I swear I talk about her like she’s my gf but it’s completely platonic, I’ve just never had a best friend that wasn’t also my romantic partner in adulthood.
She calls me at least once a week just to yap, and I am so mad at geography cause I wanna run errands and get coffee with this hoe.
I’m writing this here so I don’t forget about today.
I video called her for 3 hours, we watched the latest episode of heated rivalry together on FaceTime and laughed and cried and both tried not to throw things at the tv. I’ve had a lot of internet friends, but this is the first one that has genuinely felt like a real friend, like someone who is part of my life even from very far away.
take a lesson, and not learn it. and repeat it a thousands times until doing it the wrong way is etched into your bones, and becomes instinct, like rolling the paper between your fingers three times with the right amount of pressure to keep it from falling apart. find a wall and punch it, then try a brick wall, and a dry wall, and a wooden fence and learn the difference between hitting a kitchen wall and screaming to let you go, and banging endlessly on a bedroom door pleading to let you in.
I’ve been trying to stick to one of the many October prompt lists (settling on peachtober) and I’ve been using felt as my medium.
This is easily the longest I’ve ever stuck to one of these, making my little felt thing daily and loving it, even if the days when I don’t immediately like what I made or I’m so tired that I don’t want to make anything.
Just in case no-one is aware, tonight is the Hunter's Moon (the full moon of October, the full moon of every month has a different name).
Mountain is having his annual horror movie marathon. It's him, Swiss, Aurora, Sunny and Ifrit all curled up in his big-ass bed, surrounded by snacks and shrieking and laughing, doing stupid commentary and terrible impressions, and generally having a jolly good time. There will be making out. When someone comes in to tell them breakfast is ready, they're all curled up in a big pile together with the DVD menu of the last movie they watched still looping.
This is all based on my HC that every ghoul had responsibility for one song on Impera and HM was Mountain's. He literally wrote Halloween Michael Myers fanfic and Copia put it on the album because he thought it was sick af.
A cat is a small creature in the middle of the food chain that is fully aware that you are a very large thing that could stomp its head in at any moment and yet it chooses to rest its tiny little head on your leg for a nap and spreads out on the floor near you exposing its belly and its most sensitive organs. It brings dead mice and bugs to you to share food.
Don’t you get it? This tiny thing trusts you. It wants to help you too. It licks your leg thinking that it’s helping. It kneads on you to find comfort. It shares its body warmth with you in the cold and gives you your space in the heat. It hisses at other mammals it sees outside including other cats in an effort to protect its family.
Cats love you so so much. But they will keep trying to eat plastic.
Would Anything Matter If You're Already Dead? - A Banana!Verse One Shot
Fear shakes all the Ghouls down to their core when their Papas suddenly go missing. But it'll be when Omega joins the hunt that an earth-shattering tragedy will befall him and he takes an action he'll never forgive himself for, for the rest of his life.
Words: 3.3k
Relationships: Chain/Omega, Terzo/Omega
Tags: Manipulation, heavy angst, magic, forced mu/r/der, dead dove, death, he/they chain
A/n: Definitely some dark heavy stuff here so make sure you read the tags! For my dear @anotherbananasong and her amazing world. This is an idea we've been tossing around for a while lol.
A little context for some things mentioned... Omega and Chain are in a mated QPR. Chain is aroace, and Omega is acespec. Chain is bonded with Primo and the Era 2 Ghouls are the "Ancients" who all veil for religious reasons.
Title from "Early Sunsets Over Monroeville" by My Chemical Romance!
~~~
The Ministry had been chaos for a few hours now. Well, only for certain creatures within the old unhallowed halls. The Ghouls had all been wracked with an impending sense of dread they couldn’t shake and couldn’t understand. Everyone was accounted for, save their Papas as they were having their usual game nights in one of the many tiny rooms of the Abbey. It was Chain who'd first got this feeling, appearing in Omega’s room shaking and wordless as something felt so so wrong on his bond with Primo. For some reason they couldn’t teleport and appear in front of Primo as they usually would and so he went to Omega - his ultimate safety in this Abbey of horrors.
