#ghost reader insert

[nokariwrites]

Lying About The Baby

synopsis; a 23-year-old writing major living off campus with her older sister avia and avia’s boyfriend, simon “ghost” riley, has spent months overhearing their sex through thin walls while feeling stuck as the last virgin in her friend group.

wc; 14k

a/n; i think.. this is one of my best work. idk.. its a love & hate relationship with this, because i just kept deleting it & redoing it because it wasn’t making sense & isn’t that interesting but i gave up.

warnings; explicit content, age gap (23/28), cheating/infidelity, virginity loss, virgin!reader, deception/lying, unintended pregnancy, unprotected sex, rough sex, power imbalance, degradation, humiliation, oral (female and male receiving), orgasm denial, forced overstimulation, spit play, face fucking, body ownership, crybaby!reader, squirter!reader, substance use, manipulation. ᴹᴰᴺᴵ! ᴹᴵᴺᴼᴿˢ ᴰᴼ ᴺᴼᵀ ᴵᴺᵀᴱᴿᴬᶜᵀ! ʸᴼᵁ ᴴᴬⱽᴱ ᴮᴱᴱᴺ ᵂᴬᴿᴺᴱᴰ!

the first thing you learn about thin apartment walls is that they do not care about your deadlines.

your laptop screen glows with a half-finished short story and a blinking cursor that feels like it is judging you personally. you are supposed to be writing about intimacy in a tasteful, literary way, something your professor called “earned tenderness,” and all you can think about is the way your sister sounds when she is not trying to be tasteful at all.

avia has always been loud. her laughter, her music, her phone calls that she takes on speaker with her friends like the rest of the world has agreed to be background noise. it should not surprise you that she is loud in bed too, but surprise and embarrassment do not always listen to logic. sometimes you just sit there, frozen in your desk chair, cheeks hot, listening to your sister say his name like it is a prayer and a dare.

simon riley does not say much in return. when he does, you only catch pieces of it through the wall, low and rough like gravel dragged slow. it is the kind of voice that makes your skin feel too small. it does not matter that you have never seen him do anything more scandalous than wash dishes with his sleeves pushed up and his forearms flexing. your body hears the sound and fills in the blanks anyway.

you delete a sentence and type it again. you stare at the word “touch” until it looks wrong.

your phone buzzes with a text from avia.

avia: i’m going out w the girls. don’t be boring. also put on something cute tonight. you never know.

you exhale through your nose, a small laugh that has no joy in it. cute, tonight, like your virginity is a loose bill in your pocket that you keep forgetting to spend.

you type back with one hand.

you: i’m literally doing homework.

avia: homework don’t hug you at night. be serious. you 23 and still acting scared. you need to let somebody do something to you already.

your fingers hover. you can feel your own irritation and your own fear braided together, tight as a knot.

you: i’m not scared. i just don’t want it to be random.

avia: you say that every time. and every time you let the moment pass. you gonna be 30 talking about “i’m waiting for the right one” like this a movie.

you drop your phone face down on the desk before you can start an argument you do not have time for. your stomach tightens anyway, the familiar ache of being watched by people who love you too loudly. the friend group jokes about it at brunch, about you being the last one. you laugh because you know how to laugh. inside, it feels like being the only person at a party who does not know the song.

from the living room, you hear the soft click of the front door and the heavy, measured tread of boots. simon. he comes home at strange hours, leaves at stranger ones, and when he is in the apartment he moves like he is trying not to announce himself. it is almost polite.

almost.

a moment later, avia’s voice rises from the hallway. “babe, i’m going out. don’t wait up.”

simon answers, low and calm. “i won’t.”

you hear her kiss him, noisy and affectionate. you hear her say something you cannot quite make out, then her laugh. it is easy, careless, like she has never had to second-guess a thing in her life.

then the door shuts again. her heels clack down the stairs and away. the apartment quiets into its usual hum. your laptop cursor keeps blinking.

you tell yourself you are relieved.

you are not.

after a few more minutes of pretending to work, you give up and wander out of your room, partly for water, partly because being alone with your thoughts is worse than being alone with him. you have lived with simon for months now, long enough that you know his habits. he keeps his keys in the same bowl. he folds his clothes with military edges. he does not waste motion. he does not waste words.

in the living room, he is exactly where you expected him to be, stretched on the couch like he owns the shape of it. the television throws cold light over his face, making him look carved. he wears a white ribbed tank that clings to his shoulders and chest, and grey sweatpants that sit low on his hips like they do not know they are being disrespectful.

a cigarette rests between his fingers, smoke curling up slow. his eyes stay on the screen, but you feel the shift when he registers you. like a sensor tripping.

you are in a cropped top and soft shorts, bare legs, hair up messy because you were supposed to be alone tonight. you stop in the kitchen doorway, suddenly aware of every inch of skin you are showing. you have worn less at the pool. none of it has ever felt like this.

“you’re up,” simon says without turning his head.

“yeah. i couldn’t focus.” you open the fridge, letting cold air spill over your face, and grab a water bottle. it crackles in your hand. you can feel his gaze now, finally landing.

“your focus is a choice,” he says.

you huff a little. “okay, professor.”

his mouth twitches, not quite a smile. “not a professor.”

you shut the fridge and lean back against the counter. “do you want anything to drink?”

he glances toward you then, eyes dragging once, quick and clinical like he is checking for bruises. his gaze catches on your shorts. it holds there a beat too long.

“beer,” he says.

you grab one from the fridge, not thinking, and toss it his way. it is an easy underhand throw.

he catches it one-handed without looking, like he has done it a thousand times. the movement makes his bicep tighten. the cigarette stays balanced between his fingers like he was born with it.

you hate that your body notices. you hate it and you do it anyway.

you take your water and, instead of going back to your room, you drift toward the couch. there is space at the end, but you sit closer than that. you sit next to him, shoulder almost brushing his. the air around him smells like smoke and clean soap and something sharper that makes your mouth feel dry.

simon’s eyes flick to you again. “what’s this?”

“i live here,” you say. it comes out softer than you intended.

he takes a drag, exhales toward the ceiling. “avia’s out.”

“i know.”

“so you’re keeping me company,” he says, like he is testing the words.

you shrug, but your heart is beating too loud in your ribs. “you always just… sit out here.”

“i’m watching telly.”

“it’s a military show.”

“yeah.”

you glance at the screen. men in uniforms run through a staged firefight, music swelling like it is trying to impress someone. simon’s face stays blank, unimpressed.

“you think it’s accurate?” you ask.

he finally turns his head toward you, slow. his eyes are pale in the tv light, sharp and tired. “no.”

you laugh under your breath. “why are you watching it then?”

he takes another drag. “background noise.”

you nod, sip your water, then hesitate. “do you… ever smoke anything else?”

his eyebrow lifts slightly.

you lift your chin, trying not to look like a kid asking for permission. “like. weed.”

he stares at you for a moment, and in that stare you can feel him weighing you. not judging, not mocking. measuring.

“sometimes,” he says.

your mouth goes dry again. “i don’t smoke much. but… i kind of want to right now.”

“why?” he asks.

you swallow. the honest answer is because you can still hear your sister in your head, because your body has been buzzing with questions you do not have anyone safe to ask, because the air between you and him feels tight. instead you give him the version that sounds normal.

“because i can’t focus,” you say again, like if you repeat it enough it becomes true.

simon’s gaze drops to your hands, to the way your fingers twist the water bottle label. “you’re wound up.”

you stiffen. “am i?”

“yeah,” he says simply. then, after a pause, he shifts forward and reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants. he pulls out a small tin, a lighter, and a neatly rolled joint like it has been waiting.

your breath catches. “you just have that.”

he looks at you like you asked why the sky is up. “yeah.”

you lick your lips. “can i?”

he holds it out between two fingers. you take it, careful not to touch him, even though you want to. the paper is warm from his pocket. you bring it to your lips and he leans in with the lighter, shielding the flame with his hand. the way his hand cages the fire is practiced, steady. the flame kisses the tip. you inhale.

you cough on the first pull, a humiliating little choke. simon’s mouth twitches again.

“easy,” he says, voice lower. “slow.”

you glare at him, eyes watering. “i am.”

he watches you take another pull, slower this time. the smoke fills your chest, thick and sweet. you hold it, exhale. you hand it back.

simon takes it, his fingers brushing yours for half a second. the contact is nothing. your body reacts like it is something.

he inhales like it is air, not smoke. when he exhales, it rolls out of his mouth in a steady stream, and you catch yourself watching his lips.

you look away fast, heat rising.

minutes pass in a quiet rhythm. joint, tv noise, smoke. you start to feel it behind your eyes, a softening of edges. your shoulders drop. your limbs feel warmer, heavier.

simon glances at you, noticing the change. “there you go.”

“what?” you mumble.

“relaxing,” he says.

you let your head fall back against the couch. “it hits me fast.”

“because you don’t do it,” he says.

“yeah.”

silence stretches. it feels different now. less sharp, more thick, like honey.

your thoughts drift to the thing you have been trying not to think about all week. the sounds through the wall. the way avia talks about it like it is a hobby. the way your friends look at you like you are a puzzle they want to solve.

you turn your head, looking at simon’s profile. his jaw is set, his attention half on the tv, half on you. his throat moves when he swallows. you watch it like you are studying a character for a story. except this character is real and sitting close enough that you can smell his skin.

“can i ask you something?” you say.

he looks at you fully now. “go on.”

your tongue feels thick. “how does it feel?”

his brow furrows. “what.”

“sex,” you say, the word landing in the room like a dropped glass.

simon’s eyes hold yours. the tv light flickers between you. he does not look surprised, exactly. he looks… thoughtful, like he saw this question coming from a mile away and still has to decide how to answer it.

“depends,” he says.

you let out a soft laugh, embarrassed. “that’s not helpful.”

“it’s the truth,” he replies. “feels different with different people. different moods. different… intentions.”

you swallow. “but like. physically. what does it feel like?”

his gaze drops again, down your body, slow enough that you feel it like a touch. it lands on your mouth.

“warm,” he says. “tight. messy. loud, sometimes.”

your thighs press together without you meaning to.

you stare at the tv like it can save you. “i wouldn’t be loud.”

simon huffs a quiet laugh, barely there. “everyone says that.”

you glance back at him, a little offended. “i’m serious.”

“so am i,” he says, and something in his tone makes your stomach flip. “you don’t know until you do.”

your mouth opens. you close it. you take the joint when he offers it, inhale, exhale, and the smoke makes you bolder.

“i want to,” you admit, voice small. “i just… i don’t know. i get scared.”

simon watches your face like he is reading a map. “scared of what.”

“of it hurting. of being bad at it. of… picking wrong.” you swallow hard. “of feeling stupid.”

his eyes soften, almost imperceptibly. “everyone feels stupid the first time.”

you blink. “did you?”

he pauses. “yeah.”

that should make you feel better. instead it makes you curious in a way that is dangerous. you shift closer without thinking, your thigh brushing his. you feel the heat of him through the fabric.

simon’s eyes flick down to the contact. then back up. “you’re getting friendly.”

“i’m high,” you say.

“mm,” he hums, unconvinced.

you stare at his mouth again. you have kissed boys before, pecks at parties, polite little things that felt like checking a box. none of them have ever felt like this, like the air itself is waiting.

your voice drops. “you kiss avia a lot.”

simon’s jaw tightens. “yeah.”

“she says you’re good at… everything,” you say, hating yourself for saying it and not stopping anyway.

his gaze sharpens. “avia talks too much.”

“i know,” you whisper. “i can hear.”

the words hang there. you realize what you just confessed. your face burns.

simon’s eyes narrow slightly, not angry. something else. “you’ve been listening.”

“i didn’t mean to,” you say quickly. “the walls are thin. she’s loud.”

“yeah,” he says, and his voice goes rougher. “i know she’s loud.”

the way he says it makes your stomach drop, like you stepped off a ledge and did not fall yet.

you try to laugh it off. it comes out shaky. “she’s not shy.”

“no,” simon agrees. he takes the joint from your fingers, stubs it in the ashtray, and then he sits back, turning his body more toward you. the movement is small but it shifts the whole room.

his eyes sweep over your face. “what do you want, then.”

you blink, slow. “what do you mean.”

“you’re asking about sex. asking about me.” his voice stays calm, but there is an edge now, like a blade still in its sheath. “avia’s out. you’re sitting close. you’re looking at my mouth like you want to bite it.”

your breath catches. “i’m not.”

he leans in a fraction. “you are.”

your lips part. you do not deny it again. you cannot.

simon studies you for another long moment, then says, almost casually, “want me to teach you how to kiss properly.”

your heart kicks hard. “what.”

he tilts his head. “kissing. you asked. you want to learn. i can show you. no harm in that.”

your mind stutters. “avia would…”

“avia’s not here,” he cuts in, quiet. “and you’re an adult.”

your hands go cold. your body goes hot. you stare at him like if you stare long enough you will see the line you should not cross.

simon’s gaze does not move. he is still, waiting. it makes the choice feel like it belongs to you.

you nod.

it is not a big motion. it is not dramatic. it is just your chin dipping once, like a door unlocking.

something shifts in simon’s face, subtle. approval, maybe. hunger, maybe. he reaches out and cups your jaw with his hand, rough palm warm against your skin. his thumb presses lightly under your chin, tipping your face up.

“look at me,” he murmurs.

your eyes flick to his and hold. your breath trembles.

“good,” he says, and then he leans in.

his mouth covers yours with a slow, deliberate pressure that makes your head go empty. it is not a peck. it is not polite. it is a kiss that claims time, that takes your breath like it belongs to him. his lips are warm, slightly dry from smoke. he keeps it steady, giving you a chance to adjust, to follow.

you make a small sound, surprised by how much you feel, and his hand tightens at your jaw like he heard it and liked it.

“easy,” he whispers against your mouth. “relax. open.”

you obey without thinking. your lips part and he slides his tongue in with a controlled, patient stroke that makes your toes curl. you taste smoke and beer and him. he kisses you like he is teaching, like every shift of his mouth is a correction.

you try to mimic him, unsure, and he makes a low sound in his throat that feels like approval.

“there,” he murmurs. “that’s it. follow me.”

your hands hover, not knowing what to do. simon takes one of them and places it on his shoulder, guiding you. his shoulder is solid under your palm, muscle moving when he breathes.

you inhale shakily. “i’m not good at this.”

“you’re fine,” he says, voice soft. “stop thinking.”

he kisses you again, deeper, slower. his tongue sweeps, then retreats, then presses back in. he nips your lower lip gently, then sucks it, and the sensation shoots heat straight down your spine.

you whimper, quiet, involuntary.

simon’s eyes open, watching you as he does it again. “that sound,” he says, rougher. “you can make it louder.”

your face burns. your body does not care.

his hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair tie. he tugs, not hard, just enough to tilt your head back and give him access. he breaks the kiss and drags his mouth down your cheek, along your jaw, to the side of your neck.

the first press of his lips there makes you shiver.

“simon,” you whisper without meaning to.

he hums against your skin. “yeah.”

his mouth opens, tongue warm on your throat. he sucks lightly, then harder, and you gasp. the sound fills the room, louder than you expected. your thighs clamp together.

“told you,” he murmurs.

you grip his shoulder tighter, nails pressing through his shirt. your breath comes in quick, thin pulls. the high makes everything feel magnified. his mouth on your neck feels like a spotlight.

he lifts his head and looks at you, eyes sharp. “still just kissing, yeah?”

you nod fast, desperate.

his thumb brushes your lower lip, smearing it. “you’re shaking.”

“i’m fine,” you lie.

“no,” he says quietly. “you’re scared and you’re turned on. that’s different.”

your eyes sting with something you hate. embarrassment, maybe. frustration. you blink hard and shake your head like you can shake it off.

simon watches you, then shifts forward, crowding you into the couch. the movement is smooth and controlled, but it makes you feel small. his knee slides between yours, forcing your legs apart, and you inhale sharply.

his gaze drops to the space he created, then back up. “you’re wearing these shorts like you want attention.”

your throat tightens. “i was just… comfortable.”

“mm,” he murmurs. “comfortable.”

his hand slides down your side, fingers tracing the bare skin where your crop top ends. you flinch at the touch, not from fear, from sensitivity. his hand is rough, calloused. it makes your skin feel soft in comparison.

he watches your reaction closely. “you want me to stop.”

it is not a question. it is a statement, like he is offering you the exit without making you feel weak for taking it.

you shake your head, quick. “no.”

“say it,” he murmurs.

you swallow. “don’t stop.”

something dark and satisfied flickers in his eyes. “good girl.”

the words land heavy. your body melts around them.

he kisses you again, harder now. his tongue pushes in, stealing your breath. he angles his mouth, deepening it, and you find yourself keeping up, your lips parting obediently, your tongue meeting his. he makes a low sound, pleased, and you feel it in your core like a tremor.

his hand slides up your ribs, then cups your breast over your top, squeezing. you gasp into his mouth and he swallows the sound like it belongs to him. his thumb rolls over your nipple through the fabric and your hips jerk.

“sensitive,” he murmurs.

you are. you hate how obvious you are.

simon’s mouth moves to your neck again, teeth scraping lightly. his hand slips under your crop top, palm flattening against your stomach, then gliding upward. his fingers hook under the hem and lift, exposing your skin to the cold air.

your breath stutters. “simon.”

