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cyripticchronicler · 27 days ago

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The Bet (18+)

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Hidden away in the woods to celebrate the mating bond, you decide to raise the stakes on a supposedly innocent card game. If you win, he has to do whatever you want. Thank the Gods he lost; you want to make the powerful spymaster squirm.

TW: Smut, drinking wine, needy Az, teasing reader, edging kinda?

A/N: I forget how hard writing smut is lmao but I hope you enjoy it!! I think it's the best smut I've ever written ngl. Thank you to my friend (who doesn't want to be named but is awesome) for giving me feedback/editing this fic - I'll give you gum when I next see you, hun.

Masterlist Azriel Masterlist

Azriel looked like the Godly male he was born to be. His smirk was nothing short of dangerous. His eyes gleamed in the dim room, cheeks flushed a rosy pink from the wine that hazed his mind.

With each sip from the open wine bottle between you two, he was losing his inhibitions, but who could blame him? He’s had the best week of his life; the mating bond had been successfully accepted with Azriel quickly whisking you away to a cabin in the woods to enjoy free, uninterrupted time for the mating frenzy.

The tall, captivating, Illyrian had taken you everywhere in the small cabin in less than a week - including the floor you were sitting on now. After spending the day with no food in your stomach, you had to put your foot down and demand a break.

Azriel suggested a game of cards and you never knew that a pair of hands shuffling a deck of playing cards could be so attractive. You have to fold your legs to stop yourself from pouncing on him - an action Azriel doesn’t fail to notice, considering the way his eyes darken.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, shoving a grape in your mouth, immediately relishing in the cold burst of flavour across your tongue. Azriel begins to hand you your deck, gaze not straying from your rosy lips for a moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s rare to see him so relaxed. So happy. His wings are drooped by his sides, his hair mussed and his clothes wrinkled.

He looks so handsome, yet the sight that has your heart fluttering the most is the permanent smile resting on his lips. A tempting sight.

He’s been so happy this past week and you want nothing more than for him to stay that way. “Now you’re looking at me weirdly,” he mutters, a light blush blooming across his cheeks despite the undeniable cockiness that laced his voice.

“I can’t help it. You’re just so handsome.” His smile turns shy. The red on his cheeks grows ferociously and he has to look away from your gleaming eyes. Despite your attempt to silence your laughter by chewing on your lips, joyous huffs break free and cause Azriel to slump against the front of the couch, hiding his face in his hands.

“You’re evil,” he states, eyes peeking out at you between the gap of his middle and ring finger. You ignore him, picking up your cards and ensuring they’re hidden from his gaze. “C’mon, grab your cards. Let’s make this round more interesting.”

He does as you say, grabbing his cards and propping his elbow on his knee, his other leg straight and stretched out over the plush carpet. “Interesting? And how would we do that?”

A smirk tilts your lips. “Let’s say…” your finger taps against the back of your cards. “If you win, I do whatever you want. But if I win, you do whatever I want.”

“Be prepared to lose, honey,” Azriel utters smugly, flashing you a wink that has your heart pulsing. A lone shadow wraps around your arm and you gasp, holding your cards to your chest. “No cheating! Keep your shadows on your side.”

He playfully mocks you, before placing down a card, effectively signalling the start to the game.

You can’t help but laugh at the boyish action, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Oh, it’s on, baby. You glare in return and place your own card down, taking a large gulp of wine before wiping your lips. Brown, eager eyes track the movement and you pointedly stare at the cards in the middle of the table.

He places another card, causing you to pick up four from a separate pile. And so the games begin.

****

“You’re cheating,” Azriel said, his suspicion clear and demanding. Your mouth falls open dramatically at the accusation, your hand extending to give him a light, punishing smack. “I'm not!”

You’re not sure when it happened, or how, but the two of you have moved closer. Both of you are still sitting on the floor, but now Azriel sits on the side of the table instead of at the end, his wing resting behind you, comfortable and warm. His long legs are stretched out in front of him under the table with his large hand returning to your thigh each time it’s your turn.

“How are you doing so well, then?” He demands, a light and playful scoff falling from his lips, though you can spy a hint of genuine annoyance in the glint in his eyes.

“Maybe you’re the problem. Maybe, since you can’t use your shadows,” you pointedly eye the shadows that swirl around Azriels arms, “You’re just not that good.”

“I have never used my shadows to cheat.” You wouldn’t be surprised if he has cheated before. Despite his honest personality, he’s just as competitive. Yet, you know he hasn’t cheated tonight; his shadows have stayed at his side, never once trailing up to whisper something in his ear.

