#situationship!ghost

[yawnderu]

Situationship!Ghost seeing you cry for the first time while having sex save me...... save me Situationship!Ghost seeing you cry for the first time while having sex

His hips halt the moment he sees you're not fully into it, the same eyes that used to look up at him with raw admiration are now distantly looking at the ceiling with a familiar gloss in them, your moans timed and fake. He slowly pulls out of you, pulling the blanket over your naked bodies, yet keeping his distance.

''What is it?'' He asks with a small sigh, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why you even initiated things if you're not even into it.

''I'm sorry— I can't do this.'' Your attempts to get up are interrupted by Simon pulling you back into bed, one hand gently grasping your jaw to make sure you're looking directly at him even when your vision gets blurry and the dam finally breaks. Cruel bastard he is, wanting to see you cry.

The sound of your sobs rips into his heart without hesitation. There isn't another sound he hates more. You should be laughing, the giggles that secretly make him so happy should be coming out of you rather than these loud sobs. He knows you're in pain— he knows he's the one who caused it, and he can't forgive himself for hurting someone he loves so much, even when he hasn't come to terms with it.

His arms wrap around your body, one of his warm hands running up and down your back and squeezing you tightly against his body, feeling the mix of warm tears and snot wet his bare chest. It breaks his heart to feel the way you cling to him in a state of such brokenness, the way you trust him so much despite all his failures and mistakes.

'''M sorry, angel. I'm so sorry.'' He whispers right into your ear, his apologies only for you to hear as he rocks you from side to side, gently wiping the tears from your eyes with the palm of his hand. He doesn't have any other words for you, only the silent reassurance that you'll always be safe in his arms.

[imshymorph]

Okay so, after a few months, i’m back with something that was supposed to be a blurb and ended up being almost 2.9k words (added a full 100 words when editing, oh well).

It’s Situationship!Ghost, specifically angsty situationship ghost. (i have a full bullet point list with headcanons for this ghost and i’ll probably write more at some point) . Anyway, enjoy!

- - - - -

You had seen him quite a few times before, although you barely knew him. He lived across from you, the door on the other side of the hallway. Hardly had known anything about him, that his name was Simon –something you only had discovered when his mail had been left in your mailbox by accident– and he was military.

However, somehow since that day, the fateful day that you had taken what seemed to be a letter from the bank, the two of you had started to talk more often. It didn’t start as anything crazy, but at least now he would say “hello” when you both were in the hallway, coincidentally leaving or going back to your respective flats at the same time.

It had slowly evolved over time, happening over the expanse of full months with how little he seemed to be home. From just a greeting to some small talk, be it a comment about the weather when the mancunian skies delivered nothing but rain day after day here; or perhaps a remark on how expensive everything seemed to be lately when you walked back home with a bag of groceries there.

What really made all of it change though, was when Simon got sent home for a medical leave after a close call in a mission, a bullet almost lodged in his lungs. He didn’t know why, but having to stay out of the field was much harder than any other time, he was much more restless. The feeling was only made more obvious when he started to go in and out much more, busying himself with little tasks or just taking walks. It meant that your meetings in the hallway happened more and more often.

When you had discovered why he seemed to be home for so much longer than usual you had insisted on helping him out, getting things from the store for him, bringing him home cooked meals and mainly keeping him company. By the time he had gone back to the field, you spent more nights a week on his side of the hallway than your own.

That’s when he realised, when he really noticed the way a smile would pull at his lips when he noticed something you had left back at his place. The way his heart would flutter when you’d smile at him and offer some biscuits you had just baked. Or the way he’d stare a hole through the helicopter wall while the whole task force was on their way to a mission, earning himself some teasing from Johnny and Gaz and a discreet knowing look from Price.

He realised that he had started to count the days until his next leave and that he didn’t think of going to his own place, but going back to you. That’s when he decided this was needed.

He opened the door as you were walking out of your place, carrying dinner to his place like you did every Friday when he was on leave, a smile pulling at your lips as you greeted him with a kiss to the corner of his lips before walking in. He had been home for a while now, chastising himself every day that went by, letting you come into his space again and again when he knew what he really had to do.

He closed the door, taking the container from your hands and taking it to the kitchen. You were about to follow him, meaning to keep him company and have a chat –although most of the time it was you talking and telling him stuff about your day while he hummed and grunted in acknowledgement, happy to get lost in your soft voice–. Instead he guided you back to the living room, signalling for you to take a seat on the couch. “Simon…?” you began to say, confusion evident in your voice and the slight furrow of your brows.