“yeah,” he says again, and his voice sounds like he is holding himself back. “you want to learn. i’m teaching.”

he pushes your top up higher, then pauses, eyes on you. not asking out loud, but watching for your body to pull away.

you do not. you lift your arms a little, letting him. your cheeks are on fire.

simon drags the shirt over your head and tosses it aside like it is nothing. your breasts rise with your breath, bare in the tv light. you feel exposed, suddenly aware of everything, and your eyes sting again with that unwanted emotion.

“look at you,” he murmurs, and his tone is a mix of admiration and something more possessive. his eyes sweep down your body like he is memorizing it. “pretty.”

the compliment makes your stomach twist. you should not want it. you do.

his hand cups your breast properly now, thumb flicking your nipple. you whine, quiet, and his mouth curves in a faint, dangerous smile.

“there it is,” he says. “that’s the sound avia makes too.”

your eyes widen. humiliation and heat crash together. “don’t.”

“don’t what,” he murmurs, leaning in until his mouth brushes your ear. “don’t remind you. or don’t make you feel it.”

your whole body trembles. “don’t compare me.”

he pauses. then his voice drops softer. “alright. no comparing.”

his lips press to your jaw, gentler. “this is you.”

the sweetness makes your throat tight. you nod, almost dizzy.

his hand slides down your stomach, over the waistband of your shorts. he presses his palm there, right above where you are aching, and you gasp like he touched your raw nerve.

“this is what you wanted to know,” he murmurs. “how it feels. you want me to show you.”

you nod, helpless.

simon’s fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts. “lift.”

you lift your hips automatically, and he drags the shorts down your thighs in one smooth motion. you kick them off, clumsy. your underwear is small, flimsy, and suddenly you feel ridiculous in it. you cross your arms over your chest instinctively.

simon catches your wrist and pulls your arms down. “don’t hide.”

your breath catches. you stare at him.

his eyes are steady. “i’m the one looking. not them.”

your stomach flips at the possessive edge. you drop your arms.

simon’s gaze dips to your panties, the damp patch already forming. his jaw tightens.

“you’re soaked and you’re telling me you’re scared,” he murmurs, like he finds it fascinating.

“i am,” you whisper.

“yeah,” he says. “but you’re here.”

his hand slides between your thighs, palm pressing over your underwear. the pressure is firm. you jerk, a sharp inhale turning into a shaky moan.

simon’s eyes darken. “louder.”

you bite your lip.

his hand presses harder. “louder.”

a sound escapes you, higher, broken. your face burns. your body does not care.

“good,” he murmurs, and then he shifts down, sliding off the couch to kneel between your legs.

the sight of him down there makes your head spin. simon is big. even kneeling, he fills the space. his shoulders are wide, his arms thick, and the way he looks up at you from that angle makes you feel exposed in a way that turns your stomach to liquid.

he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and pulls it down, slow. the fabric drags over your slickness and you flinch.

“sensitive,” he repeats, almost amused.

your panties fall to the floor. you are bare. you try to close your legs out of reflex, and simon’s hands clamp on your thighs, spreading them wider with ease.

“no,” he says, calm and firm. “stay open.”

your breath shakes. you nod, and your legs stay where he put them because your body is already learning that his hands decide.

simon leans in and exhales over you, warm breath fanning your slickness. you jolt. your hands fly to the couch cushion, gripping. the sensation is too much, too intimate.

he watches your face, then lowers his mouth and presses a slow kiss to your inner thigh. another. then he bites gently, teeth sinking just enough to make you gasp.

“that’s not where you want it,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your skin.

you swallow hard. “please.”

his eyes flick up, sharp. “please what.”

your throat tightens, humiliation building. “please… here.”

he makes a low sound, satisfied. “good.”

then he spits.

it is not a casual thing. it is deliberate. warm spit landing on your cunt, sliding down over your slickness, mixing. the shock of it makes your whole body jerk, and the sound you make is half gasp, half whine.

simon’s mouth curves. “dirty little thing,” he murmurs, and the words should make you recoil, but they make your core clench hard. “you like that.”

you cannot answer. you can only breathe, quick and shaky.

he lowers his mouth and licks, slow, broad. his tongue drags through the wetness, tasting everything, and you cry out, louder than you meant to. your hips jerk up.

simon’s hands clamp harder on your thighs, holding you down. “stay.”

you whimper. “it’s… a lot.”

“yeah,” he says, voice low, and then he pushes his tongue deeper, pressing into you, and you practically sob at the sensation. your hands fumble, gripping his shoulders. he feels solid, unmovable.

he eats you like he is unhurried, like he has all night, tongue working steady patterns that make your body lose track of itself. he sucks your clit into his mouth and your back arches hard, a strangled moan spilling out.

simon hums, pleased, the vibration making you jolt. “that’s it. let it out.”

your thighs tremble. the pleasure builds fast, too fast. you panic, a tightness in your chest. “i’m gonna…”

his mouth lifts slightly. “gonna what.”

you shake your head, eyes squeezing shut. “i don’t know.”

“yes you do,” he murmurs, and then he pulls back, just as your body starts to tip over the edge.

the sudden loss is cruel. you gasp, hips chasing his mouth.

simon’s hands hold you down. “not yet.”

you stare at him, wide-eyed, breath ragged. “why.”

“because i said so,” he replies, calm. “and because you’re too quick. you need to learn to hold it.”

your stomach twists, frustration and need tangling. “please.”

“mm,” he hums, and his eyes rake over your face, taking in the watery eyes, the parted lips, the way you look wrecked already. “you’re a crybaby.”

you flush. “i’m not.”

he leans in, kisses your clit once, sharp, and you yelp. “you are.”

your legs try to close again. he spreads them wider. “stop running.”

“i’m not running,” you whimper.

“you’re trying,” he says, and there is a dark amusement in his tone. “stay put.”

he resumes, slower now, more controlled. his tongue circles your clit, then drags down, then back up, teasing. he keeps you right at the edge, then pulls away again, letting you fall.

each time he denies you, your body gets more desperate. you start to babble, incoherent little sounds. your hands clutch his shoulders, then the couch, then your own thighs like you do not know where to put them.

simon watches it all, patient and relentless.

“look at you,” he murmurs. “already drooling. eyes gone soft. and i haven’t even started.”

your mouth falls open. you do not remember opening it. your tongue feels thick. you swallow and it does nothing.

he slides one thick finger into you, slow. you gasp, eyes rolling back for a second.

“tight,” he says, and his voice goes rough. “yeah. i can feel it.”

your body clamps around his finger like it is trying to hold it. he pumps once, twice, then adds a second finger, stretching you. you cry out, tears pricking your eyes.

“hurts?” he asks, gaze sharp.

“no,” you lie, then immediately whimper when he curls his fingers and hits something inside you that makes your whole body jerk.

simon’s mouth curves. “that’s the spot.”

you make a sound that does not feel like language. your hips lift. he holds you down.

he spits again, this time into your mouth.

it is sudden. warm spit landing on your tongue. you freeze, shocked, then swallow instinctively.

simon watches your throat move. “good,” he murmurs. “take it.”

your face burns. your body clenches around his fingers.

he leans in, kissing you, mouth tasting like you. his tongue pushes in and your mind goes foggy. you kiss him back, needy, messy. you do not know how to be graceful. he does not seem to care. he likes the mess.

he pulls back and stands, towering over you. he looks down, eyes dark, and then he grabs your hips and yanks you toward the edge of the couch like you weigh nothing.

you squeak, startled. “simon.”

“hands,” he says.

you blink. “what.”

“hands on the backrest,” he repeats, tone leaving no room. “ass up.”

the command makes heat rush through you, sharp. you obey on instinct, clumsy from the high and the pleasure. you lean forward, palms pressing into the couch back, knees on the cushion, ass raised.

you feel exposed, open, vulnerable.

you also feel eager in a way that scares you.

behind you, simon’s sweatpants rustle. you hear the zipper. you hear him pull his cock free, heavy and thick, and your stomach drops.

you glance back despite yourself.

he is big. not just big, but thick in a way that makes your mind stutter. the head is flushed, veins running along the length. his hand wraps around it and it still looks like too much.

you swallow hard. fear spikes. “that’s… that’s big.”

simon’s gaze pins you. “yeah.”

your breath trembles. “i can’t…”

he steps closer, one hand sliding up your back, fingers curling in your hair, tugging your head back just enough to make you look at him over your shoulder. his voice drops, calm and brutal. “you can.”

your eyes sting. you nod even though you are terrified.

he releases your hair and spits into his hand, stroking himself slow, coating his cock. then he drags his hand between your thighs, spreading slickness over you, pressing his thumb to your clit once, making you jolt.

“you’re ready,” he says, like it is a fact.

he positions the head at your entrance and presses, slow. the stretch is immediate, sharp enough that you gasp and your hands grip the couch harder.

simon pauses. his hand moves to your hip, holding you still. “breathe.”

you try. the inhale shakes.

he pushes again, inch by inch. the burn is real. tears spill without you meaning to. you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, and his voice goes unexpectedly soft, almost tender. “you’re doing good. keep breathing for me.”

the sweetness makes you cry harder, which is humiliating, and which also makes your body loosen a fraction.

simon takes that opening and slides in deeper.

you sob, a broken sound, and your body trembles around him. he is stretching you in a way you have never felt, a fullness that makes you feel like you are being filled up, claimed.

“fuck,” he breathes, voice cracking for the first time. “so tight.”

you are halfway impaled and your mind feels like static. your thoughts scatter, replaced by sensation. his hands grip your hips, thumbs digging in.

he holds still, letting you adjust. the pressure eases slightly, becoming an ache that is almost… good. you gasp, blinking through tears, and you feel your body start to accept him.

simon leans down, mouth near your ear. “you alright.”

you nod, frantic. “yeah. yeah.”

“good,” he murmurs. “don’t run.”

you do not understand what he means until he pulls out slightly and your body instinctively tries to retreat from the stretch.

he holds you in place. “there. that’s you trying.”

you whimper. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologise,” he says, and his tone goes darker again. “take it.”

then he thrusts in, deeper, and you cry out loud enough that it bounces off the thin walls. your cheeks burn with the thought of neighbors.

simon does not slow. he starts to move, slow at first, each thrust deliberate, stretching you open a little more. the burn fades into pleasure, a deep, heavy pleasure that makes your legs shake.

your moans slip out, messy, high, then broken into little gasps. you hear yourself and it feels unreal, like someone else is making those sounds.

simon’s hand slides up your back and grabs the base of your neck, forcing your head down, pressing you into the couch. “stay.”

the word hits like a collar. you obey, forehead near the cushion, ass still raised, taking him.

his pace increases. the couch creaks. his balls slap against you. the sounds are obscene in the quiet apartment.

“that it,” simon growls. “you wanted to know what it feels like. this what it feels like.”

your mouth opens and a string of drool slips out onto the cushion. you do not even register it until you taste salt. your eyes roll back. your arms tremble.

simon’s grip tightens. “look at you.”

he pulls your hair, yanking your head back, making you arch. his thrusts get harder, deeper, and the new angle makes your vision blur.

“simon,” you sob. “it’s… it’s a lot.”

“yeah,” he says, almost gently. “and you’re taking it.”

he slaps your ass, sharp. you yelp.

“mine,” he murmurs, voice low and brutal. “right now. you understand.”

you do not know what to say. you can only nod, whimpering.

he thrusts harder, the pace turning rough. your body rocks with each impact. the pleasure starts to build again, fast and unstoppable, and panic flares because it is too much, too soon.

“i’m gonna…” you gasp.

simon pulls out abruptly.

you cry out, a broken, desperate sound, hips chasing him. “no, don’t.”

he grabs your hips and holds you still, cock resting at your entrance, wet and glistening. “not yet.”

you turn your head, tears on your cheeks, glaring weakly. “why are you doing that.”

“because you need to learn,” he says, calm, as if he is explaining a drill. “and because i like watching you fall apart.”

your body trembles with frustration. you whine, pathetic. “please.”

simon’s eyes narrow slightly. “use your words.”

your mind is fog. your tongue feels heavy. “please let me… come.”

his mouth twitches. “that’s better.”

then he pushes back in and fucks you hard enough that you scream, the orgasm slamming into you like a wave you cannot outrun.

your body clenches around him, pulsing. your legs shake. your hands slip on the couch. your moan turns into a sob.

simon rides it, thrusting through your climax with controlled brutality, making it last longer than you can handle.

“good girl,” he growls. “that’s it. squeeze me.”

your eyes roll back. your mouth hangs open. you feel stupid, blissfully stupid, thoughts dissolving into wet heat.

and then it happens. the pressure inside you snaps and you gush, liquid spilling, soaking the couch, dripping down your thighs. the sensation is shocking, intense, and you cry out again, louder, voice breaking.

simon stills for a split second, then lets out a low, rough laugh. “there it is.”

humiliation burns through you. “oh my god.”

“don’t,” he says, tone sharp. “don’t get shy now.”

his hand slides down between your legs, fingers spreading the mess, making you feel it. you sob, overstimulated, and he keeps going.

“you’re a squirter,” he murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction. “look at the mess you made.”

you shake, whimpering, trying to squirm away. your body wants escape.

simon grips your hips and yanks you back. “nah. you’re not running.”

“i can’t,” you cry, voice high and wrecked. “it’s too much.”

“yes you can,” he says, and his voice goes soft in a way that makes you feel safe even while he is being merciless. “breathe. take it.”

he pulls out and flips you with startling ease. one moment you are bent over the couch, the next you are on your back, legs hauled up, knees near your chest. the movement makes you dizzy.

simon stands over you, chest rising, cock wet and shining. he looks down at you like you are something he owns for the night.

your eyes are glassy. your lips are swollen. you can feel drool at the corner of your mouth. you wipe it instinctively, ashamed.

simon catches your wrist. “leave it.”

your throat tightens. you stare at him.

he leans down and spits into your open mouth again, slower this time, like he is rewarding you. you swallow, eyes fluttering. your body clenches.

“good,” he murmurs, and then he presses two fingers to your lips, pushing them in. “suck.”

you do, obedient, cheeks hollowing. your eyes roll back at the taste of yourself on his fingers.

simon watches, jaw tight. “pretty mouth.”

then he pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his cock, tapping the head against your lips.

your eyes widen. fear flickers. you have never done this. you do not know how.

simon’s hand slides into your hair, gripping. not gentle. controlling. “open.”

you open.

he pushes in, thick head filling your mouth, and you gag on instinct. tears spring to your eyes again. simon holds still, letting you adjust, then pulls back and pushes forward again, slow at first.

“breathe through your nose,” he murmurs. “that’s it.”

your hands fly to his thighs, gripping. he is solid, unyielding. the cock in your mouth makes your jaw ache, makes you feel small.

simon’s eyes hold yours. “look at me. don’t close your eyes.”

you obey, blinking through tears. the eye contact is humiliating, intimate. your throat works around him. your saliva slicks his cock, drooling down your chin.

“good,” he says, voice rough. “you’re learning fast.”

then he starts to thrust.

it is controlled, but it is rough. he uses your mouth, sliding in deeper, pulling out, then pushing back in until the head bumps the back of your throat. you gag, choke, tears spilling. your hands claw at his thighs.

simon’s grip on your hair tightens. “that’s it. take it. stop fighting.”

you are not fighting. your body just reacts. you try to relax, try to open your throat, and the moment you do, he pushes deeper, making you choke again.

your moans come out muffled, vibrating around him. it is obscene. it makes your cunt clench hard even though you are already sore.

simon’s voice drops, sweet and cruel at once. “you wanted to know what avia’s been screaming about.”

your eyes widen, a fresh wave of humiliation. your body clenches harder.

“yeah,” he murmurs. “you like being used. don’t you.”

you make a sound that might be “yes” but it is mostly a sob. your head feels light, floating.

simon slows suddenly and pulls out, leaving your mouth empty. you gasp, drool dripping down your chin. he wipes it with his thumb and smears it across your lips like he is marking you.

“pretty,” he says again, softer.

then he moves, hauling you up by your arms and turning you so you are on your knees again, facing the couch. he pushes you down, chest to cushion, ass up.

your body jolts with anticipation and fear. you whimper.

simon spits onto your cunt again, then spreads it with his fingers, slicking you up with your own wetness and his. the touch makes you shudder.

“you’re still leaking,” he murmurs, like he is pleased. “good.”

he positions himself and thrusts back into you in one hard push.

you scream, loud, voice cracking. the fullness is overwhelming again, but now your body is looser, more accepting. the pain is sharp then fades into a deep, brutal pleasure.

simon’s hands clamp on your hips and he starts to pound. no slow build now. he sets a rhythm that shakes you, makes the couch slam against the wall with each thrust.

your moans turn into sobs. your face presses into the cushion. drool smears. your eyes roll back. your arms go weak.

“there it is,” simon growls. “limp for me. let me do the work.”

you barely have the strength to nod. your body becomes sensation, nothing else. each thrust hits deep, bruising in the best way, dragging pleasure out of you even as you whine that you cannot take more.

“you can,” he grits out. “you’re taking it right now.”

his hand slides up your back and grabs your throat from behind, not choking, just holding, grounding you. the possession of it makes your mind go blank.