“Oh?” You lean in closer, the smell of night-chilled air and cedar invading your senses. His eyes move from your lips and down your neck, landing on the inside of your shirt that hangs. He nods, gulping. You catch it, the way his Adam's apple bops, very telling of the effect you had on him. The notion sends a pleasant chill down your spine, and your lips curl up. “Then maybe you want to lose. Maybe you like the idea of being at my mercy. Of having to do whatever I say.”

“Maybe I do.” His breath fans your lips, so close but too far away for your liking. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.” He places a quick, barely there kiss on your cheek before placing down a card. You pull away and glare when you realise he’s now in the lead.

“I’m going to find out, alright.”

****

“Oh Fuck.” Azriel’s groan has your skin heating, waves of satisfaction sending goosebumps down your spine. You smirk teasingly. “Loser,” You menacingly whisper, voice a low drawl as you creep closer, faces a mere inch apart. “Now,” Your knees shuffle forward, yanked by an invisible force, “You have to do whatever I want.”

His hands move instinctively to rest on your hips. “And what is it that you want me to do?” You hum, tilting your head as your hair falls to one side, legs moving to straddle him. “Let’s say…” You pretend to contemplate, though you’d already known what you’d make him do hours ago. You take his hands and hold them in yours, thumb gently rubbing over the scars you love so much. You shake them gently. “These have to stay by your side.”

His eyebrows raised in interest and you watched his eyes darken, a subtle action only you could cause. “You mean…” He trails off, sucking in a sharp breath as your hands begin to wander over his chest, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his loose, white shirt.

His eyebrows crease, a shaky sigh falling from his plump, kissable lips as you begin to grind against his hard, solid body slowly. His hands raise to touch you before he quickly gathers his wits, squeezing them at his sides instead. Your lips ghost over his before you pull him in for a warm, sloppy kiss that shakes your body. You don’t think you’d ever get sick of kissing him - the way he pours so much love and passion into each movement of his mouth, the way his tongue swipes past your lips in such a gentle yet undeniably needy manner.

Your hands fist in the collar of his shirt as the kiss grows deeper, pulling him closer into your body as you continue to roll your hips deliberately... Your skin feels like it was set on fire, a deep rumble of pleasure evoking in your core. Azriel’s hands raise to cup your cheeks, mind too blurred with your movements to remember your only rule. You force yourself to pull away and stop your movements.

“What did I tell you?” You pant, breathing heavily in his ear as you whisper. His eyes squeeze shut, slowly dragging his hands away from your body as he groans. “I-” He gulps, voice coming out raspy. “Sorry?” You shake your head, heart beating wildly in your chest while you pepper kisses on his flushed skin, over his sharp jaw and down his neck before you find cause at his collarbone, sucking harsh enough to leave a mark.

“You should be.” Your hips continue their movements, pulling away from his neck to admire his face. His cheeks are red, mouth hung open slightly as he sucks in sharp puffs of air. His tongue flit out quickly to wet his lips, eager brown eyes momentarily looking down to watch the way your hips move against his.

His wings flutter behind him, spread wide. Your hand hesitates before you can touch them. “Can I?” His eyes show no sign of nervousness or hesitation as he nods. “I’m all yours.” All it takes is one swipe against the thin and leathery membrane before he’s throwing his head back as a loud, guttural moan breaks out of him and his hands find purchase at your waist, rubbing you against him with brutal force.

You tut, removing yourself from his touch completely, choosing to stand in front of his sitting form instead. “I only have one rule, Azriel. Why aren’t you following it? Do you not want me to touch you?” He spreads his legs, veiny hands lazily resting on his thick thighs, hidden beneath thick sweatpants. His chest rises and falls, betraying his desperate need. You have to clench your thighs to stop the painful ache.

His breath shudders, his body going pliant under your touch, completely defenseless to your ministrations as he shakes his head desperately. “I do. Gods, I do. You just make it so hard.” His voice trails off in an almost whine and you can’t help the pride that sinks into your skin. The most dangerous, hard-headed and serious male is sitting in front of you and practically begging for your touch.

“Then listen to what I say, okay hun?” At his answering nod, a strand of hair falling over his eye, you reward him by pulling your thin shirt off and chucking it to the side. The cool air sends goosebumps over your supple skin, the only source of heat being Azriels greedy eyes as he watches your nipples perk to attention.

Deciding you want to tease him more, you trail a lone finger up your stomach, over your breast and into your mouth, fire kindling in its wake. You swirl your tongue around your finger, eyes never straying from Azriel, saliva dripping down your chin and onto your chest. Slowly, you let your finger trail downwards, a trail of wet saliva being left behind as you bring the finger to your nipple, squeezing and pinching, quiet moans escaping your bitten lip.