“We need to talk,” he said before you could finish your question. His voice gruff and low, eyes cold and distant. He sat across from you, all the way on the other corner of the couch, his expression unreadable.

And that’s when you knew, when those four little words left his lips. You weren’t stupid, you had definitely noticed. They way he’d be more distant, more short with you. How the small conversations in the hallway had got shorter until they had gone back to just greetings, or just a nod of the head. The way he had stopped lingering when he was at yours until you offered for him to stay, instead rushing through dinner before leaving with whatever excuse came to mind. Or how he seemed to find excuses to make you leave his place sooner and sooner each day.

What you hadn’t noticed but were definitely seeing now was the difference in his eyes. The warm glow that had been there for the last bunch of months completely gone. Instead there was a cold and distant look, a wall that you hadn't seen since you had first moved into the building, now placed between you once more.

Silence sits between the two of you and it only breaks when he says the words you had been bracing yourself for, “we can’t do this anymore.” You barely give a light nod, your eyes lowering to the coffee table that sat not too far away.

You didn’t know what else to do but to give in, deep down you knew you had been waiting for this, doing everything you could to push the moment back even if it was for a little longer. But if you were honest with yourself, you had known this would happen all along, this whatever it was meant to be, was bound to end sooner or later.

His eyes boring into you didn’t make any of this easier. But he couldn’t help himself, because a part of him had hoped that you’d get angry and finally say what he had known all along. That you would get up and call him out for thinking he ever deserved to be with you, for even daring to think he deserved any of your tenderness and care, or your attention.

Instead of anger, all he saw in your eyes was defeat and hurt, and it only made his chest feel more tight and heavy with guilt. He couldn’t deal with it, with how much it hurt to be the one to make you look so hurt and defeated. So he just doubled down. A light huff leaves him and he runs a hand over his face, his tone a little more gruff and demanding when he talks again, “why aren’t you saying anything?”, his eyes boring into you once more as he waits for your answer.

It takes a moment, but you finally push out the words that are constantly cycling through your head, “because I knew this was going to happen,” you admit quietly. “Noticed the distance”, you add as your eyes lower to the coffee table once more and your fingers start to play with a loose thread on your clothes, “guessed you’d get tired of me, sooner or later.”

Simon was used to handling pain, he thought he could manage any kind after all the suffering he had gone through already. But something about the light crack on your voice, the defeated tone and self-deprecating words. The way you were convinced he could ever grow tired of you when he was the one undeserving of your time. It made his heart break and a hatred for no one but himself filled him.

He clenched his fists on his sides, having to hold back. Hold back from the way he wanted to grab you in his arms and hold you close. Hold back from pulling you into his lap and kiss you time and time again until you forgot his stupid words. He wanted to hold you all night long, worship you and prove that he could never get tired of you, that he would never leave you, that he didn’t mean any of it. That he loved you.

But instead, once more, he doubled down. “I think it’s for the best…” he barely makes the effort to justify. Your only answer is another small nod, your eyes that had braved enough to look up at him, lowering back to your lap. You focus on the way your fingers fidget with the loose thread and swallow thickly, doing your best to keep at bay the knot that closed up your throat, fighting back the tears that so badly wanted to form.

If his heart hadn’t shattered before, it definitely had now. The sight of you across from him, the distance on the couch between you both as you refused to look at him. He hated this, hated to see you in this state and hated even more that he was the one to cause all of this. He wanted to take all of it back, to apologise and beg for you to forget all of this and just have dinner with him like you did every friday. But he couldn’t.

“I guess I'll pack my things then,” you say, barely audible with how the tears strain your voice. You don’t wait for an answer, getting up from the couch and moving through the quiet flat. You get the toothbrush you had left in his bathroom, the few staple skincare items he had insisted would be easier to have a duplicate off.

His eyes followed you, the hollow on his chest only growing with every item you plucked up and added to the totebag you had forgotten on his couch just a couple days ago. He wanted to go to you, to hold your hands and get on his knees. To beg you to stay and spare his sinful soul from having to live another day without you.

Still, he stayed seated on the couch. His soul bleeding and body numb as he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but follow your movements with his eyes. He saw all of it, how you kept yourself from crying, taking the few sleep shorts and extra shirts you had left behind. How the tears had been too much to hold back when you’d come back from the kitchen, a pile of empty food containers in your hands.

When you got all of it and went to the door he finally managed to get up, just taking a couple steps closer but still staying far, distant. He had to, he had to keep the distance. Because he knew that he got closer his selfishness would win, and he’d pull you into his arms and never let you go.

