that warm feeling.

It was barely halfway through the movie when no one was actually paying attention anymore: Swiss and Dewdrop excused themselves “to the bathroom” and never came back, Aurora and Cumulus fell asleep on the carpet, Mountain and Cirrus started whispering to each other gossips about some Siblings. Rain was the only one who was actually trying to understand the movie, Phantom, with his head on his shoulder, was paying attention to something else.

Rain felt the quint ghoul's hand gently squeezing his thigh, but he didn't care about it.

Or at least he tried.

The warm touch of the quint ghoul's hand was making him lose his mind, he blushed and tried to cover the redness on his face when he felt him slowly caressing his inner thigh. He readjusted himself under the blanket, trying to hide the bulge in his pants, without even looking at the little ghoul in the eye, completely losing all the attention towards the movie.

Then, during practice.

Everything was going as usual, when Phantom decided to try a new move. During Mummy Dust, he lifted his guitar and slowly started thrusting the air. And he kept staring at Rain with a grin.

<<Nice one, Bug!>>

Dewdrop highfived him, while the water ghoul kept playing pretending he didn't notice, grateful to have his bass covering him. Those smooth thrusts definitely made him feel *something*, his heart started going faster and faster, he almost fucked up some notes.

But as if that wasn't enough, the quint ghoul pulled another new move: he fell on his knees, heavily breathing, he gently rubbed himself against the guitar. He never stopped staring at Rain with that teasing grin on his face, he grabbed an amp, slowly moved his hand on it, making the water ghoul completely lose his mind.

Rain felt like crying, his knees got suddenly weak, a raging erection in his pants.

<<Be right back guys, I'm gonna… go to the bathroom real quick…>>

He muttered tripping in his own words, he ran out of the practice room, praying that nobody noticed anything.

And he kept going for days.

Teasing him, turning him on, getting him all worked up for… nothing. Every time, he always just disappeared leaving him with a problem to fix alone, all by himself in his room.

He daily hugged him from behind, making him shiver by pressing his length against him. He mindlessly whispered to him some teasing little things that never failed to make the water ghoul blush. Or he frequently readjusted himself in his sweatpants, right in front of Rain's eyes, always pretending he didn't know what he was doing.

<<Hi Rainy>>

The quint ghoul got out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his hips, when Rain looked at him it was impossible to not look at the “V” on his lower abdomen.

<<Hello Bug>>

The water ghoul didn't get up from the couch, he tried to keep his focus on the crossword puzzle.

<<It's too fucking hot today…>> Phantom commented with a soft whimper. He was clearly back at his teasing-game again.

<<Isn't it, Rainy?>>

Rain tried to answer with an uninterested “Mh”, but it was difficult to hide how much he was already getting him all worked up.

<<It's getting more and more hot in here…>>

The quint ghoul pressed his back against a wall, then started to slowly massaging himself through the towel. Rain made the dumb mistake to look at him, and noticed how hard he was as he touched himself. The water ghoul bit his lip, he readjusted his position to try to hide the boner growing in his pants.

Phantom looked at him straight into his eyes with a grin.

<<What's wrong? Are you hot, Rainy?>>

And, finally, the poor water ghoul snapped.

In a blink of an eye Phantom found himself with his back still pressed against the wall and the water ghoul's tongue shoved deep inside his mouth, his tail wrapped around his thigh, his hand tight around his neck.

<<You bastard>> Rain interruppted that wet, lustful kiss. <<You fucking little bastard, did you like it? Did you have fun getting me all worked up this week just to leave me alone?>>

Phantom answered with a teasing smile.

<<I don't know what you're talking about>>

<<Shut up>>

The water ghoul tightened his grip around the little ghoul's neck, pulling a sudden moan out of him.

<<You've been making me horny for the entire week. Now pay the fucking consequences>>

He dragged him towards his room. Phantom couldn't be any happier.

Rain didn't even have the time to give him any order, the quint ghoul got on his knees in front of him immediately after slamming the door shut. He palmed at his thighs, looked at him with a grin.

<<It took you a while, Rainy>>

<<Shut the fuck up, Bug>>

<<Make me>>

The water ghoul quickly unbuckled his belt, freeing himself from his pants, Phantom stared at him, sinking his fang in his lower lip.

He barely let him grab at his hair before he threw himself on his lenght, getting it entirely in his mouth all at once. Rain whimpered, his knees suddenly got weak.

<<You fucking knew what you were doing, didn't you?>>

The quint ghoul quietly moaned, he grabbed at the bigger ghoul's thighs, working him with that not-so-inexperienced-anymore mouth.