Azriel sits in his spot, fingers squeezing his thighs so tightly he’s surely leaving a mark. You hum. “Azzie?” His eyes snap to yours, eager and awaiting instruction. “Take your pants off for me.” He shoots out of his sitting position, taking a deep breath to calm his excitement, some of his control returning as he slowly pulls his pants down his legs, hard, veiny cock now visible, drops of precum budding at the tip.

Your pants come off next, thrown to the side without a care. You take a step towards him, trying to not let it show how your breathing staggers at the way he looks at you. “Do you want to take my panties off?” Your voice is teasing, amused at how quickly he nods and falls to his knees in front of you.

Slow but sure hands graze your hip, fingers hooking between your panties and slowly pulling them down your legs. He makes sure to look up at you through his lashes, mouth wet and slightly open. The sight has you almost losing your composure, a thick fog clouding your mind and you have to grip his long hair to make sure you don’t crumble to pieces in front of him. Not that he would have minded.

He moans when your grip gets tighter, a deep rumble against your skin. Gently pulling his head back, a wave of heat soaks your core. “Do you want to eat me out for a bit?” His eyes widened with hope, followed by a desperate nod. You almost let him. Almost.

He visibly deflates when you pull away, hands resting at your sides, glowing body on display for him to see. “Too bad. Stand up.” His knees shake yet he stands to his full height. “Take your shirt off.” It’s gone in seconds much to your delight, the deep ridges of his abs glistening with sweat that you want nothing more than to lick off. Your walls clenched around nothing, a desperate need swirling in your stomach that you attempted to ignore. You wanted to tease him more.

“Sit on the couch.” He does as you say, legs spread, erect cock pressed against his lower stomach. You stand between him, hands resting against his thighs while your nails press into his skin hard enough to invoke a pain you know he likes. His wings bristled at the feeling, bringing your attention back to them once again. You can’t resist placing a gentle kiss on the rough texture of his wing, sensitive enough to feel the light, barely there kiss.

You watch as his abs flex, body yearning to reach you when you don’t sit on his lap like he hoped. Instead, you sit on the other side of the couch, one leg propped up on the couch, bent at the knee and showing off your glistening pussy. Azriel moans at the sight, eyes squeezing shut as he shakes his head harshly. “You’re evil,” He states roughly. You smile, a hand dipping to your soaked core, middle finger swirling around your pulsing hole and then circling your clit. You moan out an arrogant, “I know.”

Your back arches, body sinking into the sofa, breathless moans turning sinful when you press a finger into your tight, warm cunt. Your fingers aren’t as long or thick as Azriels but they still cause a sickeningly hot flash of pleasure to travel up your sweat-soaked spine.

The sounds of your finger thrusting in and out of your warm heat fill the room, a sound that has Azriel’s breath laboured. His eyes couldn’t leave your flushed form if he tried. Your hips greedily thrust into your hand, eagerly wanting more but not letting Azriel give it to you.

When a particularly loud, breathy moan falls from your parted lips he can’t help but moan back, the shadows wrapping around his body moving to his most sensitive part. The light friction from their tight movements as they swirl around his base is enough to have him whining; he was so hard and sensitive and wanted nothing more than to be touched. But he couldn’t break your rules and with one restrained tug, his shadows returned to the corners of the room.

“Az,” You moan, a whine breaking free as a deep, pleasurable feeling awakens in your core, wounding tighter each time you hit the rough, fleshy spot inside you. “‘M gonna cum.” He’s left to just watch and stare like a pervert, debating whether or not to end this pesky game and fuck you into oblivion. He’s about to do just that but then you’re looking at him, eyes bright with satisfaction and mischief and he knows he wants to see those eyes staring down at him while you take control.

It takes you a second to gather your wits, legs still shaking while you begin to crawl to Azriel on the other side of the couch, enjoying the way his eyes darken and his jaw clenches. You stop when you’re directly beside him, your knees touching his thighs.

You don’t waste a second in pulling him in for a kiss, lips pushing against his swollen ones, a deep rumble sounding in his chest. You pull away, lips still grazing over his as you whisper. “You’ve been very good. You deserve a reward.” His eyes brighten like a kid in a candy shop and he gulps in excitement.

A smile pulls at your lips in response to his eager reaction, looking away from his captivating eyes to look at his hard cock, flushed red due to not being touched. You bite your lip and bring your hand down to squeeze at his base. A quiet curse slips from his lips and you squeeze harder.

You thumb at his tip, using his precum as lube as you slowly stroke his rock-hard dick. He’s so responsive, needy wines falling from his lips while he groans out your name. His hands now squeeze the sofa, his right hand squeezing the armrest so hard you’re sure it’s going to rip.

Your pace is slow. Teasing. Your lips find their way to Azriels neck, sucking and biting, feeling his skin heat at your touch. You squeeze tighter. His breath quivered, hips thrusting into your hand like a man starved. “Are you-” You clear your throat, voice rough with pleasure. “Are you going to let me fuck you?”