Since then, the rest of the Ghouls had been trying to track down their beloved humans, following scents and sounds though it almost seemed entirely futile to do so as the search stretched on and on and on…
Omega had gotten Chain as comfortable as possible in the Quint’s nest, buried under blankets and furs and his dirty clothes when Chain let out a screech so primal Omega thought he was about to unleash his full Eldritch form. Their clawed hand flew to their chest as they arched off the bed like he was attached to a string being pulled through the roof. If they weren’t already Hellspawn, it would have looked as if the tiny Water Ghoul was possessed.
“Chain? What’s wrong?” Omega said, his voice full of panic at Chain sudden howl. His hands cupped his mate’s face, lacing the touch with Quintessence as he begged for whatever pain his little Ghoul was in to end.
“P- Primo! Aghh, gone! It’s… l- like he’s gone!” The tiny Water Ghoul wailed.
Read below the cut or on ao3!
Omega’s brows furrowed as he rubbed his own chest. While he was summoned by Secondo, he had still served Primo, and of course his beloved Terzo. He kissed Chain’s forehead, messily wrapped his pale violet veil around his head, and promised Chain he’d bring Primo back to them before he left to join the search. He’d held off for now in favour of comforting Chain but he could deny his call no longer as the universe seemed to tease fate against his hackles. He swallowed the bile that rose in the back of his throat as he feared the worst; his anxieties churning his stomach in a never-ending maelstrom mixed with a tornado, and an earthquake for good measure.
His feet were flying so quickly against the flagstones he was sure he would soon take off flying. He ran to the room the Ghouls had all banded together to ward so the Papas could spend some time alone and just feel like normal brothers again, not having to be guarded 24/7. If someone unauthorised crossed those wards, all the Ghouls would be alerted to the intrusion and know their Papas needed defending. That small room – an old supply closet the brothers had made their own – was the humans’ safe space and their normalcy amidst all the grandeur they lived in and led with their gloved hands and skull-painted-smiles. No Ghoul had sensed the ward being tripped, nor had they gone too long without being recharged. But as Omega neared that room, he saw the wards completely destroyed.
He had no time to investigate them though as he burst into the room, the door already unlocked as the others had surely been here too, and failed to keep the contents of his stomach from spilling to the floor as three distinct smells hit him like a freight train.
The fear of the three humans.
The black magic that had destroyed the wards.
Fucking Special.
Sister Imperator’s loyal pet never failed to stoop to whatever levels necessary to satisfy his Mistress’ sadistic need for terror and bedlam. If he’d gotten to the Papas, it was only for her next evil plan. She’d already taken Air’s wings for a hunting mishap, forced his pack to the catacombs, tortured Air and Earth over their mating and pursuit of a kit, tried to sever Chain’s powers to disappear to his elusive area of the Abbey, stopped River and Lake from swimming under the full moon, and taken more power from the Papas than she ever should have had.
After Omega had spat the taste of his own vomit from his mouth he pressed further into the room, taking in the scent of each item there – Terzo’s whiskey glass, Secondo’s cigar butt, Primo’s glasses – to see if he could get any feel for the scene the items may have witnessed. He called upon the ether to gift him some intuition and his nostrils were pierced with smells of antiseptic, the feel of dust and the bite of bloody iron. He saw a set of doors at the end of an unsettlingly off-white tiled corridor. Omega may have been confined to the catacombs for a while now but he knew that there had been recent construction from all the new souls he had sensed working above the Ancients’ dark domain, and with not recognising this place he assumed that this was part of whatever had been built.
He let his instincts take him there, pushing aside Siblings, other Ghouls and Clergy in his pursuit. The scents of the Papas had been (infuriatingly) masked by whatever vein of black magic Special had used in this plot and so Omega was tracking while nose-blind, praying to everything he could think of that he wouldn’t be too late…
Time seemed to slow with every step, as if the universe hadn’t decided what was going to happen and fate was being written in with each shallow breath, each step forward, each beat of his heart.
It made Omega even more uneasy, if that was possible.
He soon collapsed against the wall when it felt like his very existence was being torn apart, a bellow of pain bouncing off the stone walls as he lost his ability to breathe to the desolating agony that became him. He could feel himself almost convulsing as all his muscles strained as a physical manifestation of the torture his soul was undergoing; zaps of fire that didn’t stop and showed no sign of stopping until he was back with his ancestors.