“mine,” he repeats, voice low.

your pussy clenches around him at the words, and he lets out a harsh breath.

he pulls out again.

you sob, a broken sound, hips chasing. your body feels empty and desperate.

simon smacks your ass hard. “still needy.”

“please,” you cry.

“shut up,” he murmurs, and it is not cruel, it is commanding. “listen.”

you go still, trembling.

“i’m going to make you come again,” he says quietly, close to your ear. “but you’re not going to run from it. you’re going to stay open and take what i give you. yeah.”

your brain is mush. you nod.

simon’s hand slides between your thighs again, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles while his cock presses at your entrance, teasing.

you whine, shaking. “simon…”

“yeah,” he murmurs. “say my name. sounds good on you.”

your voice breaks. “simon.”

he pushes in, hard, and starts to fuck you again while his fingers keep rubbing. the double stimulation is violent. your body convulses, pleasure spiking too fast.

you try to squirm away. he yanks you back by the hips, forcing you to take it.

“nah,” he growls. “stay.”

your orgasm hits like lightning. you cry out, sobbing, and you gush again, soaking his cock, the couch, your thighs. the wet sound is loud, obscene.

simon does not stop. he keeps pounding, thrusts snapping your body forward, making you take it through the peak until the pleasure turns into overstimulation.

“too much,” you sob. “too much.”

“yeah,” he says, voice rough but strangely gentle. “and you’re still here.”

your legs shake so hard you think they might give out. your arms collapse. you end up face-down, limp, body trembling. your mouth opens, drool sliding out again. you cannot stop it.

simon slows, then pulls out and grabs your hair, lifting your head enough to make you look at the mess under you. cum and slickness and your own release, shining in the tv light.

“look,” he commands.

your eyes flutter. you force them open. shame burns.

simon’s hand slides down, scooping some of the wetness and smearing it over your cunt, over your thighs. “you see that.”

you nod weakly.

“that’s you,” he murmurs. “you did that.”

your lips tremble. you whisper, barely audible, “i’m sorry.”

his grip tightens in your hair. “don’t apologise for being a good girl.”

the words hit like warmth. you sob, soft.

simon pulls you up again, turning you so you are slumped against the couch, half-sitting. your legs are spread, trembling, and he kneels between them. he looks up at you, eyes sharp, and you feel like prey and worship at the same time.

he presses his mouth to your cunt again and licks, slow, cleaning you, tasting you, making you whine. the overstimulation makes it almost painful. you try to close your legs and he holds them open with one hand like it is nothing.

“stay open,” he murmurs against you. “take it.”

you shake, eyes rolling. your hands fumble for his shoulders, clutching like you are drowning.

simon lifts his head and kisses your inner thigh, softer. “breathe,” he repeats. “you’re alright.”

you nod, tears streaking down your cheeks. you feel wrecked, raw.

he stands and pulls you up, guiding you toward the hallway. your legs wobble. you cling to his arm instinctively, and he steadies you without comment.

he leads you to his and avia’s bedroom.

the room smells like them. clean sheets, faint perfume, cologne. your stomach twists at the reality of where you are.

simon shuts the door behind you and turns. he looks at you like he is deciding something. then he reaches out and cups your cheek, thumb wiping a tear.

“you still with me,” he murmurs.

you nod, breath trembling. “yeah.”

“good,” he says.

then he pushes you onto the bed, not gentle, but careful in the way he controls you. you bounce on the mattress, hair messy, eyes glassy.

simon strips his tank off in one motion, tossing it aside. his torso is broad, muscled, scars faintly visible in the soft light. he looks like a man built for violence who learned how to be quiet about it.

he crawls onto the bed and presses his weight over you, heavy and warm. you gasp at the press of him, at the feel of his cock against your thigh.

he kisses you again, deep, messy, swallowing your breath. his hand slides under your head and lifts it, angling you. he controls everything, the pace, the pressure, the air you get.

you moan into his mouth, soft and broken. it sounds wrong and right at once.

simon pulls back, breath rough. “you’re going to take it again.”

your eyes widen. your body clenches.

he taps your cheek lightly, not unkind. “don’t look scared. you’ve done it now.”

your lips tremble. “i’m sore.”

“i know,” he murmurs, and the softness in his voice makes your chest ache. “i’ll make it good.”

his hand slides down between your legs, fingers spreading you, feeling how wet you still are. he hums low.

“still ready,” he says.

you whine. “you keep saying that.”

“because it’s true,” he replies, and then he pushes into you again, slow this time, letting you feel every inch, letting your body open.

you gasp, tears pricking again. simon kisses your forehead, surprisingly gentle.

“breathe,” he murmurs. “that’s it. i’ve got you.”

your body relaxes around him in small increments. the pain fades into a deep ache, then into pleasure as he fills you completely.

simon stills, watching your face. “you want me rough again.”

the question hangs. your body answers before your mind can. your hips lift, seeking him. your hands claw at his back.

simon’s eyes darken. “yeah. thought so.”

he pulls your legs up higher, folding you. the angle is obscene, makes you feel exposed. then he starts to thrust, slow and deep at first, then harder.

the bed creaks. your moans rise, unfiltered. you do not have the pride to be quiet anymore. you only have sensation.

simon leans down, mouth at your ear. “you’re going to come when i tell you.”

your eyes flutter. “i…”

“yeah,” he murmurs. “you will.”

he fucks you harder, the rhythm turning rough again, his hips snapping. each thrust hits deep, dragging pleasure out of you in sharp waves. your body starts to chase it, desperate, and your mind goes blank, replaced by heat and pressure.

“please,” you sob.

simon’s hand slides to your throat again, holding. “not yet.”

you whine, shaking. your eyes roll. drool gathers again at your lower lip.

“look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick. “pretty and dumb on my cock.”

humiliation and heat collide. your cunt clenches hard. simon groans low.

“yeah,” he says. “you like that.”

you cannot answer. you can only moan, breathless.

he reaches down and rubs your clit again, rougher now, and the sensation tips you toward the edge.

your whole body tenses, desperate for release. “simon, please, i’m…”

he stops moving.

the sudden stillness is torture. you gasp, eyes wide, hips jerking, trying to force friction.

simon holds you down by your hips, voice calm and brutal. “stay still.”

you whimper, tears spilling. “i can’t.”

“you can,” he says, and his tone turns sweet, almost gentle. “hold it. good girl. hold it for me.”

your body trembles, hovering at the edge, denied. it feels like being held underwater with your lungs full.

simon watches your face, fascinated. “that’s it,” he murmurs. “i can see it. you’re right there.”

you sob, helpless. “please.”

“say it properly,” he says, voice low.

your mind is mush. you force the words out. “please let me come.”

simon’s mouth curves. “there you go.”

then he starts moving again, hard, fast, and the orgasm crashes into you so violently you choke on your own moan.

your body convulses. your back arches. your legs shake. you gush again, soaking him, the sheets, everything. the mess spreads, warm and obscene.

simon keeps fucking you through it, thrusts relentless, making you ride the wave until it turns into overstimulation again.

you cry, voice breaking. “i can’t, i can’t.”

“yes you can,” he growls, and his control slips, more raw. “take it. take all of it.”

his breath goes harsh. his thrusts turn erratic, deeper. you feel his cock twitch inside you.

simon pulls out at the last second and jerks himself, stroking fast. he kneels between your spread legs and comes over your cunt and thighs, thick spills landing hot, mixing with your wetness. some drips down toward your ass. it is messy, shameless.

you stare, dazed, watching it run. your mind feels far away.

simon watches you watch it, eyes dark. “look at that.”

you swallow, throat bobbing.

he scoops some with his fingers and smears it over your clit, making you jolt and whine. “that’s mine,” he murmurs.

your body clenches, oversensitive. you try to squirm away and he catches your hips, holding you still.

you whimper, exhausted. “i’m tired.”

something soft flickers in his face. he releases you and shifts up, hovering over you again. his hand brushes your cheek, thumb wiping away another tear.

“yeah,” he murmurs, calmer now. “i know.”

he gets up and disappears into the bathroom. you lie there, chest heaving, legs trembling, staring at the ceiling like it might explain what just happened. your body feels used and cared for at the same time, and it makes your brain ache.

when simon returns, he has a warm washcloth and a bottle of water. he sits on the edge of the bed and gently wipes your thighs, your cunt, cleaning the mess with a methodical care that feels almost intimate in a different way.

you flinch once from sensitivity and he pauses immediately, eyes on your face. “too much?”

you nod, weak.

he softens the pressure, wiping slower. “alright.”

you take the water when he offers it, hands shaking. you sip, throat dry.

simon watches you, then says quietly, “you did well.”

the praise hits harder than the degradation. your eyes sting again. you look away, embarrassed.

simon catches your chin, turning your face back. “don’t look away.”

you meet his eyes, glassy.

his voice drops. “you still scared.”

you swallow. “i don’t know what i am.”

he studies you for a long moment. then he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, brief and grounding.

“you’re alive,” he says simply. “and you learned.”

you let out a shaky laugh that turns into a small sob. “that’s not…”

he huffs a quiet laugh. “yeah. i know.”

you lie there while he finishes cleaning you. then he pulls a blanket over you, tucking it around your shoulders with an unexpected gentleness that makes your chest feel tight.

you blink up at him. “why are you being nice.”

simon’s jaw tightens slightly. “because i’m not a monster.”

you swallow. “avia…”

his gaze sharpens. “don’t.”

the word is quiet but final. it makes you go still.

he looks down at you, eyes tired. “she’s my bird. you’re her sister.”

your stomach drops. shame spikes.

simon’s hand cups your cheek again, thumb brushing. “and you’re an adult who wanted something. i gave it to you.”

you stare at him, heart pounding. “so what now.”

simon’s eyes flick toward the door, like he can hear time moving. “now you breathe. you drink your water. you don’t make noise. and you don’t say a word about this.”

the possessive edge returns, controlled. it steadies you.

you nod.

simon’s phone buzzes on the nightstand. he glances at it, then at you.

“she’s on her way back,” he murmurs.

your heart lurches. panic rises, sharp. you sit up too fast and wince, sore.

simon’s hand presses gently to your shoulder. “easy.”

“i can’t be in here,” you whisper, voice shaking. “she’ll know.”

“she won’t,” he says, calm. “listen to me.”

his tone makes you obey before you realize you are obeying.

he helps you up, steadying you when your legs wobble. he hands you your shorts and top. you pull them on with clumsy fingers, cheeks burning.

simon wipes the sheets quickly, practical, then tosses a blanket over the wet spot like it belongs there. he opens a window slightly, air shifting.

he grabs your chin again, tilting your face up. “look at me.”

you meet his eyes, panicked.

his voice drops, low and steady. “you’re going to your room. you’re going to shower. you’re going to act normal. you can do that.”

you swallow. “yeah.”

“good,” he murmurs. “and if you can’t, you come to me and i’ll fix it.”

the words make your stomach flip in a way that is not purely fear.

you nod again, then slip out of the bedroom and down the hall on shaky legs. your body aches. your thighs feel sticky. you feel like everyone can see what happened just by looking at you.

in your bathroom, you turn the shower on hot and step under it, water pounding your skin. you wash slowly, careful, wincing when you touch yourself. you stare at your own face in the fogged mirror afterward. your eyes look different. softer. wrecked.

you dress in an oversized t-shirt and crawl into bed, heart still racing. you try to steady your breathing like simon told you. you stare at the ceiling, listening.

you hear the front door open.

avia’s voice floods the apartment, loud and bright. “i’m home!”

your stomach knots. you hold your breath, listening like your life depends on it.

you hear simon’s voice, calm from the living room. “alright.”

avia laughs. “why you sound like that. you miss me or what.”

“yeah,” he says, and it is so normal it makes you dizzy.

you hear her toss her purse down. you hear her heels kick off. you hear her chatter, words blurring.

you press your hand to your mouth, swallowing a shaky sound.

and then, in the middle of her talking, there is a brief pause, like the apartment takes a breath.

you feel it before you hear it. footsteps. slow, measured. approaching your door.

your heart slams.

there is a soft knock. not loud. not demanding.

you freeze, eyes wide.

the door cracks open just enough to show a sliver of simon in the hallway light. his hair is slightly messier. his face is calm, unreadable. his eyes find yours immediately.

he does not speak. he just looks at you.

it is not the look he gave you when he was teaching you to kiss. it is not the look he gave you when he was pinning you down and calling you his for the night.

it is quieter. heavier.

his gaze drops, just once, to your mouth. then back to your eyes.

a message without words: stay calm. stay quiet. remember.

you swallow and nod, tiny.

simon’s eyes narrow in approval. then he closes the door without a sound.

in the living room, avia laughs again, loud enough to fill the whole apartment, and you lie there in the dark, body aching, mind buzzing, realizing something you did not want to realize.

you are not the same girl who was staring at a blinking cursor a few hours ago.

and somewhere out there, in the space between thin walls and careful footsteps, simon riley is still moving through the apartment like nothing happened, like he is made of control.

except you know how he sounds when he loses it.

and you know, now, that he knows how you sound too.

the door clicks shut, soft as a secret, and the apartment keeps breathing like nothing happened.

for a while you lie there listening to avia’s voice bounce off the walls, bright and careless, and simon’s low replies threaded through it like calm stitching. you hold your own breath until your lungs ache, then let it go in a slow, silent spill, staring at the ceiling like it might rearrange itself into an answer.

it does not. it just stays there, plain and white, while your body hums with the echo of hands and teeth and weight, while your skin remembers pressure like it is a language you never learned until tonight. you blink until your eyes burn, then you roll over and press your face into your pillow, trying to bury the memory under cotton.

it does not bury.

sleep comes in pieces. when you wake up, sunlight pours in like it owns the room. your body is sore in ways you have never been sore, and even the smallest movement reminds you of what happened, of how big he was, how close the line came to snapping.

you lie still, listening.

you can hear avia in the kitchen, humming while she makes coffee. you can hear simon in the bathroom, water running, the soft clink of his belt buckle. normal noises. normal morning. your stomach twists like it wants to crawl out of your throat.

then you feel it, sharp and unavoidable, when you shift your legs. tenderness. a dull ache. the kind of proof you cannot hide from yourself.

you sit up slowly, staring at your knees. you are not bleeding, not like in the horror stories people tell when they want you to be afraid. you are just sore, swollen, and deeply, embarrassingly aware.

when you finally step into the hallway, your sister looks up immediately, eyes bright. “hey, sleepy.”

you force a smile. “morning.”

avia’s gaze drops from your face to the way you move, the careful way you set your feet, the slight stiffness in your hips. her eyebrows lift, then her mouth falls open like she just got handed a gift.

“hold on,” she says, setting her mug down. “no way.”

your stomach drops. “what.”

avia’s grin spreads, almost feral with delight. she leans on the counter, eyes scanning you like she is reading a headline. “girl… don’t play with me. you look… different.”

you swallow. “i’m just tired.”

“no,” she says, pointing at you like she has caught you committing a crime. “you got that soft little limp. and your face is all…,” she waves her hand, searching for the word, “dreamy. don’t lie.”

you laugh, too sharp. “avia, stop.”

she steps closer, lowering her voice like she is being respectful while still being avia. “did you finally do it.”

heat floods your face. you glance toward the bathroom door, heart racing. you can hear simon moving in there. the sound makes your stomach tighten.

you do the first thing your brain offers you. you lie.

“yeah,” you say softly. “i did.”

avia freezes, then squeals, actually squeals, grabbing your shoulders. “i knew it! i knew you was gonna stop playing with your life.”

“avia,” you hiss, trying to pull back, but she is already bouncing on her toes.

“who,” she demands. “who is he. don’t say nobody. i want a name.”

your mouth goes dry. you scramble, mind snagging on the safest thing, the thing that sounds believable. “a boy from my writing class.”

avia’s eyes widen. “a writing class boy? okay, miss romance novel.”

you swallow hard. “we’ve been talking.”

“for how long,” she presses, eyes glittering.

“a little bit,” you say vaguely, because specifics feel like traps.

avia studies you for a moment, then nods like she approves of your vagueness. “alright. and was it… good.”

you hesitate, remembering a heavy body, a low voice, hands that decided everything. your throat tightens. you force yourself to keep the lie simple, clean.

“he was,” you clear your throat, “big. and it was good for my first time.”

avia’s face goes soft in a way that surprises you. she squeezes your shoulders gently. “okay. i’m happy for you. for real.”

you manage a small smile. “yeah.”

“i’m not gonna press for details if you don’t want,” she says, though you can tell it costs her. “but i do want details eventually.”

you nod, grateful and guilty at once. “i’ll tell you later.”

“good,” she says, brightening again. “i’ll wait. but i’m proud of you, okay. you did it when you felt ready. that’s what matters.”

your throat burns. you nod again, unable to speak.

then the bathroom door opens.

simon steps out like he belongs to the air itself, hair damp, face calm. he is already dressed, black shirt, dark jeans, boots. he looks the same as he always does. that steadiness makes you feel unsteady.

his eyes flick to you.

just once.

it is not a lingering look. it is not anything avia could catch if she wasn’t already turned toward him. but it is enough. it lands on you like a hand.

you freeze.

simon’s expression does not change. he looks away, walking to the kitchen like you are not standing there with your skin buzzing under your clothes.

avia turns and wraps her arms around him from the side. “morning, babe.”