His answering nod is desperate and hurried. “Fuck yes. Please fuck me. Please.” Goosebumps trail up your skin at his begging and you know you can’t refuse him. With a kiss to his sweat-soaked hair, your hand pulls away, back arching in protest while he cries out.

“Shhh,” Your breath fans over his ear, legs moving to straddle him, hips perched above his waist. “I’m going to fuck you now, okay?” He grumbles incoherently and you huff a laugh, storing the moment in your mind so you can tease him about it later.

And then you’re slowly sinking down, his large, thick cock spreading your walls in a painful rush of pleasure. He moans in your ear, the feeling of his breath against your neck has you lightly biting his shoulder. With a shuddering breath, you pull away until the tip is barely inside of you before you slam your hips down, his dick far deeper than your fingers could ever reach.

“Touch me.” He’s happy to do so, hips thrusting into yours while his lips travel to your perky nipple, tongue drawing tight circles before he pulls it into his mouth completely, sucking harshly and causing your walls to clench around him.

Your sweaty skin sticks to him, the smell of sex filling the air. Your boobs bounce with each thrust, capturing Azriel’s attention, eyes wide and pouty like he were in a trance. “I’m not going to last long,” He mutters around a moan, hands kneading at your flesh. Your hands raise to the brown strands of his hair, yanking tightly before pulling him in for a kiss. It’s messy, teeth clashing, his nose pressed into your cheek.

“I'm not going to last either.” You feel like you’re on fire, gasping for air as your back arches, legs shaking around his thighs. “You’re so beautiful,” You hear him mutter around a quiet groan, his lips leaving warm, open mouthed kisses on any part of you he could reach. His nails are digging into your skin, his hands shaky.

The familiar sensation of tightness grows in your stomach, coiling tautly as your breath staggers. You rub your finger against your swollen clit, already sensitive from your last orgasm, as you chase the height of your pleasure.

He throws his head back against the back of the sofa, Adams's apple bobbing as the veins in his neck throb. “Can I- Gods, can I come? Please?” Your nails scratch down his chest, his abs clenching in delight. “Cum for me baby, I’m right behind you.”

He shouts your name, his large hands moving to your hips and controlling your thrusts, smashing your hips down on his cock. His cum drips down your thighs and the coil inside your stomach bursts at the sight, a moan leaving your lips as your heartbeat echoes in your ears. Your legs shake and you feel so good it’s almost sickening.

After what felt like one of the longest, most intense rush of sensations, you slump against Azriel’s chest, head resting in the crook of his neck as you both attempt to catch your breaths. His nails lightly scratch down your back, causing you to shiver. His chin rests atop your sweaty hair and he kisses your head before muttering, “I’m going to be losing a lot more often if my reward is that.”

Your body shakes with laughter and you pull away slightly to look at him. “Shut up.” And then you’re kissing him, so filled with love and happiness you could burst.

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caffeinewitchcraft · 5 months ago

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Ghost Eater

Summary: You don't like exorcists. They don't much like you either.

-----

You’d always thought big restaurants like the Brownie Industry only did well in small, midwestern towns like the one you came from. A year working in LA has taught you that, no matter where you go, people will always love garlic bread and sugar.

It’s your day off which means you’re pulling a double shift. You haven’t had time to wash your hair for the past two weeks so it’s frizzing out of your claw clip and flying wild around your face. The lighting is so dim that you’ve tripped over two black purses already, luckily not while you’re running food. The big dining room sounds like an apiary with the tittering laughter of the later adult crowd that’s filtered in from the theater across the four lane road. The main difference between the Brownie Industry here and the one back home is size. The ceiling soars overhead, supported by a series of concrete pillars separating the dining area into three sections.

Normally it would be three servers per section. Today, it’s just you in yours.

One more hour. That’s what the manager promised you. It might even be true if the host stand quits seating you after the table you’re approaching.

There are three people at the table. A woman whose hair might be light blonde or gray in the light of day, her eyes light and piercing. Her face is soft from age, emphasized by the tight, lace collar of her off-season sweater. She reminds you strongly of your mom’s nemesis on the HOA board. The man couldn’t be more out of place next to her despite their equivalent age. He’s wearing a leather jacket – again, it’s not cold here – and a Norwegian metal shirt underneath. His hair is definitely white, so white it almost glows. He’s frowning at the teenager across the table as if she’s touched his motorcycle without permission.

The teenager might be the first you’ve seen all night who doesn’t have their phone out. She’s decked out in what you consider grandma florals – a t-shirt scattered with daisy chains, a bucket hat made out of nana’s carpet bag, and a hand-crocheted scarf in pastel. You can’t really see her face under the shadow of her hat and there’s an odd, blurred quality to the way she fiddles with her napkin. You let your eyes skip past her and back to the two adults. Teenagers don’t pay the bill.

