#look i may have bitten off more than I can chew but what about it?!?

[ghouljams]

Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?

Rating: E (MDNI) Words: ~11k Tags: Ghost x f!Reader, Dirtbag!Ghost, strangers -> ???, groping, non-con kissing, coerced consent, oral (F!Receiving), fingering, squirting, piv sex, kidnapping? Summary: A stranger online promises he'll make your parents' Christmas hell, and you're eager to take him up on the offer. You may have bitten off more than you can chew.

<Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?

[casual encounters]

“I am a 35 year old former SAS operator with no A levels, tattoos, and a motorcycle. I can play anywhere from 30 to 40 depending on if I shave. I’m a line cook and I work late nights at my mate’s bar. If you’d like to have me pretend to be in a long term serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game.

I can do these things, at your request:

Openly hit on female guests while you act like you don’t notice

Start instigative discussions about religion and/or politics

Propose to you in front of everyone

Talk at length about my time in the army including what it felt like to kill a man(good or bad your choice)

Pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on(don’t drink much these days, but I know the drill)

Start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see.

Only pay I want is the free meal and the entertainment.”

-do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers

*

RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?” 

To:SASRiley@xxxxxx.xx

From:URHere@xxxxxx.xx

Is this offer still open?

*

RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To: URHere@xxxxxx.xx

From: SASRiley@xxxxxx.xx

Depends how far you want me to travel.

-S

*

RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To: SASRiley@xxxxxx.xx

From: URHere@xxxxxx.xx

Any chance you’re in the XXXXX area? I’ll buy you lunch and we can talk details.

*

RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To: URHere@xxxxxx.xx

From: SASRiley@xxxxxxx.xx

Close enough for a free meal. I’m in XXXX

-S

*

RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To: SASRiley@xxxxxx.xx

From: URHere@xxxxxx.xx

Let’s meet at Gallery Eats. Also can you send me an ID or something so I know what you look like?

*

RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

[attachment] [attachment]

Know you birds get jumpy, send it out to your little friends. 

Tuesday 15:30

See you there 

-S

*

He’s already at the shop when you get there, scrolling through his phone with his legs spread wide under the little wooden table, a full-face motorcycle helmet taking up more than half of the tiny tabletop.

You hadn’t realized how big the guy would be. Even sitting down he’s massive. You’d bet money he’s over six foot, and he easily eclipses the little cafe chair he’s settled in. His craigslist ad wasn’t lying when it said “tattoos.” The guy’s arms are covered in swirling black ink, and you follow the line of it up to the dark collar of his shirt where it peaks out to creep up his neck. He’s perfect. Your folks will hate him.

Dark eyes meet yours and a smirk creeps over his face, it tugs at a thin scar bisecting his lips.

He stands, and you bee-line for him.

“Thank god you look like your picture.” You huff, settling your bag on the chair across from him.

“That any way ta greet your man?” He grunts, holding a hand out. “Simon.”

You take his hand with a smile, and feel thick fingers wrap around your own. You glance down at the dark seal on the back of his hand, the carefully inked numbers already fading with age spelling out “141.” 

“So,” He smiles, leaning so far back in his seat that the chair tips, “How mad are we talkin’?”

*

It turns out Simon’s motorcycle isn’t his only mode of transportation. You roll up to your parents house in a half-wrapped muscle car that Simon claims he’s been “working on” and you can almost smell the distaste radiating off of your folks when they peak through the front window. Simon makes a big show of ignoring you while you try to get the oddly shaped Christmas gifts out of the trunk, lighting a cigarette and checking his phone while you struggle. Finally your parents decide to wander out onto their front step, and your father stalks over to take the bulkier gifts from you while Simon eyes him.

You grin at him, already pleased with his grumbling and glaring at Simon. Simon, for his part, offers a, “Sure it ain’t too heavy old man?” That makes a vein on your father’s temple throb angrily. He ambles after you and your father, and makes a show of giving your mom a once over.

“Sweetheart!” Your mother grimace-smiles at you, “Who is this?”

“This is Simon,” You sigh, leaning against Simon with a dopey smile, “My boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend.” Your mother grits her teeth, “You didn’t say you were bringing a guest.”

“Oh I know, but you can pull up a chair, right?” You gasp, “We’re not messing up your table are we?”

Your mother’s eye twitches. You know her well enough to know she’s already thinking about people bumping elbows at an overcrowded table. You can almost hear your little cousins complain about the lack of space. You also know she’ll never admit her annoyance in front of a guest.

“Of course not.” She smiles tightly, “The more the merrier.” She turns to Simon. “It’s nice to meet you Simon.”

Simon finally takes his cue, tossing his ashy cigarette onto the stone walkway with a flick of his fingers. He exhales nearly into your mother’s face before seemingly remembering last minute that, that’s rude.

“Nice to meet you,” His eyes flick down to your mother’s chest, “Can see where the bird gets ‘er tits from.”

You could scream with laughter the way your mother’s lips tighten into a thin line and her brows twitch down ever so slightly, the picture of barely contained shock and disgust. You can feel your father fuming on the other side of you.

“Why don’t we put presents down?” You chirp, trying to play at oblivious while Simon leers at your mother. She does her best to subtly cross her arms and tug the neck of her sweater closed. “Simon, do you have a hand to help dad?”

“Course, sweet’eart.” He hums, leaning to kiss your temple. A sweet gesture if he didn’t grab a handful of your ass at the same time, angled precisely so you’re sure your dad can see. “Christ you got a fat ass,” He mumbles, his voice low and graveled as he squeezes you again. You feel your cheeks heat in spite of yourself. It’s all pretend, all things you’ve talked about, but that doesn’t stop your body from reacting. His big hand lingers, fingers dragging over your ass as he pushes past your parents into the house. Uninvited.

You ignore your mother’s pointed look under the pretense of juggling presents, pushing into the house after your fake boyfriend.

Simon unceremoniously snatches the gifts from your father as soon as he’s in the house, haphazardly tossing the boxes under the tree while you carefully place your own presents, seemingly ignorant of your boyfriend’s lack of care.

“So how was the drive?” Your dad asks, trying to find something to talk about.

“Bloody awful,” Simon butts in before you can answer, he jerks his head in your direction, “‘ad to listen to the bird’s music the ‘ole time.”

“I thought you liked my music,” You pout.

“When tha fuck ‘ave I ever said that?” He snaps at you. You stifle the flinch and watch Simon’s brows draw down ever so slightly.

When you’d gone through all the details for this he’d told you to try and temper your flinching, assured you that you didn’t need to be scared of him, that if you were dating he’d never lay a hand on you. That didn’t stop his quick, harsh, response from startling you. At least the small crease in his brow made you think he didn’t enjoy the reaction.

“When we first met.” You smile, playing it off. 

“And you believed that?” Simon huffs, “Can’t believe I’m the first one to grab ya off the street with ‘ow gullible ya are.”

You blink at him, and turn to hastily cover for him to your dad.

“A consensual grabbing.” You assure him.

“Think I’m still deaf in my right ear from ‘ow loud ya screamed.” Simon grumbles, digging a finger into his ear as if to demonstrate his hearing loss. You feel your cheeks heat reflexively. Even fictional it’s embarrassing to imagine that you might have met a long term serious boyfriend in a kidnapping attempt.

Nevermind that the idea of someone like Simon grabbing you off the street is a major plot point in some of your favorite videos. You try to keep your mind out of the gutter, a difficult task with Simon’s fingers grazing your ass.

“It was a prank.” You continue covering.

“Bet actually.” Simon corrects in an attempt to make things worse. “Seein’ ‘oo could take the prettiest bird ‘ome.” He nudges your dad as if he’s bringing him in on the joke, “Should’ve seen ‘ow much this one struggled, should’ve known she’d be an ‘andful.”

“Your friends sound-” Your dad swallows whatever distaste boils behind his tongue in an effort to keep the peace, “interesting.”

“Served together.” Simon sniffs.

“Oh!” Your father seems to brighten at this new information.

“Lost a lot of good men, but kept all the worst, eh bird?” Simon tosses a smile your way. The playful grin lights up his face, tugs at his scars in a way that’s far too charming. 

“Where did you serve?” Your father asks, too eager for war talk.

“Went where I was needed.” Simon grunts. It’s an end to the conversation. You can see your father trying to think of where to go from there, if he should push for a different answer or ask about if Simon enjoyed his time in the service. He settles on exactly what you’re sure Simon was hoping for.

“So what do you do now?”

You almost brace yourself for his answer, and you’re glad for the added tension in your shoulders because it stops you from barking out a laugh.

“Beside fuckin’ the bird?” He doesn’t get another word out before your father growls out a loud.

“Alright-” that your mother cuts off with her well timed, if sudden entrance.

“Your aunt is on her way,” She informs you, “She’s excited to meet your boyfriend.”

“You got a lot of people comin’ ta this thing?” Simon asks, as if you hadn’t given him a full guest list.

“Just a few,” Your mother smiles, “my sister lives nearby so she’ll be bringing her boys.”

“Would’ve been nice ta know there were brats comin’ ta this thing,” Simon gives you a look and you pout.

“I told you this was a family thing.” You remind him.

“Didn’t know ya had so much family,” He sniffs, “Brother isn’t comin’ ta this too is ‘e?”

You have to stop yourself from grinning at the family landmine Simon so perfectly walked into.

“Henry doesn’t come to family functions anymore,” Your mother tells him curtly.

“Heard ‘e got tired of havin’ you scare off ‘is girls,” Simon grins, “thought you’d be a bigger bitch.” You choke. You mother’s gaze whips to you and you carefully go about adjusting the presents under the tree just so you don’t have to look at her. 

“Well I don’t know where you heard that,” The high note in your mother’s voice betrays her, the faux-calmness barely covering the boiling anger that’s starting to show, “but it’s not true.”

“Are you callin’ me a liar,” Simon’s voice takes an icy note in response and you glance over your shoulder to watch him roll his shoulders back. You can see the way his musculature moves even under his jumper. The threat is palpable, and also completely inappropriate for the situation.

He’s good at this.

It’s your father’s turn to diffuse the situation.

“You a footie fan?” He asks, because he’s ass at calming your mother (or anyone else) down. You can practically feel Simon’s attention shift, like the air in the room has to adjust to the pressure he exerts.

“City.” Simon huffs. You dad grins, and you know exactly what he’s going to say. Playful ribbing that somehow always ends in a screaming match.

“Manchester boy, eh? Ya find it hard losin’ to Liverpool all the time or do ya get used to it?” Your father jokes. The question hangs dead in the air. Simon hasn’t moved a muscle, so still it scares even you, and you know it’s just an act.

“You like chewin’ your food?” Simon asks, his voice so deathly calm that you grab his arm with  a laugh and pull at him.

“He’s just kidding Simon,” You placate, trying to pull your --wow this guy’s bicep is huge-- fake boyfriend away, “Right dad?”

“Oh come on,” You father tosses your way with a shake of his head, “I can handle a Manc-” He snorts and turns to Simon “-at least better than their players handle the ball.”

Simon flexes under your hands, and you physically can’t restrain him from shaking you off to stalk over to your dad. 

“Simon please,” You plead, you don’t even have to act, the way he grabs your father by the shirt collar you all but leap to wrap your arms around his waist and try to pull him back, “not again!”

“Again!” Your mother yelps as your father holds his hands up, eyes wide with fear.

“It was a joke,” Your father assures Simon.

“Fuckin’ better be.” Simon relents, releasing his hold on your father and turning those dark eyes to you.

“Look’t you grabbin’ me,” He grabs you before you can let him go, your muscles still vibrating with adrenaline. He holds your face with the same hand that had held your father, squeezes your cheeks with his fingers.“Real cute, thinkin’ you could ‘old me back.” Your stomach flips. “Taught you better’n that didn’ I? You want somethin’ you gotta ask, yeah?”

“I don’-” You try to shake yourself back to your senses and Simon squeezes you a little tighter, “Please let go.” Embarrassment settles hot in your stomach at the spark of… something in Simon’s eyes.

“There’s my girl,” He smiles, “Now give us a kiss love.”

You feel your stomach drop out, and you’re sure it shows on your face. Simon raises a brow. Your tongue feels too big in your dry mouth. You swallow and glance at your parents.

“I thought you said no PDA,” You try. This wasn’t in the brief.

“Just on the cheek then,” His smile is absolutely devilish, you wonder where he learned it, “Wouldn’t want ta embarrass you in front of your folks.” Your mother scoffs. Simon turns to glare at her and you rush a quick peck on his cheek just to get it over with.

His stubble is sharp where it pokes against your lips, but his skin is surprisingly soft. You almost hesitate pulling away. Your skin already feels hot with the humiliation of kissing a veritable stranger whose only goal is to antagonize your parents for the evening, so you don’t waste time with the action.

You’re saved by your aunt opening the front door with a loud, excited:

“Happy Christmas!”

Before she freezes in the doorway. Your cousins rush in, seemingly unaware of the tension and you take the opportunity to pull out of Simon’s grip.

“Is this a bad time?” Your aunt asks as tactfully as she can given the energy in the house.

“It’s a great time,” Simon answers for the crowd with a smile. Your mother throws an alarmed look your way and does her best to plaster on something less emotional for her sister.

“I thought you were gonna help with the presents,” Your uncle calls from behind your aunt, who immediately turns to help him get the boxes in. You see her vaguely gesture at the house through the crack between the door and the frame and wonder just what she’s trying to convey. 

This holiday is already off to a terrible start. Which is great. But you can’t shake the feeling that it’s going… worse than you’d initially thought it would.

“When are we eating?” One of your cousins asks, you turn to see the teen, Jack, staring at you. You suppose you’re the only adult that ever really gives any of them the time of day, makes sense he’d ask you.

“Uh,” you blink, trying to come up with a decent answer for him, “probably soon.”

“I wanna open presents,” One of the little ones whines.

“You gotta wait,” Jack tells him. 

“Ok!” Your aunt announces as she comes back inside, now holding gifts, “Looks like you’ve already started the party!”

“Haven’t even started drinking yet,” Simon assures her. Your uncle joins the fray, shuffling past you to set his gifts under the tree as well.

“You drink.” Your mother clarifies with a smile, she’s hiding the horror well.

“I’m the life of the party love,” He tosses your mom a wink and turns to look around. You assume for the liquor.

“What do you drink?” Your uncle asks, good natured as usual. That’ll change.

“Bourbon.” Simon hums, “But I’ll take a beer if that’s all ya got.”

“Sure there’s somethin’ around here somewhere.” Your uncle meanders over to your parent’s short liquor cabinet and starts rifling through the bottles. Your mother shoots you a look that practically begs you to stop him.

“Do you need something mom?” You ask, oblivious.

“It’s just a little early to start drinking, don't you think?” She asks, a leading question. You know what she’s trying to do.

“You sayin’ I can’t get a drink?” Simon asks.

“Let the man have a drink,” You uncle cajoles, “It’s a holiday!”

Your mother’s lips press into a thin line. She doesn’t comment on the glass your uncle pours for Simon, but she does retreat to the kitchen with your aunt in toe. You’re almost tempted to follow them and see what they’re saying. Maybe you could throw some fuel on the fire. Simon throws an arm around your shoulders before you can move, holding you against his side to keep you in place. You glance up at him, he doesn’t look at you. 

You tug your phone from your pocket for something to do, trying to look busy and uninterested in the chaos Simon is sowing, when it’s all you can think about. He manages a normal conversation with your little cousins, going through introductions like a regular person, even commenting on the shirt Jack is wearing. You glance at it and just know that was a fight with his mother. Looks like it’s based off some horror movie, blood dripping off a knife held aloft by a masked figure. Not very Christmas-y.

You can almost hear the argument that must have taken place when he’d put it on.

Simon must be smart enough to figure that out because he’s really hyping up the teen over the shirt. Talking about the movie and complaining about how his mom sounds like a bitch. Your cousin blinks at the swear before you see a grin split his face.

“Fuck yeah, is aunty letting us swear now?” Jack asks, too excited to contain it.

“The fuck is she the queen of England?” Simon laughs, turning to you, “Your mum’s not lettin’ ‘em swear?” You shrug.

“She says it isn’t ‘proper’.” Jack rolls his eyes.

“Fuck proper.” Simon snorts. He shoots you a look as he sips his drink. You’re sure Jack will be cussing the rest of the evening with Simon to back him up. Your mom’s gonna love that.

Your aunt comes out of the kitchen and grabs her husband to whisper in his ear. Your uncle glances at Simon and makes a confused face. One of the younger ones runs up to them and loudly asks:

“What’s fuck mean?” 

Simon averts his gaze and you feel his shoulders shake with restrained laughter. You have to hold it in yourself, the glare your aunt sends Simon’s way is too funny. The kid was bound to hear it from his brother eventually. Really, Simon is saving the teen from being grounded with that one.

Your mom comes sweeping into the living room just in time to save Simon from getting an earful. Your aunt’s glare transfers to her before she can fix her face. Your mother’s lips pucker, an unpleasant understanding that something is happening crossing her eyes. She ignores it, much like every other unpleasant thing you’ve witnessed with her, in favor of normalcy.

“Dinner is ready!” She announces.

“That was fast,” You blink, usually she spends more time milling about and waiting for people to finish a few cocktails.

“Well,” She smiles at Simon, “I thought I’d speed things up so nobody misses any other christmases.”

“Got nowhere to be.” He informs her.

“Oh I’m sure you’re mother would-”

“Mum’s dead.” Simon sniffs.

“Then your fath-”

“If the bastard was still alive I’d kill ‘im myself.” Simon smiles at her over the rim of his glass before knocking back the rest of the bourbon and pouring himself another two fingers, “You got me all night if I want.”

Your mothers lips pucker again, the slightest hint of distaste in her expression before she manages a smile.

“We’re glad to have you.” She offers. You expect she’ll still try to force you out early. “Dinner?”

“Bloody starvin’.” Simon grunts, pushing past her towards the kitchen.

Your uncle is already serving himself from the various pans laden with food. Your father isn’t far behind him, eyeing the roast like a man starved.

You grab one of the Christmas patterned plates and hold it out to Simon, letting him queue behind your father. He glances around and you watch his eyes land on your cousins hovering nearby.

“Adults serve first,” You whisper to Simon when he steps back from the line for food to let the kids cut in front. It’s a quiet motion that presses him into you, he glances back like he might give you an apology before he makes eye contact with your aunt and loops his arm around you instead. 

“What?” He asks loudly, “Your mum tryin’ ta starve the poor buggers or somethin’?” You blink at him. He raises a brow. “No heart under those tits, eh?”

Your aunt gasps and he gives her a once over. You keep your eyes on your little cousins as they happily load up their plates with turkey and mashed potatoes. One of the older boys smothers his whole plate in gravy and honestly, you can’t blame him.

“Can’t be jealous, ya clearly got the better ass.” Simon tells your aunt as you scooch around him to get your own plate. He catches you around the middle and pulls you back, curling over you. He tips your head back with a hand on your throat, thick fingers squeezing just enough to dimple the skin.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks. You barely hear him over the roll of butterflies in your stomach. Your cheeks blaze with heat, and you clench your thighs together tight at the way he glowers down at you.

“I’m gonna make you a plate,” You tell him, he pinches your cheek and lets you free.

“Good girl,” He tells you, “Got ‘er well trained don’t I?” He jokes to your aunt, who you can feel radiating anger behind you.

You don’t really know what he likes, but Simon is a big guy so you get him a bit of everything, loading up his plate like you do this every day. It’s probably too much food, but part of you sort of likes the idea that he’s eating what you “made” for him. You hand him the full plate and he smiles, you turn back to grab your own food --you must still be nervous from having his hand at your throat-- and he smacks your ass. You bite back the yelp that threatens to break free. The sharp sting of pain spreads through you like wildfire, blossoming over your skin even through your skirt.

You quickly pile food onto your plate, hoping your aunt takes your speedy exit as one of embarrassment and not one of- well a different sort of embarrassment.

You manage to squeeze into the seat next to Simon, feeling his thick thigh press against yours like a warm anchor. Your mother gives him a dirty look as he reaches to fool with one of the candles in the middle of the table. You’re sure she heard his loud announcement that she doesn’t care about her nephews. His other hand settles on your leg under the table and you stiffen. Thick callused fingers grip your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh with something you desperately want to call reassurance. He knows no one can see that, right?

You watch the rest of your family fill the table, your little cousins already picking at their food, stuffing salad leaves into their mouths and pretending not to lick the gravy off their fingers. You wait for everyone to take their seats before you pick up your fork and your aunt shoots you a look.

“I’d like to-” your aunt starts only to be cut off by your fake-boyfriend.

“I want ta make an announcement.” Simon tells the table loudly, the conversation goes dead, your mother’s eyes bore holes into you, begging for anything but an announcement. You think she might bend her fork with how tight she grips it watching Simon shove his chair back to drop to one knee. You clasp a hand over your mouth, doing your best to play the part of shocked girlfriend, despite having planned this. 

“Simon!” You squeal as he tugs a black ring box from his pocket.