<<Is this what you wanted?>>

Phantom nodded with a whine, drooling on the water ghoul's swollen erection.

<<You're such a little slut>>

With a firm thrust, Rain pushed himself all down the quint ghoul's throat, he lowered his gaze to look at him, grinning at the sight of tears running down his cheeks.

Phantom swirled his tongue over his tip, the water ghoul felt his orgasm rapidly approaching.

<<Mh- Bug, I'm…>>

The quint ghoul relaxed his jaw, pushed himself even further, burying his nose in his pubes, with a loud moan the water ghoul spilled hot, sweet pleasure all down his throat.

Phantom slowly pulled away, heavy breathing, he licked his lips with a sweet satisfied smile.

As soon as he got up Rain pushed him again against the wall.

<<You really think you're done, you little slut?>>

Phantom looked at him confused, blushing.

<<Oh, we haven't even started>>

The quint ghoul's heart started racing.

<<I thought you…>>

The water ghoul laughed, his voice got deeper.

<<You really thought you could just get away with this?>>

He got an hand around his throat again.

<<You spent the entire fucking week turning me on and then leaving me alone to fix it all by myself>>

The grip of his hand tightened, a sweet whine slipped out from the quint ghoul, who got even harder in his jeans

<<Now get me on that bed and fuck me so good that I won't even remember my own name>>

And Phantom's pants got painfully tight.

<<Water ghouls…>>

Rain smirked, laying on the bed, his legs laced around the little ghoul's hips.

<<…you’re always so damn wet>>

Phantom gently pushed deep inside of him, he started with slow thrusts, the water ghoul rolled his eyes from pleasure.

<<Shut up>> he whimpered <<fuck, go faster>>

The quint ghoul didn't listen.

<<How many times did you do it?>>

<<…huh?>>

Rain looked at him confused.

<<How many times did you get off because of me?>>

<<Fuck off, Bug>>

He started rocking his hips towrds him.

<<Mh… faster…>>

The little ghoul ignored him again.

<<C’mon Rainy, I know you did it>>

He gave him a deeper thrust, the water ghoul whined.

<<Getting off all by yourself in your room just because of me, fucking desperately into your own fist, moaning my name, begging for my- >>

Rain grabbed him by the horns, lowering his head to crash their mouths together. He pulled away from the kiss, leaving a thread of saliva connecting them.

<<Then make me moan your name even louder>>

His voice sounded desperate.

<<Make me fucking scream, mh- go fuckin' faster…>>

Phantom grinned, then he finally decided to listen. As he started increasing his rhythm the water ghoul arched his back.

<<That's it, that's my good boy>>

The praise definitely did something to the quint ghoul, his dick twitched deep inside of the water ghoul.

He grabbed at Rain's length, laying untouched on his belly and leaking pre all over him.

<<You're such a mess, Rainy>>

The water ghoul was bearly able to hear him.

Phantom started stroking him, Rain's moans got even louder.

<<Good boy, doing so good for me>> he whimpered in a high pitched voice.

Looking at how much he was shaking he must have been really close, the quint ghoul also felt his own orgasm building up.

<<Fuck, Bug!>> The water ghoul sinked his claws in his thighs, leaving blood marks all over the quint ghoul's body.

<<Knot me, fuck your kits into me, lock me on your cock>>

As if the quint ghoul wasn't already feeling his knot swelling deep inside of him.

<<Bug, oooh, Bug…>>

They were both on the edge.

<<…fuck ...breed me!>>

Phantom was more then pleased to give him what he wanted.

<<I love you>> he whimpered, as gave him the last hard deep thrust that made them both see stars.

<<Were you serious about it?>>

Rain asked, caressing the little ghoul's back. He was still laying on top of him, he lifted his head to look at the water ghoul in the eyes.

<<About what you just told me>>

Phantom blushed, he buried his face in the crook of Rain's neck.

The water ghoul hugged him tighter.

<<I love you too, Bug>>

Phantom lifted his head again to lean for a kiss.

<<Wanna take a nice hot shower? Together?>> Rain asked.

The quint ghoul nodded with the biggest smile.

[hypnoneghoul]

Mushy May Day 15. Standing up for them - Dew/Everyone

WC: 1065

Copia makes a mistake by yelling at Dewdrop.

Notes: Sorry I made Copia an asshole, needed to for this one, I am (typically) team Copia loves his ghouls. It also doesn’t match the prompt that well, but it was actually a neglected wip and I wanted to make it work with today’s prompt.

Read under the cut or on AO3.