You take in a deep, shaky breath. Your hand reaches out for the knob, but before you twist it open you look at him. Your cheeks and nose are rosy and the teartracks are more than evident. “Can I ask you something?” you risk, even if you know that whatever the answer maybe would only make it worse.

He gives a light nod almost instantly, taking a deep breath as he prepares himself. He probably was as fragile and unready as you were for the answer, but he owed you this –this and much more, because he had just taken and taken this whole time–. So his tone is honest when he answers with a gruff “anything.”

You take a moment, needing to take in another shaky breath, trying to find his eyes through the tears that blur out the vision of yours. And before you could regret even thinking about it, you talk again. “...Did I do something wrong?”

If Simon thought he knew what guilt and pain felt like, he had been proven wrong right this instance. His stomach churning and his chest feeling tight and hollow as he hears the way you blame yourself, the way you sound so uncertain and fragile. “No.” he states, firm.

You barely nod, lips trembling as you press them together to hold back a sob. Silence sits between the both of you once more, you try to blink the tears away but it only makes them fall faster. “T-then what happened?” you muttered, barely able to get the words out, swallowing thickly when your voice cracks.

He feels like he’s drowning, his chest burning with guilt as he sees the way you’re trying to stay strong and hold the tears back yet failing. He’s about to say it, about to tell you the whole truth. About to say how he’s fallen for you, how your soft smiles and soft touches make him feel like a new man. How your care and attention make him feel like he’s alive, how he’s Simon and not Ghost. He’s about to confess how much he loves you.

He’s so close to saying that what happened was him. That he was a bastard and a murderer, that he wasn’t who you thought he was –who he had tricked you into thinking he was– and he didn’t deserve anything from you. That he had been selfish this whole time and had been taking advantage of you. What happened was that you deserve much better than the ghost of a man he really was.

Instead he doesn’t say any of it, only the vaguest excuse starting to leave his lips, “it’s not you…” His words cut off when he sees your eyes close, your lips closing tightly and your shoulders shaking with a silent sob. Your head lowering to uselessly trying to hide it, the way his words sound –and are– a shit excuse, the way it just makes you feel that much more heartbroken.

He doesn’t dare try to come up with more excuses, instead ripping his eyes away from you, not able to handle the way you’re falling apart in front of him. He instead busies himself with looking around the room, checking if there’s anything you may be forgetting behind. “You have everything?” he asks, forcing himself to look at you again.

And you take a shaky breath, ignoring the way your chest tightens and your heart bleeds at the softer and more caring tone in his voice. You force yourself to ignore the way he sounds just like he did barely a few weeks ago, holding back the plea for him to rethink all of this that burns the back of your throat. Instead, “Should be… And if there’s something else, you can just throw it out.”

You don’t even look at him, eyes instead focused on the blurry sight of his black combat boots and the hardwood floors beneath you. And he hates it, he hates how quiet and weak your voice is, hates that you can’t hold his gaze. But most of all hates that he’s the one to cause all of this. In what he was trying to convince himself was an effort to spare the both of you, he delivers the last blow, “you should go.”

You don’t say anything, biting down on your lip probably hard enough to break the skin in a last ditch effort to hold back the sob that so desperately wants to leave you. You turn around, adjusting the pile of things you had retrieved from all around the flat in your arms to be able to reach for the handle.

Despite knowing it will break you, you look over your shoulder, red-rimmed and tear-filled eyes meeting his for the first time since the conversation started –and for what Simon knows will probably be the last time ever–. “Take care,” you murmur quietly, adjusting all the stuff crowding your hands once more. Without another word or another look back you pull the door open, closing it behind you just a moment later, leaving him alone in the silent flat.

Simon stays frozen for a moment, he feels like he’s outside of his own body when he sees all of it play out, eyes boring into the dark wood of his door once it’s closed. Your words seem to echo in his head, the way you still talk to him with so much softness and care after he had stomped your heart. He only manages to move when he hears the quiet click from across the hallway that signifies that you’re back in your place, away from him like you should’ve always been.

He takes his phone out, sending a message to one of the few numbers saved there, telling Price he needs to be back in the field. After, he goes to the kitchen, desperate for a glass of whiskey that could never be as bitter as he feels right now. His phone pings with Price’s reply, but he doesn’t look at it, nor does he get a glass or the bottle of whiskey.

Because instead, he stands frozen, seeing the dinner you had brought over, still sitting on his counter. And that’s when it really dawns on him, this is it, it’s over. You were out of his life, and all because he had been too much of a coward to admit the truth. Too much of a coward to admit that he loves you.