“Lemme talk baby,” Simon hushes you and you shut your mouth quickly, “I know it’s only been a couple a months-” the look in your mother’s eyes could kill an elephant, “-but I’m mad fer ya, an’ I know birds like you get off market quick so if I wanna keep that ass to myself I bloody well better get ya tied down.” Your mother gasps.

“Shut ya gob, I’m tryin’ ta propose.” He snaps at her, and she leans back like she’s been struck. Simon turns back to you, and you feel a rush of heat drip between your legs at the look in his eyes. This guy should be on TV with how good an actor he is.

“Will you marry me?” He finally gets out and you nod.

“Of course I will!” You fling yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

His big hands find your waist and squeeze. You pull away to take the ring box and he nearly pulls you out of your chair, only to push you back into it as he kisses you.

Your eyes go wide and you struggle to keep your hands on him when all you want to do is lurch away. Not a good look on an excited and newly ringed up girlfriend.

But the way he kisses you makes your stomach churn. His lips cover yours and almost as quickly as you get used to the feeling his tongue is trying to force its way into your mouth. You rush to close your eyes only to feel his tongue, thankfully, retreat. And be replaced by his teeth, biting your lip hard enough to bruise, prying your lips apart to slip his tongue in and lick your teeth. 

Your head swims, your eyes rolling at the way his hands grope and squeeze you, tagging every soft scrap they can find while he attempts to devour you. He does something with his tongue, twists it against yours to tickle the roof of your mouth, and you make a noise without meaning to. It’s all you can do to remember to clumsily slide your lips against his. You’re not sure you make a pretty picture when he pulls away, his spit trailing off your slick, swollen, lips. You suppose this evening isn’t really about painting a pretty picture.

It makes you squirm to feel his big thumb swipe over your lower lip, dragging the poor thing down to see your teeth. 

A chill racks your body as his eyes follow the motion of his thumb.

Your father loudly clears his throat. Your mother looks mortified. Your little cousins are covering their eyes while the teen pointedly looks at his phone.

Simon rubs the ring on your finger, pressing the metal back and forth against your skin. When the fuck did he put that on you?

“I’d like to say Grace,” Your aunt tries to wrestle the evening back into familiar territory as Simon sets you back in your chair. 

Your family bows their heads and you smack your knee on the underside of the table as you jump, unprepared for how high Simon’s hand settles on your thigh. You don’t even hear whatever prayer your aunt is saying with the way the blood rushes in your ears at the wide splay of Simon’s fingers. So. Close. 

You settle your hand on his and try to push him back to safe ground.

Jesus this guy is strong. Pain in your-

“Everything okay over there?” Your uncle asks. You must have looked like you were struggling more than you thought you were. 

“Fine,” You tell him, even though things are decidedly not fine and Simon won’t move his hand, “Just fussing with the ring.”

“Oh yes,” Your aunt holds her hand out across the table, “let’s see it.”

You hesitate before taking your hand off Simon’s. He doesn’t move, seemingly settled with where he’s settled. You hold your hand out for her to grab, let her turn your hand this way and that. Simon had told you he’d grab a ring, so you haven’t actually seen it yet. It’s pretty. A nice pear cut diamond with a trinity of what looks like pearls on either side. You wonder where he got it, you’re just glad it looks less fake than costume jewelry usually does.

“How nice,” Your mother coos, it sounds even less sincere than her compliments usually do.

You’re thankful you don’t need to do much talking at dinner. Simon more than makes up for you. He talks at length about how “mint” your friends are --he’s never met them-- and how his mates are begging for a go with you. He explains to your teen cousin, at length, how his violent video games could be worse, after your aunt bemoans the fact he’s been playing war sims. He makes no move to censor himself, actually from the few conversations you’ve had with him, you think he’s swearing more than he usually does. He even manages to start an argument with your father about “taking the gloves off” during combat.

“Different once you’re in active combat,” He explains like he’s talking to your father, “You do what you have to, keepin’ your ‘ands clean isn’t exactly front of your mind.”

You glace across the table at Jack, the teen looks completely invested in whatever Simon is saying. You can almost hear the look your aunt has fixed you with, you’re sure you’ll get a call later about your fiance “encouraging him to get himself killed.” 

“Oh please,” Your father blusters, “if that were the case the royal service would be under investigation. We’d see it on the BBC: Special Air Service members torture civilians. What a load of horse-” Your mother coughs and your father shuts his mouth.

“Got plenty of men like me givin’ orders,” Simon digs into his pocket to pull his cigarettes, stopping with his teeth around the filter of one when your mother coughs loudly. He shoves them back into his pocket with a grumbled swear. “Like I told ya earlier, ‘s not the good men that come back.”

“You’re so cool,” Jack tells Simon with wide eyes. Your aunt smacks his arm with the back of her hand, reprimanding. Simon’s eyes narrow.

He watches your aunt the rest of dinner. The conversation drifts as plates are emptied. You attempt to stand to help clear the table, and Simon holds you in your chair. Your mother putters around the table with your aunt, you smile and thank them. You’re almost done. Then you can go home and wait for the flood of texts/calls from your mom.

You can just imagine the way she’ll try to convince you to break off your (fake)engagement. You’ll wait a few weeks before spinning up some story about Simon cheating on you. Your family will be so grateful Simon’s gone they won’t ask any questions.

“Does anyone want pudding or are we going straight to-”

“Presents!” Your youngest cousin cuts your mom off, rushing  to the tree as soon as his plate is cleared. Your aunt grabs him and brings him back to the table only for him to run over again. She manages to pull a gift from his little hands, and bring him screaming back to the table. You wince at the sharp sound, the fat tears rolling down the kid’s chubby cheeks, crying about opening presents. Your aunt reminds him shortly that there’s still dessert to get through. It barely makes a dent in the tears. The kid pulls at his mom’s grip, screaming and kicking. 

Simon’s hand on your thigh tippens its grip. 

You know, you know. It’s never fun sitting around with a kid throwing a tantrum, but you’re sure your aunt will handle it-

There’s a sharp crack as your aunt spanks the kid. Hard.

Simon shoots up from his seat.

Your little cousin’s tears turn to sniffles and a wobbly lip as his mom gives him a hissed warning. 

Your hands shake as Simon stalks around the table to grab your aunt’s hand.

“The one thing you’re not gonna fuckin’ do,” He tells her in a low warning tone, “is hit your fuckin’ kid in front of me.”

It’s so different from the anger he’d had with your father over football. You know that, that was acting, but this… It radiates off of Simon like a miasma, dark seething hatred, anger like you’ve never seen. Your aunt looks at him like she’s seen a ghost. Her eyes are wide and scared, her hand still holding your cousin’s arm squeezes tighter, like the child is her only lifeline. 

“Ow!” The kid whines, the sniffles starting again in full, “Mum that hurts.” 

Simon cocks his head, his own grip tightening.

“Let ‘im go,” Simon presses, his anger as cold as death, “Or I’ll break your arm.”

“Simon,” You don’t know what you’re hoping your voice will add to this, not even sure what you should do, all you know is that you brought Simon into this house which makes him your responsibility.

“He’s alright,” Your aunt tries to assure Simon, “aren’t you sweetie?”

“Mum!” Your cousin whines again. Your aunt lets go of his arm like it’s burned her.

“Now apologize.” Simon demands. Your aunt nods sharply and swallows.

“Mum’s sorry baby,” She directs the comment at your cousin but her eyes are fixed on Simon, watching him like a rabbit watches a wolf. “It was just a little spank.” You think the pleading justification makes it worse with the way Simon’s eye twitches. 

“I ever catch you hittin’ ‘im again-” Your aunt’s eyes dart to you, to the fake rock on your finger, “-and it won’t just be your arm I break.”

Your glance to your mother for- God you don’t even know, help? Maybe? She glares at you like this is your fault. Fair enough. Your uncle seems quicker on the uptake.

“Maybe we take Christmas to go,” He chimes in, “Grab the kid’s gifts, since they seem tired.”

Your mother grabs hold of this lifeline as quickly as she can wrap her head around it.

“Absolutely!” She hurries to the tree to start sorting out gifts, “Oh I didn’t realize they’d be so exhausted, we all know fits are just fits, right Simon?”

“I look like I’m throwin’ a fuckin’ fit?” Simon asks her, his voice still cold.

“You know I’m pretty tired too,” Your aunt agrees.

“I’m not.” Jack chimes in.

“Yes, you are.” His mom hisses.

“And it looks like snow,” Your uncle adds, “so we should go.”

You hardly get a word in before your cousins are rushed out the door, no hug or forced familiarity from your aunt as she and your uncle juggle presents and strapping kids into car seats.

Simon takes one of the armchairs in the living room amidst the chaos, dangling his glass with his fingers on the rim as he glowers at your aunt. Your attempt to help them gather presents is stopped by Simon pulling you down into his lap. You stiffen reflexively to try and leverage some of your weight off of him, and he pulls you to lean against his chest. 

Maybe it’s good you don’t say good-bye. You’re not sure anything you could say would sound sincere with the way you’re perched on your fake fiance. You’ll definitely be hearing about this later.

You’ve never seen anyone in your family leave that fast. Your mother must blame you for this social faux pas with the way she glares at you. She’s not even trying to hide it, seemingly having deemed Simon as unworthy of her usual polite routine. She stops just short of yelling at you in front of him. Must be too afraid of what he’ll do to her if he’s willing to break your aunt’s arm over her kid.

You’re not sure when you lost control of the evening, but you’re ready to go. Your aunt’s exit should be your exit too. You even open your mouth to tell your mother it’s been a lovely evening.

Simon beat you to it.

“Let’s open presents.” You’d almost call it an order with how edged his voice is.

“We don’t have any for you,” Your mother attempts, “it wouldn’t be fair to open them now.”

“Don’t need a present,” Simon assures her, “Bird’ll gimme somethin’ later.” Your mother’s eye twitches. Simon’s hand slides over your thigh, his thumb rubbing gently at the sensitive, clothed, skin. Your nerves must be on high alert to feel his touch so acutely. He gestures with his glass at the tree. “Go’an,” He orders again.

The tension in Simon’s form slowly seeps out of him as your parents shuffle presents out from under the tree. His body, which had previously seemed poised to leap at the slightest provocation, relaxes back against the chair as your mother hands you a present. She smiles at you warmly, almost pitying, when you thank her. Simon’s hand doesn’t leave your thigh, possessive in a way that feels too close to reality. 

“Oh wait,” You tell your mother as she pulls one of the gifts you brought from the pile. You slip from Simon’s lap, and for some reason he lets you, bent at the waist to point to a different box. His hand slides over the swell of your ass with an appreciative hum and you have to stop the tremor in your voice as your blood rushes south. “That one first,” You smile, “otherwise this one won’t make sense.”

The normalcy of it is more welcome than you’d thought. Somehow your usual family Christmas doesn’t seem as tense or fraught with conversational landmines now that Simon’s intruded. If nothing else you suppose he’s given you that. It’s certainly easier talking to your parents when they keep casting nervous glances at Simon to make sure this is an appropriate line of conversation. 

Simon, for his part, does little except keep you in his lap as you tear into the paper wrapped boxes. Occasionally his hand moves from your thigh to squeeze your stomach, or your side, as if he’s checking that you’re still all there. It’s not exactly casual, and the heat that builds between your legs as he drags his callused fingers across your stomach makes you want to squirm back into his chest, just to try and escape the ticklish feeling.

You try to focus on the gifts, drumming up the appropriate amount of excitement to look grateful while all of your attention is on the spread of Simon’s fingers. His hand splays wide against you and you try to trace the outline of it, distract yourself from how big his hand is. 

But distracting yourself from the spread of his hand directs you towards the spread of his legs, to the firm muscle of his thick thighs, to the slight softness of his stomach when your back starts to hurt and you lean against him with less stiff of a spine. Your eyes drift to the window as your mother coos over the knitting supplies and class pass to her favorite craft store. It’s so dark out, the sun already disappeared behind the horizon and the streetlights are doing their best to shine even when the night dims them. You’re already tired.

Your phone buzzes and you check it with a glance.

It’s a weather alert.

You scramble off Simon’s lap only to be dragged back into it.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’?” He asks, his hands grip your sides, fingers just brushing the edge of your bra. You can’t deal with the way being pulled like this makes your head swim. Fuck, maybe he could just grab you off the street and- NO.

“Simon,” You push at his hands, “problem.” 

“No problem love,” He hums. Lips brush the shell of your ear and you stiffen as heat blooms over your cheeks, “‘Cept you gettin’ up oll the time.” “It’s snowing.” You insist, still pushing at his hands.

Your father looks at you with confusion and glances out the window. It’s hard to see when it’s so dark out. You’re suddenly hit with a grim understanding of why the street lamps seem so dim. Your dad walks to the front door and tugs it open only to be pushed by the gust of cold wind and snow that rushes into the house.

The wind is positively howling.

Your father muscles the door shut and your mother nervously clicks on the TV to check the weather. She doesn’t even help your dad brush all the snow off him, worrying her lip as her eyes fix to the screen. 

“Not gonna be able to drive home in that,” Your father grimaces. Your mother shoots him a look before skirting her eyes around you to watch Simon. You can almost feel his smile.

“You wouldn’t mind us stayin’ ‘ere would ya?”

You flip on the lights in your childhood bedroom. Simon looms behind you. Reasonably you understand why he insisted on staying, even why he insisted on sharing a room. As far as your parents know you’re happily engaged, and as far as you could tell there was a blizzard raging outside. Honestly you’ve never seen anything like it, and if you didn’t know any better you might have blamed Simon for it. 

You have never in your life been more aware of another person’s presence. 

“In you go love,” Simon tells you, pressing you forwards with a hand on the small of your back. You stumble into your room and turn in time to watch Simon close the door. He bends down to unlace his boots and you manage to kick off your shoes in the time it takes him to straighten again. Now that you’re alone you feel on edge. All the casual friendly airs that Simon had been putting on when you’d met him before have done nothing to prepare you for the weight of his full attention. You’re only too happy when he turns to survey the room.

“I can take the floor,” You inform him, already gathering the spare blankets and pillows your mom had set on your twin bed. 

“Sit down,” Simon orders, your ass hits the side of your mattress so fast you haven’t even registered the command before you’ve followed it, “You’re takin’ the bed.”

His tone leaves no room for argument. You suppose it could almost be called kind of him to give you the bed.

“Sorry,” You tell him quietly, mindful of your parents in the next room.

“What’re you actin’ sorry for,” He huffs, “Sweet bird like you doesn’t mind sharin’, does she? Besides,” He knocks your knees apart with a big booted foot, “I still gotta get paid.”

You stare up at him, confusion plain on your face. 

“I thought you just wanted the meal.”

“Meal’s not finished, is it?” He tells you, “Never got dessert.”

“Wha-”

“Take your fuckin’ pants off.” His tone is clipped, short, and deep. It sinks into your skin, prickling goosebumps everywhere he’d touched earlier. Which feels like it must have been, well, everywhere. 

You should say “no.” Literally nothing about this man has given you any indication that he’s someone you should want to get undressed for, and he’s spent the better part of the day tormenting your family. Granted you did ask him to do that, and honestly his efforts do land squarely in the “pros” category, but he’s a little too good at playing a dirt-bag. And this? This just seals the deal on that particular observation.

So you should say “no.”

But the way his big hands had grabbed you, the way his tongue had wound against yours, the way he looks down at you now, hungry, makes you desperately want to do whatever he asks you to. 

“My parents are in the next room,” You whisper, glancing back at the wall that separates the two rooms.

“Who gives a shit?” Simon snorts, “Don’t ‘appy couples celebrate their engagement?” Your eyes flick down to his trousers, the implications aren’t lost on you. He must catch you looking because his hand grabs your hair and tips your head back. “Trust me birdy, I’m tryin’ ta be nice, but if ya wanna choke on it…”

You race to get your trousers open, fingers shaking as you push them down. You don’t need to see his cock to make some leaps of logic that it’s just as big as the rest of him, and if he’s offering you the choice between his mouth on you, and your mouth on him-

Simon leans forward and unceremoniously shoves his hand into your panties, your trousers barely down your thighs. Your train of thought comes to a full halt as big fingers stroke through your folds.

“Atta girl,” He hums, “much ‘appier like this, aren’t ya?” He tugs his fingers free, spreads them in front of your face with a pitying pout at the way your slick glistens on his skin. “Least your cunt knows what’s good for it.”

He pushes your head back, tossing it towards the bed as he releases your hair. Your back hits the mattress and you have to work to keep from hitting your head on the wall. Simon’s fingers find the hem of your panties and drag them down your thighs, catching your trousers to discard the lot on the floor. 

You snap your legs shut against the chill of the room and he growls. 

“None of that now,” He advises, prying your legs apart. His fingers dig into the soft meat of your thighs, his gaze fixed on the wet mess between them. The way he stands over you makes him feel massive, makes the way he leans over you feel looming. 

His hands slide over your ticklish inner thighs and you have to stifle the giggle that threatens to spill from you. You doubt Simon would appreciate your laughter, might even think you’re laughing at him. Again your eyes dart to the hard length straining against his trousers as his thumbs spread your folds.

“Pretty,” He says it so plainly, casually, like he’s judging a toy. It blazes through you, lighting up your nerves and making you shiver. Any other protests you might have had die on your tongue as Simon drops to his knees. 

Seeing him between your legs makes your stomach clench, makes your cunt pulse with desire. One of his thumbs rubs up and down the seam of your cunt while the other keeps you half-spread. He presses his thumb firmly against your clit, the pressure makes your hips squirm, makes you ache for more stimulation. The pressure stops, and his thumb traces its way back to holding you open.

He spits.

You flinch when it hits your spread folds, body vibrating with embarrassed heat as it slides over you. Simon’s eyes follow it the whole way down, and his tongue drags it back up.

Simon’s tongue cards through your folds, warm and wet, and he groans low in his throat. It’s positively sinful the way he pulls his tongue slow and flat over you, like he’s trying to savor the taste. You snap your hand over your mouth, stifling the soft whimper that the attention brings to your lips. 

Simon’s eyes flick to your face and he makes a frustrated noise. You feel his teeth touch your skin just before he bites you. You yelp at the sharp pain, your hand shooting from your mouth to his head in an attempt to push him away. Simon tips his head back to bite at the meat of your palm, his teeth digging into the firm flesh before his tongue licks over it. There’s a sharpness to his teeth, chipped edges that scrape at your skin and ache before he soothes them. 

You don’t want him to bite you again.

You don’t think you do.

Do you?

His tongue rolls over your palm, wetting the dry skin with spit and slick. His mouth has a heady sheen to it that makes you want to drag your tongue over his lips, to clean up the light prickle of his beard with your own mouth.

“No sense lettin’ you breath if you’re not gonna scream for me,” Simon informs you. Your face has never felt hotter than when his teeth scrape down your palm to tease your pulse. You’re too enraptured by the way he moves to let spit drip off his tongue and onto your clit to really register what he said.

His tongue rubs against your clit, working the firm bud back and forth before letting his tongue roll over it. Each hot swipe sends a new shudder of heat and pleasure through your body. You whimper, your wet hand tangling its fingers in his short cropped hair just to feel him shake his head like a dog. 

It’s filthy the way he drags his lips over your folds, sucking and slurping at you like he’s trying to be loud. His stubble scratches at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, prickly and sharp next to the warm wet mouth that sucks at your clit. His tongue keeps twisting over it, keeping it sensitive and tingling before he’s ducking down to fuck the slick muscle into your hole. Simon moves his tongue against the entrance to your cunt like he’s hoping to stretch out the hole with it, circling around the delicate outer edge before pressing inside, over and over until your brain feels like it’ll melt out of your ears. 

Then that wet heat is dragged up to your clit, circled and sucked, licked in broad strokes that wiggle against you just so he can hear the way your voice pitches up in pleasure.

He turns his head to wipe his mouth against your thigh, lips parting to lick a long stripe before he sinks his teeth into the meat of it and sucks. Your own lips close tight around the whimper the dull pain of it pulls from you. 

He muscles your leg up against his shoulder, his arm moving to find a comfortable angle as he hooks his thumb in your fluttering cunt. You blink at the intrusion, the thick digit may as well be two of your own fingers the way he pulls at your entrance and stretches you open. That isn’t what steals your focus from his mouth though, what tugs at you is the way his other thick fingers rub over your ass, spreading your slick and attempting to soften the hole into something pliant.

He’s grabbed your hips to roll you onto your stomach before you can raise a protest to the searching fingers, big strong hands dragging your hips up so your knees settle on the edge of the bed as he stands. It forces your face into the quilts, muffling the noise of surprise that the motion shakes out of you. Again you find protests on your lips, you hadn’t even come, and again they’re snuffed by his fingers.

Two of them push into your cunt and you moan low in your throat at the burning stretch that they provide. Your hips rock back into them, your stomach fluttering with need as more heat courses through you. His fingers crook and he thrusts them down into your cunt, hitting some throbbing tightness that makes you cry out.