“Welcome to Brownie Industry!” you chirp. You’re sweaty and red but the faded yellow light hides that. You’re a service industry pro so none of your exhaustion shows on your face when you ask, “Is this your first-time dining with us?”

If you weren’t so burned out, you’d have noticed before you introduced yourself.

“Are you Grady?” the woman asks. Her voice is more posh than you expected even with her lace collar. “Grady Pace?”

Fuck. There’s a noticeable temperature differential now that you’re close to them. The restaurant is warm from the number of bodies, maybe even warmer than the summer air outside, but stepping up next to their table feels like walking into an ice rink.

“I’m your waitress,” you say. You don’t have time for this conversation. You’ve got five minutes in your cycle to take their order and then you’ve got food to run. “If you need any other services from me, I have a website.”

“We messaged you,” the man says. His lips thin to the point his thick mustache covers them entirely. “You never responded.”

Because you’ve been making more money at the Brownie Industry than your other job. “I’ll take a look at it tonight.”

“Wait,” the teenager says, sitting upright. She looks from you to the adults and back again. When she smiles, there’s no humor in it. “This is why we drove eight hours to have dinner at the Brownie Industry? For her?”

“Katie, be polite—”

“I’m sorry,” Katie says, “It’s just—I found a priest, you know? An actual exorcist priest and you guys want to trust a waitress over him?”

“Ugh exorcists,” you say. The memory of sour cabbage is so heavy on your tongue that you stick your tongue out in disgust. When you see Katie’s look, you backtrack. “Effective! Definitely effective.”

“Your mistakes have cost us too much already,” the man says, shaking a finger at her. “We are not converting just for an exorcism.”

“I normally don’t agree with your father,” the woman tells Katie, “but in this case I would like to leave conversion as a last resort.”

“We wouldn’t actually convert,” Katie says, rolling her eyes.

“Pretty sure exorcists can tell when you lie,” you tell Katie. When her scowl deepens, you clear your throat. “Did you all need another minute to think about the menu?”

“We need you to help us,” the dad says. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Look, I know you’re at work and I’m sorry we’re bothering you.”

“We’re desperate,” the mom says. She reaches for her purse. “We’ll pay you. Triple the rate on your website or even quadruple. We need that thing gone by tonight.”

Katie covers her face. “Mom. You’re embarrassing me. Terry isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, he’s bad, young lady,” the dad says sternly. “A bad influence.”

“We caught her trying to perform another séance yesterday,” the mom confesses to you. She leans forward with a pinched expression. “So Terry’s friend Larry could visit too.”

“Interesting,” you say. The food bell rings, but you think you can ignore it for another minute. You study Katie’s blush. “Why did you do that?”

If she was being compelled, she won’t have an answer to your question. You’ve dealt with a lot of ghosts in your time, but so few are sentient enough – or powerful enough – for compulsion.

“Go on,” the dad says, gesturing at you. “Tell her.”

“Leroy, she’s embarrassed enough,” the mom says.

“No, she’s not, Sarah.” The dad – Leroy – gestures to you again. “Tell her.”

Katie huffs, clearly resistant. But when her dad huffs back, she caves. “So,” she says, “I have this YouTube channel—”

“I’m off in an hour,” you interrupt. You don’t care that you’re being rude. Your patience ran out as soon as she said YouTube. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” You turn to go.

“A moment!” Sarah shakes out her menu. “How’s the nicoise salad?”

Of course they’re going to order. They’d better tip too if they want you to help them with their ghost problem.

----.

“You said an hour,” mom Sarah says when you leave out the employee entrance. She’s shivering next to her daughter. Leroy is off smoking behind his motorcycle, parked next to the Tesla Katie is leaning on, but he stubs out his cigarette on the asphalt when you walk up. “It’s been two.”

“I had side work,” you say instead of it would have been one if not for you. You rub your bare arms when the familiar ghost chill washes over you. You want nothing more than to go home and wash the scent of garlic and brownie batter out of your hair. “Was there something wrong with my service?”

“No?”

You try to make your voice light. “I see.”

Sarah frowns at your tone anyway. “Why?”

“You tipped five dollars.”

Katie jolts like a scalded cat. “Mom!”

Leroy scrubs a hand over his face. “Sarah…”

“What?” Sarah throws up her hands. The parking lot lights catch on her Swarovski charm bracelet. “I tipped!”

“Like ten percent,” Katie says. She pulls her bucket hat over her eyes for a beat and then peeks at you from under it. “I’m so sorry. It’s not you, she’s always like this.”