[cyberpchela]

tw/cw blood and meat! preparing morning breakfast

[sushiisiu]

why jayce keeps fumbling his timeloop murders

[noxcheshire]

A one sided crack ship I suddenly got in my delirious hungry state, and need to throw it up so here you go

Joker x Danny

But its JOKER whose one sided feelings for Danny who is really trying his best to ignore this weird clown mf

I was thinking that it could either be actual ‘oh no I have a crush on this guy’ OR Joker being liminal enough and ghostly enough to sense the otherworldliness of Danny Fenton. An otherness that Joker just wants. Like a hungry, starved beast that had finally found a proper meal instead of the bone scraps he’s been trying to scrap off of Batman.

He doesn’t even realize what it is he wants either, only that he wants to pull Danny’s skin back and nestle inside.

Danny on the other hand knows, he’s gone through a few ghostly sessions to understand that Joker is starved, and empty, and already half mad from hunger that he is willing to try and grab a fully loaded half ghost that could still kick his ass.

I just like the idea of everyone’s horror pov of the Joker trying to attract this one civilian guy and Danny just being annoyed by this one scraggly alley cat trying to gnaw on his arm.

[betweenstorms]

Simon Riley was always leaving.

It was the only constant in his life, deployment after deployment, mission after mission, the door closing behind him with the weight of silence, like clockwork. It was as ingrained in him as breathing.

He’d told you from the beginning that he wasn’t made for relationships. He wasn’t the type to just settle down, not with the kind of life he led.

Simon Riley—Ghost was a soldier first, always a soldier before anything else. He was bound to the duty that pulled him into the abyss time and again. Because he was a soldier before a lover, before a companion, before a man. And yet, there you were, lying beside him, not quite lovers, not quite strangers, but something in between.

It wasn’t a relationship, but it wasn’t a situationship either. It was a careful balance. It lingered in the spaces where definitions blurred.

It had started as something undefined, a hookup, a shared space in the aftermath of violence, when the weight of the world seemed to press down on his chest. But somewhere between his departures and returns, something soft had taken root.

The late-night calls after deployments, the sound of his rough voice like a whispered poem in the dark, tethered him to you when he was miles away. His touch, when he was home, lingered longer than it should have, fingers brushing your skin as if searching for something he couldn’t name, something neither of you dared say aloud. And in those fleeting moments of reunion, when his hazel eyes found yours, you could see it—longing, a tenderness that spoke of something more, something that never quite fit into the boundaries of what you were, but hovered just beyond, waiting.

Still, he never stayed.

From the moment you first let him into your life, into your bed, there had been an unspoken understanding between you.

Simon Riley wasn’t the kind of man you introduced to your mother over Sunday dinner. He wasn’t the kind you built a future with. He had told you as much—not relationship material, he’d said in that low, gravelly voice of his, the one that always seemed to carry the weight of unsaid things.

But that didn’t stop him from coming back.

Maybe it was the way you laughed when you were trying to hide your nerves, the way you teased him lightly without ever pushing too far. Maybe it was how, in the silence of your shared moments, you never demanded anything more than his presence. Whatever it was, it tugged at him, an unfamiliar gravity pulling him closer to you when he knew better than to get too close to anything.

There was something about you that made him want to stay.

A pull he couldn’t quite ignore, an instinct deep within him that whispered it was okay to rest beside you. You made him feel human. And that was dangerous. That terrified him more than any enemy he had ever faced.

It was a cold winter night, the kind where the world outside seemed frozen in place, as if time itself had stopped. The two of you were lying under a heavy blanket, the warmth of your bodies a sharp contrast to the chill that clung to the windows.

Simon had a cigarette between his fingers, the soft glow of the ember casting a faint light across his scarred face. You were curled up against him, your skin pressed to his, naked and warm, though the intimacy wasn’t just in the closeness of your bodies, it was in the silence between you, the quiet acceptance of this fragile connection. You watched him in the dimness, the lines of his jaw sharp against the shadows, his hazel eyes half-lidded as he exhaled the smoke slowly, deliberately.

You’d asked him before to stay—jokingly, of course.

It had always been a game, a playful tease, because you knew he would never agree. He had always brushed it off, his silence the answer you always expected. He was good at keeping himself distant. However, something in the cold of the night felt different. You felt a shift in the air, a gentle tension that lingered between you like the first breath before a confession.

So, you asked him again, your voice soft but joking. “Would it be too desperate to ask you to stay? Just this once? Please.”

You didn’t expect an answer.