Simon makes a low cooing noise in the back of his throat and his fingers stroke against your walls. You turn your head to rest your cheek against the bed, your lips pouting and your lashes fluttering as he gives you just long enough to suck in a breath before his fingers are pressing against that soft aching spot again. Your eyes roll, your breath caught tight in your throat at the thrum of pleasure that tightens like burning heat in your aching cunt.

His fingers pump faster and faster into your cunt, and you cry out, your hips wiggling and your fingers gripping at the quilt. The wet squelching noise that comes from his fingers fucking into you makes an embarrassed heat rush over your skin, and you burry your face in the blankets just to gasp out your moans. Your mouth hangs open, drool dripping off your tongue as your breath stops in your throat. The tight heat between your legs feels like it’s winding its way all the way up through your diaphragm. Your muscles are tensed so tight you think you might snap, and you let out a low moan as your breath finally shakes free. You suck in air between sobs, each punch of his fingers into your cunt pushing a new noise free of your lips.

The wet noises just get wetter.

And then something inside you snaps. Your stomach clenches tight and your cunt follows, spasming around Simon’s fingers as they pump in and out of you. Stars dance across your vision and you bite the quilts to stop from screaming. Something trickles out of you and he rewards your orgasm with a throaty chuckle.

He pulls his fingers from you and rubs soaked fingers over your ass before he’s trying to push one inside.

“Been eyein’ this ass all night.” He hums.

The firm pressure hurts the harder he presses, and you whimper out a sniffled reproach to the feeling, a soft “hurts” that you’re sure will fall on deaf ears. Simon stops, pulls his finger back and slicks it in your cunt again, the feeling of his fingers twisting against your soft spot making your eyes roll. It hurts, an overworked burn that makes you whimper for an entirely different reason.

He pulls his thick fingers from your cunt and you feel the tip of one teasing your ass again. It’s barely a pressure when his finger tries your ass again, and he lets out a slow breath as you’re filled.

“Just sunk right in,” He tells you, pumping his finger in and out, the drag of heat has your lashes fluttering, your head spinning at the deep pressure that makes your cunt clench, “Isn’t that pretty.”

His thumb catches your cunt again, tugging at the slick hole. The click of his belt and rustle of fabric clues you in to what comes next.

That doesn’t mean you’re prepared for how big his cock feels nudging at your entrance. A chill runs over your skin, goosebumps raising to meet the air where your jumper has slid down your back. The blunt head of his cock presses against your hole, and you arch your back into the feeling, desperate to find the right angle for it to slip in. 

Simon doesn’t seem as eager. He pushes into you slowly, lets you feel the way you burn and stretch around him, lets you feel every centimeter of that big cock. You feel tight, even as wet as you are, you feel like you’re squeezing the life out of him. Your cunt is hot and tingling, and your clit throbs with the need to be touched. 

You feel his hips press against your ass, and he grinds into you. Another wave of goosebumps rushes over you at the deep ache he pushes into. You squeeze your eyes shut just to stop the way they keep trying to roll back in your head.

Simon pulls back, and you can almost feel the drag of his head against your walls. He grinds the tip against the soft spot near your entrance before punching his cock back into you. You make a choked noise before your throat seems to open and a flood of moans and pleas flows from you. Each push of his cock into you pitches your voice up and you moan in desperate panting sounds.

You ache. You’ve never felt so full. He hasn’t taken his finger from your ass, instead he presses it down to try and feel his own cock stretching out your walls. You shove a hand between your legs to try and stroke your clit only to feel the stretch of your skin around his fat cock. You’re so wet that your fingers slip over your folds, uncoordinated, and you can’t get a good angle. You open your mouth but can’t find the words to ask for what you need.

One of his thrusts pushes you up the bed and your hand moves immediately to push against the wall with a ‘thump.’ 

“Simon,” You whine, “Simon.”

His free hand pets up your spine, bunching your jumper up under your armpits to unhook your bra, before finding its way to your hair. He curls his fingers and finds a tight grip near your scalp. The bite of pain makes you want to push back into him. The deep pressure, the slight sting, from your ass makes your body stutter, your brain crashing into itself.

Oh God.

“Not a thought in that pretty little ‘ead is there?” He asks, the fingers gripping your hair tight pull your head back, you moan your pleasure for him as he gives a hard thrust into you, your bleary eyes opened just enough to focus on the white wall. “Course not,” Simon grunts, a huff of laughter edging his voice, “Wouldn't've responded to my ad if there was.” 

You reach back to claw at his thigh and find it still, painfully, clothed. A burst of humiliation shoots through you at the thought that Simon hasn’t even bothered to get undressed. 

“Stupid thing, really could’ve just grabbed ya off the street.” He mumbles, there’s a touch of fondness to his voice, a smile that doesn’t feel appropriate for the way he fucks into you. Like he’s trying to teach you a lesson.

The only thing you’re learning is that Simon’s cock hits something deep and needy inside of you. The finger in your ass starts to pull out and you scream. Simon groans as you tighten around him, your cunt desperate to keep his cock inside. You’re buzzing with your orgasm, settled right at the edge with nothing to push you over the edge. There’s too much stimulation. His cock pistoning into you and his finger starting to tug at your ass. You’re still sore from his fingers but you can’t stop yourself from clenching tight around him.

“Mad fer it,” Simon chuckles, “tell me what ya need bird.”

“Clit- clit,” You stutter out, still barely able to keep the words straight in your head. 

“Louder love,” He teases, “don’t think I heard ya.”

“Please,” You sob, your moans still tearing from your chest on each thrust, “touch my clit.”

He drops your head back down onto the bed, and you muffle your noise with the quilt clenched between your teeth. His finger pulls from your ass and you scream your pleasure into the bed. It’s so hot, your ass burning with something that isn’t entirely painful. It just makes your clit pulse harder. 

Simon’s fingers find their way between your legs and he pinches your clit between them. One roll of the tight bud between them has your legs shaking. The second has tears brimming at your lash line and your mouth hanging open as you flutter and drip on Simon’s cock. You tense and release around him, your orgasm crashing into you like a train. Waves of it rush through you, shaking your muscles loose until you’re laid like a doll against the bed. Your skin is burning and you ache,

And Simon keeps fucking you.

The smack of his hips against yours fills the room, his breath heavy and his fingers now tight on your waist. You push back into his thrusts and it makes stars dance across your vision. That deep aching part of you makes everything draw tight again. 

Simon’s thrusts grow quicker, rougher, his fingers grip you so tight it hurts. You scream for him again, his hard thrusts pushing you to the edge a third time. The blistering heat of his come hits your overworked cunt and you moan. 

“Too much,” You whine. Everything is sore when he pulls out. You don’t think you can move.

Your knees slip off the edge of the bed and you just lay there.

Simon rolls you back onto your back, and manhandles you into laying on the bed properly. 

You sit up just enough to tug your jumper off and toss your bra to the floor with the rest of your clothes. Simon ditches his shirt and you sleepily take in the cut musculature of his chest as he wanders to turn off the light.

You pass out before he ever gets his pants off.

*

Your parents have already gathered the presents from last night by the front door when you wander downstairs in the morning. Your father doesn’t look at you, but your mother positively glowers. You try not to think about how loud you’d been last night.

Simon’s had his hands on you since you woke up. His fingers splay wide on the small of your back, as your parents attempt to rush you out the door. 

You’re settled in Simon’s car, driving down the street when you finally let the laughter take over. You giggle and snort, pressing your fingers against your mouth to try and stem the flow of them. But really, what can you do? Despite being forced to spend the night putting a dent in your plans it’s worked out perfectly. Your parents won’t be asking about you getting a boyfriend any time soon.

If you’re lucky your mom will never ask you about your relationship status again, even when you “break up” with Simon.

You’re still giggling, glowing with happiness at a successfully executed plan, when you try to pull the ring off your finger.

Something sharp digs into your skin and you yelp in pain. 

“What the fuck?” You question, whimpering when you pull harder and it only sends the sharp bit further into your skin. You raise your hand to look at the ring, and find a sharp tooth just under the diamond, clearly a feature not a bug. Still you glance at Simon. “I think this ring is defective,” You tell him, “It keeps stabbing me.”

Simon hums, turning right down a street. 

“Then stop tryin’ ta take it off.” He advises. You twist the ring around your finger, trying to find  a way to work it off.

“I can’t get it off,” You grunt in annoyance.

“Not suppose ta,” Simon tells you plainly, taking another turn, “That’s how bein’ engaged works.”

Something squirms in your stomach.

“We’re not engaged.” You remind him.

“Wearing my ring,” He reminds you, like he’s explaining it to a child, “said ‘yes’ to my proposal-” A smile splits his face, predatory in a way that makes you press your legs together, “-probably still buzzin’ for my cock too. Sounds engaged to me.”

You balk, your mouth hung open as you gape at him. Is he insane?

Simon doesn’t even look at you, just reaches to the side and presses against the underside of your chin with gentle, firm fingers, closing your mouth. Then he leans past you to open the glove compartment and tug a crumple of papers out onto your lap.

“If ya get bored you can look over those.” He tells you, flicking on his signal to hop on the highway.

You glance down at the mess of papers settled on your thighs, a mass of text and fine print that your eyes can’t focus on because they’re so shaken by the two poised at the top:

“Marriage License.”

divider by @/saradika-graphics

[writersdrug]

Training for Two

Chapter 7. Motivated, Sir!

Masterlist

Summary: You struggle to keep up with your freelance work - Soap has the wonderful idea of bringing you and Riley to base.

Warnings: cursing, yeah.

Sure enough, Simon had requested your services about three days after you’d run into him in the café.

He had sent you an email the Tuesday following your run in. It was the same as before – short and to the point. leaving thursday at 0900. riley will need her meds at 1300. i’ll be on base for a few days for trainig, won’t be far. call if you need anything.

You showed up no later than twelve-thirty, your backpack hanging off one shoulder and a fresh bag of peanut-butter-bacon cookies in your free hand. You cooed and smiled at Riley as she all but attacked you as you entered through the front door. She seemed to have grown to miss you, which had your heart swelling with pride. People pleaser and a puppy pleaser, it seems.

After a dose of her medicine and a much-needed walk through one of the nearby parks, you crashed on Simon’s couch to do some freelance work. With your feet kicked up onto the coffee table (politely, with your socks on and your shoes by the front door), you tapped and clicked away at your laptop, fiddling with the edge of your sweatshirt as you concentrated.

You may have bitten off more than you could chew, as much as you hated to admit it. Prancing your skill online – boosting social media posts that boasted about your expertise in logo design and marketing had brought in more customers than you anticipated. Recognition was exciting, and you had taken on four clients at once; something you were currently and mentally kicking yourself for. The burnout had settled in quickly after you finished the first portfolio of logo samples, and you wanted nothing more than to take a nap with Riley as your blanket.

You sighed, sinking further into the couch cushions and running your hands over your face. You were dangerously low on motivation.

A few moments later, you were holding your phone, listening to each ring as you chewed on the edge of your sleeve. A bad habit, one that your mother had tried to break you of in your teenage years, but you stubbornly kept to it.

Soon, the phone picked up with a click. “Hey, babe.”

“Hi Tyler…” you said with a relived exhale. “You busy?”

“Eh-“ he grunted; you heard the sound of tinkering in the background, and the voice of the secretary at his main office. “I’ve got a moment. Everything alright?”

You sighed. “Yeah… nothing’s wrong, I’m just stuck.”

“How so?”

“Well” – you sat upright, crossing your feet under you and putting your laptop to the side – “I’ve finished the one project, and now I-“

“Which project?” Tyler interjected. You heard beeping, followed by one of his coworkers asking for a wire stripper.

“The logo design for that new attorney’s office off of main and thirty-fourth.”

“Oh! Yeah yeah, I remember.”

You cleared your throat. “Yeah, I finished that one. I have three other projects now, and one is due by the-“

“Three?! I thought you just had the one!”

A sigh escaped your lips. “I did, and then more clients flooded in, I just got ahead of myself-“

“Sweetheart- here, Max, hold this for a second- you got too much on your plate. You’ve already been house-sitting for that one guy, Sam-“

“-Simon.”

“Right, yeah. But, doll, maybe you need a break. Can you tell him that you need him to find someone else for now?”

You faltered. “You’re saying quit the house-sitting gig?”

“Not quit, I know Riley likes you – but maybe just have him get another guy to finish the week.”

“I can’t do that!” you said, a bit taken aback that Tyler of all people, Mr. Work-Till-You-Drop himself, would suggest that you let go of a project. “He can’t exactly find a different sitter right now, he’s not going to be home.”

“Alright, alright- what about dropping one of the logo gigs?”

“That would look bad for my business.”

“Well, babe-“ you heard someone call for him in the background of the call. “-give me a sec, Ron, it’s important- I don’t know what to tell you. You bit off more than you can chew, it sounds like.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach; why am I bothering him? He’s working, and this isn’t something he can exactly help with. “Yeah- I’m sorry. I’m just- I dunno. I need something to motivate me.”

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart.” Tyler sighed; you could hear the pinch in his brow. “I’m not trying to be short with you, I… eh, I guess this wasn’t the best time, hmm? Tell you what: when Sam comes back-“

“Simon.” You said with a chuckle.

“Shit, sorry- when Simon gets back, and you’re back home, let’s have a day in, yeah? You pick a movie, I’ll get the takeaway, and have a look at your portfolio. Sound good?”

You smiled, the knot in your stomach easing up a bit. “Yeah, sounds like paradise.”

“Good.” Tyler said, and you could hear the smile in his tone. “I’ll make sure it is. Let your mind rest a bit, alright? And give Riley a kiss for me.”

“What, I don’t get one?”

“Yours are automatic!”

“Leavin’ me for a dog, are you?”

“I wouldn’t leave you for Aphrodite.”

You smiled. “I love you. But go back to work! I don’t want Ron to hate me.”

Tyler chuckled, the sound sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Alright. Love you too.”

You ended the call, tossing the phone onto the cushion next to you. Why did I call him? He was at work – I knew that. He doesn’t even know anything about design. I could have texted him – or I could have just left him alone. Why would I even bother him with this? How could he have helped?

You groaned, closing your laptop and moving it to the coffee table. Looking across the room, you saw that Riley was no longer in her bed, her blanket partially spilling onto the floor next to it. She whined; you turned your head to find her sitting at the door. She met your gaze, licking her lips and tapping her feet anxiously on the floor.

“Do you need to go out?”

She whined again, impatient.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you huffed, standing on your feet and stretching your limbs. She trotted over to you with a groan, then back to the door.

You followed her there, slipping on your shoes. You reached into the closet and grabbed her leash, leaning down to clip it onto her collar. She grunted and jerked her head back, taking a few steps away from you.

Confusion settled on your face. “C’mon girl, don’tcha want to go for a walk?”

She let out a few voofs, raising a paw and stomping it indignantly. You tried again, reaching out with the clip of the leash, but she darted away once more. She stood by the closet and barked shrilly, still staring at you.

This lasted for a few more minutes; you’d stand there, taking every woo and wuff that she threw at you. After a few moments of the following silence, you’d take a step towards her, holding up the leash with a cocked brow, and she’d huff and turn in a circle.

“I’m sorry I don’t speak awoowoo.” You said in frustration, putting your hands on your hips. “spreek je Nederlands?”

She huffed dramatically, lying down and resting her nose on her front paws. You sighed yourself and headed back towards the couch – she yipped, whining at you through her nose.

“What?” you asked, throwing your hands up. “I don’t know what you want!”

She barked back at you. Helpful.

You groaned. This wasn’t getting you anywhere. You went back to the couch and grabbed your phone, flopping stomach-first onto the cushions. Riley trotted over to your side and whined, sitting politely on the rug.

With a few clicks, Simon’s contact appeared on your phone; well, it was Riley’s face, her snout taking up most of the camera and her ears tucked back against her head as she had sniffed the lens in the moment. You chewed your lip. It’s not an emergency… but maybe he forgot to tell me about part of her routine? She hadn’t acted this upset the last time you were here… and she had certainly never indicated no when you got ready to take her outside.

You pressed the call button, putting your phone on speaker. Not half a ring had passed before Simon answered.

“Wha’s wrong? ‘S Riley ok?”

“N- hi, Simon – yeah, Riley’s ok. She-“

“Are you ok?”

You chuckled. “Yes, I’m fine. This isn’t an emergency.”

You heard him sigh, and quickly tried to deescalate the situation. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you-“

“Don’t apologize,” he said, “ya did nothin’ wrong. I know you wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important.”

You laughed again. “Well, I don’t really know if it is or isn’t – I’m trying to take Riley out for a stroll, and she won’t go,”

“No?”

“No. I try to put her leash on and she runs away. She’s yapping at me though, like she’s got something to say.” You looked at her, reaching a finger to boop her nose.

You heard the faint sound of gunshots in the background of the call. You had half a mind to ask if he was in battle- war- whatever they called it- at the moment, until you remembered that he said he was training this week. “Ya sure she needs t’ go out?”

“She’s acting like she does.” You said, rolling onto your side.

He grunted. “Pain flarin’ up?”

“She’s not limping.”

“Biscuit?”

“She’s had her first daily.”

He sighed. “Beats me. I’d think she was-“

“Oi! LT!”

You listened closely, suddenly drawn to the commotion beyond the speaker. “Simon?”

“One sec, luv-“ he said quickly. “I’m busy, Soap-“

“Cap needs ye back oan th’ feld. One o’ the Jimmies hud o’ nice fall.”

“Fuckin’ wot?”

“One o’ the rookies collapsed.” Soap was now closer to the phone; close enough that you could hear he was out of breath. “Cap wants ye out there.”

“Tell him I’m busy.”

“Tell ‘im yer feckin’ self, ye dry piece o’ shite-“

Riley suddenly barked, making you jolt. She stood with her paws on the edge of the couch and staring at the phone.

“Awe, tha’ mah girl?” Soap said from the other line. “Mah Bonnie, yea? She miss me?”

“’M on the fuckin’ phone, Johnny.”

“Ah know, I’m talkin’ to the pup.”

You thought for a moment, as Simon and Soap bickered in the background. Maybe, Riley misses Simon’s coworkers? She used to work with them… judging on her reaction – panting and ears perked up as she listened to the conversation – you’d guess you were right.

“Hey, uh… Simon?”

‘- hm?” Simon halted his bickering with Soap at the sound of your voice.

“Does she maybe want to see your- team? Or Soap, at the very least?”

“Aye, she does.” Soap chimed in, making Riley whine. “Ya hear tha’? She misses ‘er ol’ uncle Johnny.”

“Bugger off, mate.” Simon grumbled.

You suddenly felt like you made a mistake even voicing your thoughts. “Sorry if it’s not a good idea, I just heard how she reacted to Soap’s voice, and, y’know – how she used to work with you all…” you chuckled at yourself. “Now that I think about it, I probably couldn’t even get on base, could I?”

“It would-“

“None o’ that keech!” Soap said, cutting off Simon for the umpteenth time. “Ghost, ye can tell the gate guards you’ll be expectin’ er. Or cap, he’ll vouch for ‘er. Want tae see my girl.”

You felt a bout of excitement roll through your veins. “I think that would be great! And I’d get to meet you all finally. I should know who Simon travels the world with, right?”

There was a moment of silence over the phone, save for the distant gunfire and the cadence of orders being called out. You wondered if you had said something wrong; ‘travel the world…’ it’s deployment, not a vacation. Why did I say that?

“Don’t see why not.” Simon finally said, and you sighed quietly.

“You sure?” you confirmed.

“It’s jus’ what the pup needs.” Soap said. “Probably misses ‘er other friends, too-“

“Jus’ head towards the naval base, n’ I’ll send you the address to the gate.” Simon said with a huff. “Tell them you’re here for Ghost.”

“Ghost…” you repeated.

“’S my callsign. Oh, and, uh- put ‘er harness on. She wears that to base, probably why she won’t take jus’ the leash.”

You smiled, heart fluttering a bit at the information. “Great! I’ll see you soon!”

“Drive safe.”

You bit your lip as the call ended, that warmth still bubbling within your chest. A thousand, fleeting questions circled within your head as you rolled onto your side, clutching your phone to your chest. Does he call everyone luv? What gave him the callsign “Ghost”? I wonder what his team is like… I wonder what Johnny- Soap?- is like. I wonder if they’re all as attractive as-

Riley barked; you yelped, body tensing as you were torn from your thoughts. She pawed at you, still standing on her two hind legs and yowling lowly in your direction.

“Alright, alright- let’s go!” you rolled off the couch, equally as excited as she was. She happily obliged to sit next to you when you grabbed the harness from the closet, slipping it over her head and latching the leash to its back. She then eagerly trotted to the door, tapping her feet anxiously and whining.

You stuffed your feet into your shoes (you hoped that a sweatshirt, leggings, and rain boots would be appropriate for bringing your client’s dog on a military base). You stepped out into the overcast day, locking Simon’s door behind you and shoving the key into your bra; excitement boiled underneath your veins as the two of you headed over to your car, right as your phone buzzed with Simon’s text.