“It was actually a six percent tip,” you say. You’re getting a clearer picture of this little family now. It’s becoming more and more understandable why Katie might have started summoning ghosts. “If you want to be precise.”

Leroy reaches for his back pocket. “Let me.”

Sarah swats at his hand. “We’re about to pay her a lot more than that!”

“For a completely separate job,” Leroy says. He pulls a twenty from his wallet and hands it to you with a grimace. “Sorry, Grady, I should’ve checked.”

“You should’ve paid if you cared so much,” Sarah retorts. She folds her arms over her chest. She taps her cheek and widens her eyes. “Oh wait… you never pay.”

“Sure,” Leroy says. This time it’s his turn to throw his hands in the air. “Sure, Sarah. I don’t pay for anything to do with our daughter’s private school or her dance classes or her health insurance—”

“If the court hadn’t mandated—”

“You make twice as much as me—"

“Guys!” Katie says loudly. Her mouth is a thin line of upset when she says, “Argue about what an expensive burden I am later when we don’t have an audience, okay?”

Her parents speak at the same time.

“You’re twisting my words,” Sarah says. “I never said—"

“Sweetie, you’re not a burden—”

“Can you just get this ghost out of me?” Katie asks you. She goes for nonchalance and falls short. “My parents haven’t been in the same room for the last five years for a reason.” She fakes whispering. “They don’t play nicely with others.”

Sarah bristles. “Katie.”

“God, I know how that is,” you say. The whole interaction is giving you the worst case of sympathy for Katie. Before her parents can say anything else, you change the subject. “How long have you been haunted?”

“Six months,” Katie says. She fiddles with her bucket hat so that you can see her eyes for the first time. They’re brown, like her dad’s, and have heavy bruises underneath. She shrugs. “They only noticed a month ago though.”

“I noticed your behavior had changed,” Sarah defends. Like her daughter, she fidgets. She plays with her bracelet and clears her throat. “I thought it was a teenage thing.”

“What signs did you notice first?” you ask the parents. They glance at each other and then away.

“Let’s just say we noticed different things,” Leroy says dryly. He pulls out his phone.

“Moodiness,” Sarah says. She ticks them off on her fingers. “Laziness. Disrespect. Over-sleeping.”

“Those are just teenager things,” Katie says with an astounding level of self awareness. She shrugs. “I’m a senior now. They’re lucky it didn’t start sooner.”

“I,” Leroy says, “noticed this.” He turns his phone towards you.

“Ah,” Sarah says, “Yes. That.”

You examine the picture. It’s of Katie on a small dirt bike. She’s wearing a helmet in the picture, but you recognize the fashion sense in the floral boots she’s wearing. The scene behind her is of the hills, low scrub brush recognizable to someone who’s lived in LA for the past five years. On the bike behind her is a smudge. It could be a cloud of dirt blown into frame or maybe a camera glitch. It could be if it weren’t for the leering face emerging from the cloud right behind her head.

“I just want to say I did not agree to getting her a motorcycle,” Sarah says.

“Mom, not the point,” Katie says.

“Look how close that creep is to my daughter,” Leroy says. He jabs a finger at Katie’s waist in the photo where you can see a ghostly hand. “I want him gone.”

“Dad, he didn’t mean anything by it!” Katie turns to you earnestly. “Terry never rode a bike before and I thought, like, what if he moved on after he got a chance to? It was a philanthropic effort!”

“Plant a tree if you want to be a philanthropist,” Leroy growls. “I want this guy away from my daughter.”

“He doesn’t mean any harm really,” Katie says. “He would move on if he could! He says he’s stuck to me because of how I summoned him. He’s like, really sorry. He even spelled out Sorry in the bathroom mirror once.”

“What,” Sarah says in a dangerous voice, “was Terry doing in the bathroom with you, Katie?”

Katie splutters. “Mom, don’t be gross!”

The family descends into bickering. You have heard about ghosts being stuck to a person before, but usually that’s when the person has some sort of psychic powers. Katie’s wearing crystal in her ears, but they aren’t charged. She might develop some talent later in life, but right now she’s a normal girl.

The parking lost is nearly empty now. You recognize a few employee cars, but very few customers. The kitchen will be cleaning for another half hour before they’re ready to go home. The reality is that, if Terry is stuck, you might not be the best way to handle the situation. If he’s not…

Well.

It’s time to talk to Terry.

Opening your ghost sense is hard to describe. Some psychics liken it to a third eye, right in the middle of their forehead. You’ve always thought that sounded really cool like maybe the world gets cast in a blue hue when they do it and the dead appear like they do in movies. You’ve met other psychics who say it’s like a sixth sense. They know where the ghost is and it’s like they download all that information until their minds can just sort of conjure their image.