“morning,” he replies, voice low.

she kisses his cheek, then looks back at you, mouth full of secrets. “my sister finally out here living.”

simon pauses, beer-bottle posture without the bottle, the slightest stillness.

“yeah,” he says, and his voice is even. “good for her.”

the words should feel like nothing.

they feel like everything.

a month passes like that. not in a straight line, not clean, but in days that stack up quietly until the calendar changes and your body still hasn’t forgotten.

simon never touches you again.

he does not corner you. he does not look at you the way he looked at you that night. he does not let his hands linger when you pass him in the hallway. he does not say your name like it tastes good. he becomes, if anything, more careful. more silent. more normal.

it should make you feel relieved.

instead it makes you feel like you are carrying a live wire under your skin.

your mind keeps replaying moments you did not ask it to replay. the way he sounded when he lost his control. the way his voice went soft when you were shaking. the way he took care of you after, practical and gentle, like he could be cruel with his body and kind with his hands in the same breath.

and the worst part is what happens to you now, when you are alone.

you have always known what desire was, in a theoretical way. you have written it. you have read it. you have watched it from a distance like a person standing outside a club, listening to the bass through the walls.

now it lives in you.

it wakes up in the morning with you. it follows you through campus. it sits next to you in lecture, pressing against the inside of your thighs while your professor talks about narrative structure and you try not to squirm in your seat.

you find yourself thinking about simon in the smallest, stupidest ways. his hands on a coffee mug. his neck when he tilts his head to listen to avia. the way his sleeves ride up when he washes dishes. the sound of his boots at the door. the smell of smoke when he walks past you.

your body reacts like a traitor. nipples tightening under your bra. heat pooling low in your belly. slickness that comes too easily, too fast, like your body is eager to embarrass you.

you start touching yourself more than you ever have, not because you want to be wild, not because you want to be reckless, but because you feel like you are going to split open from the need if you do not.

it is not romantic. it is not pretty. it is sometimes desperate and silent, your hand muffled by the blanket, your teeth clamped down on your bottom lip so you do not make noise through thin walls again. when you finish, it never feels like enough. it never feels like that night. it never makes the ache go away.

and it scares you, a little, how quickly your body learned to want.

you try to write about it. you try to put it on the page like it will become manageable if you can turn it into prose. you fill paragraphs with metaphors and sensory details, then delete them because none of it feels honest enough. the real thing is too blunt. too hungry.

one night, after you’ve been tossing in bed for hours, you hear avia walking around in the living room, phone pressed to her ear, laughing. you hear simon’s voice in the background, low, barely there. you hate how just hearing him makes your body tense.

you sit up, breathing hard. the high-strung edge of your own need makes you angry. at yourself. at him. at the fact that he can go back to normal like you were never under him.

you get out of bed and walk to the living room on bare feet, hair messy, eyes tired. avia looks up mid-sentence and grins. “what’s up.”

you wait until she hangs up, then you sit on the other end of the couch and stare at your hands.

avia’s grin fades a little. “okay. something up.”

your throat tightens. you pick the lie again, because it is already built, already standing.

“it’s my body,” you say quietly.

avia’s eyes soften. she scoots closer, her voice dropping. “what about it.”

you swallow. “after… after i did it. i feel… different.”

avia nods, calm. “yeah. that happens.”

“i think about it a lot,” you admit, cheeks burning. “like, all the time. and i feel…,” you search for words that won’t make you sound like you’re losing your mind, “i feel like i want it again. but it’s not like i can just… do that.”

avia leans back, studying you with the kind of seriousness she usually saves for family emergencies. “you talking about that boy.”

you nod, because you have to.

avia makes a sympathetic face. “mm. okay. that makes sense.”

you stare at the floor. “it’s annoying.”

she laughs softly. “yeah, it is. welcome to being grown.”

you huff, embarrassed. “i’m serious.”

“i know,” avia says, reaching out to rub your shoulder. “listen. your first time can kind of… unlock something. your body gets familiar with the feeling, and it starts craving it. it don’t mean you crazy. it means you human.”

you swallow. “so what do i do.”

avia shrugs. “if you and him still talking, you can do it again. simple.”

your stomach flips. “what if he doesn’t want to.”

avia’s eyebrows lift. “if he had you once, he probably want you again. but you gotta communicate.”

you look away, heat flooding your face. “i don’t know how.”

avia leans in, voice gentle but still her. “baby, you a writing major. you literally majoring in words. use them.”

you laugh weakly, then sigh. “it’s just… i don’t want to look desperate.”

avia rolls her eyes. “desperate is calling him forty times. asking a man you like for something you both want is not desperate. it’s adult.”

you nod slowly, pretending it helps more than it does.

avia bumps your shoulder lightly. “and if it was good, don’t punish yourself by acting like you got to pretend you don’t want it again. just be smart.”

be smart. you almost laugh at that, because you have been trying to be smart for weeks and your body keeps voting against you.

the next day you do something that is both smart and stupid. you start making the lie more real.

you pick a boy from your writing class who has been looking at you for a while, the kind of look that is hopeful and nervous instead of hungry. his name is jamie. he is tall in a gentle way, with kind eyes and an earnest smile. he has ink stains on his fingers sometimes. he laughs at your jokes like they are worth hearing.

you tell yourself it is for the story. to make it believable. to make avia stop asking. to get your mind off simon.

you do not tell yourself the truth, which is that you want to see if your body will react to someone else the same way.

jamie asks you out after class, stammering a little. “do you… want to get coffee. or something.”

you say yes because you are tired of being haunted by a man you cannot have.

the coffee turns into a few dates. jamie is sweet. he listens when you talk. he asks questions about your writing like he means it. he doesn’t push. he doesn’t press his hands into your skin like he owns it. he kisses you gently, like he is afraid of messing up.

the gentleness should feel good.

it just feels like nothing compared to the memory you keep swallowing.

when you finally go back to jamie’s place, it feels like you are stepping into a scene you wrote, not one you are living. his apartment smells like laundry detergent and instant ramen. he’s nervous, hands shaking a little when he touches your waist. he keeps checking your face.

“you okay,” he whispers.

you nod, because you are too far into the lie to stop.

jamie is careful. he goes slow. he kisses you like he wants to be respectful, like he thinks tenderness is the whole job. it would have been perfect for the girl you were before.

now you keep waiting for the moment your body sparks the way it did with simon.

it doesn’t.

you feel pressure, movement, warmth, but it’s muted, like someone turned the volume down. jamie whispers sweet things, praise that is soft, and you nod and make sounds you know you’re supposed to make. you arch when you’re supposed to arch. you breathe harder when you’re supposed to breathe harder. you keep your face angled away so he can’t see the blankness.

when he finishes, he does it quietly, a shaky exhale against your shoulder. you don’t even realize what happened until later, when you’re in the bathroom and you feel the slick heaviness and you stare at yourself in the mirror with your stomach sinking.

you tell yourself it’s fine. you tell yourself you’ll handle it. you tell yourself you’ll never do it again.

a week later you start throwing up.

it happens in the morning at first. then it happens at random times, sharp nausea turning your stomach like it’s being wrung out. you blame stress. you blame cafeteria food. you blame everything except what your gut already knows.

you count days on your phone calendar with trembling fingers. you stare at the screen until your eyes blur.

you do not tell avia. you do not tell your friends. you move like a ghost in your own life, swallowing bile in bathroom stalls between classes, chewing mint gum until your jaw aches.

finally, you go to the clinic alone.

the waiting room smells like disinfectant and stale air. you fill out forms with shaky hands. you keep your eyes on the floor, like if you don’t look up, nobody can read your guilt.

when the nurse calls you back, your heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might bruise your ribs from the inside.

the test is quick. the confirmation is quieter than you expected. the nurse’s voice is gentle, almost rehearsed.

“it’s positive,” she says.

your stomach drops anyway, like you weren’t braced for it.

“how far along,” you whisper, because you need a number like you need oxygen.

she gives you an estimate and a small pamphlet, talks about next steps. your ears ring. you nod like you’re listening. you’re not. you’re counting backward again, the timeline slicing through your mind until it lands on jamie’s apartment, on the quiet softness, on the way you didn’t even notice.

you walk out of the clinic with your hands clenched so tight your nails dig into your palms.

you sit in your car for a long time staring at the steering wheel, breathing like you just ran a mile.

jamie’s baby.

you know it. you know it with a kind of cold certainty. you remember simon pulling out. you remember the way he was careful at the end, controlled. you remember the mess, yes, but you remember the way he didn’t finish inside you.

your stomach churns again, partly nausea, partly disgust at your own panic.

two days pass and you keep the secret like a stone in your mouth.

then it happens in the living room, on an evening that should have been nothing.

avia and simon are on the couch. avia is sitting sideways in his lap, arms looped around his shoulders, laughing at something on her phone. simon has a cigarette in his hand, smoke curling up slow. he looks calm, distant, the way he always does.

you sit on the other end of the couch with a throw pillow against your stomach, trying to hide the nausea that keeps rolling through you. the tv is on low. the apartment smells like smoke and avia’s perfume and something fried she brought home.

you are upset in a way that feels unfair, because nothing is happening. simon isn’t doing anything wrong. he’s kissing your sister’s cheek, letting her cling, letting her be loud. you’re the one sitting here with your body full of secrets, with your skin still remembering hands that haven’t touched you in a month.

simon doesn’t glance at you once.

not once.

your throat tightens. your eyes sting. your stomach flips with nausea and jealousy so sharp it makes you dizzy.

and before you can stop yourself, before your brain can catch the words and swallow them, you blurt it out like a grenade you’re tired of holding.

“i’m pregnant.”

the room goes silent.

avia freezes in simon’s lap, eyes wide. her mouth opens and closes once. “what.”

simon’s cigarette pauses halfway to his lips. his head turns slowly toward you.

and when his eyes meet yours, you feel it immediately. not anger. not disgust. confusion.

and then something sharper, something like silent confirmation hunting.

his gaze drops, quick, to your stomach like he can see through your skin. then back to your face, narrowing, searching.

your heart pounds. your lie is already built. your fear is already driving.

you nod.

it is small. it is almost nothing.

it changes everything.

simon’s face goes still. the color seems to drain from it. his jaw tightens hard. he looks at you like you just spoke in a language he cannot afford to misunderstand.

then he stands up abruptly, shifting avia off his lap.

avia grabs his arm, startled. “babe?”

simon doesn’t look at her. he looks at you one more time, and his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them.

then he walks out.

the front door shuts hard enough that the frame rattles.

avia blinks, stunned, then turns fully to you, scrambling across the couch like her body moved before her mind did. “oh my god. are you okay. how far. when. who.”

the questions tumble out, urgent and bright and shocked all at once. she grabs your hands, squeezing. her palms are warm.

you swallow hard. you force the story out through a throat that feels like it’s closing.

“it’s jamie,” you say. “the boy from my writing class.”

avia’s brows knit. “jamie… okay. okay. and you… you’re keeping it?”

you nod, because you don’t know how to be anything else right now.

avia’s eyes fill with tears immediately, and she laughs at the same time like she cannot decide which emotion to live in. “oh my god. baby. okay. okay.”

she pulls you into a hug so tight it knocks the breath out of you. “i’m here. i’m here. we gonna figure it out.”

you close your eyes and let her hold you. guilt burns behind your ribs like acid.

avia pulls back, cupping your face. “you told jamie yet.”

you shake your head.

“okay,” she says, determined. “we’ll handle that. we’ll do it right. but you not doing this alone, alright.”

you nod, tears slipping out despite yourself. not from joy. from the weight of it.

avia wipes your cheeks with her thumbs. “and simon… he just shocked. don’t mind him. he love you. he just…,” she gestures vaguely, “men be dramatic.”

you swallow, watching the door like it might open and swallow you whole.

avia squeezes your hands again. “we gonna get baby stuff. i don’t care if you only a few weeks, we can start planning. i’m gonna be an auntie.”

you manage a weak smile because she looks so happy it hurts.

that night she calls her friends. she tells your mom. she starts a list on her phone. she sends you links to prenatal vitamins. she talks like the future is a room she can decorate.

you lie in bed and stare at the ceiling again, stomach turning.

a few days later, avia leaves early in the morning with a tote bag and a mission, saying she’s “just going to look,” like looking isn’t going to turn into buying. she kisses your forehead before she goes, eyes bright with excitement.

“rest,” she says. “you need rest now.”

you nod, throat tight.

when the door shuts behind her, the apartment feels too quiet.

you sit on your bed with your knees pulled up, hands resting on your stomach. you are barely pregnant, barely anything, and yet it feels like your entire body has been rewritten.

you hear the front door open again an hour later.

boots. slow. measured.

your heart starts to race.

there’s a soft knock on your bedroom door.

you hold your breath.

the door opens.

simon steps in and shuts it behind him. he doesn’t ask permission. he doesn’t smile. his face looks exhausted in a way you haven’t seen before, like he hasn’t slept since you said that word.

he stands there for a moment, eyes fixed on you, then he walks to your bed and sits on the edge, careful but heavy. the mattress dips. the closeness makes your skin prickle.

you stare at his hands resting on his thighs. his fingers are tense, knuckles pale.

“avia’s out,” he says, voice low.

you nod, unable to speak.

simon’s eyes lift to your face. they are sharp, haunted. “tell me the truth.”

your throat tightens. “i did.”

his jaw clenches. “don’t.”

the single word hits like a command. your stomach flips.

he leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, cigarette smell faint on his clothes. “is it mine.”

your pulse pounds in your ears. the room feels smaller.

you nod.

the lie slides out smooth because you have been rehearsing it in your head since the moment you nodded on the couch. you tell yourself you’re doing it for love, for safety, for some twisted version of a future where he looks at you the way he did that night and doesn’t look away.

simon closes his eyes briefly, like he is absorbing a blow. when he opens them again, his gaze is darker, heavier.

“how,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “i pulled out.”

you keep your face steady, your voice small. “i don’t know.”

simon stares at you for a long moment, then exhales through his nose, slow. his shoulders rise and fall.

“could’ve,” he mutters, jaw tight. “could’ve got inside you anyway. on my fingers. on you. fuck.”

the way he thinks through it makes you nauseous, not because he’s wrong, but because you are watching him build a belief brick by brick. you let him, because you are already standing on the lie and you don’t know how to step off without breaking everything.

simon’s gaze flicks to your stomach again, then back to your eyes. “you’re sure.”

you nod again.

something in him shifts. a decision locking in.

he sits back and looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time in weeks. not your sister’s kid sister. not a person in the hallway. you.

his voice drops, rough. “alright.”

you swallow. “alright.”

simon’s hand lifts, hesitates, then reaches for your knee. his palm rests there, warm and heavy. the contact sends a shock through you. you try not to flinch.

he watches you carefully. “i didn’t touch you again.”

you blink. “i noticed.”

his jaw tightens. “had to be smart.”

your throat burns. “yeah.”

simon’s thumb rubs once over your knee, slow, absent. “i’ve been thinking about you. more than i should.”

your breath catches.

he holds your gaze, unwavering. “i’m not proud of it.”

you whisper, barely audible, “i am.”

simon’s eyes narrow slightly, like he’s surprised by your honesty. then his face softens, almost imperceptibly.

“you’re carrying something now,” he says quietly.

you nod, hand drifting to your stomach without thinking.

simon’s gaze follows the movement. he swallows, throat bobbing. “my kid.”

the words make your stomach flip in a way that isn’t entirely guilt. it’s warmth too, sharp and addictive.

simon leans in a little, voice lower. “listen to me.”

you nod, obedient.

“avia can’t know,” he says.

your heart stutters. “she…”

“she can’t,” he repeats, firmer. “not now. maybe not ever. you told her it was that lad from class. keep it that way.”

you swallow. the lie thickens. “okay.”

simon’s hand slides from your knee to your thigh, gripping gently, steadying. “i’ll take care of you.”

your breath trembles. “how.”

“private,” he says, eyes on yours. “when she’s at work. when my schedule aligns. i’ll be here. i’ll make sure you’re alright. i’ll make sure you got what you need.”

you stare at him, stunned by the bluntness. “and avia.”

simon’s jaw tightens. “i’ll handle my house.”

the possessive phrasing makes your skin prickle.

he pauses, then his voice drops softer, rough with something you can almost mistake for tenderness. “i love you.”

your heart slams.

simon doesn’t look away. “and i love the baby.”

your eyes sting. you blink hard, trying to keep tears from spilling. you’ve wanted him to look at you like you matter for a month, and now his words feel like a hand wrapping around your throat, not choking, just holding you in place.

you nod quickly. “okay.”

simon’s mouth twitches, faint. “that’s all you can say.”

your voice cracks. “i don’t know what to say.”

he shifts closer, hand sliding up to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he’s checking if you’re real. “say you’ll keep quiet.”

you nod. “i’ll keep quiet.”