Simon watched as your contact photo faded from the screen. His eyes hardened as he turned to Johnny – the bloke had a cheeky grin on his face, staring right back at his lieutenant. Simon wanted to grab him by his mohawk and swing him into the wall like a discus.

“Wha’?” Soap said innocently, shoulders shrugging with irreproachability. “I miss ‘er.”

“Ya don’t have nothin’ to miss, you wanker.” Simon snarled, stuffing his phone into his back pocket. “You’ve never met ‘er.”

“The dog, ya git.” Soap sighed. His eyes narrowed in amused suspicion. “Yer awfully protective o’ the lass, don’t ye think?”

Oh, Simon could have launched the Scot into next week. He knew what he was doing, the bastard. He knew Johnny was either going to try and pair you with himself, sweep you off your feet and charm you with his stupid blue eyes and bright smile – or, he was going to pitch you with his lieutenant. Simon didn’t like not knowing how to prepare himself: to either cockblock you and Johnny, or to refuse any advances Johnny made to him on your behalf.

Soap huffed, not intimidated in the slightest by Ghost’s dissociative, angry stare. “Calm doon, LT.” he said, shoving his shoulder with two, sturdy fingers. “She’s got a lad, aye? I jus’ want tae see Riley. I’ll leave your precious house-sitter alone.” He held a hand up and crossed a finger over his chest. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never in Boy Scouts.” Ghost grumbled.

“Does it make a difference?” Soap said with a quirked eyebrow.

Simon sighed, leaving Soap on the training field to find Price. He had to let him know you’d be coming to base, or you’d be stopped at the gate and turned away – or worse, dragged off by the military police. It would be a surefire way of keeping you away from Soap, but it was also rather unhospitable. Riley wouldn’t be too impressed, either.

Still, Johnny had a point. Why was he fretting? You weren’t his.

“Jus’ keep an eye on the recruits. Be back in a moment.” He said over his shoulder.

“Aye, LT.” Soap responded: Simon could hear the grin on his face.

Smug bastard.

Next ->

Taglist (trying this again): @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @jisungswiftie @sweet-tooth4you @kennyis-aloser @hyyyxr @lahniu @dory-98 @naradae @cum-tea-and-towels @boystepper @definitelynotaclown @your-wifes-boyfriend @ghostslittlegf @bossva @poppingaround @katzykat @mileyraes @chocolate-noodles @jupiternighties @sadlonelybagel @rorysbrainrot @reevesdriver @kingshitonly @ghost4love @lilyofhoon

[roseykat]

TITLE: SKZ members as submissives

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSWF SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

SUMMARY: An OT8 blurb of how each of the members are as subs.

TAGS: sub!skz members, implied dom!reader not necessarily gender specific, mentions of sex, orgasms, humiliation, edging, collars, leashes, spitting, nipple play, implied brat behaviour, praise, choking, gagging.

MASTERLIST

A/N: my next work that will be uploaded after this is Venom Eater! Also trying out a new layout for when I do OT8 blurbs…

This man is 50/50. He can be so good for you by letting you use him in the ways that you want and then be a devious, disobedient little upstart if you look away for one second. If he’s in that type of state, expect him to whine to you about what it is that he wants; ‘make me cum~’, ‘but I need you to use me,’ ‘need to get off on you, please.’

Denying him is always so fun because he gets so teary eyed and agitated. At that point, he’ll cave. He is strong, but when his needs are being compromised, Chan will see your instructions through to the end. Whether it’s to use his mouth for your own pleasure, his cock, fingers, whatever part of his body you see fit to seek an orgasm out of, he will make it happen as reparation.

A sub that can be a full on stubborn brat who won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Trying to get him to listen is like pulling teeth and it can take a lot to strip Minho back into a conforming, incoherent mess. Overstimulation usually does the trick, bc he gets what he wants at first then realises he’s bitten off too much that he can chew and finds himself running into multiple orgasms bc you keep getting him hard enough to make him cum.

You like showing him how much cum he’s dribbled out of his stiff yet sore cock just by lifting up your hand, forcing him to see your palm glisten in white. Seeing it is like a slap of humiliation to him which paints a nice deep red blush across his cheeks.

A very sensitive sub that can only handle being touched so much. Edging works so well that it’s almost always part of the bedroom routine. You try to utilise it in order to see his strong, taut body writhing, and to hear him moan out ‘please, wanna cum so bad. Can’t take it anymore.’ Just hearing him say that invites you to cuff his hands to the bedpost so that he doesn’t try touching himself when you refuse him from orgasming.

The one thing that he absolutely cannot take is watching you get yourself off. Therefore, in the instance where you do attach him to the headboard, you peel yourself right off of his body and get into a position where he can see you make yourself cum. Whether it’s by your fingers, a vibrator, a dildo, whatever it takes to make him see what he’s missing out on, is a form of torture to him.

Obedient when he wants to be, but for the most part, he will let you use him whenever you want because Hyunjin is too in love with you not to. He likes having a collar fixed around his throat with a leash attached while you get him to fuck you in positions where he may appear ‘on top’ but you still have every degree of control over him.

He’s a relatively messy sub as well but adorns it with pride. Sometimes he cries from overstimulation, drools when you gag him with your fingers, chin and nose wet from you using his face, and will leak a decent amount of precum when you edge him. All in all, he’s versatile to use especially when he wants you to.

Is a sub that requires a lot more attention than most. He is very needy and reactive to the things he allows you to do to him. However, Jisung does explore when it comes to new kinks but to him, nothing beats just getting absolutely fucked. That being said, this man is a pillow prince. You have to put in all the effort - which you don’t mind, but there comes a time where you make Jisung work for it.

If that’s the case, he gets all whiny, mopey, and annoyed because he doesn’t want to ride you - he wants you to fuck him. He gets so stubborn that sometimes he’ll prep himself, fingering his hole even though it’s not nearly as satisfying as when you’re involved. In the end, he will end up riding you, but either very lazily or angrily.

Is everyone’s darling, innocent, and placid submissive that they just want to ruin. Whatever it is that you want to try, Felix is for it. He wants to please you and make you happy. He’s a sub who needs a lot of praise and boy does he deserve it because he’ll let you fuck him, let you clamp his nipples, spit in his mouth, edge him, a combination of all if not more of these activities - you name it.

Sometimes you have to remind Felix that he doesn’t have to do the things you suggest to him, that there are alternatives also or that he just doesn’t have to do it at all. But he always, always assures you that he does. He likes to experiment with you in bed but also wants to test his own limits while achieving pleasure.

Seungmin can be a very hard sub to work with at times. He has the ability to use his words as a weapon, yet sadly, it’s a double edged sword because it does come back and bite him in the ass when you clock him for his behaviour. So if he tries to trip you up with his words when you’re in full dom mode, saying things such as, ‘are you sure about that?’ ‘What makes you think I can’t take it?’ etc, you know how to handle him - with a ball gag.

It limits his supply of verbal daggers and plea bargains that you never bother considering bc he stepped on your last nerve. Another way to get him to shut up is if you use his face. But, his reset button - something that forces him to switch up is by telling him that he’s a ‘good boy’. He gets all flustered and embarrassed but he loves hearing that type of praise from you.

Jeongin starts off as a seemingly disobedient sub, almost leaning towards being a brat, then will slot right into his place of being submissive when you ramp things up in bed. Therefore, it’s easy to snap him out of that phase by threatening that he’s not going to get what he wants - no head, you won’t fuck him or you won’t let him fuck you. When those stakes are on the line, he straightens his act out and behaves.

As a sub, Jeongin is into many things but has a particular interest for shibari. He likes the intricacy of the many different ways in which you can bind his body, the tight feeling of the rope around his muscles, and how it shapes his body well. That’s only if he’s behaved himself well.

[moonstruckme]

This celebration bake sale is so unbelievably precious omg I’m in love with you

Congrats on 7k!! And wishing you a lovely birthday!!

May I request a little apple pie with Carmy and the prompt a six pack of beer and an apology (#10) (it just seems so him)

I’m overwhelmed with affection for you babe <3

Thank you lovely, I got really excited about the idea haha. And you're right, it is so him <3

cw: alcohol

Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 902 words

You’re unsurprised to open your door and find Carmy on the other side. It’s why, while you have changed into your pajamas, you didn’t go for one of the shirts that’s all moth-bitten or the pants with rockstar squirrels printed on them (they’re very comfy, alright?). These are your presentable pajamas, and they allow you to stand tall in your slippers and look at Carmy with some dignity. 

He, of course, in his chef’s coat. It still has some sauce splattered on the fabric partway down his chest. You know he’s trying to look presentable since the restaurant went more upscale, but you miss his tight white t-shirts (for reasons which will remain unspecified, though you’ve hinted to him more than once). 

“Hey,” Carmy says. He looks abashed, which is a nice start. 

You’re not letting him off easy, though. You cross your arms and let your hip jut out a little, regarding him coolly. “Hi.” 

His gaze seems stuck on your chin. “I, uh. I wanted to apologize.” 

Try as you might, you can’t help the little smile that turns your mouth at how awkward he sounds. You lift an eyebrow to try to retain some of your higher ground. “Okay. Wanna come in and have a drink?” you ask him, partly because you know how difficult this is for him and partly because you want him to know you know how difficult this is for him. 

“Sure,” he says, letting you lead the way to the fridge. You grab a couple of beers from a six-pack, setting them down on the kitchen table. 

Your fingers grow slippery with condensation as you crack yours open. Carmy moves to do the same, but his mouth twists. 

“What?” 

His eyes flick up to yours like he’s been caught. You don’t know why he’s surprised; Carmy has never been good at keeping things off his face. He gives a minute shake of his head. 

“Nothing.” 

“No, what?” 

“It’s nothing.” He’s looking at the table, and you get the sense that while he sounds like he’s done talking, he’ll say more if you let him. So you stay quiet. “Just, my mom used to baste turkeys with this stuff.” 

You raise your eyebrows. You and Carmy haven’t been together for long, but you’ve been around his family long enough to know what his mom is like. What holidays mean for them all. “This same brand?” 

“Yeah.” Carmy still looks like he’s about to open it, working a short fingernail under the tab, but you pull it away from him before he can. 

“What do you want instead?” you ask earnestly. 

Again, he looks surprised. You’re reminded of how much tough love he’s around all the time. Maybe you ought to be kinder to him. He chews the inside of his cheek, thoughtful. 

“Do you have any ginger beer? I could make a Moscow mule.” 

And again, your lips betray you. You almost laugh, actually. “God, that is so New York.” You stand, taking your beers back to the fridge. Yours will get flat. You don’t mind. “What would make you think I have ginger beer? In my tiny fridge? Why would I stock that?” 

You can practically feel the waves of Carmy’s awkwardness hitting your back like radiation. “If you don’t have any…” 

“No, I do.” You emerge with two cans of ginger beer. “Weirdly, I bought some months ago and it got shoved back there. Make me one, too, that sounds way better than beer.” 

Carmy stands to take the cans from you, going to the counter. He’s not smiling but looks tantalizingly close to it, the tension in his shoulders relaxing somewhat. “Do you also have a lime, or…”

You roll your eyes. “In the bowl on your left, fancy pants.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Thank you.” You sit back down in your chair, watching him cut your lime into wedges. “As apologies go, you’re off to a great start.” 

“Yeah.” Carmy sounds a tad bashful. “I wasn’t really expecting it to go this well.” 

You take a breath, letting it whoosh out of you, and decide to put him out of his misery. When you speak, your voice is serious, though not unkind. “You can’t just yell at me because you’re stressed, Carm.” 

Carmy’s shoulders string tighter again. “I know. I shouldn’t have lost my cool like that, I’m sorry.” 

“I know you’re used to a lot of yelling, and it’s all you hear in your kitchen and stuff, but not with me. I can’t do it, okay? And you can tell me when you’re having a shit day—I’d love that, actually—but you can’t expect me to tiptoe around you because someone else did something when I wasn’t around.” 

“I know.” Carmy’s eyes close. He looks almost pained. “I know, I know. I really fucked up. It won’t…I won’t let it happen again. Really.” 

“Okay,” you say softly. 

“I’ll keep my shit separate.” 

“Okay. I believe you.” You wait until he opens his eyes, let him see the sincerity in your expression. Among other, softer feelings, probably. “We’re cool. Okay?” 

He nods once. He still looks guilty, ashamed, but that’s okay. You’ll bring him back around. Forgive him forcefully until he gets past it, too. 

“Sick.” You pull your legs up into your chair, crossing them and setting your hands on your knees eagerly. “I still want my apology drink, though. Blow my mind, chef.”

[sentientgolfball]

Devotion

Part 1/3 of how Rain and Dew got together and perhaps also their first time

Read here or on Ao3

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Before Dew could become fire he had to make sure the new water ghoul would fit the needs of the Ghost Project.

Behind heavy wooden doors decorated with golden sigils stands four beings dressed in uniform. They have been working all evening for the ritual to come. When the full moon is at its highest point, a ghoul will be summoned. Dew is not entirely sure he is ready for it. He has only been Topside for a little over a year yet once that water ghoul pops out of the circle, he will be a mentor. He swallows thickly, the mask and the cloud of incense making it hard to breathe. He cannot be getting nervous now, this is his idea after all. 

He is the one who went to Sister Imperator proudly claiming he will be the fire ghoul they need. He is the one who twisted the Clergy's arm until they agreed to do the elemental transition, refusing to heed the warning of Delta. He is the one who agreed to wait, just long enough to make sure the new water ghoul is a good fit before he is burned down to his very core to be rebirthed. At the time it seemed like a great deal, he would get to become fire and thus be closer to the Morning Star and all he had to do was make sure the new water ghoul could pluck a few strings. Now that he is staring at the summoning circle though, he is starting to realize he may have bitten off more than he can chew. 

He shifts on his feet, the tip of his finned tail twitching between his legs. He vaguely knows about summonings, he was present for Mountain’s after all, but this one feels different. It somehow feels more intimate, knowing whoever pops out of the Pits will be his replacement. Knowing that he alone is going to be responsible for deciding if they will fit the needs of the Ghost Project; if not the Clergy will proceed with a fire ghoul summoning. He is solely responsible for not just his fate, but the fate of someone he has not even met yet. It makes his stomach churn and he has to fight to keep his fins from flaring. 

He tries to focus on what is happening around him. Anything to take his mind away from how in a few short moments everything is going to change. He watches Omega and the Sibling of Devotion converse as they prepare the necessary ingredients. Salt water, fresh water, rain water, and moon water all ready to be poured over the sigils painted on the floor. Knowing this is exactly how he was brought Topside is a weird feeling. He pictures Mist standing in his spot; was she just as nervous as he is now? Probably not. She was a Ministry ghoul long before she was involved with the Ghost Project. Who knows how many summonings she’s seen, how many water ghouls she’s helped adjust to a new world? Is she angry that he is here instead of her? He hopes not. If he messes this all up he will need her. He always needs her. 

His attention is stolen when the sound of muttering fills his webbed ears. Dew glances to his left to see Cardinal Copia quickly flipping through a gigantic book that looks like it is ready to turn to dust. He looks about as nervous as Dew feels, eyes wide while he scans over the ancient passages. He huffs as he watches him nearly drop the tome. He may not have known Terzo for long, but he still cannot believe this is the best the Clergy has for a replacement. 

Copia must feel Dew staring because he looks up from the book, catching his eyes behind the silver mask. Dew tenses when he closes the book and walks over to him. He offers Dew a weak smile. 

“It is exciting, no?” 

“You look like you’re going to pass out,” Dew says bluntly. 

“Ahah well yes but ehh it is still exciting.” He fidgets with his hands as he talks. 

“Didn’t you summon those air ghoulettes like last week?” 

“Si. Yes I did.” 

“Then why are you so?” Dew gestures to Copia. 

Copia sighs, “the rituals are easy to ehh mess up. I do not think I could live with myself if I accidentally destroyed an innocent being.” 

Dew scoffs at the word innocent, but he doesn’t say anything. There is a long moment of silence before Copia speaks again. 

“Are you not afraid?” 

“Afraid?” 

“Si. I am well aware of your ehh deal with Sister.” 

“Why would I be afraid? All I have to do is make sure the new guy is competent enough to hold a bass,” Dew says with more force than he intended. He does not understand why the Cardinal felt the need to approach him. The longer this conversation goes on the more Dew wants to yell at him to fuck off. He doesn’t need some sweaty human trying to be friendly when there is so much on his mind. 

“Apologies I ehh I suppose you are right. Your task is much easier than mine.” Copia offers him a lopsided smile. 

Dew glares at him through the mask. Easier? What a joke. All he has to do is provide a little blood and maybe say a few words. Dew has to do everything else. Of course he’s afraid. Who cares if the ritual is easy to screw up, it’s even easier to ruin a person. A faulty ritual can be blamed on a number of factors, but a person? Dew would be the only one to blame. Why did he think he was cut out for this? He should not have taken this deal. He should have demanded he be made into a fire ghoul so someone more experienced could be there for this new water ghoul. 

He cannot back out now though. Omega takes a deep breath, the scent of ozone filling the air when he exhales. The moon is at Her peak. It is time. Dew shuffles back into a corner, staying out of the way so the others can work. He is only here for formality. Copia, Omega, and the Devotion will be doing the actual rites. He is thankful really, he has no idea how much help he would be with the moon calling out to his own water. He can feel it responding to Her presence, but he cannot give in. He has to be present. He cracks his neck, eyes following the bustle around the room. 

The blinds that were previously drawn tight are thrown open, allowing the moonlight to stream in. Copia makes quick work of extinguishing the candles in the room so that it’s only Her light. The Devotion steps up to the circle of sigils. In one hand she has a leather bound book, in the other is one of the jars of water. As she begins to read the ancient passage Omega’s voice joins her. He repeats the same words only in Infernal instead of English. Dew’s ear twitches at the sound of the familiar language. It is different from what he spoke when he was in the Pits, yet close enough to make something in him twist. He wonders if this is some type of  quintessence dialect of Infernal or perhaps some ancient form of the language. 

As the Devotion finishes the passage she begins to pour the first jar of water. She starts at the first sigil, letting the contents spill counter clockwise to create a circle. She grabs the next jar from the stone altar, not pausing as she starts the next passage. Omega’s voice continues to drone along with her as sparks of quintessence begin to ripple over his body. She draws the first two lines of a pentagram with the next jar. The process repeats until every last drop of water has been used. Each time a new line is drawn Dew can feel something. It’s heavy. It’s strong. It sits in his gut like a stone at the bottom of a river. He doesn’t remember feeling like this when Mountain was summoned. 

When the last jar is emptied Copia approaches the circle of water. Omega picks up the dagger that had been sitting on the altar. He holds it in both hands, giving it his infernal blessing before handing it over. Like a mirror of who he was moments ago, Copia takes it from him with steady hands. He removes the glove on his left hand. There’s already a cut on his palm, just barely healed over. He brings the dagger to his palm, the edge placed right over the mark. He mutters a prayer in Italian before drawing the blade quickly across his skin. Dew’s nostrils flare when the metallic scent of blood hits his nose. His fangs throb. Every fiber of his being is telling him to go drink his fill, until there’s nothing left. He has to dig his claws into his arm just to keep his head clear. He will not be the reason this ritual fails. 

Copia turns his hand down, letting his blood drip into the center of the water pentagram. Omega and the Devotion finish the final passage as the ingredients combine. It's silent. The only sound is Dew’s breathing from under the mask. They wait. The tension is palpable as the seconds turn to minutes. Nobody moves. 

Copia opens his mouth to speak right as a fat raindrop lands in his eye. He gasps and brings his non-bloodied hand up to wipe it away. He looks to the ceiling as more begin to fall. Everyone in the room begins to relax as the drops pick up in intensity. Everyone except for Dew. Something is wrong. He can feel it. There’s something in the water. Something that’s not supposed to be there. As the shower turns into a storm his stomach churns. He rips his mask off and rushes over to the circle. 

“Close it!” He shouts over the pounding of raindrops. 

“Stay back. An active circle is volatile.” Omega holds an arm against his chest. 

Dew pushes on it, “You have to close it now!”

“Dewdrop why would we—“ Omega’s pupils dilate when it finally hits him. The taste of something else. 

He turns back towards the circle fully prepared to force it closed. But he’s too late. The drops begin to swirl, the shape of a body begins to form. Dew watches with a mix of awe and horror as the ghoul fully materializes. The moment it happens the ghoul falls to the floor. Unconscious. His dark hair is wet and clinging to his face. The bioluminescent stripes on his shoulders and tail are pulsing with each breath. An oceanic variant. His gills are flared, they flutter each time a raindrop hits them. Dew stares at him. He can’t look away. He doesn’t want to look away. He wants to reach out and touch him. He’s so enraptured he doesn’t notice the black smoke spiral that’s formed in the circle. 

He finally looks up when the sound of sizzling fills the air. A smoky hand has reached through, its claws digging into the wood of the floor. A head appears next. Most of its features are obscured by the thick cloud of smoke, but Dew can smell the fear. Omega scoops up the unconscious water ghoul as a torso starts to form. Dew is frozen in place. He doesn’t know what to do as this creature made of smoke takes form. He’s not even entirely sure it’s a ghoul. 