For you, it’s like letting your body remember it has a second mouth. Cats have an extra sensory organ on the roof of their mouth that lets them detect scents better. Your second mouth is a bit like that. You can still smell brownies and garlic and the city air of LA, but you can also smell/taste something else.

Something like…pepper?

Your eyes water and you sneeze so viciously that your eyes close. When you open them again, four people are staring at you in surprise.

“Gesundheit,” Leroy says.

“You sneeze like Dad does,” Katie says.

“Did no one ever teach you to cover your mouth?” Sarah asks in disgust.

“I wish you would’ve sneezed on her,” Terry says, nodding to Sarah. “She’s such a bitch.”

“Thank you for the commentary, everyone,” you say. You wipe your nose with the collar of your shirt as you consider Terry. It’s dirty anyway. “Terry. Interesting name for a ghost.”

Terry hasn’t noticed that you can see him yet. He’s floating behind Katie, one arm casually flung over her shoulder. It’s hard to place when he died based on his appearance alone. His hair is chin length, emphasizing the width of his jaw. Squire cuts have been popular for several decades and the bowling shirt he’s wearing could either be a modern fashion statement or a dated uniform. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, sun-kissed and with the air of someone who tells a lot of jokes at the expense of others. His arm around Katie strikes you as possessive, the glare he gives her parents venomous.

“I didn’t name him,” Katie says. “He said it’s short of Torrance.”

You blink. “Wouldn’t he be Torri then?”

“That’s a girl’s name,” Katie and Terry say at the same time. Their cadence is so close that it actually sounds like Terry’s baritone comes out of Katie’s mouth. For a moment, his arm flickers, clipping into her shoulder like a bad animation. When it does, Terry’s form grows brighter, more solid. Then Katie shivers and he’s forced out of her.

You and Terry click your tongues at the same time.

You remember how Katie’s hands seemed to blur at the dinner table. Terry’s not just haunting Katie. He’s trying to possess her. You wonder if that’s why Katie looked up an exorcist rather than a simple spiritual cleansing. Did she know how much danger she was in?

“Okay,” you say. You tear your attention away from Katie and Terry for a moment. Business first. “Sarah. Leroy. Who was it that found my site?”

“I did,” Sarah says. She raises her chin when you can’t hide your surprise. “When Katie was looking up exorcists—”

“She didn’t mean it,” Terry says. He pats Katie’s hat. “Right?”

“—I looked up alternative solutions,” Sarah says, not having heard Terry. Her confidence falters for a moment and she rubs her arm. “I have had some… negative experiences with exorcisms. I don’t want my daughter to go through that.”

Katie’s head whips towards her mother. “What? I didn’t know that.”

“It was a long time ago,” Leroy says. For the first time, he reaches out and hugs Sarah with one arm. You don’t know what surprises you more; Leroy hugging Sarah or Sarah leaning into his side. “When Sarah told me, we decided to put our differences aside. I vetted you through some of my contacts and they all agreed you’d be a safe bet.”

“I am,” you say. You’re not bragging either. You’re probably the safest bet in half the western states besides your older sister. “There are some…peculiarities in my method.”

“Charlatan,” Terry whispers in Katie’s ear. He’s grinning now. “Only charlatans are that confident. Look! She can’t even see me!”

Katie looks doubtful.

Usually, you’d try to talk to Terry at this point. Sometimes spirits can be negotiated with. They can be encouraged to move on or to take on a less aggressive form of haunting. Those that are truly stuck can be helped with the right sort of ritual work. But the way Terry’s affecting Katie’s mood and that fucking arm around her shoulders…

You don’t really want to talk to Terry.

“We can ask Terry to move on,” you tell the family.

“Nooooooo,” Terry says and flips you off. “Pass!”

“Sometimes spirits don’t realize how deeply they’re affecting their hosts,” you say.

“You don’t even know how deep I’m about to be,” Terry jeers at you.

“Many ghosts are confused when they’re called to interact with the living,” you say. “It can blur their understanding of death and, as a result, they cling to life. If they stick around long enough, their presence will affect the living like what’s happening to Katie. It’s not always malicious. It can be a symptom of that confusion.”

“Katie, tell her to piss off,” Terry hisses in the teen’s ear. “I’m not confused, I’m bored.” His voice deepens. “Tell her we don’t need her help. Tell her we’re going home.”

Katie opens her mouth robotically. “That’s…” Her brow creases as she tries to figure out what she was going to say. “It seems like we don’t need help then. Terry will move on when he’s ready, like I thought.”

“We aren’t paying you for a ghost therapy session,” Sarah snaps. It’s only because you’re really focusing that you can see the unease under her anger. She’s noticed something wrong with Katie. “Katie, Terry is going away today.”

“Fuck you,” Terry says.

“Fuck you,” Katie says.

Leroy’s head rears back. “Katie, you don’t use that language with your mother!”