Omega spent far too long getting over the sudden pain and felt like he couldn’t walk with the sudden emptiness of his soul. Still, he pushed on, knowing he had to or he’d never forgive himself for giving up. His sprint down the corridor the ether showed him definitely took no less than five seconds though it felt like five hours. The door taunting him as the walls seemed to stretch, keeping him from whatever awaited within for precious seconds longer.
When his hands finally made contact with the metal handles of the door, the cool steel hit his sweaty palms, and that instant was the second he knew the universe had written its fate. Whatever happened next couldn’t be avoided. From now on, it would always happen like this.
When he burst in the room, the smell of death nearly knocked him off his feet. He had dreaded that Sister’s cruelty would become this, but never actually thought it would happen…
Primo was splayed across the ground, the ghost of a smile of his face as his old soul finally rested.
Secondo was strapped into an electric chair where the scent of his corpse’s burning flesh hung in the air.
Terzo, who Omega was surprised to see was still alive, was being forced down to his knees by some masked human whose axe was laid in front of Terzo, the poor human staring at his death before it became him with hollow eyes that had seen too much.
Omega’s emotions burst before he could think and a blast of Quintessence erupted from his chest with a cry of his grief, the few humans – or rather executioners – in the room all being thrown against the walls and knocked unconscious in an instant. The part of the Emeritus line that wasn’t entirely human saved Terzo from it, though he seemed half-way dead already.
The Quint had only been in the room a few seconds, but those seconds had changed his life so much. He ran over to Terzo and brought the human into his arms tightly, keeping him buried into his broad chest.
“T- Terzo? Can you hear me?” Omega asked, letting out a shaking breath as Terzo nodded.
Omega cupped the human’s unpainted face and kissed his forehead, “It’s okay. I have you now. You’re okay.”
“They’re dead. I saw it.” Terzo whispered, all his usual suaveness completely lost from his voice, sounding like a child who woke up from a nightmare. Except there was no waking up from this dreadful reality.
Omega’s eyes filled with tears at those words. He may have saw the bodies but part of his heart was still foolishly hoping they were maybe sleeping…
“I know. I’m so sorry, my sweet.” Omega said into his hair, the black streaks nowhere near as perfectly smooth as usual and matched his own dishevelled silver hair barely contained under his veil.
“I want to go home.” Terzo sobbed as he buried himself against the Ghoul he had plotted many-a-time to take from his middle brother. “I want to go home, and I want my brothers!”
Omega’s heart shattered even more and he held Terzo closer. “We’re going home, T. We’ll take you back and keep you safe.”
Terzo sobbed and sobbed until he lost his tears and his throat so hoarse he was retching. He sagged in Omega’s arms as whatever adrenaline that was keeping him going gave out. The Quint knew this would be his only chance to save the human he held so dear to his heart. He stood up and made for the door, though he froze when that hauntingly familiar echo of patent leather against tile sounded through the room.
“Leave Terzo where he belongs.” Sister’s voice commanded with its usual ice, and then some.
And here was fate, coming to collect its debts.
“He belongs with his Ghouls.” Omega responded as he turned to face her, several feet taller but knew that her control and manipulation skills would manage to out-match it. Somehow, it always did.
“You’re not his Ghoul, as much as you may have acted it. You retired from the band. You wanted to stay home with… Chain, isn’t it?” She said, her smile unerring and seemed to poison the air around them. “He may like his mystery but I know everything that happens in these walls. And I know where he disappears to and hides. It would be a shame if someone were to… snatch him up in his sleep when he’s defenceless.”
“You wouldn’t…” Despite the two corpses flanking Omega being more than enough evidence for the fact she very much would. His blood ran as cold as ice as he could only imagine what horrors she could plan for Chain. He knew she must be bluffing – even Omega wasn’t entirely sure of the location of the corner of the Ministry Chain had claimed as his own, but if he had learnt one thing from his time Topside, it was not to underestimate her.
“Choose. The Ghoul, or the Papa.” Her eyes were sparkling with her psychopathic genius.
Omega warred with himself in a fight he knows cannot have a winner. He either chooses his mate, or his lover and leader. One had his heart, the other his soul. Omega and Chain entered their relationship with devotion for each other, but Chain understood some things Omega wanted were outside their own boundaries and so they both agreed that Omega and Terzo could keep their casual relationship too. Chain and Terzo both meant more than words could ever describe and in entirely different ways, but now he was meant to quantify who he loved more and choose their life over the other. His heart cried and his mind screamed at him to run. Why he didn’t lunge for Sister and rip her throat out would perplex him. The hold she had over the Ghouls through her tyranny was sometimes more frightening than whatever shenanigan she had planned next.