He can hear his heartbeat in his ears as the thing finally pulls itself all the way through the closing circle. His gills flare when its featureless face turns towards him. It takes a step forward, hand extended. Dew doesn’t know if he should try to fight it or run from it. He does know he needs to protect that water ghoul though. He lets the thing approach him, slowly backing away from it. If it keeps its attention on him then maybe the Devotion will have a chance to come up with a way to banish it. 

It doesn’t work that way though. A sharp hiss cuts through the panicked silence. Dew whips his head towards the sound only to be met with a vicious sight. The water ghoul is awake and pissed. Omega is clutching his forearm. There’s blood staining the ghoul’s mouth, dripping down his chin. Copia tries to get to Omega’s side but the ghoul swipes at him when he moves. He snarls at both of them, showing off rows of serrated teeth. 

The commotion captures the attention of the smoke creature. It slowly turns towards the water ghoul and Dew panics. He tries to get its focus back on him; hissing and calling out to it but to no avail. He looks towards the Devotion only to see her back turned. She has candles lit, pouring oil over a small silver plate and muttering something quickly. Dew curses and snaps his head back towards the creature just in time to see one of the residual raindrops drip onto its outstretched hand. It stops moving when it hits, a strangled sound emanating from it accompanied by the sound of sizzling. Dew’s eyebrows raise. 

“You don’t like water do you?” 

He looks up at the ceiling to see it’s still slick from the initial summoning, occasional drops falling. He swallows before closing his eyes, letting his element come to life. He focuses on what energy remains, tapping into it to recreate the downpour. He can feel the pull. He’s never been more thankful for a full moon in his entire existence. He’s not sure he’d be able to do it without Her. He furrows his brow, extending his hand towards the ceiling. When he’s sure he has a hold on the water that remains he quickly pulls his hand down almost as if he was pulling on a rope. All at once a sheen of water splashes down making a loud splat when it hits the floor. 

The creature falls to the ground, the same strangled sound filling the air. It’s barely audible over the sound of crackling, like water poured on sun baked pavement. Dew opens his eyes to see steam rising from its body as it writhes on the ground. His brief moment of victory melts away when the strange sound begins to morph into something more familiar. A scream. Dew watches in horror as the smoke begins to dissipate, revealing the figure of a ghoul. 

He’s not a water ghoul, that’s for sure. At first Dew assumes he’s quintessence, the grayish purple hue of his skin standing out. But then he notices the patches of shimmering gold all over his body. A hybrid maybe? 

He takes a tentative step towards him. He’s still shaking, head tucked between his legs and forehead pressing against the floor. Dew doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but what else is new? He just knows he needs to do something. He crouches down next to his huddled up form. He hesitates for a moment before placing a hand on his shoulder. The ghoul stops shaking, slowly raising his head to look at him. Dew sucks in a breath. His eyes are black and white. He’s not a hybrid. He’s a multi ghoul. 

Is it over? His raspy voice whispers in Infernal. 

Dew doesn’t get the chance to respond because the next thing he knows Omega is yelling at him. 

“Dewdrop move!” 

He turns just in time to see the water ghoul struggle out of Omega’s hold. He launches himself at the multi ghoul, eyes wide and lips pulled back in a snarl. Dew is knocked back, landing hard on the floor. The water ghoul snaps his fangs dangerously close to the multi’s face. He’s only stopped by the firm hands pressing against his chest and shoulders. They struggle against each other for a moment before the multi makes a move. As quick as lightning, he traps one of the water ghoul’s arms against his side. He bridges his hips with a hiss, rolling them over in one smooth motion. He wraps his arms around the water ghoul, keeping him tight to his chest as he flails. 

The multi ghoul’s eyes begin to shift; black and white melts away replaced by yellow and orange. The scent of cinnamon and campfire fills the room as the multi’s fire sparks to life. Dew feels sick. He jumps up, fully prepared to join the fight. 

“Wait.” Omega comes to stand beside him. 

Dew looks between him and the tangle of ghoul on the floor, “What do you mean wait? They’re going to kill each other!” 

“No they are not. Look.” Omega motions with a flick of his tail, hand still tightly wrapped around his injured arm. 

Dew turns to look at them again, stomach still churning. The water ghoul is still struggling, but slowly he begins to settle until eventually he stops all together. He visibly relaxes, resigning himself to the hold of the multi ghoul. The multi doesn’t make a move to retaliate any of the aggression. He just sits there keeping him in the warmth of his fire. 

“What in the absolute fuck?” Dew narrows his eyes. 

“You learn not to question the things that stop a scared ghoul.” Omega shrugs and takes a step forward. There’s a gleam of purple from the holes of his mask. He stares at the two new ghouls for a moment before a satisfied hum rumbles through his chest. 

“Alright Cardinal Copia. They are your responsibility now.” 

“Are you…are you positive?” He looks pale and his hands have a slight shake to them. 

“Quite.” 

He swallows, “Very well then…Dewdrop would you mind ehh…?” 

Dew jumps a little when his name is called. With all the excitement he completely forgot he actually has to do something now. He shuffles over to the ghouls on the floor, staring down awkwardly at them. He offers the water ghoul a lopsided smile before sticking his hand out. The water ghoul sniffs it before taking it. Dew hoists him to his feet. He’s taller than him, more broad. His eyes never leave Dew. He looks at him with an intensity that makes him feel like he’s going to be eaten alive. But there’s also something else in his gaze, something Dew can’t quite place over the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. Curiosity maybe? He’s not sure. He tries to ignore it, he has to at least pretend he can handle his new task. He can’t freak out just because he’s being stared at. 

Dew keeps his eyes trained on Copia as he tentatively approaches. The water ghoul doesn’t look away from Dew until Copia is right in front of him. He looks at the Cardinal with a blank expression, waiting to see what he does next. Dew just hopes whatever it is it doesn't involve more fang. 

Copia clears his throat, “You gave us quite the scare there pesciolino.” 

The water ghoul blinks at him. 

There’s a beat of silence. 

“Ehh heh right…well…I would like to be the one to formally introduce you to the Ministry. You will be joining us in the Ghost Project. Helping spread the Old One’s message, si.” 

Silence. 

Copia shifts, wringing his hands, “Si okay how about a name? A new name for your new life? You caused a rather big storm so…” 

Dew holds his breath. His naming. Sure, he saw Mountain receive his name, but that doesn’t change the fact that this moment carries so much weight. This is a name that will echo through every hall in the Ministry, through every branch of the Church, to every corner of the globe. The Cardinal will offer him the name and he can choose to accept it or not. If not, he will receive a placeholder title until he finds the perfect thing that fits. Names hold power, after all. Dew still remembers how it felt to receive his. How everything just clicked into place when Terzo addressed him. He glances at the water ghoul from the corner of his eye. 

“…we will call you Rain.” 

Something in his gaze shifts when Copia speaks the name. It’s almost imperceptible the way his eyes soften, but Dew notices. He can’t help the little smile that spreads across his face. Rain. Rain. Dew likes it. Rain is unpredictable, it can be a torrential downpour or a soft shower. It’s fitting for the ghoul that lashed out at everything that moved only to be stopped by a hug. A rather violent, unorthodox hug but still. 

“Welcome Topside Rain.” Dew finally turns to look at him. 

“What about me? What are you going to do with me?” The multi ghoul chimes in. He’s still sitting on the floor, propped up on his hands. 

There’s a beat of silence as everyone turns their attention towards him. It’s a unique situation, summoning multiple ghouls at the same time. Though the Cardinal seems to have a talent for it considering he somehow managed to get two air ghoulettes out of one circle. But that was different. Two of the same element can be useful. It’s not exactly difficult to get a second set of keys or find a job around the Ministry if one doesn’t make the cut. A multi ghoul though? It’s unheard of. The only other multi ghouls that exist within the Ministry are the Special and Cowbell. That Chimera is a freak of nature even by ghoul standards. Hiding in the walls, only coming out to roam the halls in the dead of night or when the Clergy needs its assistance. Cowbell is just an earth ghoul for all intents and purposes. He himself did not even realize he was a multi ghoul until he came Topside. 

There is no procedure for multi ghouls. There is no standard. They are rare and unpredictable. 

“I am fully prepared to do a banishment ritual,” the Devotion breaks the silence. 

The multi ghoul’s eyes go wide and he tenses. Dew holds his breath. That decision is up to Copia. He alone can decide whether or not to keep him Topside or throw him back like a fish that is too small. Dew has no reason to be concerned for this stranger, but the Pit is not exactly a kind place. Maybe he did have a good life Down Below, but considering he risked destroying himself to claw through a summoning circle Dew is confident in assuming it was not. 

Thankfully, Copia looks just as disturbed as the multi ghoul at the suggestion. He walks over to him and holds out his hand. The multi hesitates for a moment before taking it. Copia helps him to his feet. Dew stares a little dumbfounded at his size. He’s taller than Aether. Probably close to Mountain’s height when he’s glamoured. Suddenly he does not feel so small standing next to Rain. 

Even when the multi is stable on his feet, Copia does not drop his hand. He looks up at him, a gentle smile on his face. He clasps his other hand overtop the multi’s. 

“We are not going to just get rid of you. If you made it through then you are meant to be here. We will find a place for, si. I can promise you that,” Copia speaks earnestly. 

The multi ghoul returns his smile, relief flooding his features. 

“What do you say? Will you join us…Shadow?” 

He freezes and purses his lips, “Shadow?” 

“Si, a new name for—“ 

“Yeah yeah new name for my new life I heard that part, but I am nobody’s shadow.” 

Dew has to bite his tongue to not laugh at the look of dread on Copia’s face. Rain raises an eyebrow at him. Omega nudges him when he walks past him. 

“Don’t worry Cardinal Copia, this was bound to happen with the amount of ghouls you have been summoning. Not every name can be a winner.” Omega approaches the two. 

“Since you rejected your summoning name you will be given a placeholder until you decide on something for yourself.” 

He turns to look at Omega. 

“You will be known by your element. You are Multi.” 

“And I get to pick my own name?” He asks. 

“Correct. This is just a formality.” Omega confirms. 

He shrugs, “Alright I can live with that.” 

“Welcome Topside Multi.” Omega nods at him. 

With that the two new summons are given their ceremonial robes, a simple garment made of black silk, and the remains of the ritual are cleaned. Four becomes one as each group splits to take care of what comes next. Copia and Multi leave to visit with the Clergy. They need to be informed of the additional ghoul so they can figure out where he fits in. Omega leaves for the infirmary to get his arm patched up. As powerful as quintessence ghouls are, even they can’t fix themselves. The Devotion stays behind to oversee the cleaning. Dew and Rain make their way to the Papal ghoul den. 

Dew speaks the entire time, the need to fill the silence evident with the way he points out every little statue or stained glass window they pass. At this point he has no idea what he is saying, but he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. He glances at Rain occasionally, trying to gauge his reaction to the world around him. His expression remains neutral and Dew takes it as a win, at least he didn’t seem unhappy or scared. 

When they get back to the den it is empty, or at the very least no one is in the common room. Dew can smell one of the air ghoulettes nearby, the citrus and honey tells him it’s the shorter one. Cumulus he thinks is her name. He leads Rain into the hallway, turning down the right side. They walk past Aether’s door, stopping in front of the next one. Dew turns the knob and motions for Rain to follow him inside. 

The room is furnished but devoid of any personality. There is a queen sized bed, desk, nightstand, and vanity dresser. This is the first time Dew has been in here since he cleaned everything out. This used to be his room. It is one of the only rooms in the ghoul den that has a bathtub designed for soaking. The other one is in Mountain’s room and he couldn’t exactly give his up, he doesn’t fit into regular tubs. When the decision to make Dew fire was finalized he had to move out so the new water ghoul would have the ability to soak without having to trek to the bathing pools. It feels weird giving his old space to a stranger, but he can’t complain. Soon enough he will have no use for hiding underwater. 

“So…this is your room. I know it looks super boring right now, but once you start to find things you like you can do whatever you want to it.” Dew floats around the space. 

Rain sits on the edge of the bed, a noise leaving his throat when he feels the plush mattress. 

“Oh yeah, the beds are so nice. Beats sleeping on moss by a long shot. But if you think that’s cool you should check out the—“ 

“You can leave now.” 

Dew snaps his mouth shut when Rain’s deep voice fills his ears. There is a beat of silence as Dew processes the words. 

“What?” 

“You can leave.” 

Dew blinks. He wants him to leave. It’s barely been an hour of Rain being Topside and he already wants Dew to leave. Has he seriously fucked it up already? That has to be a record even for him. If Rain does not even want him around to settle in, then how is he supposed to figure out if he’s what the Ghost Project needs? He swallows thickly, mind racing with what he should do, with what Mist would do. The way Rain’s dark eyes look at him though tells him he should just listen. 

“Uh yeah…well if you need anything I’m uh the door on the right.” Dew just nods and then walks out, closing the door behind him. 

He stands outside of Rain’s room for a moment, letting what just happened wash over him. He sighs and walks to the common room. When he turns the corner he sees Mountain and Aether sitting on the couch. He forces a small smile when they notice him enter. 

“So how’d it go?” Aether asks, scooting over and patting the space between him and Mountain. Dew can tell he’s tense just by the tone of his voice. 

“You patched up Omega didn’t you?” Dew asks as he walks over and settles between the two bigger ghouls. 

“Not like anyone else could,” Aether sighs, “Is he really that aggressive?” 

“No I mean I hope not. He wasn’t as bad as the air ghoulettes, but well you saw Omega’s arm.” 

“Where is he now?” Mountain asks, taking a sip from a steaming mug. 

“He’s just…in his room. Hanging out I guess?” Dew shifts to slump against him. 

“You guess?” Aether raises an eyebrow. 

Dew groans, rubbing his hand over his face, “I dunno he kicked me out the moment he could!” 

The two bigger ghouls look at each other. They stay silent, letting Dew continue. 

“What did I do wrong? I mean his first words Topside were telling me to fuck off.” 

“I’m sure you didn’t do anything wrong Dewbug,” Mountain assures him. 

“Yeah,” Aether runs a hand through Dew’s hair, “Summonings are rough and we have no idea what was happening to him before. He just needs to get used to everything. I mean Mountain didn’t even speak until we were halfway to our first show.” 

Mountain rolls his eyes and takes another sip from his mug. 

“So I should just what? Let him be alone?” Dew huffs. That doesn’t seem like something a good mentor is supposed to do. 

“Not necessarily,” Mountain hums, “but at least give him time to settle.” 

He sighs and closes his eyes as Aether’s fingers continue to rub against his scalp. They’re probably right, he just needs to let Rain come to him or anyone else for that matter. He can still recall his own summoning. He was always so on edge, didn’t trust a single person. He didn’t start to feel comfortable until Mist took him out to the lake and swam with him. He still thinks about what they talked about under the waves when he gets stressed. But Rain isn’t him. Maybe he does just need to be left alone and he’ll sort himself out? The thought alone makes something in Dew twists, but he shoves it down. 

“What’s his name?” Mountain eventually asks. 

“Rain,” Dew says, eyes still closed. 

Mountain doesn’t get the chance to respond before the doors of the den swing open, amber and spice filling the air. Dew can feel Aether shift around to look at the sudden intrusion. Mountain wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer with a growl in his throat. 

“And that’s Multi,” Dew supplies, completely unfazed. 

“A pleasure.” He grins at the three ghouls on the couch. 

“Who are you?” Aether rumbles. 

“That little sprite there already answered that question.” He points at Dew. 

Aether and Mountain both turn their attention towards Dew for answers. He shrugs. 

“Copia has a knack for double catches.” 

“He’s new too?” Mountain glances back up at him. 

“Yes. He is.” Another voice rings out. 

Cirrus enters the den, stopping just next to Multi. 

“I cannot believe you let a new summon wander around in the middle of the night by himself,” she snaps. 

Dew flinches, a sudden pang of guilt flaring. 

“Sorry…” he mumbles. He feels like he should apologize. He was the only one of them who was present at the summonings. He just assumed Copia would take things over but it appears he was wrong. 

Cirrus just shakes her head before making her way through the common room and turning down the left side of the hallway.

“You know I think I like her.” Multi’s eyes track her as she leaves. 

The three ghouls stay silent. Dew thinks she’s intense, though he supposes that’s all she knows how to be. He doesn’t know much about her or Cumulus, but he does know that Cirrus used to be the leader of her flock. Up until a week ago she was responsible for the lives and safety of who knows how many ghouls and now she gets a memory foam mattress. He tries not to take it to heart when she snaps, just like Aether told him, but some days it feels personal. Maybe he has a talent for new summons hating him? 

Mountain sighs and nuzzles his face into the top of Dew’s head, “It’s late. I’m going to turn in. Do you want me to show you to your room Multi?” 

He shakes his head and plops down on the loveseat, “Nah. Think I’ll hang out here.” 

“I’m gonna head out too,” Aether kisses Dew’s forehead, “Omega wants me to work the early shift tomorrow.” 

Dew feels a stab of disappointment as both ghouls mumble their goodnights to him. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be with Multi, it's just that he wants the comfort that only those two can provide. It has been a very long and exhausting day and he wants his packmates. Though Multi is his pack now he supposes. But he doesn’t know Multi. Not like how he knows Aether and Mountain. Sure he could follow one of them back to their nest, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He’s too wired from everything that has happened. He would just be alone, replaying the last few hours over and over as the other slept soundly. So he stays put, stretched out on the couch while Multi stares at him. 

“I never thanked you.” Multi is the first to break the silence. 

“Thanked me?” Dew cracks his eyes open to look at him. 

“Yeah back in that room when I was all…” he gestures vaguely at his body, “you saved me.” 

This grabs Dew’s attention. He sits up, turning his body to face Multi. 

“I was trying to kill you. How in the fuck did I save you?” 

“Well I like to think it’s obvious what my strongest elements are.” 

He’s not wrong. His grayish purple skin and the splotches of gold scream quintessence and fire. But that’s where multi ghouls are different from hybrids. They have every element flowing through their veins, not just two. Sure there are imbalances, one or two or even three elements can be more present than others, but still, they are all in there to some capacity. 

“Uhhuh.” Dew nods. 

“Can’t feel my earth and water for shit. Never could, probably never will.” 

“And so you jumped into a summoning meant for a water ghoul?” Dew deadpans. 

“Had nothing better to do.” He shrugs, fang filled grin still on his face. 

“Oh so you’re stupid. That’s good to know.” 

“I like to think of it more as willing to take new opportunities,” he laughs, “but it did hurt like nothing else. Could feel myself falling apart, that is until you dumped all that water on me.” 

It’s silent for a moment as the revelation hangs in the air. Dew shifts in his seat. He’s never been good with praise or gratitude. It always makes him feel like he’s lying, like he somehow tricked whoever into believing he's a responsible and competent ghoul. 

“Well it’s good to know at least one new summon doesn’t hate me.” Dew tries to joke. 

“Who? Rain? Please, that little fishy was all by himself when The Light snatched him. Who knows how long it’s been since he's seen another ghoul?” 

All by himself. Somehow knowing that doesn’t make Dew feel any better. Actually, it sort of makes him feel worse. Rain was presumably left alone in the Pits and even now that he’s Topside he’s alone. Dew has half a mind to knock on his door, just to see if maybe he has changed his mind in the last hour. He doesn’t though. Rain was the one who asked to be left alone. Maybe he prefers it that way? It’s not uncommon for oceanic water ghouls to live by themselves. That would be just great if they happened to summon a loner for a band position. 

“So…how did things go with the Clergy?” Dew asks. He doesn’t want to think about possibilities anymore. 

“You’re looking at an official member of the Ghost Project…whatever that means.” 

“No shit they actually let you join? Just like that?” 

“What? Didn’t think those humans would like me?” 

“It took the Cardinal two days to convince them to let Cumulus actually in instead of just as backup. How the fuck did you manage that?” 

“They offered me the spot and I said yes.” He shrugs, twining his hands behind his head. 

Dew narrows his eyes. He may not know Multi well enough to see his tells, but scent is never wrong. He’s lying. Dew can smell the subtle shift in that amber and spice scent of his. It became muddled. Muted. Replaced with something bitter. But what part is he lying about? Is he not actually in the band? Did the Clergy not actually offer him anything? Dew can’t tell. He is curious though. 

“So…what are you gonna be doing then?” Dew asks. He’ll find a way to pull the right thread. 

“Guitar.”

Dew freezes. What the fuck does he mean guitar? Aether is already on rhythm and Dew is supposed to be lead. He’s supposed to be. That was the fucking deal. Lords Below he is quintessence and fire. He could be either. They wouldn’t get rid of Aether…would they? Multi must sense the shift in his demeanor because the corners of his mouth twitch up. 

“And backing vocals. And whatever else little Cardi needs. Imperator’s words, not mine.” 