“good girl,” he murmurs, and the words make your stomach clench hard.

simon leans in and kisses you.

it’s not like the first time, not hungry and reckless. it’s slower, heavier, deliberate. his lips press to yours like he’s sealing a promise. you melt into it instantly, hands grabbing his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.

his mouth moves down your cheek, to your jaw, to your neck. he kisses the place that still feels sensitive when you think about it, and you shiver, breath catching.

simon pauses, mouth against your skin. “you alright.”

you nod, eyes closing. “yeah.”

he exhales, warm against your throat, then pulls back and wraps an arm around you, tugging you into his chest like you belong there.

you go willingly, curling into him. his body is warm and solid, the kind of weight that makes you feel safe even when it shouldn’t. his hand rests on your back, holding you close. he smells like smoke and clean soap and something sharp that makes your head feel quiet.

you listen to his heartbeat under your ear. steady. controlled.

simon’s lips press to your hairline. “boy,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

you blink. “what.”

“hope it’s a boy,” he says softly. “a little lad. stubborn like me.”

your throat tightens. you want to laugh. you want to cry. you do neither. you just cling to him, letting his arms hold you like you are something precious.

for the first time in a month, you feel looked at again. not with casual eyes. with ownership.

and you tell yourself the lie is worth it, because in his chest, with his breath warming your hair and his hand steady on your back, you finally feel loved.

so.. do we love this? do we hate it? something random & i’ve been working on for like a.. few days. something to keep my account busy! anyways please let me know.. i love the commentary, feedback, etc.

ᵗᵃᵍˡⁱˢᵗ @tomurafrlover23 (let me know if you want to be added to my taglist)

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

Y'know what? I need me some fluff, a little pallet cleanser if you will. How about the Papas with S/O who's just the embodiment of Sloth? Like they are always sleepy and can sleep anywhere at any time, like standing, while eating, on the floor, tucked away in a storage closet while avoiding chores. (I-it's me, I sleep everywhere if I close my eyes for long enough)

As a fellow nap enthusiast, I love this! I’m also needing a good palette cleanser, so I hope you love this as much as I needed this!

I accidentally tripped and wrote it where the reader is actually Sloth aligned in a power sense soooooooooo

Papas with a Sloth Aligned S/O That Naps EVERYWHERE

Papa Nihil: No matter when you both get together (Old Nihil or Young), Nihil always wants to join you! He can’t help himself; you just look so cozy! Nihil will crack jokes about where he’s found you. But genuinely, he thinks it’s nice. There is usually so much chaotic stuff going on in the clergy that it’s hard to rest. One conflict you both have over your sleeping is how many times he will wake you up to have you ‘move over’ so he can join you. Nihil is a clingy type of partner, so he always wants to join you. A running joke between you both is you telling him to “find his own spot.” The rest of the clergy finds you a very bad influence on the Grand Papa. Because now he sleeps so much more like you do!

Papa I: Despite how humorous it is, Papa is oddly supportive of you. You found this strange at first. Why would he be so supportive of something as silly as you sleeping? Turns out, Papa is VERY invested in your “devotion to sloth”. Truthfully, you didn’t know you even HAD some sort of alignment with the sin of Sloth until Papa told you. As it turns out, you are ‘a chosen vessel’ by the sin. You weren’t sure how to feel about it. Especially with your sin manifesting so literally. Papa has nurtured your understanding of what it means to be a chosen vessel. Though not much has changed with your devotion… or your sleeping habits. Except, of course, Papa assisting you. Papa has gone out of his way to make you comfortable little nooks for you to cozy into. Often chasing away those who want to make you. More than once you’ve woken up to find the first Emeritus has covered you with a quilt.

Papa II: Not out of disrespect, but Papa II will just leave you wherever you are. Unless you have something incredibly important to be doing, you’re often left to your own devices. He doesn’t want to wake you and often can’t be bothered anyway. Typically, he’s just impressed that you sleep through almost anything! He will find you in the weirdest circumstance, give a small ‘huh’, and go about his business. Papa will never admit how much he smiles when he finds you. He accepts that this is a part of your Sloth aligned nature. No need to bother you. However, if he DOES need you, he will literally snap you out of it. Snapping his fingers in front of your nose quickly until you rouse. If you need to be moved for whatever reason, he or a ghoul will carry you to bed. As long as you don’t drool on his furniture, Papa remains amused but indifferent.

Papa III: Your need to snooze is so charming to Papa. Utterly adorable, in fact! Papa is a nap connoisseur himself. Despite being known as a frivolous prince of the Papacy, Papa works hard like the rest of the family. He cherishes any chance he can have a quick power nap, or a lazy afternoon. The man needs his beauty sleep! Like you, he’s also like a cat who will just sleep wherever he can get comfortable. Since you came into his life, this tends to be wherever you’ve holed yourself up to get a couple of winks! You’ve woken up so many times to Papa holding you like a teddy bear while you sleep. The man usually spooning you as you both crowd on his velvet lounge chair. Or on the nearest office couch. Or, Hell, even under a tree when you both separately snuck out into the gardens! You’re also privy to his choice nap spots.

Papa IV/Cardi/Frater: Copia never knows whether to be impressed, annoyed, or find you cute when he catches you napping. Impressed because you’ve fallen asleep in some VERY bizarre spots or positions. Annoyed because you sometimes fall asleep sitting upright or standing, and he carries on a whole conversation with you before he realizes you are conked out. And finding you cute because… well… it’s adorable how you sleep sometimes! He likes you after all. Copia has a few pictures of your coziest moments… and a few of your weirdest. There’s been a few times he’s chased his ghouls away from you because they think it’s hilarious. A few of them usually want pictures (which he denies, despite taking one himself). Copia is most likely to gently wake you up and offer to take you to your bed. He loves your sleepy protests. The only other time he becomes irritated with you is if you commandeer his office chair. Or accidentally trip him from being in the worst spots (yes, this has happened a few times.)

Papa V: Perpetua thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world! Unfortunately for you, this makes you the target of his mischievous nature. Perpetua has a running list AND picture collection of places he’s found you sleeping. At this point, he has over fifty pictures in his phone! There is a running rank of his favorites. Latest top three being: The time you fell asleep mid paperwork with your head on the filing cabinet, standing in the middle of the kitchen with your head lulled back and holding breakfast, and being curled under a table with a plant on it. The youngest Papa also has a horrid propensity to play pranks on you. Really harmless ones, mind you, to see WHAT you will sleep through. Worst of all, you’ve NEVER woken up during them! There exists of you a photo of you napping on the couch while having almost a full box of cheerios stacked and balanced on you.

[kissmyspaceace]

The Lost and the Lascivious

CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 12

Pairing: Cardinal Copia/Reader Warnings/Contents: Mild gore, Reader being followed/threatened, Cardi C being worried sick Word count: 4.074

AO3 Link

Tag list: @chaos-in-person @littlemisscare-all @dancerpanda04 @ballofthedeadrat @skittytreats @mschfmusings @verowo8rocks

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Shit. Shit. Shit.

Your thoughts were racing as you tried to get away from whoever was behind you. Judging by their frame, it was clearly a man. The glimpses you caught of them were barely telling you anything other than that they were wearing a basecap and a hood over their head, making it difficult to see their face.

You knew you would never be able to outrun them at this point. Your stomach was twisting at the thought of what they might do to you. I can’t let it get this far.

Headed towards dead ends and running in circles in a desperate attempt to get rid of the person chasing you, you started to feel hopeless. Cornered. Alone.

Then, you remembered the Cardinal’s words, as the necklace around your neck made a gentle clincing sound.

“If anything should be the matter, no matter where you are, you can use this”

Your hand wandered towards your pocket.

“You will know if you need it, when you need it”

You could hear your chaser’s heavy breathing at this point. The piece of parchment seemed to glide into your palm all on its own, and you pulled it out of your pocket. Since you’d been straight up running at this point, you were pretty out of breath. As you read the words, it was a mere desperate whisper in between panting. Not worried at all about butchering the lines of Latin text, you clutched the pendant of your necklace tightly as the last syllables rolled over your tongue.

You kept running for a few more steps until a gust of wind carried a soothing voice towards you, which made you stop in your tracks.

I hear you, child. Fear not, for I am here for you.

You turn around, sensing an eerie presence behind you. Accumulating out of the shadows, a group of humanoid figures appeared in front of the person that had been chasing you. He seemed to be frozen on the spot, unable to keep moving. The humanoid figures were dressed in black, wearing silver masks with horns. Their hands were black, just like every other spot of visible skin, and sported long, claw-like nails. A cloud of black smoke seemed to be surrounding them, making their silhouettes a bit fuzzy, but you were pretty sure you were able to make out black pointed tails at their backsides.

They were accompanied by whispers and growls that would have sent shivers down anyone’s spine. Oddly enough, you did not feel threatened. The text Cardinal Copia had given you must have been some sort of summoning spell.

From that point on, everything happened fast. The man tried to get away, however, two more creatures teleported right behind him, forcing him to stop. They slowly circled him, making escape impossible. He was cursing and shouting, but you were barely able to understand anything he was saying. He had a knife in his hand, which he attempted to use as a last resort.

However, one of the creatures quickly grabbed his elbow and made it bend beyond its natural capacity, essentially breaking his arm. He screamed in pain and dropped the knife, holding onto his messed up arm as the creatures kept getting closer, engulfing him in dark, smoky shadows.

Between sounds of ripping clothes, breaking bones and gurgling screams, you could only see speckles of blood flying. The creatures were in motion, ripping and clawing and shredding and feeding. You weren’t able to see too much, which was probably for the best. However, you weren’t able to move either, as you stood there watching, horrified. After a few minutes, the creatures calmed down, the dark smoke cleared up.

There was nothing left. Nothing, except for a small pool of blood on the ground, slowly sinking into the soil. A small wind carried the metallic smell towards your nose, and you gagged a little. The creatures turned around and started moving towards you calmly.

Instinctively, you took a few steps backwards.Whatever you had just witnessed, it had clearly erased an entire human being from existence. And you couldn’t tell if those creatures were intended for blind slaughter, or if they could distinguish who had called them.

Your heart threatened to burst out of your chest at this point. You knew you couldn’t outrun them. You saw what it would lead to. There was no way of escaping anyways, so you just had to wait and see.

They stopped a few feet in front of you, most of them towering over you in height, their tails flicking from side to side.

One of them cocked his head from side to side, watching you closely. He extended his hand and the claw of his index finger gently poked at the pendant of your necklace. A friendly hum escaped their throat, and a wide smile exposed a set of blood stained, sharp teeth.

“Mmmmistress”, they growled, “You called out to us, and we responded. And just in time, no less.”

Their voice appeared male, as did their mask and body shape. It sounded unnaturally deep and raspy. Inhuman.

“...Who… who are you?”, you whispered. Your lips were trembling, as was your entire body. Your legs felt like they were going to give in at any moment.

“It does not matter. We are nobody. We are here at the Cardinal’s service, as well as yours now”, another of the creatures responded.

“Are you going to…hurt me?”

“We are going to protect you”, a more feminine sounding voice responded. It came from a creature in the back. They had a female frame, and a silver mask to match. “And we will bring you home and stay until you dismiss us.”

You slowly nodded, still in shock.

“You look weak”, the tallest of the group said, “You will not walk.”

Before you could protest, they lifted you up bridal style.

“Let us go.”

_ _ _

The creatures carried you home, all the way up into your apartment. You were glad you didn’t meet any neighbours at this time of night.

The creature carrying you gently set you down on your bed, while another one swiftly took off your shoes for you.

“You have to rest now”, they said. “We will stand guard outside and by your door.”

They all dissolved into clouds of black smoke one by one, except the one at your bed side. He tilted his head, watching you with interest. Then, he leaned down towards you, deeply and slowly inhaling your scent.

“His scent still lingers on you”, he mumbled in a deep voice, “I can not identify your pure individual essence yet.”

Your face must have turned bright red at his words.

“But it will suffice for now. I will return at another time. Rest well”, he said before bowing to you and dissolving into black smoke just like the others had before.

And with that, you were left alone. The adrenaline in your system slowly faded after a while, allowing you to fall asleep as you were.

Opening your eyes, you found yourself back at the church. Another night, another meeting of souls. However, you assumed that this time the Cardinal had much more of a reason to call out to you. Had the creatures told him about what happened? Or did he just know?

This time, you had been lying on one of the benches. Slowly, you sat up, looking around. You decided to get up and look for the Cardinal, the wooden church bench making a creaking sound, announcing your movement. It didn’t take too long, as you heard fast paced footsteps approaching from beyond a door.

The door from downstairs flung open, revealing a mildly disheveled Cardinal Copia. His panicked gaze found yours, instantly softening at the sight of you. He ran towards you, nearly tackling you to the ground as his body collided with yours, wrapping you in a tight embrace.

“Cara, tesoro, amore. Are you alright? Are you unharmed?”, he asked shakily. “Please tell me your soul will have a body to return to. Please tell me this isn’t our last goodbye. Please tell me I will be able to see you again in flesh and blood, alive and well. Please.”

The words spilled out of his mouth so fast, you were unsure if he was muttering them to himself or if he was actually speaking to you.

“Cardinal”, you said calmly, making him flinch, “I am well. Safely tucked away at home.”

You felt him relax at once. So much so, that he dropped to the ground, taking you with him. The two of you were both half sitting, half kneeling on the ground, bodies pressed against one another. Cardinal Copia held you tight, steadily breathing in your scent.

“I shouldn’t have let you go.”

“What do you know, Cardinal? What happened?”, you asked.

“Not much. I felt you use the paper I had given you, I felt there was a struggle, a sense of doom. The stench of blood. But I didn’t know much more.”

“Who are these creatures?”, you asked. “They appeared when I read the words from that piece of paper. They…”

Your voice faded as images from the encounter popped into your mind. The blood, the screams. It sent shivers down your spine.

“They are ghouls, child. Hell spawns at our service. They can be anything you need them to be, anywhere you need them to be. But please, tell me… what happened?”

It took you a few seconds to find your words again. “I was walking home, through the park. I noticed someone behind me. He was following me. He had a knife. Next thing I knew, I was running. He was running. I felt this instinct-like impulse to use the piece of paper you had given me. I knew I had to, somehow”, you explained, “Just as you said I would.”

He nodded slowly. “I assume you saw things that disturbed you. If I estimate the ghouls correctly, they made short process.”

“Yes… they… I believe they tore him to shreds. Luckily, I only heard the sounds for the most part. There was blood. It happened so fast… I-”, you stuttered, your last words fading into a whisper.

“Hush, hush. It’s alright. You are safe now. If this behaviour is what he was making out of his life, perhaps he didn’t deserve to live at all”, the Cardinal spoke, gently stroking your head.

“He was a person”, you whispered.

“He was a monster”, the Cardinal responded dryly. 

“How is his family going to bury him? He is gone. There is nothing left”, you said.

“You have the greatest heart, (Y/N). You have so much empathy. You worry about a person that wanted to hurt you, or worse. They do not deserve your compassion. They are gone. That is all there is to it”, Cardinal Copia said soothingly.

You did not talk back this time. He was right. There was no point in worrying over this. He had chosen the wrong person. He had chosen the wrong path. And he had paid for it.

“I’m sorry for causing you trouble, Cardinal. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Tesoro, I am sorry I wasn’t there. There is nothing you should apologize for. I’m just glad I have given you the means to call for help”, he replied with a desperate laugh.

He loosened the embrace, only to cup your face with his hands. His mismatched irises glared holes into your soul. They were filled with sorrow, regret and sincerity. Cardinal Copia did not say a word. His lips moved as if he was about to say something, but they closed again before any sound could escape them.

His face moved closer and closer, until he gently pressed his lips on yours. A deep warmth spread inside your chest. You felt safe. Protected. Valued.

He broke the kiss and smiled at you. “I cannot wait to have you by my side again, cara.”

“Same goes for me”, you replied, “Hopefully without any incidents next time.”

“Next time”, the Cardinal said sternly, “I will not let you leave this late. I want you back here, right here, tomorrow. And you will stay the night, so bring everything you need. You hear me?”

“Yes”, you replied hesitantly, a little taken aback by his sudden change in tone.

“I want to see you again now more than ever. I want to make sure you are unharmed myself. Until then”, he said and lifted the two of you off the ground, “I hope you will be well.”

“What’s going on?”, you asked. Your vision started to feel somewhat blurry, it felt as if your surroundings were starting to dissolve.

“Time is running out, cara mia. We will have to let go for now”, he hummed, placing a kiss on your cheek.

One last look into his smiling eyes was everything you needed. You exhaled deeply and closed your eyes, resting your forehead against his chest.

When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself back in your bed at home. Luckily, you felt much calmer than you had before, and drifted off into sleep in next to no time.

_ _ _ _ _

Gentle sunlight awoke you from your deep sleep. The sun was seeping through your halfway closed curtains, spilling much appreciated warmth into your bedroom. You lifted yourself up and rubbed your eyes, lazily looking around. Out of the corner of your eye you spotted something, or rather, someone standing in the doorframe.

Your heart nearly skipped a beat until you realized it was just one of the creatures you had summoned - or ghouls, as the Cardinal had called them.

The male ghoul was watching you with curiosity, cocking his head from one side to another. His movement reminded you of a dog listening to a person speak, very aware and diligent.

Shyly, you lifted up your right hand and waved him hello with a smile. “Uh… good morning?”

A pleased cooing sound echoed from underneath his mask.