Today’s practice was going totally and absolutely awful.

At first only for Dewdrop, but his sour, upset scent started affecting everyone, as well as that new fucking Cardinal and all his speeches and reprimands.

Dewdrop, who had a serious fucking issue to deal with, having undergone a whole elemental change barely two weeks prior, could barely stand or think, so very far from recovering. 

Yet the Cardinal didn’t care.

There was no doubt about his stand, that being he was an ignorant asshole, as he conducted the elemental changing ritual on Dewdrop himself and was well aware of his both mental and physical fragile, at best, state.

“Ghoul, did you practise even a minute in the last weeks?” the Cardinal hissed, just as Dewdrop’s fingers fumbled over the frets in one of the newer song’s solo, again. It was, approximately, the third time he yelled at the poor ghoul in the span of the last fifteen minutes, and Dew was on the verge of breaking down. ”Do you seriously care so little about the upcoming tour and-”

“Shut your fucking mouth already!” Aether growled, or more like screamed growling, and the whole room went quiet, filled with a buzz of the amps only.

“Ghoul, how dare you speak to me-” the Cardinal said after getting over his total shock at Aether’s outburst. Not only the human was shocked, all the ghouls were, Dewdrop the most.

Aether never got angry.

Aether never yelled.

“First of all, I have a name, you know,” the quintessence ghoul announced, putting his guitar down and slowly approaching the Cardinal. “We all do, actually, and the least you could do is fucking learn them.”

The Cardinal was now terrified, realising that an actual Hell Beast, a demon, was mad at him. While it would spur on any other ghoul, Aether didn’t care about the human’s fear, he wanted him to understand.

“Second of all, Dewdrop here,” Aether motioned his head in Dew’s general direction, not breaking eye contact with the Cardinal, “was fucking destroyed by you, your stupid idea, because for some reason you thought that a water ghoul just couldn’t play lead. You have zero idea what you did, stupid human.”

The quintessence ghoul was now towering over the Cardinal, his barred fangs just mere inches before his face. He could rip his throat out in a moment, and everyone present knew that perfectly well. The rest of the ghouls abandoned their instruments, ready to aid their packmate should it be needed.

“You better not expect me, or Dewdrop to do fucking anything for you, you filthy rat,” Aether hissed having his hands clasped behind his back, barely containing himself from actually killing the man. “And when you realise we are not your tools, your toys, then maybe, just maybe, we can cooperate someday. For now, don’t you fucking dare even look in Dewdrop’s direction again, or you won’t look at anything else ever again, as I will claw out your disgusting eyes.”

Aether straightened then, the Cardinal shaking, frozen in place. The Quintessence ghoul turned on his heel, getting back to Dew. He stood mouth agape and eyes wide at this display of Aether’s protectiveness over him, his love for him, holding back tears. He took the bigger ghoul’s outstretched hand and let himself be guided out of the rehearsal room.

The Cardinal partially regained his composure after a few minutes, the rest of the ghouls still not moving from their spots, “I- I think the rest of us should-”

“Fuck, you’re such an idiot,” Swiss laughed, getting down from his platform, predatory spark in his eyes and all his shiny fangs on full display. “You’re gonna get yourself killed, if not by Aeth, then me.”

Swiss shook his head at the human’s stupidity and walked up to Rain, grabbing his hand to get to the door. 

“Be careful around the water, now,” the water ghoul leaned down to whisper into the Cardinal’s ear as they walked past him. “You never know who commands it.”

And then both Swiss and Rain were gone, the Cardinal’s heart beating so loud he barely heard the threat. He was still stuck in place when the two air ghoulettes moved from behind the keyboards, walking down the stairs in his direction.

“You don’t even realise how easy it would be for you to suffocate in your sleep, do you?” Cirrus growled, head tilted to the side, sparks of rage in her yellow eyes.

“Would be a terrible shame,” Cumulus sighed, gifting the Cardinal with the sweetest smile.

And then they were gone too.

The Cardinal let out a breath he didn’t really realise he was holding, forgetting about one of the ghouls lingering in the shadows of the practice stage. He turned his back to it, frantically wiping his face with his hand, as if it could wake him up from this dream-like event.

He didn’t notice the earth ghoul creeping up behind him until a massive hand on his throat turned him back around.

Mountain lifted the Cardinal up, just enough that he barely kept his toes on the ground, and he still had 20 inches on the human, partially letting go of his glamour.