Dew relaxes slightly, but he’s still tense. He may have only been here for a little over a year, but even he can tell the Clergy likes to play games. He was there when Terzo was ripped off stage after all. Forcibly removed from the position of Papa for reasons that still are not clear. He would not be surprised if Sister actually did give him a deal. One of the only times Special appears is when the Clergy needs it. Maybe Multi will be the new Special? Dew’s tail twitches at the thought. Dew suddenly does not feel like pulling anymore threads. 

The two sit in silence for a long time, occasionally breaking it with conversations of Dew’s favorite things he has discovered since being Topside. He tries to not let his mind run wild and he begins to find Multi an interesting person to talk to. It’s comfortable. It’s easy. But eventually everything catches up to Dew. His eyes are dry and he swears he can hear his bones creak when he moves. He slowly stands from the couch after the next lull in their chat. He stretches and looks towards Multi. 

“Think I’m gonna go sleep. You wanna be shown to your room now?” 

“Nah I’m fine out here.” 

Dew raises an eyebrow, “You sure?” 

“Positive.”

Dew can see the exhaustion in his eyes, but he doesn’t force him. Maybe he should, but his mind feels sluggish. 

“Well you can pick any room that’s empty.” Dew murmurs before turning and heading down the right side of the hallway. He doesn’t get far though. 

“Hey Dewdrop?” 

He stops, turning around to look at Multi. 

“For the record, this new summon doesn’t hate you.” 

Dew blinks and turns back around. He ducks his head so that his hair falls over his face to hide the smile that creeps onto his face. 

“Goodnight Multi,” he throws over his shoulder. 

He barely has the mind peel himself out of his uniform when he gets back to his room. He does not even bother with braiding his hair like he normally does. He will be annoyed in the morning when he has to brush out knots and tangles, but right now all he cares about is crawling under his blankets and burying his head under a pillow. Once he’s out of his clothes he does just that, forgoing pajamas. Not a single patch of skin is visible in the mess of his nest. The only thing that shows he’s even there is the vaguely Dewdrop shaped lump curled up in the middle of the bed. 

Despite his exhaustion, sleep does not come easy at first. He is almost hyper aware of the fact Rain is just on the other side of the wall. Talking with Multi nearly made him forget about his shortcomings with the new water ghoul, but now that he’s alone it’s all he can think about. He thinks about the possibility that Rain was a loner in the Pits. If that is true Dew is fucked to put it simply. There is no way a loner is going to fit the needs of the Ghost Project. Even if he ends up being a magical prodigy on bass, it completely ignores everything else that goes into it. He has to be constantly surrounded by other ghouls. Not even ghouls from his pack, but others that the Cardinal may interact with. He’s not just a band ghoul. He’s a ghoul that was summoned by a high ranking Clergy member. He has innate responsibility that goes beyond plucking a few strings and showing up to rehearsals. If he cannot perform the more social aspects there is no way the Clergy will let that fly. Dew will not be able to become fire. He hopes to any Lord that is listening that Rain is not a loner and he just does not like him. At least then he can get what he wants, who cares if he’s hated? 

Sleep eventually claims Dew as his thoughts turn silent. For the first time in a long time, he dreams of the Pits. He dreams of what used to be his home. He dreams of the shining lake he was chased out of when he was deemed a hindrance to his school. He sinks down, down, down below the waves, unable to reach the surface no matter how hard he kicks. Just as the light disappears though he blinks and he is in Aether and Ifrit’s arms sitting on the dock of the Ministry’s lake. Both of them are whispering in his ears, but he cannot focus on them. He can only focus on his reflection in the water. It is not him. It is a silhouette with red glowing eyes, staring back at him. He reaches out to touch it. It feels almost familiar. He needs to see what happens. The moment he does the dock disappears and he’s thrown right back into the cold, dark depths. 

He wakes up with a start, sitting up so fast the pillow over his head gets launched across his room. He blinks and shakes his head, brow furrowed as he looks around. He turns towards the window, early morning light filtering in through the blind before glancing at the clock on his nightstand. 

“Figures,” he grumbles to himself. 

Even when he is exhausted he cannot sleep past sunrise. He could try to roll over, burying himself back in the warmth of his blanket nest, but he knows he will not fall back asleep. Once he is up that is it, he cannot go back. He does not know why, maybe it is because he is a light sleeper who knows? All he knows is that it sucks. The only other people that get up this early are the Ministry fire ghouls, called awake by the sun Herself. He knows well enough that Ifrit would rather sit in bed and watch Zephyr sleep than do anything else. He would sooner cut off his own fins than hang out alone with Alpha, so he is used to spending mornings alone. 

He sighs deeply, running his hands over his face before rolling out of bed. The chill of the room is the only thing that reminds him he did not bother with pajamas last night. He digs around in his dresser, pulling out a pair of black sweatpants to head to the kitchen. The den is quiet as he walks through the halls, though he is not complaining. Sometimes it is nice to simply exist in a space without having to make yourself known.

 It is routine for him. He goes to the kitchen to grab a before breakfast snack to chew on in his room while he waits for everyone else to wake up. He could go down to the feast hall or figure out how the stove works, but why bother? He does not like to eat meals alone. He would much rather go hungry. The silence is nice at first, but the longer it stretches the more his skin starts to itch. So he grabs a bag of dried seaweed and turns right back around to curl up and scroll on his phone while he waits. He pauses when he sees Multi still sleeping on the loveseat. He looks uncomfortable. He is sweating and he reeks of fear. Part of him screams to go wake him up, but the part of him that is still half asleep wins. He makes a mental note to prod at him later and heads back to his room with his snack in hand.

When he gets to the hallway though, something makes him stop. It's faint, but he can hear commotion coming from Rain’s room. It does not sound just like he is waking up, it sounds like a struggle. He can hear the sound of his deep voice, though he cannot make out what he is saying. He stares at his door, chewing his lip. Mountain, Aether, and Multi’s voices all overlap in his head telling him the same thing.

 Leave him alone. He asked you to leave him alone. He wants to be alone. 

He should listen. He should just ignore it and walk right into his room. He makes it one step past Rain’s door before turning around and grabbing the handle. He is almost surprised when it pops right open. Thank the Lords Rain has yet to discover locks. The room is dark save for the dim light of the sunrise. At first, Rain is nowhere to be seen and Dew’s stomach flips, but he quickly notices the door to the bathroom is open. He walks over, flipping the light on when he steps through the threshold. 

Rain is on the ground next to the bathtub clawing at his gills. He glares up at Dew, but he can see the panic in Rain’s eyes. Even if the mask was not slipping, Dew can smell the sharp scent of fear in the air. He drops to his knees, coming up beside him. Once he is closer he can see just how dry the skin around his gills are. He can see dots of blood where the skin is cracked. The sight makes him feel sick. 

“Shit fuck okay hold on just hold on.” He reaches up to turn the faucet on. 

The moment the water sprays out Rain practically leaps forward. He crawls into the tub, sticking his head under the running water so that it covers his gills. Dew can see them flare and pulse as he sucks in air. How could he be so stupid? Rain is an oceanic water ghoul. He has never existed out of water before. Dew did not even think to explain that he needs to soak. It is second nature to him as a freshwater ghoul. A ghoul designed to live on both land and water. He let something so important slip his mind and now Rain’s gills might be damaged. He really has fucked up in record time. He swallows. He needs to fix this. He needs to get out of his head and actually be there for this ghoul. 

He sits up on his knees, reaching into the tub to plug the drain. Rain’s hand darts forward, grabbing his wrist. Neither of them move. He keeps his head down under the faucet and Dew just stares at him. He can feel his claws prickling against his skin. Dew cannot pull away even if he wants to lest he shreds his own wrist. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest, pushing down every instinct he has. After what feels like an eternity, Rain slowly lets go of Dew. He still does not look at him though. When he fully drops his hand, Dew plugs the drain. 

“Now you can soak,” Dew mumbles. 

At the sound of his voice, Rain turns his head. Dark blue peeks out from behind wet strands of inky black. His eyes search Dew’s face and that feeling from the summoning room returns. He still cannot place it, the look he gives him. It makes him feel like the rabbit locking eyes with the wolf moments before the chase begins. He is not confident he will survive if Rain decides to spring. But he will not run. If this is what it takes to become fire then he will do it. He will prove his devotion. 

When the water is high enough to lick against the gills on Rain’s abdomen, he turns his attention away from Dew with a noise of surprise. He leans back in the tub, resting against the cool porcelain with his knees to his chest. Dew does not think he has ever seen a ghoul so big look so small. They sit in silence, the only sound filling the room is running water. When it’s high enough Dew flips it off. He wants to talk to him but he has no idea what to say.  He picks at the grout in between the tiles as a million things race through his head. Should he apologize? For what? Leaving when he was asked to? He cannot exactly ask how his first night was, it is pretty obvious given they are in this situation to begin with. Even he is not stupid enough to ask about his life in the Pits. That is a story he has to tell on his own, if he ever tells it. 

He keeps tracing the lines of the tiles with his claws until something catches in the corner of his eye. The bag of dried seaweed. He completely forgot about it when he saw Rain’s condition. He flicks it with his tail, pushing it close enough to him that he can grab it. He can feel Rain’s eyes on him as he struggles to open it. 

“Stupid fucking,” he mutters as he tries to pull it open, “forget it.” 

He puts the corner of the bag into his mouth, tearing it open with his teeth. When he looks up again Rain is right at the edge of the tub peering at him with big eyes. Dew nearly jumps at the sudden proximity, Rain’s face about only a foot away from his. He can see his nose twitch as he scents the air. He looks between him and the bag before tentatively extending it to him. 

“Want some?” 

Rain mirrors him, looking between Dew and the bag a few times before hesitantly reaching forward. He takes a handful before pulling back, putting a bit more space between himself and Dew as if he would suddenly change his mind about sharing the food. He watches Dew stick some in his mouth before darting his tongue out to taste it. Dew has to fight back a smile when he sees his pupils dilate. Maybe he can coax him out of his self isolation with food? He’ll have to beg River and Lake to catch some fish for him. And then beg Mountain to cook it. He thinks it would be worth it just to see any expression on Rain’s face other than a snarl. He wants to know what he looks like when he smiles. 

The thought catches Dew off guard, makes him pause. Who cares if he ever smiles as long as he can hold a bass? That is all Dew needs right? That is all he thinks he needs, but sitting here staring at Rain without his hair covering his face as he tries Topside food for the first time something else blooms. He does want to see him smile. He wants to see him laugh. He wants to see him comfortable. He does not just want him to be his replacement, he wants Rain to be his friend. Suddenly he cannot live with the idea that Rain hated him the moment he stepped out of the circle. Unfortunately Dew has never been great when it comes to his emotions so he ignores it. He has too many things to worry about and one of them does not need to be if Rain likes him or not. 

He is pulled from his thoughts when a deep voice fills the silence, “Why did you help me?” 

“Huh?” Dew blinks. 

“Why did you come back here to help me? Why are you sharing your food with me?” 

How the hell is he supposed to answer that? 

“I…heard you struggling and I got concerned. What type of ghoul would I be if I let you die the first night you’re here?” He tries to keep it light, almost joking. 

“A smart one.” 

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not.” He pauses when he hears himself. Rain raises an eyebrow at him. 

“That’s not what…nevermind. The point is you’re Topside. You don’t have to fight to survive anymore. You have a pack now.” 

It’s subtle the way the corners of his eyes soften, but it is there. He still looks tense, but Dew does not expect him to magically adjust just because he was a decent person to him. As long as he does not try to claw or bite anyone anymore Dew will take it as a win. 

“Can I have more of those things?” Rain eventually mutters. 

“All yours.” Dew hands him the entire bag. Rain does not take it at first though. “Seriously, it's fine. The others should be getting up soon so that means breakfast.” 

With the affirmation, Rain takes the bag from him. They sit in silence while Rain eats, but for once Dew does not mind. It gives him a chance to think. He needs to find the thing that will actually help Rain. Mist did that for him. He can do it for Rain. Maybe he should take him to the lake. Although River and Lake are usually out there and something tells him throwing him out there with more random ghouls probably is not the best idea. Why is this so hard? He taps his claws against the tiles, trying to come up with literally anything. All the while the scent of cooked meat slowly filters in. Mountain must be up. Maybe he can help. 

Dew stands, stretching his back with a pop that makes Rain visibly cringe. He eyes Dew with that unfamiliar look, “You’re leaving?” 

This takes him by surprise. Clearly Rain does not like other ghouls, and now he is concerned where Dew goes? 

“Uhh yes? Was gonna go see what’s cooking.” 

They stare at each other for a moment. Dew flexes his fingers. He might as well take a chance, what’s the worst that could happen? 

He extends his hand, “You can come if you want.” 

“The other ghouls will be there too won’t they?” 

“Yeah. Well. It’s early still so it will probably just be Mountain for a bit.” 

Silence. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. No one is gonna make you.” 

Rain nods, pulling his knees back up to his chest. 

“I can…bring you a plate? If you want?” 

He nods again. 

Dew smiles a little, “I’ll be back.” 

He leaves Rain’s room, shutting the door behind him before heading to the kitchen. Multi is awake now, no longer on the loveseat. Instead he is sitting at the table watching Mountain who is staring down at the pan in front of him with his arms crossed, spatula in hand. 

“Hey little sprite,” Multi greets when he sees him. 

Mountain blinks, looking up from the stove when he hears him, “Morning Dewbug.” 

He hops up onto the counter, nuzzling against Mountain’s shoulder, “What’re you making?” 

“Sausage and potatoes.” He replies as he presses the spatula down against the meat, sizzling growing louder as he does. 

Dew hums, “Can you make me two plates?” 

Mountain cocks an eyebrow, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. 

“What? Am I supposed to let the new summon starve?” 

“Oh the little fishy let you back in?” Multi chimes in. 

“Yeah…something like that.” 

“Few more minutes and it’ll be done. I made extra so bring him as much as you want.” 

Dew stays sitting on the counter, legs idly swinging while he zones out. Mountain and Multi are talking, but he does not pay attention to their conversation. He is not really paying attention to anything, letting his stream of thought flow. He is only snapped back into reality when Mountain nudges him. He blinks and shakes his head, eyes flicking up to meet Mountain’s. 

“Foods ready.” 

Dew can see four plates dished out and sitting on the table over his shoulder. Multi is already digging into his. Dew smiles. 

“Thanks Mount.” He presses a kiss to his cheek and hops off the counter. 

He takes the plates from the table, wincing a little at the heat. He carries them back to Rain’s room, using his tail to open the door. He is surprised to see Rain out of the bathtub. He is sitting on the edge of his bed, hair still wet. He looks tense when the door first opens, but he minutely relaxes when he realizes it is Dew. 

“I know it’s not fish, but it’s meat. I know it’s weird but trust me it’s so fucking good.” Dew hands one of the plates off to Rain. 

Dew takes a seat at the desk, turning the chair around so he can face Rain. He hopes he will eat it. He remembers when he was first summoned he refused to eat anything besides the bag of raw shrimp he found in the bottom of the fridge. It took Mist weeks to get him to try something else, something that was not seafood. He watches Rain eye the sausage, poking at it with his claws before picking it up and sniffing it. He takes a bite and visibly grimaces. Dew is sure he will spit it out, but he just chews it slowly. 

“You don’t have to eat it. I can ask Mount to make you something else,” Dew assures him. 

Rain shakes his head, “No it’s…fine. I can eat it.” 

Almost as if to prove his point, he scoops up some of the potatoes and pops them into his mouth. Thankfully he does not seem to have as much of a visceral reaction to them as the sausage. Dew wants to say something, but he also does not want to push his luck. It is amazing Rain did not just kick him out once Dew turned on the tub for him, so he is not going to test his limits. As long as he does not get sick Dew is happy. He will ask Mountain to make something special for him when dinner rolls around. Maybe he will even ask him to make his favorite smoked salmon dish. He is sure that is something Rain will like. 

“What happens to me now?” Rain eventually asks as they both eat. 

“Uh well we have a week before you have to start rehearsal? I think? I didn’t really pay attention so in the meantime I guess you just…hang out?” Dew has the sudden realization that perhaps he needs to learn how to plan ahead. 

“Rehearsal?” Rain cocks an eyebrow. 

“Yeah I mean that’s why you were summoned. To play bass for the Ghost Project.” 

“I was summoned. To play human music. In a human band. Summoned from Hell itself to be in a band.” 

“Well when you put it like that it sounds crazy.” 

Rain blinks at him. 

“It’s really not so bad,” Dew shrugs, “I think it’s really fucking fun.” 

“You’re in it too?” 

“Yeah I…used to play the bass.” Dew can feel the fins on his arms twitch. Technically he is not wrong. If Rain is deemed worthy then he will have no reason to ever pick up a bass again. 

“Used to?” 

Dew nods, “Can’t do it anymore so they uh they summoned you. I’m here to help you get used to it.” 

It is that he doesn’t want to talk about his planned elemental transition, it is more so he does not want to burden the new summons. It is bad enough dealing with Mountain, Aether, Ifrit, and Zephyr, he does not need people he barely knows pitying and worrying about him too. If he just never mentions it then he will never know how they look when tears fill their eyes if something goes wrong. He knows he will be fine, but if his time with them is brief then he only wants to know them with smiles. 

Rain hums, “So those other ghouls. They’re in the band too?”

“Yeah. Everyone in the den has played at some point or another. Mount and Aether are still in it,” he pauses, “and I guess those two air ghoulettes and that multi ghoul as well.” 

“Him?” 

Dew nods. 

Rain scoffs but does not say anymore. Interesting. That is going to be something he digs at when he is not so afraid of being kicked out again. 

The two talk for a while longer, empty plates long forgotten. Though, it is mostly Dew speaking with introjections from Rain every now and then. Dew ends up suggesting he meets the rest of the pack, but Rain is quick to shoot that down. Instead, they settle on something much simpler. A tour of the Ministry. They both get dressed after Dew steals some of Mountain’s clothes for Rain and they head out. He really cannot say if he is cut out for this whole mentoring thing, but watching Rain’s face fill with wonder as he shows him around makes something swell in his chest. He is more than happy to be the one Rain falls to. 

[devildomwriter]

At The Dance vol 2

Diavolo: “Well then, I suppose there’s only one part of the school festival at this point, right? So, who did you decide to go to the dance with, MC?”

Lucifer

Lucifer: “MC… Hello. I hope you haven’t been waiting long. Come on, let’s get going.”

At the dance

Lucifer: “Everyone’s looking at us. I suppose it’s not surprising. After all, I’ve never danced with anyone at one of these events before. You’re the first. …Do you remember that one lime I said to you during the play? In case you’ve forgotten, it went like this… ”MC, I love you.” Well, we may not be on stage now, but I’m happy to say it again. As many times as you’d like. I love you, MC. Truly and deeply…”

Mammon

Mammon: “Yo, MC! I’m here! So, Whaddya say we get goin’!”

At the dance

Mammon: “Is it just me, or were you gettin’ AWFULLY close to Lucifer during the play? I mean, you two didn’t get that close during rehearsal, did ya? …To be honest, it made me jealous. Like, don’t you get it, MC? You’re mine, okay?! Mine! So don’t go gettin’ all up close and personal with other guys! …Hey, after the dance, how about you come to my room?”

Leviathan

Leviathan: “Listen, are you sure you want to go with me? You aren’t regretting your choice, are you?! Well, either way, it’s too late to change your mind! You’re going with me to the dance, got it?”

At the dance

Leviathan: “Listen, MC… I want to thank you. It really made me happy when you stayed up all night with me working on that costume. I’m glad that we at least managed to get your costume done in time. You looked amazing in it. …! Ahh, sorry! I stepped on your foot again… I never thought I’d find myself on a dance floor, you know? It’s such a normie thing to do, and I’m no normie…But I promise to practice and get better…for you. So let’s do this again!”

Satan

Satan: “Have you been waiting on me, MC? Let’s get going. The dance is starting soon.”

At the dance

Satan: “I guess you managed to get all of us brothers to put aside our differences and make up… I know you’re good. But even so, this time I thought that you’d probably bitten off more than you could chew. But I was wrong. I guess that maybe when it comes down to it, you’ve got us all in the palm of your hand. …Even so, none of my other brothers get to dance with you tonight, do they? Just me. Which means you view me differently from them, don’t you? I’m special to you. It’s true, isn’t it? Tell me it’s true, MC…”

Asmodeus

Asmodeus: “Hehe… I see that you look adorable as usual, MC. I could almost eat you up! Well, shall we get going? We do want to miss our chance to show off in front of everyone!”

At the dance

Asmodeus: “So, what did you think of my performance, hm? Perfect, wasn’t it? I don’t need to try to be attractive… I just am! Still, I spend a lot of time thinking about which angels I’m best viewed from, so I look even more stunning. It’s a skill that translates well to the stage. Hehe. I bet seeing me in that play made you fall for me even harder, didn’t it? Well, you were amazing our there yourself, you know? So amazing that I almost forgot we were in the middle of a play. I wanted to take you in my arms and make you mine right then and there. To be honest, I’d like to do that right now. What do you say…interested? Because I’m free after this…”

Beelzebub

Beelzebub: “MC, have you been waiting on me? Mm, here’s hoping that there’s lots of good food at the dance…”

At the dance

Beelzebub: “You sure do work up an appetite performing in a play, huh… I thought that maybe I’d be so nervous that I wouldn’t realize I was hungry, but nope. You didn’t hear how my stomach was growling during the performance, did you? To be honest, I’d like to head over to the buffet right now… What do you say the two of us sneak over there after this song ends? Then we can eat and eat and eat to our heart’s content…together!”