Usually, Simon brushed it off, deflecting with a grunt, a noncommittal sound, something that left the question hanging unanswered in the air. He didn’t do relationships, he didn’t do staying. It wasn’t who he was. He wasn’t built for it. So you thought he’d just ignore you, like he always did, maybe pull you closer and kiss the question away.

But tonight, he didn’t do any of that.

He exhaled slowly, the smoke slipping from his lips like a secret too heavy to keep. His eyes, usually so guarded, so unreadable, turned to you, and there was something different in his dark gaze—something softer, something almost vulnerable. His hand, rough and calloused, reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face, the touch so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine. He looked at you for a long moment, as if weighing his next moves carefully.

Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, he answered you.

He was going to stay.

It wasn’t a grand gesture, not a sweeping declaration or an outpouring of affection. It was Simon Riley in his purest form.

A simple nod, small but extremely significant, heavy with meaning that stretched far beyond words. It was a promise unspoken, a shift in the very foundation of who he was. His hazel eyes locked onto yours, and in that quiet acknowledgment, you felt the pressure of it settle between you.

For the first time, you felt the weight of his presence in a way that wasn’t heavy with the threat of departure. He was here, and he was staying, not because he had to, not because you asked, but because he wanted to. And that, more than anything, filled you with a warmth that outshone the cold night outside.

betweenstorms (next) (masterlist)

[ceilidho]

situationship!Ghost saying this and then 12 hours later he’s cupping your face and looking deep into your eyes while fucking you and saying shit like “you were made for me”

[idontmindifuforgetme]

I genuinely love not having a crush like I’m not over here feeling physically sick over some mid guy being dry to me I’m literally chilling

[levemetal]

Dual calamities Qijiu AU save me.... save me Dual Calamity Qijiu...

Yes they are wearing each other's former coats/outer layer and tons of matching accessory and garment pieces why do you ask

Details under the cut/Rambling ahead

Dual calamities AU, post pidw. SJ kills himself on the shards of Xuan Su by swallowing them. Qijiu end up entwined into one ghost amalgamation, their combined regrets hatred spite and resentment and everything creating a nearly supreme/calamity level ghost. They go off indiscriminately murdering in the demon realm in a mindless unaware rampage, consuming ghosts and demons alike and becoming stronger until they are strong enough to be aware once more.

Luo Binghe becomes aware of the new calamity too late, due to his distraction with the Bingge vs Bingmei extra happenings, and ends up regretting it as he fails to catch up to them time and time again, despite attempting to chase down the new calamity that slaughtered half the demons in a mindless rage.

It could go down the Bingqijiu path or be simply Qijiu retreating somewhere to live in peace. Maybe being annoyed later on by Hua Cheng and/or He Xuan, maybe even Bai Wuxiang once. They kick Qi Rong off a mountain once, when he comes to annoy them for the title only to prove that is not a calamity (unfortunately for him, ily stinky green ghost). SJ is gonna have the time of his life roasting his ass. Qi Rong will leave both in pieces and tears.

Their only disadvantage really is that they cannot seperate too much, physically. But I imagine after being in each other's brains after the soul merge they don't particularly care to be (nor would they want to be. This is Qijiu we're talking about.) It's Qijiu's codependant dream. Xuan Su sewed them together and actually they are very very codependant and possessive after everything so this is just fine. They probably even have a Xuan Su blood weapon, that heeds both their commands and calls. While fighting they synchronise, with YQY being the strength and SJ the brains.

I imagine YQY is able to conjure the arrows that pierced him as spiritual projectiles, and SJ chains that bound him in the water prison. Their strength was cultivated by absorbing and devouring other ghosts and demons.

@ace-shenanigans came up with the lovely title "jade dragon stalks bamboo" which is a much better title than I could ever hope to come up with. Thank you for listening to my mad ramblings

I've been wanting to draw and think on this for a while, of how grotesque to make the initial ghost + the later higher cultivation form. But basically the kiln and everything would count them as one ghost, probably a dual title too. They'd be like a myth amongst the realms, retreating to a comfortable mountain peak with bamboo, occassionally off to hunt down slavers.

[yawnderu]

Which cod men can, from your personal point of view, totally see sex and love has two different things?

Like we all know that not all men understand the difference between making sex and love

I think Situationship!Ghost is a prime example that love and sex are two different things. He doesn't love you— hell, he might not even see you as a friend, but you're still someone he trusts enough with his body, to let you see him when he's most vulnerable.