“You choose your next steps very wisely now, Cardinal,” the earth ghoul hissed, eyes glowing bright green. “Don’t think about running with it to Imperator. She cannot send us back to Hell all at once and believe me, I will not hesitate to turn the whole Abbey to sand if either you or anyone else even thinks about doing something to hurt any of my pack. You live on credit after what you did to Dewdrop, and the next mistake will be your last.”

Mountain squeezed the Cardinal’s throat just enough for him to lose consciousness for a moment, and dropped him to the floor, himself leaving the room.

He made his way to the common room, coming across an already formed cuddle pile, Dew being squeezed between Aether and Rain in the middle. Mountain knelt before the small ghoul overwhelmed with the love his pack had for him, and cupped his cheek with one of his hands, “You’re safe, Dewdrop.”

“We won’t let anyone hurt you anymore, you know,” Rain whispered into his ear, the little ghoul chirping happily.

“I know,” he sighed. “Thank you. For standing up for me and protecting me.”

“Always,” six ghouls replied.

[thesunw1tch]

Moving-In Ritual

Goldie's Guide To Witchcraft: A Tumblr Grimoire for the Masses

Hello All! It's me, The Sun Witch! I figured that since my Moving-Out Ritual post did so well, I might as well post a template for what to do once you actually move! I'm actually moving into my next apartment in about a month, so I'm in the same boat with y'all.

I believe that you can implement your path as loosely or as strongly as you like in the following phases. I didn't quite recommend it last time since the goal was to create a blank slate, but this time? You kinda go wild, it's your new space, let it get to know you!

For example, in my new place? I'm an eclectic but primarily a Sun Witch, so I will line up the following steps with specific times of day if I can. My exact move-in and move-out time has not been expressed yet by my building, so we'll see if I can make my plan work. Anyhow, you could do the same, but I encourage you to get creative with it!!!

Phase 1: Physical Cleaning

I bet that once you get to your new place, you're going to need to do a few things before you start unpacking boxes. Start by...

Check for cobwebs, overly shadowy undercarriages, rust, mold, lime or calcium build-up, etc. Not only are these things just a plain eye sore, but they can cause you to feel negatively towards your new home, which in turn could welcome negative energies.

Do your best to fix these issues if they will obstruct your ability to be comfortable or will make the moving-in process strenuous.

Organize your boxes of belongings! This may be common sense, but please place boxes for specific rooms in those respective places. It'll just make it easier in the long run.

This is just a personal touch, but I like to keep the doorways and windows open whenever I clean to air out any lingering dust or chemical smells from a previous tenant or what have you. This can also help with the next step...

Phase 2: Spiritual Cleaning

Hopefully, you've listened to step one and haven't jumped straight here. Hopefully, all immediate physical abnormalities have been fixed, or at least accounted for. Additionally, you'll want to unpack before continuing on to make things a little easier. This may take a while, but there's no pressure to rush through it - take your time and organize your new space, let it get to know you, and find ways to best serve you. I've found that when you treat a place nicely, cleanly, and with purpose, it'll do the same to you!

Our next phase is dedicated to spiritually cleanse the space. There is an abundance of banishing, warding, protecting, cleansing, etc materials out there for y'all, so I won't include many specifics in this next portion.

Cleanse! Personally, I can't use smoke in my complex, and since I know this is the same for many others, I suggest using other elements! For instance, I'll probably use salt water or a method of wind cleansing to clean the slate! I can make a post on wind magick in the future if someone wants

Protect! In my own practice, I like to use sigils and the element of fire when possible. Now, I know I said we aren't going to use smoke, so instead I like to incorporate solar energies or visuals into the space. Ward and Banish however you feel comfortable as well :)

Flourishing! This is the fun part!!! Personally, I use air freshners for practicalities sake but you can use anything you'd like. Ask yourself what vibes you want to attract into your space - love? Sleep? Happiness? Choose a fragrance or make your own Flourishing spray and get to it! You can even take it a step further and use bundles of real dried herbs and flowers to really Amp it up!

Phase 3: Personalize

Everyone's practice is going to look different, as I have stressed throughout my posts on this blog, but what I'm going to add here is that it is crucial you personalize your space in a witchy way as well. Whether this means following traditional rituals or house warming customs of your practice or familial culture, or even just making a new ritual in your space is up to you!

I am a firm believer in the idea that your space isn't yours unless it feels like yours. Make sure your energy is flowing throughout your new home, that you're attracting that same sort of energy - you can do this anyway you please! If anyone wants specific examples or what I do, just let me know and link a post here :)

a n d that's pretty much it! I tried to condense the information here rather than in my previous moving post, so I hope you find this helpful :)