Belphegor

Belphegor: “Hey MC, I’m here. Are you ready to go? Here, you can take my arm.”

At the dance

Belphegor: *sigh*… “I’ve got to say, I feel exhausted. But now that the play’s over, we don’t have to rehearse anymore. No more dealing with Simeon the drill sergeant. You must be pretty worn out yourself, right? Hey, is it okay if I sleep in your bed tonight? I’ll be nice… I’ll gently stroke your head until you drift to sleep. Oh, but…sorry in advance if I end up falling asleep before you do.”

Solomon

Solomon: “Wait…you mean to say you don’t have a date to the dance? Well, I was planning on going alone, too. Why don’t we lonely singles go together?”

At the dance

Solomon: “Haha. You know, you’re a pretty good dancer, MC. You learn quickly. …Or maybe it’s that I’m a good teacher? This is a dance, after all. It’s no fun if we both just stand around like wallflowers, is it? So why stop now? When the next song starts, let’s just keep dancing.”

Multiple

Luke: *blushing* “Wha?! MC… Just how many demons did you promise to go to the dance with?”

Diavolo: “I take it you mean to take turns dancing with each of them?”

Solomon: “…Let’s just hope there isn’t any bloodshed as a result of this.”

At the dance

Satan: “So, MC… It seems that one date to the dance wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

Mammon: “Man, humans are one thing, but you’ve got a lotta nerve tryin’ to okay multiple DEMONS like this.”

Leviathan: “This is why I hate normies! Always getting ALL the attention…always having ALL the fun…”

Belphegor: “Wow, I never thought you were the type of master to do something like this…”

Asmodeus: “So, Just one of us wouldn’t cut it, hm? Well well, aren’t you greedy? Tsk, what are we going to do with you?”

Beelzebub: “Still, it’s not like I don’t understand the feeling. One serving is never enough for me at dinner. I always need seconds. And thirds. And fourths…”

Lucifer: “Well, you got yourself into this. Now you’re going to have to deal with the consequences. You’re dancing with everyone.”

Luke: *sigh*… “I knew it. You’re all about to fight over who gets to dance with MC first, aren’t you?”

Diavolo: “Too bad. And to think, they’d just made up…”

Luke: “MC, why not try that trick of yours? You know…where you look at them and go “STAY!””

Diavolo: …*sigh* “MC hasn’t even said anything yet, and already you all look terrified.”

Luke: “I guess it’s a conditioned response at this point. They do it by reflex.”

And so the fun continued into the night, and many more memories were made…

Previous

[soapoet]

Quick energy reading #0613

these energies would not let me chill so...

like & rb if it resonates ♡

01.

Shufflemancy: More than you know by Axwell & Ingrosso

You're not losing it, I promise. If someone's been on your mind a lot lately, you've been haunting them, too. And for the few of you where this is less about a specific person and moreso a goal or concern that just will not let you think straight and be present, rest assured that you can release your worries. Just let go. Attract, don't chase. What you want wants you. You really shouldn't be reading this either to be quite frank, because it seems as though you are running around aimless in the woods looking for signs that you're not going crazy. In which case do take this as your final sign that yes, what you feel in your heart to be true is correct. Those of you awake at night tossing and turning because you're awake running marathons in the dreams of another, know that they can barely focus because of you. It is as though half of what you feel when you quiet down is from them, and they can feel you in their energy, too. Your energies have a magnetic pull where you're both constantly in each other's peripheral, lurking like a predator watching its prey. It's not toxic, though, just a little obsessive. They want to see you and be with you, and the distance is making that gravitational pull so much stronger, leading to that addictive nightwatch. Good news and developments are on the horizon, and things will get moving very soon. The barricades put up by you or them or life circumstances are coming down, and quite abruptly at that. This is something that simply cannot be stopped and is inevitable. Sparks are already flying and it'll only get warmer from here, and this is a fire that will continue raging once it starts burning in earnest.

02.

Shufflemancy: Slump (English ver.) by Stray Kids

I don't know what you were told growing up, but if you have too much on your plate it's okay to leave the table and come back to it later. Don't judge yourself if you've bitten off more than you can chew either. Take things one step at a time, and go at exactly the pace you feel comfortable with right now. That pace is bound to change, and it'll change frequently, in fact. Your 100% looks different every day and that's okay. Don't measure your own progress with someone else's ruler. Silence the distractions and the noise and get away if you need solitude. Taking time for yourself does not make you selfish. Anyone who gets upset when you set boundaries would not have respected them anyway had they been there all along. Don't scrap your ideas, finetune them. Start over if you have to, but your previous efforts have not been in vain and can help direct your focus. Every time you tell a story, details change, but because you know the gist of it, things get better and more elaborate each time and gives you more fluidity. Use your ideas and previous attempts to better prepare for a new beginning. Stopping isn't giving up and square one isn't an enemy, but a teacher. In terms of love you may find yourself in separation of some kind. Perhaps you're not seeing eye to eye or there has been distance, or even radio silence, between you. I wouldn't worry too much about it, however. Your inward focus makes you more magnetic and what is for you will use that as a guiding light to come to you.

03.

Shufflemancy: You by Tornike Kipiani

Time for some spring cleaning? Alright. If there is something you need to discard that no longer serves you, do it now. You've been thinking about it for a reason. Life is not a game of chess, so stop overthinking things. Your need to perfect the outcome is leaving you at a stalemate when really you should be moving forward. Do what you want to do and say what you want to say. Don't put up with the status quo or let outside circumstances restrict you. Things will work out in your favour if you just stop white-knuckling the reins and follow your heart down the path of what you desire. The light at the end of the tunnel is not as far away as it seems. I'll have to tell you the same thing I told pile 1: what you want wants you. If you have set your sight on something, or someone, they very much have their eyes on you too. Circumstances may appear too difficult, or even inappropriate, to allow a pursuit, but between consenting adults, who's really to say what you can and cannot do? The same applies to goals, too. If something appears like a distant pipe dream, it's not the circumstances that need to change, but your mindset. And if you've been telling yourself what you do and do not deserve, remember that harsh criticism and narrow boxes that do not fit quite right hurt for a reason. If you're disappointed with what you have, try something else. Telling yourself you can't have it hurts because you know in your heart that you can but the wires between head and heart are faulty, disconnected perhaps, and you're only hearing the voice of the critic and the hater, not the hypeman and the lover.

[n6918]

Emerald has recently gotten ahold of Grimm Manticore venom, which when diluted properly can serve as a very potent aphrodisiac. She has big plans for it, but unfortunately, Oscar mistakes it for some harmless energy drinks and downs more than the recommended dosage, increasing the poor farmhands libido tenfold. Looks like Emerald may have bitten off more than she can chew with him…

When Emerald had walked in and saw Oscar with the empty glass of manticore venom she knew she was in trouble. The hazy green tint to his eyes and lustful look at her had told her what his intentions were. But she never imagined that it was going to be this strong, or that being on the other end of an aphrodisiac induce lust could be so overwhelming.

"Oscar! Oscar rest please!? I can't come anymore OH GODS!" Emerald pleaded with him. It had been four hours now and the farmhand only seem to be getting started. Her clothes had long since been tossed to the side so that he could have more easy access to her beautiful dark skin. Onto which he had written and drawn several things with markers that were in the room; including a few pine trees and a tally mark of how many times he had orgasm inside the former thief. The most prominent of all being the words written above her breast, which simply said 'PINES'.

"Oscar? Just a minute please! I just need a minute TOOOOFUCKKKKK" was all the words she got out. Oscar was holding her legs together as she lay on her back, keeping up a murderous pace as he fucked her extremely sensitive pussy. Her hands desperately searched for something to hold onto, but only found the bedsheets as the pillows had long since disappeared. Leaving her with nothing as she began to shutter and climax from his latest round of fucking.

"FUUUUCK YEAH!" Oscar moaned out at the top of his lungs. Bottoming out in her and he came again from her tightening up around him. Looking down at her fucked silly face he could only feel his farm to asking for more. But being the good boy he was he let go of her legs and pulled out for a moment. walking over to the bathroom he got a large glass of water and drank one down for himself, before filling another and walking over to Emerald and handing it to her. He watched as she drank it down quickly after realizing what it was.

Picking up the marker he added another telemark to the set already on her lower abdomen, well he lined himself up again between her legs. Taking hold of the empty glass as he quickly shoved into her and watched her surprise as she shuttered in response.

"Oscar wait i ne-" Emerald with silenced by his lips colliding with hers as He pulled her into a deep kiss well he began a new rhythm to his pleasure. She was so exhausted at this point that she could not stop him from his aphrodisiac induced lust. Her legs and arms just lay next to her as he played with her breast and pounded away with his hips on her abused cunt. she could already feel herself approaching another peak as he kept up the steady pace, fucking her much more romantically this time to spice things up.

As he pulled away from her lips for a second and towards her ears she couldn't of expected the words he was about to say. "Your going to be such a good mother for my kids" He whispered into her ear as she felt his heavy balls slap against her taint. That breeding kink of his that Ruby had warned him about was really strong apparently. 

[thegreymoon]

The Story of Minglan

Oh my god, that wine is 100% poisoned.

And they would poison her in front of all these people who are either in on it, or will go out of their way to cover it up 🤮

***

SMART GIRL, MINGLAN!

DRINK NOTHING SHE GIVES YOU!!

***

ARE YOU KIDDING ME??

GU TINGYE ISN'T EVEN AT HOME!! HOW IS THIS HAPPENING FOR THE THIRD FUCKING TIME???

***

I am beyond pissed off here but honestly, I blame Minglan for this one. She set the precedent by taking in that last bottom feeder to appease these villains so why would they not try this bullshit again?

***

Smh.

Just as I thought.

Minglan really needs to stop with the people-pleasing shenanigans and start murdering the bitches shitting on her doorstep.

***

I started watching this episode last night and had to stop because my head was absolutely pounding, and then it continued to pound all day today. It is now 18:10 and the pain has been persisting for at least 24 hours at this point, but I am momentarily medicated and feel like I can hold my head up straight if I don't move around too much, so I want to see where this bullshit is going. The righteous fury on Minglan's behalf will either heal me or transform the headache into complete agony. There can be no middle ground.

***

"Best temperament" is code for "she lets us walk all over her and mistreat her in every way imaginable without fighting back and still begs for our approval" in this society from what I've seen.

Fuck that. Minglan, give them hell! Who needs a reputation for being a doormat? Your evil aunt is apparently out murdering people and no worse for wear, so you may as well tell them all to fuck off and live to see another day. Also, Gu Tingye will be proud!

***

OMG, Minglan, please start showing that shiny spine!

It is episode 59, it is time to put this shit-stirrer in her place.

***

LMAOOOO, GO OFF, MINGLAN!!

Nanny Chang wasn't enough for her, she had to come back for seconds, so let her have it!! 💪💪

***

I am fascinated that she keeps murdering people and just... getting away with it.

And apparently, everyone knows and nobody does anything about it.

***

LOL, Minglan has decided that today is the day to air ALL the dirty family laundry 🤣🤣

Take note, Madam Qin, if you don't get your act together, you're next!

***

LMAO, now they are accusing Minglan of lying.

Too bad for them that this time, they've bitten off more than they can chew. Minglan will end them all.

***

LMAO, where is this girl's father?

Concubine-born or not, how can she just kick her out of the house like that? Even if she were to marry Gu Tingye as a concubine, surely there must be some kind of process? At least have her pack her things and lend her a cart to carry them over? This just makes no sense, she went out for lunch at the neighbours' place with her stepdaughter in tow and just decided to dump her there. Who does that? Who allows it?

AND THE GROOM ISN'T EVEN AT HOME TO CONSENT TO ANY OF THIS BULLSHIT.

There is no chance any of this is above-board.

***

Bitch, shut up.

Minglan should let more of you die and maybe you'll learn.

***

MTE.

On the one hand, I feel sorry for the cousin, she is clearly being abused in her family home, but on the other looking to Minglan to fix it by SHARING HER HUSBAND WITH HER, OF ALL THINGS, AND ALLOWING HER TO SPY FOR PEOPLE WHO ARE OUT TO LITERALLY KILL HER is just beyond.

***

Oh, shut up.

I see Nanny Chang is there. I trust Nanny Chang.

***

Seriously.

Whether or not Cousin dies is not Minglan's responsibility, especially since they are asking her to resolve it to great personal detriment. Again, I ask, where is this girl's father? Also, is there no law whatsoever here protecting this girl? That fisherwoman accusing Gu Tingye's buddy of rape got a whole trial so there are definitely laws in place here and places to appeal to.

Aunt Kang is getting away with all this bullshit because people are letting her.

***

Words to live by 💪💪

***

OMFG, THEN GO AHEAD AND DIE.

YOU AND EVERY SINGLE OTHER ONE OF YOU WHO HAS TRIED THIS SO FAR.

***

THIRD DAY, THIRD ATTEMPT TO FINISH THIS EPISODE 💪💪

I made it maybe 15 minutes last night before I had to turn everything off and rock back and forth in a dark room as I suffered. I eventually ended up vomiting, which was completely WTF. I've heard that this happens with migraines but this was my first time experiencing it and honestly? I don't think that this was a migraine either because the pain was not the stabbing agony with an aura they describe, but more like a constant throbbing pressure in my entire head. I get headaches often, and yes, they sometimes go on for two or three days, but I have never had one that was this intense, this long and so pain-killer resistant that I ended up vomiting because of it. It is now day three and I can still feel it throbbing in the background. My body is definitely trying to tell me something but I a not sure I am ready to listen 😔

***

Minlgan is too kind.

If it were me in her position, I would not feel one ounce of guilt.

[wrathofrats]

Rulti domdrop bc yeah

Warnings for obv domdrop, dom safe word use, some degradation,

technically this is hurt comfort, rains a good sub and the sweetest when he wants to be. I just think Swiss deserves some aftercare bc he can be a lot sometimes ya know? Nothing too insane happens here, sometimes dom drop just happens out of nowhere and that’s ok.

Rain yelped at the way Swiss pulled his head back and away from his lap.

“Not even smart enough to follow directions? Thought I trained you better than that” Swiss growled. Rain had an apologetic look on his face, sad eyes stared at the floor as he waited for further direction. The pull of the hair at his scalp made tears prick at his eyes.

“Wait like a good boy. You’re a toy, remember? Expect to be used like one”

Rain nodded enthusiastically, the fuzz surrounding his thoughts made the air around him feel like static. Rain always craved this, how Swiss could easily put him out of his mind. His rough hands and degrading words always made him like this, something only Swiss really knew how to do for him, a specific brand of cruelty.

A soft hand caressed his chin forcing his gaze upwards into Swiss’, a sympathetic look in his eyes for the poor ghoul. He thumbed at rains lips, saliva coated and bitten red, before hooking his finger in and opening his mouth.

“Ready for it rainy?”

A tear falls down rains face as Swiss slowly pushes in. His jaw aches, the pressure at the back of his throat makes him gag, sending a couple more tears down his face. Rain looks up at Swiss and waits for him to guide him on his cock like he said.

Something makes Swiss hesitate.

A rock falls in his stomach, the sight of rain in front of him teary eyed and apologetic was no longer sexual, no longer attractive to him. He takes a minute for his brain to catch up to justify whatever he thinks he’s feeling. It all just feels wrong.

“Red.” Swiss chokes out, like the word took all the air from his lungs. He repeats himself as rain quickly pulls off and stands up to gauge the situation, “I’m sorry, red”

“You’re ok, what’s up? Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Rain hands Swiss a glass of water that was already prepared and lays his clothes next to him. He quickly throws on his own clothes that were strewn about the floor. There’s a regretful look in Swiss’ eye, something Swiss can’t bring the words up to explain. The skin around his nails suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the room as he chews on his bottom lip like maybe the words will come out of there.

“Swiss, can you look at me?” Rain asks in a gentle tone. It’s hard for Swiss to look into his eyes. He feels like he’s done something wrong, something forbidden. Rains face holds pity for him and it makes the rock still lodged in his stomach seem bigger.

“It’s ok to not know what to say, can we get you dressed?” Rain rubs his back as Swiss nods.

Swiss doesn’t think he’s felt someone being this soft with him in ages. Rains tender, gentle with his touches as he coaxes Swiss back into his clothing, like if he goes too fast he may break Swiss beyond repair.

“I’m sorry, I don’t-“ Swiss starts. He doesn’t know exactly where the sentence was supposed to go but he continuously feels like he owes rain an explanation.

“Don’t be sorry, everything is ok” rain soothes

“You’re alright? I’m sorry I stopped I just- I don’t know I’m sorry”

“I’m ok” the words send tears to Swiss’ eyes, like that’s all the confirmation he needed.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m too rough. I don’t want to hurt you.” He starts to attempt to explain, “I know it’s what you ask for but seeing you cry in pain by my hand is too much sometimes”

“I love it. I always have fun and if I didn’t I’d tell you, but you know you don’t have to do it if you don’t like it right?”

“I know. I just want to be the best for everyone”

Rain pulls him into his side as Swiss takes a drink

“You do amazing even if you’re not being rough, we will take it however you want to give it”

Swiss gives him a kiss on the forehead.

“Thank you rainy”

[smaller-comfort]

Oooh tell me about Obyron/Zahndrekh for the wip asks pls pls pls I crave more of the old married couple 🙏

Ahaha well, they're not quite married in this one. I talked a bit about how I'm trying to characterize Zahndrekh over here; if anything, Zahndrekh probably spends a not-insignificant part of the story in the background wanting to propose marriage to Setekh...which, thankfully, he does not do.

I will freely admit that I feel wildly out of my depth with this story! The first part needs to hit a bunch of key moments at Yama (battles! feasts! assassination attempts!), and I've probably bitten off more than I can chew. My track record with even mildly ambitious projects is terrible. (And please understand that my idea of an 'ambitious project' is like. 10k words and more than 3 chapters. Or a series with more than 2 parts.)

The second part, however, is really just porn, and apart from one reference to a specific scene in part 1, it can probably stand on its own. So, if nothing else, I will hopefully be able to finish that, and everyone can just use their imagination when it comes to the stuff that is beyond my ability to write/finish.

Anyway. Here's a snippet from part 2, right before clothes start hitting the floor.

---

“My lord- I shouldn't-” he swallowed. He didn't want to leave. He had to leave- he'd already committed at least three unforgivable breaches of decorum simply by standing here. Whatever happened next- and he could imagine with aching clarity what was going to happen next- would be a step too far. “Please permit me to return to the quartermaster.”

Zahndrekh looked up, and their eyes met for a brief moment before Obyron lowered his gaze again. Zahndrekh's hand was still on his collar.

“Permission granted,” Zahndrekh said softly. “If you must go, then…so be it. You may go, and I won't ask this of you again.” The palm of his hand was soft and warm against Obyron's cheek, and the sudden contact made both of them startle, slightly. “Whatever you decide, nothing will change, I swear it.”

That was lie, he knew, but Obyron found he appreciated it all the same. “My lord.” He was being offered a choice. It was too much, with Zahndrekh standing so close and his hand on Obyron's face. “Please…order me to stay.”

Zahndrekh's voice was uncharacteristically rough. “Stay with me, Obyron.”

He met Zahndrekh's eyes again, and now he could see the way his nemesor's face was flushed slightly, and the way his eyes were wide and his pupils were dilated. It was never a choice, not really; there was no universe where Obyron would have walked away from Zahndrekh like this.

But it was easier to have an order to follow, regardless. “Yes, my lord.”

[zombubble]

From In Memory; In Truth Ch. 21:

(Gentle reminder, for those who may have forgotten, Xie Yuan is the alias Wei Wuxian is using while he's in the Mortal Realm uwuwuwuwu.)