Situationship Ghost is not for the weak. He doesn't make love, he fucks, seeing it as a way to blow off some steam after a tiring mission, leaving right after cumming and just doing his own thing for the rest of his short leaves, only seeking you out whenever he's horny and wanking doesn't do the trick. If you're not attached to him, it's even better for both of you, simply two people who talk to each other the moment they want to fuck.

[cookiepie111]

Ghost the little creep likes to watch you on your nights out following you into your home, watching your sleeping form, chest raise, and fall peaceful. He sighs at the sight of you, half laying on the bed, messy hair, shoes still on. He moves to knell at the end of bed, taking your shoes off, tucking you into bed. It's cute, sweet, probably the most 'normal' thing he's done. You stir in your sleep, feeling a figure next to you. "Fun night out?" He asks. It's suddenly a lot less fun when you're kicking and punching at the blurry figure that's made its way into your bed. It takes forever for him to finally calm you down, recognise its him, finally opening your eyes properly to get a better look " oh it's you" is all he gets before you drop back to bed with him covered in scratches and mask half way off his face. He's too annoyed now to think you look cute sleeping, grumbling into your neck as he lays beside you

[chortlebot]

this took me a whole hour i

[eleganthologramcolor]

Check this out, a teaser to a bigger thing I'm working on...

What about a reader who's equally as mean as a situationship!Simon?

Toxic!Reader x Toxic!Simon

Reader gives the attitude they're given. Doesn't let themselves get hurt more than the other one. An eye for an eye, maybe more if you piss them off. Warnings: implied smut, implied female anatomy, mock baby trapping as an unserious breeding kink practice, toxic behavior, reader's inner monolog is going to be MEAN in the main series, unprotected sex + multiple partners, shaming of Simon's abilities.

You'd learned very early on that he planned to use you. You're warm, you're tight, you get the job done. No matter, you didn't expect things to go far with a military dude who insists on fucking the first night anyway. If he's having fun, you should get what you want out of it, too.

He's too rough, too mean, too degrading one night, ruining your orgasm at least 3 times before giving you a half hearted one at the end because, if he's being honest, he got bored, alright? The denial doesn't make you want more, doesnt make you crave his touch, no, not at all. You let him into your home, into your bed for a night and he cant even finish you off properly for the sake of his entertainment? The lingering heat in your gut boiling over into simmering bitterness. That's fine, you tell him, you've "got toys that'll get the job done faster and better than he does." The nonchalance in your tone when you say it makes him flinch. A punch right to the gut of his ego as he's getting dressed, looking over his shoulder at you with an unreadable expression. You don't bother to look at him, playing on your phone for a few minutes before you wave a hand, "Uh, shoo? I want you out of here."

The next time you're on top, you get payback. He'd let you take control so willingly, with that satisfied, shit eating grin when you'd asked so sweetly. God, all you had to do was bat your eyes and soften your voice, what a dumbass. You put on a show, tipping your head back to make softer, sweeter sounds, taking just what you need. And only what you need. He doesn't catch on, enraptured by your performance until suddenly you're clamping down, a little too early for him, so yes, it feels good, but it doesn't quite get him there. He grabs your hips, moving to plant his heels on the bed, when you put a hand on his chest and start getting up.

"I'm done."

"Wot?"

It comes out sharp, he's used to all his other little friends letting him get what he wants, all compliant and sweet and innocently hoping this makes them his favorite.

"I said I'm done. Get out. I got work in the morning."

You stand up so abruptly, leaving him with an aching hard on that twitches painfully as it falls against his stomach, wet and exposed to cold air. Pretty as the sight may be, he was useless with it. Girthy, long and curved, should be perfect for reaching all of the spots your fingers can't, but as you'd found, the Itty bitty vibe that fits in the palm of your hand can give you more than a temporary warmth that does so little to quell the anticipation and heat the rest of him seems to promise. You remember that, and tell him over text next time he tries to come over late.

> the door unlocked?

> no, simon. Its midnight. Already took care of myself.

> you've got someone over already?

> [attached is a photo of a powerful vibrator. It's a little too intense for your tastes, but for the sake of bullying him, you show him something he can't compete with.]

It brings a wicked smile to your lips when you hear his bike outside rev up again, imagining him huff in annoyance, stomping away from your front door when he had been expecting you to let him in. You used to wish you were his favorite, that you were his first choice, that he dreamt of you when he was away. But now you hoped you were the last resort, that all of his other little friends had already said no.

Oh, and his other toys....