“Fuck you too,” Katie and Terry say. The parking lot lights flicker.

“No, fuck you, Terry,” you say, stepping between Katie and her parents. Leroy starts like he’s going to pull you out of the way, but he doesn’t.

“Terry?” Leroy asks. He looks scared. “Terry said that? Is Terry possessing my daughter?”

“Not yet.” You eye Terry’s arm and the way his fingers are sinking into Katie’s arm.

“Oh fuck,” Terry says. He doesn’t look scared. Not yet. Instead, he grins. “You can see me.”

“Not every ghost is malicious,” you tell the parents without taking your eyes off Terry. “But some are.”

“I’m not malicious.” Terry runs a hand through his hair, still grinning. The parking lot lights flicker overhead again. “I care about Katie a lot.”

“Terry’s never hurt me,” Katie says.

You ignore her. She’s not even shaking Terry off now. Her gaze is dull on your face when you say, “I don’t mean to sound like I’m some sort of ghost therapist. However, it’s important to differentiate between malicious and non-malicious hauntings in my practice. My methods are unconventional and, if used indiscriminately, I can get in a lot of trouble.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Leroy says. He steps into your periphery. His gaze flicks from you to the spot you’re staring at over Katie’s shoulder. “We want Terry gone.”

“Not a soul,” Sarah promises. She comes up on your other side. “Please help our daughter.”

“Terry,” you say. Your second mouth is yawning wide somewhere in the back of your brain. The taste of pepper isn’t as overwhelming now. “Last chance. Renounce your claim on Katie’s soul and slither back into whatever hole you came out of.”

“We’re soulmates,” Terry says. He bares his teeth at you. “Go on, Charlatan. Call on your God to banish me. I’ve been around for decades and no exorcist has ever been able to put a scratch on me. And when they manage to push me out?” He laughs and the temperature drops another ten degrees. An unholy light flickers in his eyes. “I just come right back.”

“Then I guess I won’t feel guilty,” you say.

“Guilty?” Katie asks.

You walk forward two steps and grab Terry’s face. Terry’s skin is soft and jelly-like. His facial bones undulate like rubber under your grip. “Hi, Terry.”

Now Terry’s afraid. “What the fuck, you can touch—?”

“Bye, Terry.” You drag him towards you. His fingers pop out of Katie’s arm with a wet sucking sound, and he claws at your wrist.

“Wait! Waitwaitwaitwait--”

You eat Terry.

People come from all around to eat at the Brownie Industry. They love the density of the desserts and the heaps of garlic spread over home-baked (shipped frozen) rolls. It’s a treat to know you’re always going to enjoy the meal even if you’re far from home or eating at the same location a hundred times. It’s consistency, sugar and butter. An easy addiction to have.

Eating ghosts is like that for you. They fizz in your second mouth like champagne and melt like fudge. It’s hard to describe and the ephemeral quality of it sends shivers down your spine. Somewhere Terry is screaming in anguish, maybe crying. You think that the family you’re helping is screaming something too, but the sensation of eating is so consuming you can’t hear the words.

Terry is younger than other ghosts you’ve eaten. He doesn’t have the depth of flavor you’d once been addicted to back in Illinois. The best ghost you’ve ever eaten had been like a six-course meal with all the centuries she’d been carrying. In comparison, Terry is like a bag of pepper chips. Interesting, but gone in a moment. Still, he hits the spot.

When you’re done, you burp a purple cloud of ectoplasm into the still night air.

Leroy is the first to speak. His eyes are so wide you can see the whites all around them. “Pay her, Sarah,” he says breathlessly. His hands shake as he reaches for Katie, steadying her on her feet. “Now.”

You smack your lips and graciously accept the wad of cash Sarah hands you. You raise your eyebrows. “This is more than three times my rate.”

“Consider it a tip,” Sarah says. She’s more composed than Leroy, but still pale. She studies you. “That was…revolting.”

“You didn’t have to watch,” you say. You put your money away and then perk up at a sudden thought. “Hey, if you can, can you leave me a review on my site?”

“I thought you didn’t want us to tell anyone?”

You wave your hand. “Secrets are bad for business. Besides, Terry deserved it. I’m sure they’ll understand if you write that in your review.”

“They…?”

You smile and don’t answer.

The family don’t ask many more questions after that. The parents promise to leave a review and Katie just stares at you as if concussed. You assure the parents that she’ll be back to normal as soon as the soul-shock wears off.

“And if it doesn’t?” Sarah asks.

“Message me,” you say.

“You don’t check your messages,” Leroy says.

“Oh,” you say, patting your stomach, “I’ll be checking them a lot more often now.”

You’re hungry again.

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#my writing #ghosts #second person #it's spooky season #long post

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