“Awake. Not dead. Good”, he said, “We stood guard all night. Everything is safe now.”

“Thank you”, you replied, “I believe you can go now. You, uh, are dismissed for now…?”

He bowed to you. “Thank you. If you need us, call us. You know how.”

And with that, he was gone. Now you wondered if he had been watching you the whole night…

You started your day with a nice, long shower - after yesterday, you really needed it. The warm water seemed to wash away the stench of blood, the screams of terror and agony. You started to feel clean again, internally and externally.

And for the moment, just for the moment, all seemed well.

Taking your time to get ready, you carefully picked your clothes for the day and made sure to pack everything you needed to spend the night at Cardinal Copia’s place. You felt as if you could still feel his embrace from last night’s meeting of souls on your body. You smiled at the sensation.

What was that feeling? This undeniable, warm and fulfilling sensation? 

You knew the Cardinal had a magnetic effect on you, pulling you back to the church again and again. He even had a hold on you in your dreamspace. However, the thought of you actually being in love with him came with so many doubts and struggles, so you shoved the thoughts away immediately.

What truly counted was how he made you feel. The time you spent with him. He was the fresh breeze that had come into your life, giving you a sense of belonging. You belonged with him, that much you knew for now.

After a light lunch, you started gathering all your things to finally head for the church. A familiar scent tickled your nose as you were grabbing your bag.

Right. The flowers , you thought. 

Your head spun around to catch a glimpse of the bouquet. Still as fresh as they had been on day one. At this point you were absolutely convinced they were enchanted or something.

Shaking your head with a smile, you swung your bag over your shoulder and left your apartment.

—-------

You walked down the streets to the edge of the park, headed for the church. As you reached the entrance of the park, a strange feeling spread inside of you. You shook it off, and took a step forward. He's gone, I'm safe now. There is no danger ahead.

You walked into the park and about 2 minutes walk in, you were greeted by a plastic line obstructing your path: “POLICE LINE - DO NOT CROSS”.

Shit. That can’t be good .

You were able to think of a detour you would be able to take to reach the church, so you decided to leave this area as quickly as possible. Turning around on your heel, you were stopped by a stern voice.

“Madam, please hold up for a moment.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Yes?”, you asked sheepishly, turning around to face the police officer approaching you.

“Sorry for disturbing you, but I would like to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright with you.”

“Sure”, you said, “Did anything happen?”

You leaned over to the side a bit, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was behind the line. Praying for your rusty acting skills to guide you through whatever was ahead of you, you tried to seem as oblivious as possible.

“I'm afraid we can’t give you much information at this point. Are you visiting this park regularly?”, he asked, shifting his weight on his left leg, his hand resting casually on his belt.

“Yes, actually. I do visit this park pretty frequently”, you replied, putting on a worried look, “I hope it’s nothing too bad?”

There is no point in lying here. Frequently visiting this park is not a crime.

The officer nodded. “I see. Did you happen to be here yesterday evening or night, by any chance?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Uh, yeah. It must have been pretty late in the evening, but I didn’t notice anything unusual.”

“Alright, Miss. I would like to show you a picture, if you don’t mind”, he said, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket.

“Sure”, you began, your eyes following his hands. He unfolded the piece of paper and unveiled a missing person's poster. There was a man on it, maybe 35 years old. His face didn’t seem familiar to you. There were descriptions of his hair color, eye color, height and weight.

“Have you seen this man around here recently?”, the officer asked calmly.

“He doesn’t seem familiar to me. He's missing? Since when?”

“His family reported him missing 3 days ago, since he hadn’t returned home for a while. He is known for getting into trouble sometimes, and apparently there was a bit of trouble here yesterday, so…”, he continued, “We're trying to find witnesses.”

You nodded slowly. “His… family, you said?”

“Yup, wife and kids. I'm sure they’re worried sick.”

“This must be horrible for them to experience. I'm sorry I can't be of much help, sir”, you said, cool sweat running down the back of your neck.

The police officer shook his head.

“It's okay. Thank you for your time. If you should hear or see anything in relation to this, please let us know. Regulars in this park are a good source, usually.”

“Of course. Have a good day”, you said in a quiet voice. The officer led you past the closed off area.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a crime scene investigation team, some of them in full biohazard gear. They crouched down next to the nearly dried pool of blood, and took swaps.

If they manage to get DNA from this, and it happened to be this exact guy, they will know whose blood it was.

You couldn’t get the picture of this man out of your head. The height was roughly accurate, the frame as well, perhaps…

But it had been way too dark to properly see anything relevant for identifying him. Perhaps it wasn’t him, after all. You sped up, trying to leave this place as quickly as possible.

A few more minutes of walking later, you finally reached the courtyard of the church. Still a bit shaken up, you stopped in front of the door, taking a deep breath. You didn’t want Cardinal Copia to see you like this and worry even more than he already had - you decided you shouldn’t keep him waiting much longer.

Carefully opening the door, you entered the church.

“Hello?”, you called out while gently closing the door behind you. “I'm back!”

You waited a short while, then you started scanning the church hall for any signs of a possible note he could have left you. It didn’t take you long to find one. Taped to the door leading downstairs, there was a hastily handwritten note.

“My dear,

You will find me downstairs, whenever you might arrive. I will be eagerly awaiting you.

C.”

The corners of your mouth twitched upwards. You loved these little notes he would leave for you to find. Gently pulling the note off of the wooden door, you reached for the old door handle and began your descent to the basement of the building.

When you reached his quarters, your heart was pounding wildly in your chest. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous all of a sudden. You tried to shake it off, as you hesitantly lifted your hand to knock on the door.

Before your knuckles could even reach the old wood of the door, however, the door swung open, revealing a pretty disheveled Cardinal Copia.

His mismatched eyes found yours in an instant, pinning you to the spot with his gaze, as he searched for answers within yours. Unsure of how to react, you smiled shyly. “Hey.”

He pulled you inside by your wrist, slamming the door shut behind you. You nearly lost balance from being pulled inside the room that suddenly, but managed to catch yourself just in time. The Cardinal cupped your face with his hands and continued to study you. He went on to look at your arms, your hands, your legs. He scanned anything he could see of you, until finally, he took a deep breath.

“Child”, he said, “Please tell me: Did he touch you?”

You shook your head.

“Are you sure?”, he asked in an even more serious tone.

You nodded, “Yes, I am sure.”

“Good”, he stated, “Because if he had, I would have made sure to summon his rotten soul back from hell, only to kill him again myself.”

Your heart did a little jump at his words and you quietly smiled to yourself.

“I mean it”, he emphasized.

“I know”, you replied.

He cracked a smile and pulled you into a tight embrace. Holding you tightly, with one hand at the back of your head, deeply inhaling the scent of your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?”, you asked softly.

He leaned into you. “For letting you go all alone this late.”

“But you gave me the means to protect myself, didn’t you?”

“I did, yes”, he sighed, “But this shouldn’t have happened to you in the first place. I feel guilty. Guilty for the fear you must have felt, guilty for the things you had to see.”

You started rubbing his back soothingly. “Nobody is at fault for this. Things like these happen, unfortunately. People are the worst sometimes. It’s almost like, a law of nature or something. I was just unlucky enough to be at the same place at, at the same time as this guy. If it hadn’t been me, maybe it would have been someone else. Someone who maybe wouldn’t have had a group of… ghouls to call for aid.”

Cardinal Copia let out a low, rumbly sound. You could tell he wasn’t satisfied.

“I will make sure something like this will never happen again.”

The sound of his voice made your heart skip a beat.

“How so? More ghouls?, you asked with a smirk.

“Let that be my problem for now”, he chuckled softly and  loosened the embrace to look at your face again, “Let us go somewhere more comfortable, no?”

You nodded with a sweet smile.

And with that, he led you into his living room.

[ghxstpxsting]

Could we get some soft aether x f/nb readers please? Possibly going from soft post ritual relaxing to Nsf/w? If not nsf I just really love him and he is a very good hugger and I feel he needs more appreciation tysm you are doing good work 💚💜💚

Of course! I hope you enjoy it. ☺️💜

(I spoke to the person who requested it and she left it up to me to write either female or NB. I went with NB due to the NSFW nature, but no pronouns are used, so it could be suitable for AFAB NB people too. ☺️)

Soft Aether/Female Reader (NSFW)

View at your own discretion. 18+ only.

NSFW under the cut!

“Unholy Satan, I’m beat. What a show that was.” Aether chuckles, gripping your hand gently and giving it a little squeeze as you walk back to the bus. Tonight’s ritual was one of the biggest yet; a crowd that extended back seemingly infinitely, roaring cheers, singing and screams- it would be a night to reminisce about. He’s not as young as the other ghouls now, so he feels the after effects of the shows maybe a little more than they do. Sure, he gets the buzz and adrenaline they do, but he also gets aches and feels a bit tender for a while.

You arrive at the bus, opening the door gently as to not wake any potential sleeping ghouls, but find it to be empty, only yourself and Aether had returned after his shower, the others were probably still showering or maybe getting something to eat. “Looks like it’s just us for a while, love.” he says softly, a yawn escaping as he stretches out a little and makes his way to his bunk to change into something more comfortable.

“How about a movie? The others don’t seem to be coming back for a while.” you suggest, glad to have some of the rare alone time you’d both crave. There’s never a dull day, being surrounded by a pack of ghouls, but it’s easy to feel crowded and oftentimes, a little quiet wouldn’t go amiss.

Languidly, he smiles, nodding as he returns wearing some old and cosy-looking pyjama bottoms with 8-balls set aflame all over them and a t-shirt. He plops himself down onto the couch, chittering softly as he sinks into it and lets the ache ease out of him, trilling for you to come and join him.

“Just a second babe, I’m changing.” you call back to him, pulling on some shorts and one of Aether’s tees. It shrouds you, but it’s snug and smells like him, so you don’t mind. Shortly after you make your way over to him, cuddling up next to him with your head on his shoulder, and his arm around your waist.

“You played amazing tonight, you had so much energy.” you whisper, looking up to Aether and ignoring whatever was on the tv screen- neither of you were particularly paying attention to it.

“I was thinking of you the entire time, love. I miss you when I’m up there.” he admits, kissing the top of your head and pulling you a bit closer.

“You’re so cheesy.” you snort, rubbing your hand over his tummy and drawing little circles and shapes over him drowsily, moving up to kiss him and smiling into it. “I love you, Aether.” A bright grin flashes on his sleepy face, his pointy little teeth showing before he leans in for another kiss, deeper this time.

He breaks the kiss, breathlessly whispering “I love you” into your ear and pressing small pecks down your neck. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” he repeats, his words tickling as he says them softly against your skin, making his way to your collar bones now and sucking a small blooming mark onto your skin.

A soft gasp leaves you as he does so, and you bite your lip. Aether goes to lift your t-shirt, but looks up to you for permission first. “Go ahead, it’s okay babe.” you urge, anticipating his touch. He trails his hand under, teasing at first- cupping your bosom and rubbing over the nipple with his thumb, his other hand pulling the shirt up slowly. You lift your arms to let him take it off and he leans to press soft kisses over the other breast, licking over the nipple softly and mouthing it for a little while.

“You’re perfect.” he coos, bringing his face back up to meet yours. Suddenly you’re hit with a spark of imagination, and you push Aether back to the couch gently, straddling his hips, giggling as he groans a bit when you push your backside down and grind over his semi. “Where did this come from? I like it.” he chuckles, thoroughly enjoying the direction you were steering in.

“You’re just irresistible. And you were doing such a nice job with your mouth.” you say as you lean down and kiss Aether’s jaw. “Now who’s cheesy?” he purrs, raising his eyebrow comically and reaching up to knead your breast again, his cock hardening against you. You gasp as he does so, grinding a bit harder to get the friction your body craves, blocked by your shorts. Fuck it. Nobody is going to be here for a while. If that was the case, you’d have been caught already. Slowly you lift your hips, stepping off Aether onto the floor and hooking your thumbs into your shorts, snaking them off your hips and past your knees, letting them drop so you can step out of them.

“I’m so lucky... look at you, so beautiful- every inch of you.” he compliments as you walk back towards him, sitting on top of his thigh this time. You give him a hot look and bite your lip, steadying yourself on him with your hands on his stomach, rocking your hips to rub your folds against his thigh. “What a show... you’re performing with more energy than I did earlier, sweetheart.” Aether purrs, straining against his pants and moving a hand down to palm himself as you use his thigh for your pleasure.

“So wet for me, so perfect...” he coos, a patch of damp collecting on his pant leg. A coil of heat begins to curl in your stomach and you continue your motions, picking up Aether’s free hand and pressing it to your chest. He takes the hint and cups your breast, squeezing and rolling it in his hand and flicking his thumb over the small bud. “Come on love, I can tell you’re close. Cum for me.” he coos, his soft encouragement helping you to tip over the edge, whimpering as your hips stutter and you lay on him to press kisses to his neck and cheek.

To Aether’s surprise, you catch your breath and whisper softly into his ear, his eyes widening at the suggestion. He hadn’t cum yet and was more than happy to oblige to some soft fucking. In preparation, you lie backwards, relaxing into the fabric of the couch and letting your legs fall open, Aether’s face lighting up, looking as if his mouth would water if he stared any longer.

You’re pretty wet from your first orgasm, but Aether trundles away for a second to grab some lube just in case. Once he returns, he perches happily between your legs, in awe of the sight before him. “Can I get you ready for me, love?” he asks earnestly- you’d been partners for a long while now but for every little step he makes sure he has your approval. It’s one of the reasons you love him so dearly. “Of course, Aeth.” You smile, shifting to give him a bit more room. Upon hearing your consent, he introduces his digits, circling his thumb over your clit a little, moving downwards to gather up some slick and press his middle finger in, moving it gently and curling it against your g-spot.

He applies a bit of pressure, allowing you to adjust before adding a second, a small gasp escaping you as he adds his ring finger and beckons against your sweet spot, a deep, fiery heat building there gradually. Applying a bit of lube to his fingers and your opening, he inserts a third, mainly to stretch you for his cock, rather than to use it inside you.

“Ready for me, sweetheart?” He asks once reasonably sure you’re loose enough for him, liberally lubing his length up and wiping his hands on his t-shirt. He had plenty more to wear, after all.

“Yes, Aether... I’m waiting.” you chuckle, whining as he teases the head of his cock against your clit before lowering it to your entrance and sliding in slowly, moaning softly himself as he feels your walls around him. Aether stills once he’s in all the way, waiting for you to tell him that it’s okay to move.

You clench around him, pushing your hips back against him and nodding. “Fuck, you’re so big... move, please.” you whine, causing the large ghoul to let out a little laugh. “You’re so cute like this.” he says softly and he begins to thrust slowly, deep and carefully placed movements. “You’re... you’re c-cute all the time.” you coo as your jaw falls open a little in satisfaction, gripping his shoulder as he leans down to kiss you. “And so are you, my love. Much cuter than me.” he chuckles, moaning as he loses himself in the sensation of being surrounded by you. He takes a hand of yours off his shoulder, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles and kissing them before leading it down to your vulva, encouraging you to play with yourself as he fucks you.

You know yourself better than anybody, after all, and this isn’t the time for showing off, he thinks. He just wants you to feel love and pleasure, and watching you take control of that is so hot to him. Just as he wishes, you rub your clit a little quicker than his thrusts, but exactly how you like it, feeling your orgasm building and letting out delicate noises as you edge closer and closer.

“Aether I’m- I’m close...”you whimper, in ecstasy from the combination of being stretched around Aether’s thick cock and your own fingers. “That’s it love, I’m almost there- cum for me, you can do it...” he encourages, his pace picking up a little as you reach your climax and moan out, back arching off the couch as your orgasm spreads through your abdomen, setting each nerve alight. Aether pulls out and with a few strokes, releases over your stomach, heaving a little and kissing your neck and cheek.

“I really do love you.” he whispers, brushing your hair out of your face, grabbing some tissues to wipe you off. “I love you too.” you reply, a small grin developing on your face as you clean up a bit and make your way over to his bunk, gathering your clothes and shoving them away somewhere. You could deal with that tomorrow.

For now, you cuddle up against his now bare chest, breathing softly and gradually slowly as you both near towards slumber. “Aether?” you say quietly.

“Yes my love?”

“They saw us through the window and went back out to party.” you giggle, a smile flashing over your face as Aether blushes and buried his face in your neck, laughing.

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

Papas with an SO who is a horror artist? Illustration and painting primarily 👀 Would they sit as a model in a grotesque painting? Maybe relay some creepy things theyve seen in their long lives as inspiration for illustrations?

Giggling and kicking my feet because I love horror art and could talk about it for hours!!! Allow me to name drop a few in this post!!

-G/N Reader

-Artist Reader (unspecified art style)

-Romantic Reader x Papa

Trigger Warning:

-Mentions of horror themes, blood, gore, and all the fun stuff!