You'd found out pretty much instantly. Wicked thing you are pretending not to notice the last bit of purple lipstick under his ear, the pink glittery ring that stains the base of his cock, there before you, the red smudging the neck of his shirt. How many different girls, you wonder, or boys, when you see the particularly mean bruise of a bite left on his inner thigh, dumbass thinks leaving the lights off means you can't see shit. The room may be dim, but you aren't fucking blind. You don't let him know, though, you're privy to having your own fun, too.

Makes you seethe the next time he's playing possessive, in your ear as about how you're his, no one else can make you feel as good, no one else can get this deep, can they, 'lovie?' Makes a big show of pulling the condom off, the sick bastard, emptying into you and grunting about this and that, you having his baby and being stuck with him. Being stuck with his ugly attitude? You think the fuck not.

You're on the pill, but you'll make a big show, too, when he leaves, you call up that pretty guy he'd been talking to. One of his coworkers, you're sure. He's a tad bit sweeter. More feral, more hungry to see you writhing beneath him, the sight being enough to get him off. The next morning you post to your Instagram story, a picture of your hand holding his with the breakfast he got you. A warm bag of takeout and an after morning pill, your lipstick on the back of a new hand. Caption it with something silly and cheesy,

"My prince charming got me some breakfast 😌"

And when that blank account views your story, you know you've got him. Bastard thinks he's slick, you won't notice if he doesn't follow or like any of your posts, yea? Fuckin' dumbass. Walking right into your trap. You stifle a shit eating grin when you're back home and getting a barrage of texts from his number. You're tempted to not reply at all, when a meaner thought tempts you. Without reading his messages, you send one of your own,

> hey simon, kinda busy today. Don't come over later, there won't be room in the driveway.

[bitchycunt]

People be like "I really enjoy talking to you" then ghosts you the next day

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Alpha is done with Terzomega, but he's not much better. Featuring, well, obviously, sickeningly in love Terzomega and one interesting situationship between the second Emeritus brother & our dealy beloved asshole of a fire ghoul (affectionate).

Terzo and Omega are being painfully obvious and Alpha is so, so done. There is no way in hell they're going to fool anyone if they keep glancing at each other that way, looking away precipitately whenever they make eye contact. They are in a goddamn meeting for Lucifer's sake, something about next tour's budget that the two ghouls are only attending to make it look like the Clergy gives a single damn about creatures like them, and here are those two fools, "we just fucked" pratically written on their foreheads. Alpha leans toward Omega until he can hiss exasperatedly directly in his ear.

"Can you be any more obvious ? Stop staring, and stop touching your neck, Satanas."

It would be funny, to see a big ghoul like Omega dip his head down bashfullly the way he does just now, if it didn't bring such a sickeningly soft look in Terzo's eyes, one that even from the corners of his owns Alpha can see. It's sweet. Alpha can feel cavities forming in his mollar. There's not much else he can do though, so he straightens back in his seat, glaring at Terzo in hope of conveying the warning he's too far away to angrily whisper at him.

Except that Terzo doesn't even has the decency to be embarrassed about it ; no, he smirks and raises a smug eyebrow at his fire ghoul, who has to make a concious effort not to accidentally set his seat aflame.

This meeting better be over in less than five minute or someone will get hurt.

The second it is, and they're out of view, Alpha drags Omega and Terzo toward a relatively private hallway by the back of their neck, spitting mad, tail lashing behind him.

"Are you two out of your goddamn minds ?!"

Unfortunately, fueled by Terzo's evident delight at the situation, Omega has recovered from the initial embarrassement, his eyes now crinkled in a way that means he's smiling under his mask. Alpha is going to throttle him.

"Come now, Alpha, you're blowing things out of proportions," Terzo has the galls of chuckling, mischief brightening his features and isn't it Satan's best joke that being a dick is what makes this little asshole happy, because Alpha is equal part boiling with fury and glad to see that painted mouth losing a bit of its usual frown.

He's still pissed though.

"Blowing- you were making bedroom eyes at eachother from across the table ! Do you have any idea how incriminating it is, not to mention absolutely fucking disgusting ?"

Omega shrugs elegantly, the wide plane of his shoulders raising easily.

"You're the only one that finds happiness disgusting, Al"

There's a chuckle trapped in the quint's voice, which does not help Alpha's temper. He stares at those two idiots, Terzo nonchalently leaning back into Omega's chest, humming in approval as the quint's hands work on tense muscles at the back of his neck. They are effortlessly domestic like this, relaxed and so, so easy to figure out. Alpha chucks his mask off just so he can bury his face in his hands and very nearly scream.

"One, seeing you being all lovey-dovey makes me want to throw up, the less I know about you two, the better, and two, if I can see it, everyone else can. You could get into so much trouble, you know that ?"