If Lan Zhan wants any sort of genuine connection with Xie Yuan, he first must stop hiding parts of himself from the man. He knows, agonizingly well, what such concealment does. He knows what hiding things has led to in the past, and he… He can’t, anymore. Falling in love with Xie Yuan was never the plan—had been actively upsetting at the start—but now that it’s happened, he wants to do things right. Lan Zhan wants to start with honesty, about both his feelings for Xie Yuan, and about his feelings for Wei Ying because he can’t hide them forever. If they’re going to be a problem for Xie Yuan, he’d rather know right away, so he doesn’t get any more involved than he already has. Because if Wei Ying is a dealbreaker for the god, then Lan Zhan… can’t. Falling in love isn’t a betrayal of Wei Ying, but to thoroughly reject him just to keep that love… That is. He won’t betray Wei Ying again. “Hanguang-jun!” Xie Yuan runs through the crowd, looking around until he sees Lan Zhan step out from behind a lantern vendor whose wares had been hiding him. Hurrying over, Xie Yuan grins. “Look, they’re rabbits!” he says, holding up spun sugar candy on sticks. Indeed, it’s a pair of rabbits, one standing tall and proud and the other curled up on its back. Xie Yuan holds out the one standing. “Its posture befits the esteemed Hanguang-jun,” he laughs. Ears hot, Lan Zhan takes it. It really does, and he looks at it, the rotund shape of his body, the lines of it up to the head with its cute little ears and a ribbon tied around its— The rabbit has a little forehead ribbon. Cheeks growing warm, Lan Zhan looks at Xie Yuan. “Did… Did you—” He points to the ribbon, right above the bunny’s cute, inquisitive eyes. Laughing even louder, Xie Yuan nods. “I asked the good grandfather making the candy to add that,” he says eventually. “Do you like it? It’s cute, huh?” Lan Zhan looks away. It’s… so cute. He can’t eat such a thing; that’d be terrible. Meanwhile, Xie Yuan’s bitten off one of his sugar-rabbit’s feet. “We should buy lanterns,” Xie Yuan says, “and go over to the river.  The grandfather said that lanterns float down from upstream, too, and it’s really a sight.” “I ought to make an offering,” Lan Zhan says, looking up at the full moon. “Does Chang'e have a preference?” “Never met her,” Xie Yuan says around a mouthful of sugar. “Don’t hear much of her, either, but I imagine a goddess as old as her would be gracious about anything.” Nodding, Lan Zhan looks around, and sees a fruit vendor selling little bundles made for offerings to people as ill-prepared for the festival as Lan Zhan. Going over, he quickly purchases one of those, and then some wine (with extra for Xie Yuan, to whom Lan Zhan’s been… wanting to make an official offering), and finally, he finds a lantern. A rabbit, curled up, within the full moon’s gentle face. With these, he makes his way back over to Xie Yuan, who’s chewing now on the sugar-rabbit’s tail, and takes a breath. He can do this. He can talk about his feelings. And he needs to.

Mid-Autumn Festival time!!! And they're spending it together.... what could happen?

Who knows? I certainly don't.

Thanks for reading, I'll see you next week!!

[thana-topsy]

Fellow Teldryn-Enjoyers:

Capitalizing on all the sexyman hype, I wanted to share some of my Teldryn fics for those who might not have managed to stumble across them yet! I enjoyed writing all of these stories SO damn much and I’m always stoked to share with anyone looking for content of the queer variety.  [Note: they’re mostly of the mlm variety, because that aligns with my sexuality and is what I like to write.]

“BREATHING WATER”

Pairing: Neloth/Teldryn (trust me) Rating: E (for the last chapter only)  Status: COMPLETE  Summary: Neloth is a scholar, first and foremost.Upon hearing a great rumor, he embarks upon a journey to find The Arms of Chaos: two staves of legend capable of unspeakable power. As a precautionary measure, he hires Teldryn Sero, the self-proclaimed "Best Swordsman in All of Morrowind." However, Neloth is one of the few people still alive who knows Teldryn's little secret. With their fates intertwined, the two Dunmer head for Skyrim, unaware of the trials that lay before them, as well as the rewards their journey might reap.

“LIMINAL BRIDGES”

Sequel to “Breathing Water” Pairing(s): Neloth/Teldryn; Talvas Fathryon/Brelyna Maryon Rating: E (scattered mature content) Status: IN-PROGRESS (sorry :( ) Summary: A year has passed since Neloth and Teldryn journeyed to Skyrim in search of the Arms of Chaos. Now, a new threat looms on the horizon -- mercurial and shrouded by ghosts of the past -- forcing Neloth, Teldryn, and Talvas to abandon the life they knew. While trying to keep their wits about them and their feet beneath them, they are reminded of this fundamental truth: that the only constant in life is change.

“THE 36 LESSONS OF TELDRYN SERO: NEREVARINE”

[This is a series of stories! And to be extra clear, this is a MATURE SERIES. Lots of smut. Click at your own expense and mind the tags! It started as a joke, and then I took it seriously. What else is new. I may continue it eventually once I start playing Morrowind again.] 

And lastly, my oldest Teldryn fics: [Be gentle, my writing wasn’t very technically skilled yet and I was a SKYBABY when it came to lore and understanding the intricacies of Tamriel...] 

“THE SHADOW OVER SOLSTHEIM”

Pairing: Teldryn Sero/Original Male Dragonborn Rating: E (plot with porn) Status: COMPLETE Summary: Teldryn Sero could hardly remember the last time in his life when he truly felt bored. For this, he was thankful. But when a charismatic, unusually tall Nord stumbles into the Retching Netch one late afternoon, the old Dunmer may have finally bitten off more than he can chew. None-the-less, his skills are always for hire... at the right price. A re-telling of the Dragonborn storyline through the eyes of Teldryn Sero - intrepid companion and officially Too Old For This Shit™

(and its sequel)

”INVICTUS”

Pairing: Teldryn Sero/Original Male Dragonborn Rating: E (also plot with porn) Status: COMPLETE Summary: After receiving a mysterious letter, Aerik and Teldryn set out to find its sender, as well as to uncover the mystery behind its message: Aerik's father, a non-existent figure from his past, is alive and well... and heading for Skyrim.The more they discover, however, the thicker and more complex the conspiracies grow. It seems the Thalmor's insidiousness reaches further than simply erasing Talos from the order of the Divines.

[dg-outlaw]

'The Penguin - Episode 1: After Hours' Review/Thoughts

** Mild Spoilers Ahead **

So I'll start off by saying, I'm not a big fan of mobster/drug lord movies and shows. Same goes for the rich people/corporate shows like Succession or Billions. Basically, if the general premise is; these people are rich and/or powerful, come watch them betray, kill, and/or be assholes to other people and one another to achieve and maintain that wealth or power, and there's likely to be no justice had... then yeah, not for me. If anything, watching Netflix's The Fall of the House of Usher (2023) was more about catharsis than entertainment for me. IYKYK.

Obviously, I know there's more nuance than that when it comes to many of these shows and movies as there's also outstanding performances and interesting storylines, but something about them reminding me of the injustices and/or corporate greed of the real world just puts me off most of the time. If I'm going to watch media like that then I usually have to be in a certain mood for it or I'm hooked by the characters.

Early previews of The Penguin gave me the same mobster vibe as many crime shows. There will be no heroes, no Batman, and likely no real justice, but being in the Batman and Matt Reeves Bat-verse, I wanted to give it a shot.

Is The Penguin different from other mobster crime shows? Yes and no. No, in that it still has all the mobster show flavor and if it weren't in the Batman world, I'd maybe give it a pass, but because it is Batman and Gotham, then yes, there's enough interesting flavor here to keep me wanting to see what happens next.

If you're not aware, this series takes place soon after the events of Matt Reeves' The Batman (2022). Carmine Falcone is dead, Gotham is still recovering from the flood caused by The Riddler, though it seems the parts of Gotham mostly affected and still in disarray are the lower-income areas, and Batman is... probably napping? IDK, but it'll be interesting to see how Batman gets interwoven into this series or is generally not present.

Colin Farrell returns as Oswald Cobblepot/The Penguin... or as he's referenced in the series, Oz Cobb, and he's looking to make a name for himself.

Without getting into the details (as there are likely a million legit summary reviews of Episode 1 online now), Oz quickly sets things in motion that starts a series of dominoes falling that may or may not result in his downfall before he even begins his climb to the top of the crime world, and I guess this is where the show finds its intrigue. In my mind, it's very Breaking Bad in the sense that you keep watching just to see what happens next. Will our protagonist get caught and meet a horrible fate or will they actually get away with it and achieve their goals... and at what cost? And why am I rooting for the bad guy? But instead of just fumbling down into the depths of the crime world like Walter White, Oz wants this, he wants to be on top, but the question is, has he bitten off more than he can chew or will he finally take hold of the brass ring?

Ultimately, I think it's the Gotham world and characters that has me wanting to see more and to see how it all plays out. This is not to say that the performances aren't great or the characters aren't intriguing, and Cristin Milioti as Sofia Falcone is definitely scary, even if she's not comically accurate as a some giant mountain of a woman, but again, part of this is knowing the characters from comics and other media depictions. I don't need the full Penguin backstory or to know all about the Falcones and Maronis, the comics and other media have done that setup already, but it does help with investment IMO.

Also, I love the grime of this Gotham and also how it's contrasted with the wealth and cleanliness of other parts of Gotham, especially outside of downtown. The creators understood the assignment for this show and it definitely plays a part when it comes to motivations. This Gotham isn't one note and I'm glad that it doesn't look like some clean set that takes you out of the world and reminds you that you're watching a TV show, like so many streaming shows and movies do nowadays. Yes, there's violence and language and Farrell, once again, disappears into the role of Penguin, but there's also some humor in this show. The humor fits and doesn't feel forced, but it also allows the audience to breathe for a moment and enjoy the experience.

So, I think if you're a Batman fan, you know these characters a little bit, and you want to go into a show that is likely to not have Batman or any other heroes, I say, jump in and enjoy. But if you're not as familiar or are a casual fan, and you're not really into crime/mobster shows, then this might not be for you.

Also, new canon (I think?) that The Penguin is a fan of Dolly Parton or at least has a mix CD of 'Go out there and get it' songs, is so fun. I still HC that Parton's "9 to 5" is a Duke Thomas song he plays every morning before getting ready for patrol, but having that little extra character note for The Penguin was a nice touch and gave a new character, Victor, a little more insight into his new boss.

[morpheus-girl]

On Sallow Wings

Universe: Hogwarts Legacy

Pairing: Aged Up! Sabastian x f!reader, Ominis Gaunt x f!reader (Plutonic).

Word Count: 1.46k.

Synopsis: Having returned for their sixth year at Hogwarts; Ominis and Sebastian might have bitten off more than they can chew with the sudden arrival of a face that is both familiar... and a stranger.

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of abuse (physical & mental), Pure-Blood prejudice, blood, Unprocessed trauma, Aged up characters.

Notes: My intent with this one was that it was going to be my first series... I don't know. Let me know what you guys think. Would you like to see more of this, or..?

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━ ༻ ☾ ☽ ༺ ━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━ ༻ ☾ ☽ ༺ ━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

.. drip...

drip...

drip...

.. she was wet.

A warmth, fiery almost, trickling slowly over the gentle curve of her forehead, it continued further. Following the sharp lines of her cheekbone as it continued down in its trajectory. Marring her skin, though it was nothing when compared to the pain of past heartaches.

Lips parting ever slightly from one another, a light sting shot through them. The rush of air drawn over the open cut was nothing new, however. No. In fact, it was a familiar sensation. And despite herself, in some sick, twisted way, it brought her the tiniest bit of comfort. Amongst all of the chaos; it had been the constant. Normal. Truthfully, it was all she knew. And now-..?

Arms trembling as they rose from her sides, Y/n let her glacial gaze fall. Resting upon her hands. Her porcelain complexion stained a deep crimson as blood - hers, or other; she wasn't sure - continued to trail over her palms. Dripping from the very tips of her fingers only to then create tiny pools around her.

.. For the love of Merlin... what had she done..?

The question had barely left the dazed mist that was her mind before she was lifting her head. Her arctic hues lingering on the scene lain before her.

Smoke billowed. Rising from the manor, and as it did, furniture from the second floor toppled towards the ground. Though, whatever sound it may have made upon impact was lost on her. The ringing in her ears was deafening. The remnants of the blast still echoing through her very core. Rubble was scattered about the ground from the gaping hole left in the side of the manor, crushing below it the beautiful gardens that she'd once spent many of her days escaping into. Now though... it simply wasn't possible. Not after what she'd-...

".. Y/n..!"

Panic struck her heart like lightning.

.. N-No... if they found her-...

"Y/n..! Where the bloody hell are you..!"

The words had barely finished leaving her older brother's lips before she was on the move. Turning tail in a flash; Y/n took off. Her bloodied palms gripping desperately to the tattered remains of her dress, the souls of her feet thundered over the earth beneath her as she carried herself as far from her family's estate as she could.

There was no turning back... not now...

• ━━━━━ ⋅☾ ☽⋅ ━━━━━ •

A few weeks or so later...

Fingers gliding once more over the braille imprinted onto the parchment, the frown already etched over Ominis' features deepened. His brows knitting together slightly alerting his best friend to the fact that, whatever the situation, it didn't seem to be getting any better.

".. Another letter from your family..?" Despite the concern in his voice, Sebastian did, however, attempt to keep the mood light. Taking a gentle jab at his friend by way of elbowing his ribs before, distractedly, turning back to his plate, "Someone's getting popular. This is what..? The fifth one in just a few weeks..?"

".. Regretfully."

".. Care to share with the class..?" He didn't need to look at his best friend to know that he was wallowing. Something had been eating at Ominis now for the better part of two weeks, and while he knew that he shouldn't pry; that the blond boy would tell him, eventually, what it was that was bugging him. Sometimes, a little nudge in the right direction didn't hurt.

".. No."

"Ominis..."

A heavy sigh falling through his lips, it was another moment of hesitancy before Ominis spoke. His voice soft... tinged with worry, ".. there was an incident... and not all are yet accounted for..."

An incident..?

Curiosity piqued, a small bout of worry for his friend settling in his stomach at the new information provided, Sebastian turned his gaze towards the boy. Staring, perhaps a few moments longer than he'd meant to, he finally managed to once again find his voice, "Ominis... I'm sorry. I didn't know... Is there anything I coul-..."

"Oh, ha ha. Very funny."

The dulcet tones of the familiar Irish accent catching the attention of the two boys, both turned their heads towards the girl in question. Their eyes lingering upon Imelda Reyes, despite only one being able to actually see, as she seemed intent on kicking up a stink about... who knew what this time.

"Whoever's castin' charms on my plate, you best quit it now. I'm not in the mood."

"Uhh... Imelda..?" Movement having caught the corner of his eyes, Sebastian turned back to his own dinner. Pushing himself back slightly in his seat as he watched the dish slowly begin to rise up, causing food to topple onto the polished wooden surface of the table as it began to tilt. And with a quick glance about the Great Hall, it was made more than clear that they weren't the only victims in this little prank, ".. don't think you're alone with this one..."

All around the hall, objects were being lifted into the air. Plates... goblets... silverware. It seemed nothing was safe as food was spilt about them. Splattering messily about the ground, the house tables and, much to Sebastian's utter delight and amusement, even the faculty table didn't seem immune to whatever shenanigans were being had at the school's expense. Though at the sound of the large double doors opening at the end of the hall; all heads turned sharply. The sound of wood slamming against stone resonating through the expansive room, and for reasons beyond reasonable explanation, Sebastian found a shiver running down the length of his spine.

"What..? Sebastian- what is it..?"

Just one of the many who had gotten to their feet while circumstances continued to play out, Ominis didn't need the ability to see as he reached out. The letter received from his family now lain long forgotten as he gripped firmly onto his best friend's arm.

".. It's... a girl..." Surprise overtaking his features, Sebastian could do little more than stare at the young woman causing such a stir. However, even as he did, she seemed to search the room. Almost frantically so.

".. O-Ominis..?"

One word. That was all it took.

Despite how softly it had been spoken, the word echoed about the hall, and before it had time to settle, all eyes had turned towards the Slytherin table. And in turn, toward the Gaunt boy who suddenly felt his heart gripped in a vice.

No... it couldn't be...

All rational escaping him at this point, Sebastian had barely a moment to react before his best friend tore off around the table. Wand gripped tightly in his hand, tip pulsing a fiery red helping to keep him on course as he rushed the young lady calling out for him. The desperation in her voice was almost too much for him to bear. And as he reached her, he found his hands taking purchase upon her hips. Helping to keep her steady as he ignored the sound of his wand clattering upon the stone by his feet.

".. I'm here. I-It's going to be alright..."

Her own hands rising, Y/n gripped desperately to the front of his robes. Her sparkling blues searching the familiar clouds that were now right in front of her, ".. I-... I didn't-... help me..."

Whatever drive she had keeping her going the past couple of weeks finally subsiding, the girls body went slump in his arms. And only having been a few moments behind his friend, Sebastian's arms automatically shot to the girls body. Helping, as gently as he could, to lower her to the floor with his friend. Though as his lips parted, intent on questioning the strange scene, they quickly shut. His attention briefly distracted by the resonating clanging of the dishware crashing down around them, accompanied by the shouts and screams of their fellow students. Majority of whom had ducked or taken cover so as not to be caught in the unexpected showering of gold.

Pausing, wanting to be sure nothing more was going to happen, Sebastian turned his full attention back to Ominis, "Okay... want to tell me what in Merlin's beard that was..?"

Ominis' head was shaking. Quickly. Though not out of rejection towards his friends questions, but rather in sheer disbelief, "It-... It's not possible... she's a squib... she's not supposed to have magic..."

Sebastian managed to catch himself before scoffing. Clearly... there had been some major misunderstanding. Because you didn't have to be blind in order to see that, very obviously, this girl did not a squib make.

".. No shit. Who in Merlin's name is she, though..?"

Ominis' voice was soft as he responded. His head lifting until, eerily, he was able to look his best friend in the eyes. And once more, Sebastian felt a chill run through his spine.

".. she's my sister... Y/n Gaunt..."

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Owl Post (Tag List): @rosabellatonks

[eldritch-spouse]

Pinnie. I am going to eat your ocs I love them so much ahhfjwhdjiixjs /pos /gen

((If you want, how would member of the clergy react to being like- bitten?? In a loving playful way?? Cause I like- gnaw on things/people I like and I wanna make sure I don’t get my ass kicked))

-Valentine’s Anon <3

[I'm sorry, I don't use a lot of tone indicators, is "/gen" supposed to say "genuine"? Also, thenk ye eitherway.]

Reaction to being bitten (cuteness aggression?)

Morell will manually grab your jaw and shut it. Listen. He's poisonous. If you end up actually tearing a chunk out of him, which is unlikely, you'll probably have a quick reaction to his natural poison and die. It's really cute of your feral ass, but he would rather not see you spasm on the floor and froth violently because you were impulsive enough to ignore his warnings.

Santi moans. Because what else were you expecting, really? Although his skin is mostly very dark, he encourages you to bite harder so that a mark will be left. He loves wearing claims on his body, you're allowed to bite anywhere. He doesn't just return the favor, he's very opportunistic and will get as much saliva on you as he can. Then wait for the effects to take...

Grimbly's instincts tell him you're hungry when you're doing that. So he's probably going to get flustered and suggest you go out somewhere to eat. It actually makes him jump and yelp, even if your teeth are quite blunt, his lizard brain says you're going to tear him open using fangs you don't physically have.

Gallon will let you bite him and then promptly trap you. Have you ever seen those cartoons where a character gets their tongue stuck to something frozen? Yeah, that's you smartass. Then, he'll act as if you won't let go of him, which is quite rude, you know? He thinks it's honestly hilarious, you can eat a piece of him if you want, but he doesn't taste all that good.

Nebul will always see biting as a punishable offense. If you want to be a dog so bad, he'll get you a little muzzle. It's only coming off if you ask politely, and after an adequate apology, naturally. Matter of fact, maybe you'd like a chew toy too. Sit still, he's sure he has a bowl somewhere. Now that you've fully embraced your role as a mutt, things will be much easier. He's scary, you'll never know when he's joking or serious.

Vinnel wonders if you just enjoy the taste of fabric. Also, stop that, you're getting him soggy. In his dickish ways, the performer will rip someone's shirt off and offer it to you, so you can chew and drool on it rather than him. He may look like one, but he's not a doll, so kindly don't mess with his life support. He'd bite you back, but it's not worth the risk, so he just laughs and pinches you hard when you start chewing.

Patches shamefully enjoys the pain, so he won't really say anything about your weird habit. He's going to sit there awkwardly with bated breath, silently wishing you would bite harder, and in more places. He's probably the one who loves this habit of yours the most, all things considered. You'll probably get him to moan too at some point.

Fank-e thinks this is hilarious. Yeah sure, bite him all you want! It looks silly! You will most likely damage your teeth, he doesn't feel a second of it. But hey, if you're biting him, it means you're paying attention to him, so in his eyes, it's a good thing. Does he taste good?

Belo doesn't immediately understand what this behavior means, so when you bite him, the angel's just going to be upset and ask you why you're so mad at him. Once it registers, he's going to ask you not to do it so often for a couple of reasons. One, it's distracting, two you're soaking his fur, three- You're probably also eating some of his fur and that can't be good for you.

Sybastian is probably one of monsters you definitely don't want to bite, because he absolutely bites back, and a love bite from that bear trap of a mouth is a total gamble in terms of how maimed you'll get. He welcomes biting however, so do it at your own risk. More than that, he prefers licking, which is less dangerous for the two of you.

You have a lot of nerve to bite Krulu. You know he could just make your teeth fall off one by one if he wanted to, yes? Although he senses your affection, you must learn other methods of displaying it adequately. Do it too often and Krulu will pretend to return the gesture just to frighten you.