Papas with a Horror Artist S/O

Papa Nihil: The man adores horror, and so he immediately adores your art! Thinks you are wicked talented! He is especially impressed if you can do old-fashioned horror movie poster styled art! Nihil is the type of partner to invest in very nice frames if you do traditional work. Hanging them up in your shared quarters like a gallery wall. He would even give you money to sell prints, if you weren’t already! He finds it relaxing to watch you draw, if you let him. He personally has no drawing talent but he’s happy to provide feedback and ideas if you need help. If you are the type to be a professional artist Nihil hooks you up with so many high-profile clients! ESPECIALLY if it was merch for the band! You’d end up with so many opportunities to do concept art, magazine guest spots, horror movie promotions- you’d be a household name! All of the papas would tell you stories of their long lives, but Nihil is the most adamant and descriptive!!

Papa I: Loves your art no matter what style or medium you choose. But Papa would have an incredible soft spot for your work if you did traditional paintings like Goya or Beksinski. He would find them very immersive. Finding the beauty in the grotesque and the detail in every part of your work. There is such art to be found in the darkness of man’s imagination, he likes to say! When you talk to him about art, he will always compliment you. Truly, it takes a skilled eye and hand to capture the uncanny. In turn, he has inspired you with a lot of visuals from Opus. You once gifted him a painting of ‘Ritual’ and watched his eyes light up. It is happily hanging in your living room. Funnily enough, Papa has skill as an illustrator for science and anatomy. Nothing creative, like you! Papa takes a lot of notes with anatomy and plants for study. But that DOES make him a good person to see when you need critique.

Papa II: Many don’t know that Papa is a collector of art. Imagine your face when you tell him you are a horror artist and he shows you his Giger ORIGINAL! Papa has quite a collection of very popular modern horror master original works. Everything to famous movie illustrator prints to classical masters! He adores horror works, not just horror movies! Papa loves to sit and flip through your portfolios. There are a few he wants to buy from you (yes buy, because he will not expect them just because you are his partner!) Papa thinks you’ll be one of the greats someday; no matter what medium you pursue! A lot of your time is spent together by watching horror movies and you drawing next to him. He can’t think of a better night than enjoying a glass of wine, a schlocky film, and seeing you work on your latest creation! Any art you gift him will be hung in his public office and private study! (He also wouldn’t mind shifting into his more demon form to let you draw him…)

Papa III: Another creative soul to mingle with Papa! He is both an avid horror fan AND a talented artist, himself. You have art dates! Papa took up portrait painting when he was a teenager and has never stopped (though he has less time for it with Papacy and all). In fact, you met because you were having a small showing of your art! Papa was in town during his tour and visited your gallery show. He was very keen on all the work you put into each piece. Asking about your inspirations and techniques. You both had so much in common with what you liked to do in art to your favorite classic horror movies! If you had work of any of the original classics (Like Dracula, his favorite!) he straight up buys one of your originals! He’s a big fan of your work! That lead to keeping in touch, which lead to more talking, and finally dating after his stint as singer. These days he’s your cheerleader. He tries not to bother you when you are working, but LOVES resting on you as you draw. Papa practically BEGS to be your model sometimes! Put him in whatever costume you want!

Papa IV/Cardinal Copia: Love love love LOVES if you do illustrations! Copia isn’t an artist by any means, but he adores art! (It’s why he jumped on the chance to have such a range of art styles in his merch!) Copia happily obsesses over your specific art style! Committing all your stylistic motifs by every detail! It’s quite flattering that he can always tell you drew something by the way you shade or define your line weight! He loves it even more when you draw him or the ghouls. In fact, he has a small book portfolio of every doodle you’ve ever let him have! There have even been a few posters and shirts you designed! Copia always wears them under his track suit. When you want to draw vampires he is the FIRST to give you so many ideas! On top of that? Copia is your #1 art resource buddy! As a history buff and a man who consumes information, you never need to struggle to research ever again! Copia is the type to look up history of monsters, symbols, themes, and past art of whatever you want. He can get you a pile of clergy illustrations of whatever you want to incorporate into your art!

Papa V Perpetua: You mean, this man is even more desperately and hopelessly in love with you than he already was? You being a horror artist is everything he could have dreamed for in a partner! Perpetua is an absolutely FREAK when it comes to anything horror! The more twisted or gory stuff you draw the better! Perpetua loves all horror, but the weirder the better! He loves all your work and will happily display as many pieces as you will let him. A favorite of his is the time you drew him transforming into a bat creature with sharp teeth, blood, and a monstrous face! The amount of merch he’d have you design would be astronomical. You also both bond over your favorite horror artists, directors, and writers. Papa has also been a fantastic muse and model. Happily posing or giving you inspiration for your next full illustration! Perpetua is also a freak who loves dead things and anatomy… so he's a very good person to ask if you need help drawing gore.

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

Could I please request headcanons of the Papas meeting their S/O's very religious family for the first time, only for the family to be hostile and constantly made snide remarks about the Papas position in the Church/try to argue theology with them?

I swear I wrote something like this before, but I can’t find it so I can’t link it! But I’m still gonna answer this, just sorry if I’ve done it already! Lol!

This is also unlocking one of my favorite Papa I headcanons, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did getting to write it!

Also proof reading; I’m sorry if this misses the mark. I got carried away with thinking of different scenarios to put reader in!

Notes:

-Written with younger Nihil in mind, but reader’s choice.

-GN Reader

-Reader implied to have one or both parents/parental figures, some grandparents, and siblings. Each is different and can be swapped out per reader preference.

(Trigger warnings: emotional abusive families, unhealthy relationships with family, religious trauma for the reader.)

Papas Meeting Their S/O’s Heavily Religious Families

Papa Nihil: Your Papa never understood why you kept in contact with your toxic family. They constantly belittled you and tried to convince you to abandon your place at the clergy. You admitted that despite the nasty things they said about your faith, you still loved them. They were your family and you didn’t have the heart to completely abandon them over it. Nihil despises them but can’t force you to cut contact, so he remained supportive. One day you did get an invitation to come home as a peace offering. Nihil was suspicious but agreed that you should go. Primarily because he didn’t trust your family and didn’t want to leave you alone with them… but wait, they willingly invited him too? Shit. Now he was REALLY SUSPICIOUS! But you asked him to go with your puppy dog eyes, and he couldn’t say no.

This would be the first time he’s met them and he wasn’t going to let you down. So he reluctantly agreed to come home with you. Nihil grabbed a fine bottle of wine and a dish he had his personal ghoul made. Despite being very grumpy at having to go, your Papa was polite and charming as he could be. It lasted about ten minutes getting into the door. Because, unfortunately, your grand father was there. Your grandpa was one of those super traditional, old school types who thought everyone should bow to him as head of the household. Your grandpa didn’t even let you sit before he was criticizing your beloved. Citing him as being rude for imaginary slights, and that he would expect nothing less from a demon worshipper.

Nihil wasn’t having any of it. “Actually, I should be at the head of the table: I outrank all of you where I came from.” Your lover smirked. Then all Hell broke loose. It went from your Grandpa shouting about sin, to your mother crying for him to calm down, and then Nihil laughing in everyone’s face. You both didn’t make it an hour before you were being pushed out of the house and told to never come back. Nihil’s only regret was seeing you cry, because he knows how badly you wanted to be accepted. But he decided to take you out to dinner, instead.

Papa I: Quite frankly, your family had picked the absolute worst person to ever have a theological debate with. Papa I isn’t just a dedicated anti pope; Theology is his passion and special interest! He does nothing but study various religions, INCLUDING every single denomination of his dreaded nemesis. So you knew the day Papa met your family they would be humbled VERY quickly. Actually, you couldn’t wait to see it if you were being honest.

Your family had been pestering you for ages to come home and visit. They hated where you ran off to, but insisted they still loved you and just wanted you to come see them. God would always forgive you, right? You agreed only if you could bring Papa. With a lot of reluctance they did agree. Papa was happy to accept thinking it was your way of reconnecting with your family. He knew the stories but was willing to play nice for your sake…. Yet he was intrigued as to why you were so giddy the trip to your childhood home.

Aside from a lot of passive aggressive comments towards him (which he ignored), the family had been well behaved. It’s not until dinner that your uncle decided to have a ‘good faith’ argument ‘for fun’ with Papa’s and yours beliefs. Papa was calm at first until your uncle started preaching. You sat back with a small smile as Papa dressed the man down. Papa not only contradicted all of your uncle’s arguments with actual Bible verses, but Papa even showed he knew more about his faith than anyone could have guessed. Your family was stunned and dinner was finished in silence. Papa thanked them for a lovely time and you never fought with your family again… they were too scared for it.

Papa II: If it wasn’t for the fact that Papa genuinely cared about you he would have never agreed to this. Papa openly despises your family after hearing stories of how they treated you. You had to literally beg him to meet them just once. One dinner to meet him so they would stop hounding you about your mysterious partner and the “crazy cult you joined.” All you wanted was this one dinner so you could go back to ignoring them for the rest of the year… until Christmas, at least. You’re very lucky Papa has committed to you enough to agree. The compromise is that HE chose where to meet the family.

This is how your family got invited to one of the most prestigious Italian Restaurants in the city. Not Papa’s cherished favorite, mind you. But good enough that it cost a pretty penny. Your parents and sister didn’t seem to mind ‘dirty Satanist money’ when it got them the finest dishes in the world. Plus, it was neutral ground. so Papa was a touch more relaxed than he would have been otherwise. Even after thanking Papa, your family seemed like they couldn’t wait to be incredibly rude to him. You pushed your risotto around your plate and kept your head down as your mom kept asking questions. The kind that were thinly veiled passive aggressiveness under a sweet tone. Papa sipped his wine and answered non committaly to questions about his faith, his role in the ministry, how much he made, what made him part of the congregation…

Papa was a classy man, so one worded and cool answers kept him from being snarky. ‘Lucifer. Anti Pope. more than jesus. Birth right.’ Your mother seemed to sour more and more at his answers, and your sister sneered in barely concealed disgust. But the line was finally crossed when your mom whole heartedly smiled at Papa. “It’s never too late to be saved by Jesus. You know you both could always come home, receive forgiveness, and stop living in sin.” Papa set down his wine. “And you could stop giving tidings to a Mega Church where your pastor has a criminal record.” Your family’s stunned face was enough to make you almost choke on your food. Needless to say, you’ve never seen the three of them run out on a bill so fast after that. But you did thank Papa for being nice. After all, you know the man could have done so much worse.

Papa III: To his credit, Papa wanted to be absolutely gracious and was happy to put aside religion if it meant keeping peace with your family. He knew it was important to you to just have your family on good terms. Even if that meant a healthy arms length away from him. So he was prepared to not speak of his faith and be his cordial and charming self. Anything to make future contact easier for you! Despite your rocky differences, he knew you and your family were incredibly close.

Papa had agreed to let your family come over for dinner to help mend the bridge. He was happy to host! You didn’t think they would ever agree, but you always gave small invitations. Your family declined every single one. Until one day you decided to try again for Easter… and they accepted?? Your were a bit panicked, but Papa was ecstatic! He wanted them to like him and possibly be more communicative with you! Maybe even visit more! He had his fill of extremists in the past, so he wasn’t expecting a miracle. But he definitely wasn’t expecting to be as disrespected in his own home as he was that day.

Papa had the kitchens prepare the nicest Easter brunch in the gardens. No Jesus, but plenty of bunnies and plastic eggs for your baby cousins. Your family (and extended family) pretty much all ignored every greeting he tried to make. They didn’t acknowledge Papa and instead decided to nit-pick you, the abbey, and even the siblings serving you. Papa had gritted teeth the whole day. Trying to be level headed and supportive. but when they told him they didn’t want him saying ‘grace’ at the meal did Papa finally react. “You come into MY HOME, on YOUR HOLIDAY that we accommodated for YOU, and you treat me and my home like GARBAGE?” When your mom pointed out he was a Satanist anyway Papa yelled, “GET THE FUCK OUT!!” Papa called them everything from hypocrite to their faith to disgraces. You were happy to see all of them run out with their tails tucked between their legs. Papa never invited your family to anything ever again.

Papa IV/Copia: Copia meeting your family had been entirely by accident! You were little to no contact with them and intended to keep your partner and life AWAY from them! Yet fate had other plans. You had attended the last of the tour shows with the band and one of the destinations had been your hometown. Copia always knew you hated traveling back there. Originally he had asked if you wanted to skip over the city and take a mini break away from the crew. Happy to let you go off on your own solo trip and just reconnect with the tour after this particular show. But you vehemently were against leaving and assured him the chances of your family being around a ritual was one in a million… until you saw your entire family protesting outside of the venue. (Swiss told you to buy a lottery ticket with your odds after you picked your jaw off of the ground.)

You almost couldn’t believe your eyes. They must have stayed out for hours to yell at the band’s tour bus. The only reason you were even out there was to wrangle some of the ghouls from screwing with some of the protesters. That’s when you saw your siblings and cousins in the midst of the signs. When one of them recognized you Hell broke loose. Your brother, a proud pastor, called you out by name. Copia had come to grab you and heard it. “Beloved, is that… your brother?” You begged Copia to just go back into the bus with you. Normally, he’s a more passive man in tense events and likes to handle issues more calmly. But when your brother, sister in law, and even cousins started shouting biblical insults at you he snapped.

Very calmly Copia strolled over to your brother and met him eye to eye. You knew that Copia being calm meant he was absolutely livid. Your brother went from being belligerent to gulping at the blazing white eye of your lover. Copia recited word for word all the passages he knew about not being above God and judging your neighbor. Every time your brother tried to respond, Copia spoke over him louder and louder until he was practically shouting verses. Soon all the protestors were staring in horror until all were muttering and quiet. Copia just scoffed at your brother before turning to you. “What a terrible child of God you are. Pathetic.” You felt on top of the world when Copia guided you away, leaving behind a stunned and silent brother.

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

Hi! Could I please request headcanons of how Copia/the current lineup of ghouls would react to going to a family dinner to meet their S/O's family for the first time? Only for the family to start telling embarrassing stories/poking meanspirited fun at their S/O and when they're asked to stop the family starts being like "stop being so sensitive" and "it's funny, take a joke"?

Oh boy, this will definitely not end well for the family!! I think for some of these I got carried away with variety of the situation. So some of these might be more harsh than others! :,) sorry!

-   Human Reader

-              G/N Reader

-              Reader unspecified family unit. implied biological/step parental figures/siblings/grandparents. Varies in between each entry!

-              Ghouls use glamour for human disguises.

 

(Trigger Warnings: Family problems, emotional abuse, mentions of insults, mentions of toxic family members, reader in different stages of healing, name calling , minor acts of violence… to the reader’s family)

 

Papa IV and the Ghouls meeting their S/O’s Family who Picks on their S/O During Dinner

Papa Emeritus IV/Cardinal Copia: Copia had noticed some “jokes” and comments being made about you early in the evening. He had dismissed them as typical sibling/family banter. But once you finally had your plates the comments started getting more pointed and hurtful. He could see your face drop and it bothered him. Copia, after another comment, put his fork down and cleared his throat. “That’s not very nice of you to say about Y/N.” When one of your siblings tried to tell him that they were just joking he shook his head. “No, you weren’t. In fact, all of you have been doing nothing but attacking Y/N all night.” At first you tried telling him it was fine, but he stood up and pulled out your chair. Your family’s protests died once he harshly announced that you were leaving. Copia was sure to say how awful they were to treat you so terribly and make an awful first impression! Left speechless, your family could only watch in shock as Copia thanked them for a mediocre meal and proclaimed that neither of you would be back. Unless, of course, they decided to act like human beings and apologized. Copia, fuming, decided to take you on a date instead to anywhere you wanted to go.

Cirrus: Your keyboardist girlfriend assured you that you didn’t HAVE to go see your family. She had been advocating for no contact with them for a while. But when nothing changed your mind, she reluctantly went with you. Cirrus didn’t like the idea of you being stuck alone at dinner with the people who humiliated you the most. To the ghoulette’s surprise, your mom and sister were delightful and pleasant! … It was your stepfather that was the real issue. Your stepfather took every opportunity to either insult you, criticize you, or make you the butt of every joke. Cirrus understood why you didn’t visit home often. Had you not been squeezing her hand under the table, she might have acted sooner. The ghoulette was fine until you accidentally knocked your drink over. Your step-father dramatically slapped his hand on the table and scoffed. “Can’t you do ANYTHING right?”Before you could open your mouth Cirrus calmly wiped her mouth with her napkin and rose from the table. Everyone watched confused as she made her way in front of the man. He rolled his eyes. “And what do you-?” There was a loud crack as her fist connected with his nose. Sending him pitching backwards in his chair and moaning, before passing out. The keyboardist strutted out. “Come on, Y/N, let’s go home.” You didn’t argue and followed her so fast!

Aether: He wasn’t thrilled that you broke your no contact to go see your family. But you were told it was a “make up” dinner. Aether didn’t believe it. The only reason he didn’t fight you on it was that he saw how much you desperately wanted your family back. He didn’t hesitate to join you when you asked. Your family was awkward with you, despite being very welcoming to him. They seemed more interested in getting to know Aether more than reconnecting with you. It made the guitarist feel exceptionally guilty… at first. The dinner was calm and uneventful. When you got up to help bring out dessert and clean did the bullshit actually start. Your mother and siblings were whispering about you, making it out like YOU were the one not putting in any effort. Aether was normally a level headed ghoul, but he wasn’t going to stand for this. “Y/N has cried so much over you people and you didn’t even care.” That simple statement started a shit storm. You came back holding pieces of cake to see both your family and Aether standing up and arguing. He still has trouble talking about it, but from what he told you after storming out? That your family doesn’t deserve you. That and you should go no contact with people who treat you like shit. You didn’t argue and had been much happier since!!