Omega's deep chuckle does not help at all. How can they be so careless ? How can they swat the risks like flies, knowing damn well how ruthless consequences can be here ? But then Terzo's face settles into something more serious, as he reaches out to straighten Alpha's grucifix, fix his collar and redo the buttons that popped open with gentle care.

"It's alright, dear. We are aware of our situation, but stopping ourselves from living because of it is out of the question. With acceptance comes a lot of freedom."

If Alpha is stubborn, Terzo is much worse, contrarily to popular belief, there is no way the fire ghoul will make him change his mind. Even less so when Omega joins in, voice calm and steady.

"You have to trust our judgement, or at least respect it, firefly. We made a choice. We'll stick to it, come what may."

Mourning the fact that he doesn't even has Ifrit's sad puppy dog eyes as a last resort to try and please convince them to be more careful, Alpha let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Alright. But I swear to everything that's unholy, if I walk in on you two, or if i hear anything coming from one of your rooms, I'm burning your beds down."

Terzo's smile is back tenfold, radiating the same smug energy as earlier.

"Of course, dear. We'll try our best."

He's wearing that "I know something you don't know" face, Alpha realizes. He narrows his eyes at the Papa.

"What ?"

It's Omega who answers though, no doubt grinning from ear to ear.

"By the way, Secondo's walls aren't as thick as you seem to think, mutt."

The echo of the second Emeritus brother's voice curling around the word in that half condescending, half appreciative tone bounces in Alpha's mind, sending a embarrassed flush to color his cheeks. It's almost immediately overruled by anger, as he bares his teeth in a dangerous snarl.

"Breath a word of this to annyone, and i'll dissect you two alive, understood ?"

Terzo only laughs, going up on his tiptoes to press a kiss on Alpha's forehead, like he always does when he teased him enough and wants to appease the fire ghoul.

"Of course, dear, of course, though I'm sure i'd still look fantastic on the slab."

Omega nods at Alpha, crossing himself backward still with that fucking glint in his eyes, before ducking down to press the sealed mouth of his mask against the crown of Terzo's head.

"You would. I can't think of any situation you wouldn't be beautiful."

Now they're just taking the piss, aren't they. Alpha is frowning so bad his face is starting to ache. Terzo seems aware, if his shit-eating grin is anything to go by.

"You flatter me, my love."

With a fake gagging noise, Alpha shoves them away.

"I assure you you wouldn't look that great in a tomb, so you two better piss off before I start digging."

Of fucking course Terzo and Omega saunter away giggling, pinkies entertwined. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Alpha is about to turn back on his heels when his phone pings. He digs it out of his pocket, frowning at the cracked screen. The message is curt, abrupt, so typical of the impatient, technology adverse man it comes from.

My room in fifteen minutes.

Of course, Alpha doesn't have to. If he doesn't show up, Secondo wil just find something else to occupy himself, or maybe jack off on his own if he really is that horny. Despite the tone of the text, Alpha is aware it's more an invitation than an order. But, well. It's not like the fire ghoul has anything more interesting to do...despite the heavy sigh he let out at his own predictability, he slinks off toward Secondo's room with a slight waving of tail. He's careful to use as much secret passages as he can, because Satan forbid he runs into Omega and Terzo again and give them even more amunition.

As he reaches the door to Secondo's room, he feels far too much like a hypocrite, at least until he shakes his head to clear it.

Whatever. At least he has the decency not to make this a public shitshow.

And if Secondo's sharp gaze thrown Alpha's way above the rim of his reading glasses makes the fire ghoul's stomach swoop strangely pleasantly, well. It's a secret he'll take to his grave.

[ceilidho]

Situationship!Ghost hits you with the “no wonder your single nobody wants to deal with psychotic ass” and then turns his notifs off- cut to an hour or two later and he’s got you bent over your kitchen counter sobbing his name while he says some shit like “nobody will ever get you better than me, got it?” (I need him in the worst way)

he needs someone that can handle his crazy ass and give it back tenfold lmaooo. you change your locks and phone number, maybe even move apartments (or go stay at an airbnb or something) without telling him because you had an argument the week before that he wouldn't apologize for and the anger burns in your throat so bad that you decide to just cut him off altogether if he wants to be an asshole about it.

cut to days later when he finally tracks you down, pounding on your door to let him in ("bird, open up the fucking door now or i'm breaking it down"), his voice sounding more desperate and harsher than you've ever heard it before because he's been awake for like 72 hours trying to find you.