Sunshine: Initially very excited, Sunshine couldn’t WAIT to meet your family! They were giddy at the idea of seeing their first real human, family dinner. At first the visit was going splendidly. Your mom seemed to take to Sunshine. Your siblings minded their manners and welcomed them with open arms. The family even managed to get through the entire dinner without turning you into the designated laughingstock. Sunshine was having a great time! You tried to leave after food, but your mother knew how to guilt you into staying for coffee and dessert. Unfortunately, that’s where the night went south. Your mother insisted on telling the most embarrassing childhood stories of your whole life. Her and your siblings laughing as you turned red at being reminded. Sunshine was so uncomfortable seeing you mortified. Eventually they spoke up. “How is this funny? Why are you being so mean to Y/N?” Your mother took that personally and tried to defend herself. But each time, Sunshine countered with how awful she was being. Sunshine ended up being told to get out and not come back when they insulted your mom for being a bad parent. The singing ghoul was very contrite when you got home. They apologized if they ruined things, but they won’t let anyone ever insult you!

Sodo: Growing up in the fire tribes, insulting jokes, and banter aren’t new to Sodo. In fact, it’s usually encouraged as a way of mutual bonding and fun. Though, it goes without saying, there is always a fine line between being playful and being malicious. When you told him how your family was, he just assumed they were like his. Nothing could have prepared Sodo to see how awful your family was to you! Sodo promised to be on his best behavior at first. But his blood was obviously boiling by the time dinner was ready. It felt like the moment you got in the door your parents nit-pick everything you said or did. Your appearance, your job at the ministry, what you said… all said as a JOKE, of course! Anytime you defended yourself they would roll their eyes. Accusing you of taking everything they said too seriously! He saw the hurt look in your eyes, and the way you slowly retreated into yourself. Your ghoul boyfriend tried desperately to grin and bear it for your sake. Remembering how you asked him not to get angry at how they acted. Sodo tried his best for you. One dinner shouldn’t be too hard for him, right? And to his credit, he was doing well until your mom started criticizing the way you were eating. You weren’t sure if it was because it was literally the third time she said you chewed too loudly. Or how it had been non-stop since the food was ready. But Sodo snapped, stood up, and slammed his fists on the table. “WOULD YOU ALL LEAVE Y/N THE FUCK ALONE? Can you all shut the fuck up for ONCE? FUCK THIS DINNER! Babe, let’s go!!” You were sure Sodo would never be invited back when he gave your family the double middle fingers on your way out. But, to his credit, he DIDN’T burn the house down!

Mountain: The drummer was very reluctant to meet your family in the first place. He heard all your stories from what they say and do to you on a regular basis. The initial meeting was awkward for him, but he remained polite. His pleasant, albeit quiet, demeanor was short lived as your eldest brother started in on you. It started with snide comments before it gradually escalated. No one stopped him. He even tried dragging Mountain into it. Asking what a nice guy like him was doing with a ‘loser’ like you. A pleading look from you was the only reason Mountain didn’t speak up. Your brother didn’t let up with his insults at the table, even as you begged. He called you a baby for being way too sensitive. No one stood up for you. The final straw was your brother scoffing, “are you going to take a joke or run away crying to another cult?”The only thing you heard was the sound of a scraping chair before your brother was slammed into the wall. He stared down with wide, terrified eyes as Mountain held him high against the dining room wall. His feet dangled helplessly as Mountain had him by the collar. “Don’t you ever say that about Y/N, again.” The ghoul said evenly and quietly. Before he could answer, your brother was dropped to the floor. Everyone scrambled to help your sibling as Mountain calmly came up to you. “We’re leaving.” You didn’t argue. Not because you were afraid of the drummer. You were just in sheer awe for how quickly he acted to defend you. Mountain held you protectively as you left. Ignoring the shouts of your family behind you. You never looked back after that.

Rain: You absolutely did NOT want to take Rain to dinner. You knew the awful way your family acted. Rain was a very quiet and somewhat sensitive ghoul. While you knew he was no push over, you hated the idea of upsetting him. Rain missed his own family and you hated the idea of him seeing a BAD one. He could sense your trepidation, offering to stay home. But you were, once again, guilted into going to dinner. Everyone at home had a big mouth and couldn’t stop talking about your new boyfriend! You came from a big family where no one left the same town. At first Rain was excited, reminding him of his own family back in Hell! For the bassist, the excitement was short lived. Because literally EVERYONE in your family spoke disrespectfully to each other! There was an even bigger habit of everyone targeting you. From your uncles making ugly jokes, to your aunts passive aggressively complimenting you. Hell, he thought he heard your grandparents pick on you! Anytime you asked them to quietly stop, you were dismissed. Your cousins and siblings kept reassuring Rain that you were always the sensitive one of the family. “Y/n has always been a cry baby!” A cousin remarked making everyone laugh. “Yeah, I’d cry too if I was related to all of you… you guys SUCK!” Rain snapped back. Sure, it wasn’t the best come back. But it was everything to you when you saw the look of surprise and offense come on everyone’s face. Rain rolled his eyes at the chorus of retorts and just grabbed your wrist. Even making you laugh as he tugged you away and flipped them all off (Sodo style). On the drive home he eventually got one sentence out. “Babe… I don’t like your family.” And that was that.

Aurora: At first you weren’t planning to take Aurora to dinner at all. She was a ghoulette who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. You knew it wouldn’t take much for her to go off on your family… but when your eldest sister was rude over the phone, you CRAVED payback. Aurora knew you were up to something when you not only insisted, she come with you to dinner, but you had a mischievous grin the entire drive. The singer had a feeling and was happy to play along. The most Aurora expected was some annoying banter from the little you spoke of the family. However, she was not anticipating how all your sisters harped on you ALL NIGHT. From everything to how you walked, to how you dressed, to how “you act like you’re better than us!”Even worse, the amount of high school stories they tried to casually demean you with during the appetizer. How annoying!! She bit her tongue as best as she could until the salad for dinner came out. You gave her a side grin once your youngest sister started another embarrassing tale; waiting eagerly for her to intervene. With a roll of her eyes she happily obliged. “First of all, none of you are pretty enough to talk to anyone like that.” Utter silence. Aurora beat your mouthiest sister to the punch. You watched as the band ghoul tear each of your sisters to verbal shreds. Poking out each insecurity of theirs with such sass and finesse. You pulled her out as your siblings silently fumed and practically ran back to the car! On the way home she jokingly socked you in the arm. . “If you wanted me to do that in the first place, just say so! It would have saved us that awful charcutier board!!”

Cumulus: Truthfully, neither of you even got to sit at the dining room table before Cumulus led you out. Your queenly girlfriend never even let on that anything bothered her. Your father had promised that your stepmother and stepsiblings would be on their best behavior if you came home for one night. You loved your dad and really wanted him to meet your girlfriend! Cumulus ADORED your father… yet she quickly saw why you never bonded with your stepmother. The pain started when both her and your stepsiblings were so sickingly sweet (and passive aggressive) to you both. Giving Cumulus the saccharine guest treatment while asking the most back handed questions. Cumulus was wise to them but answered with all big smiles and grace. You could tell how intimidated everyone was by the ghoulette as she shot down all of their backhanded compliments. You both only got through one drink before Cumulus announced it was nice to meet your dad. When your stepmother insisted that dinner wasn’t ready Cumulus happily took your hand. “I’ve seen enough.” She said with a bright smile. Like Cumulus was casually talking about the weather, she laid down the law. “It’s so pathetic how you try to tear down Y/N. I’m done listening to you all be rude and catty. It’s annoying and pathetic. I’m not staying for a dinner where I’m not even welcome. And I’m certainly not leaving Y/N with you !” She DID, however, tell your dad he was a nice man- and that he always had a place at the ministry if he wanted a divorce. Cumulus even did a little ‘tah-tah’ and wave as you left!  

Swiss: The guitarist believed you when you said your family was relentless… but he wasn’t anticipating HOW nasty they could be! He likes to banter as much as the next ghoul, but this was too much for him! Swiss pulled you aside half way through the dinner to ask if you were seriously ok. He didn’t mind playing along for you, but not at your expense! Your siblings were downright bullying you! They were being cruel and saying YOU were the one with the problem! You assured him it’s fine. Swiss lets it go… sorta. As furious as he gets listening to how your family “jokes” with you, the multi ghoul doesn’t believe in getting mad. He believes in getting EVEN! Even with righteous fury fueling him, Swiss is nothing but polite and easy going the rest of the dinner. All smiles as he happily enjoyed his meal with you. But… Swiss is a ghoul of LEGENDARY wit and banter. Honestly, compared to your parents and siblings, he’s far too good at it. Swiss is a master at taking one of their mean jokes and sending it right back at them. Giving his own “compliments” that show their lack of manners. Hell, even giving the classic “that’s a weird thing to say out loud!” While he jovially laughs it off! But you know what he’s actually doing. Imagine your surprise when his subtle pokes actually get your family to back down. Not only that, but he makes them realize of much they were being assholes! You didn’t know what was better; The whole table apologizing to you both for being mean, or knowing your ghoul boyfriend did it without having to lift a finger!

Phantom: You were nervous for Phantom to meet the family. Not so much because you knew they would embarrass you. But because the guitarist was the living embodiment of chaos. Unpredictable, mischievous, and quick to defend his loved ones. You were both curious and horrified of what he was capable of when you had dinner at your childhood home! You forgot the occasion, but all of your brothers and your dad wanted you home. It was annoying, but you filled Phantom in. You were the black sheep of the family and all the others LOVED to use you as an emotional punching bag! Phantom just grinned and patted your knee on the way there. “Oh, I’m hoping!” You dreaded to know what that meant when the two of you pulled up. Admist the chaos of niblings running around and your family grilling, Phantom was welcomed with open arms . It was like watching a frat gain a new member. Phantom was tossed a beer as your brothers made jabs at you. Phantom silently watched as it was like a competition of which of them could get you to crack first. Each insult met with laughter and egging each other on. Sometimes your dad even joined in off handedly. When your face was burning and you clearly had enough Phantom tossed back the rest of his beer. He laughed obnoxiously loud before finally speaking. “oooh ooh! My turn! My turn!” he declared with his ghoul fangs almost ready to pop out. You all sat and listened as Phantom unleashed the most brutal of burns on every member of your family. Every insecurity, back handed compliment, and insult you could imagine came from the guitarist’s mouth. You’ve never seen your brothers lost for words before that day. Phantom even waved as he stole the plate of finished burgers and carried you out of there!

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

I saw that your inbox was open and I just had to jump in for some more of your absolutely AMAZING writing! How about character(s) of your choice with a s/o who is completely unaccustomed to asking for help, even when they need it. Like could be just absolutely going THROUGH IT, and it doesn’t even occur to them to ask for help or support.

Reflecting after writing this, I think you were leaning more towards when reader is having a rough time. But I kept it to lighter tasks because I feel like the Papas would never let you go through something serious without checking on you. So consider helping you with smaller, not as serious issues a prelude to what would happen when something big DOES happen! To quote, “you will never walk alone.” :)

 

-              G/N Reader

-              Reader x Papa Romantic

-              Reader has different reasons for not asking for help.

-              Couple Bickering (not fighting. Think Sitcom banter).

Papas X Reader Who Doesn’t know how to ask for help

Papa Nihil: Nihil doesn’t like to interfere on the occasions you do struggle to get something done. He’s learned the hard way with strong willed partners that imposing help where it’s not wanted can end in disaster. But Nihil is not opposed to lending a hand, he just wants you to make it clear you NEED the help. However, when he does want to help he’s totally an old man about it. The type of partner that if you’re putting together furniture he will just stand there, watch you, and ask irritating questions. Asking what you are doing, how long you’ve been at it, and if you would like his help. If you say no, he will still stand around for a moment and just “ok.” Nihil will only really ask if you are visibly frustrated or about to give up. Reminding you that he really doesn’t mind lending you a hand (or getting a ghoul to do it for you.) Nihil knows you don’t like to ask, and just figures that eventually you will give in and admit it. Then he’s quickly by your side trying to find a solution to your problem! One of the main ways he does try to communicate with you is waiting until later when you are calmer. Nihil will tenderly remind you that you are allowed to say you need help. It’s his job as your partner to do so! 

Papa I: When you first became friends, Papa genuinely thought you were just stubborn. He tended to leave you to your own devices. Figuring that if you truly needed assistance, you would ask him. Not realizing in the beginning that you weren’t just independent. You just struggled to reach out. And you were VERY good at hiding it from everyone. Eventually he figured your issue out by the time you became a couple. The first big giveaway being when you couldn’t figure out a translation for one of your studies and you grew extremely quiet. Glancing his way multiple times as though debating yourself whether you should speak or not. Papa did not hesitate and went to your side. Asking if you would like his help. When you nodded that’s when he realized you had a tell. This is how it went for a while. Papa waiting for your non-verbal ques (glancing his way, fidgeting, sighing heavily) before he would offer. Eventually Papa felt comfortable in your relationship to sit you down and bluntly asked if you had difficulty with getting help. You weren’t expecting him to be so forward, but it was a relief to get off your chest and be honest!  That’s how you finally broke down to tell him that you had a lot of insecurity with getting assistance from others. You always felt like a burden and hated the idea of people getting annoyed at you if you were ‘too needy.’ Papa listened with much understanding and patience and assured you he would never say such cruel things to you. You have gotten a lot better about it, slowly but surely! 

Papa II: The two of you get along so well because you are both the same. You and Papa are so prideful that neither of you like asking for help. Even if it’s as something as simple as trying to open a jar of pickles; you’d both rather jump out of a window before admitting you couldn’t do it! “I’m fine” “I can do it!” and “Don’t worry about it” are apart of your daily conversations. But the funniest part is that sometimes you bicker over trying to help the other when they are clearly struggling to accomplish something. It’s not a fight, of course, but it’s very amusing to watch the two of you grump at each other over a non-issue. Once Papa noticed that you were having difficulty opening a package. It was one of those monster packages that felt like it was taped with cement strips. Papa heard you cursing to yourself as you ripped another piece of tape off. He asked if you would like help, to which you gave a pointed ‘no.’ You being far too invested to let others help, even as you threw another wad of tap on the ground. Papa watched you fight the monster box before he got close.

“Amore, if you do it like-“

“I got it!” You insisted. Struggling for another moment Papa grabbed the scissors,

“if you just let me-“

“noooooo! Get your own!”

“Stop being stubborn! Let me help!”

“No!” Cue you both light arguing before you finally let the man help you get the package open. Once it was open you gave a reluctant but curt ‘thanks’ as you happily opened your box. Papa felt so smug about it … until he refused to let you help do his cuff links the next day.

Papa III: Depending on how you see it, Papa can be annoyingly helpful when it comes to you. Never letting you struggle with any task big or small! He regularly goes out of his way to be romantic and, as he puts it, ‘take care of you.’ It’s just part of his personality that makes him want to be your Prince Charming and swoop in to save you! You never have to ask because Papa is ALWAYS finding a way to assist when you least expect it. You drop your books? He’s picking them up. You forget your lunch? Surprise food delivery! He’s even stopped in the middle of a work call to help you open a jammed filing cabinet; all without being asked! Whether you find this incredibly sweet or undermining and annoying is up to you. But just know it’s never to make you feel like a baby who is incapable of taking care of yourself. Papa tends to overcompensate in small ways in your relationship. It makes him feel more secure to be the partner that can always provide for you; be it with finances, emotional support, or assisting you in tasks. To him, when he sees you struggling of COURSE he’s going to take over and fix it! The way he sees it, you should NEVER have to ask for help in the first place! Which, thankfully, you already struggle with! It’s been an unblessing not having to fight with yourself to even consider asking for help. Occasionally you still must remind him that you also want to attempt to solve things on your own. To which you either get puppy dog eyes and a “are you sure, amore?” or just a nod and his careful watching you.  Other times you are happy to let him be the hero and give him a big kiss for his troubles.

Papa IV/Copia: He has noticed for a long time that you were reluctant to ask for help, he’s just not sure HOW to approach it. On one hand he loves being able to help and has no problem stopping to assist you. But on the other Copia is afraid you would be offended if he asked. He doesn’t enjoy letting you struggle, but he values your independence and capability. The last thing he wants is to be overbearing! What if he constantly tried to help you and you thought he was babying you just because of his rank? Classic Copia overthinking, honestly. Copia tends to hover around you, not realizing that you could use the help but don’t want to ask. You’ve always had an aversion to ask due to not wanting to bother people. It’s an anxious curse you’ve had for your whole life! You also didn’t want to keep Copia from his work. The man was already busy, you couldn’t just worry him in the middle of a workday! The ghouls find it very funny because you and Copia have a constant routine of you struggling with a task and him hovering and looking nervous. Neither of you dared break the awkwardness about it. Eventually Sodo couldn’t take it anymore and said what they were all thinking.

“(Your Name), would you just fucking ask for help already! Papa is practically about to explode!!”

As hilarious as it was, it made you both realize how silly your shared anxiety was!