The Quint knew Terzo was already marked for death. He knew Chain would swallow up whole any human that touched them. If he chose to trade Chain for Terzo then the Papa would still have a black mark that would soon claim him. It would only be delaying the inevitable for a few weeks? Months maybe? And all of them spent in terror. Though if it was a true trade, then Terzo would be safe. Chain would be reunited with Primo just as Omega had promised them. He wouldn’t have anyone trying to pursue him for the conquest of bedding them, and he’d have all the skittles and Nintendo games their little black heart could ever dream off. Chain had already lived a long life, and spoke sometimes of feeling like the sun was soon setting on his worn soul despite his youthful appearance. Perhaps that was the fate Omega was chasing the threads of while he searched for the Papas.
“Hurry, Ghoul. I am already annoyed that my fun hasn’t gone quite to plan today.” She barked.
Omega scoffed before shouting, “They’re dead! How could you have not gotten what you wanted?!”
“Special and I have been planning this for a while. Destroying the wards with black magic then injecting the three to bring them here. I got my wish in frying the Second like he fried our mains with summoning you and your pack. I will have my wish of taking the head of the Clergy, but the First… Weak bastard couldn’t handle the sedative. He was meant to die to the plants he decided were more important than spreading The Olde One’s word.”
Omega’s eyes flicked to the corner of the room where a man in scrubs laid next to an IV pole, the bag filled with a red-black concoction that must be from the plants Chain had mentioned Primo thought he misplaced some weeks ago.
“You’re sick.” Omega’s voice trembled as he stated the obvious.
She let out a shrill laugh, “I am only purifying the Ministry. Doing what is necessary for His word to shine through.”
Omega shook his head. “This isn’t pure.”
“Not yet.” She grinned. “Have you made your choice?”
Omega clamped his eyes shut as he knew what he had to do. Terzo began stirring in his arms and that just made his heart ache more. He slowly nodded and began to lower the human to the ground. Omega flooded Terzo's body with Quintessence, keeping him in a dreamlike state where he wouldn’t feel pain or fear. The Ghoul's tears ran in abundance, wetting Terzo’s hair and smacking on the ground as they fell. Omega kissed Terzo’s cheek for the last time, muttering frantic prayers for the human’s soul and pleas for forgiveness before sitting back on his heels and trying to stand.
“I’m sorry, Terzo… You’re going home, you’re going to be with your brothers.” He cried before steeling himself to leave Terzo to his death.
Though Sister seemed to read his mind, because as he stood and began to turn around she laid a manicured finger against his abdomen, her nail a gut-churning shade of blood red.
“Ah-ah! There’s a job to be done. And you saw to the fact that we don’t have an executioner anymore...”
Omega’s blood found a way to run ever colder – surprising himself that he hadn’t contracted hypothermia from the feel of the ice in his veins - when he saw her other hand pointing to the shining axe laying abandoned on the ground…
---
Omega’s walk back to the catacombs seemed to take longer than the eternity his initial hunt felt like it drew on for. He wasn’t even sure he could feel his feet dragging along the floor as fog surrounded his thoughts. He lifted his hands in front of his face but saw no sign of the blood that had coated them as he held Terzo’s bleeding corpse, attempting to heal him like there was ever a chance in Hell. He searched his hands for proof of his treachery but Sister had made sure he’d cleaned up completely so not even the faintest smell of blood would linger on him. Yet another game for her, as now Omega would have to verbally confess his deeds rather than letting it go unsaid. She’d even taken his blood-smeared veil too and provided no substitute, just to make him feel that much worse. Muscle memory took him back to his room, where Chain had stayed and created nothing short of a fortress atop the nest. The Water Ghoul popped up as soon as they heard Omega enter and looked at him with big eyes.
The Quint stared at nothing, his eyes gaunt and hollow with dissociation.
“They’re dead… The three of them…” He strained before collapsing to his knees as sobs overtook him.
Chain vaulted himself against Omega as he sobbed too. From the instant he felt the terror swirling around their brain, they had dreaded their deaths. But hearing it confirmed from the mouth of his mate drove the dagger straight through his chest and carved his heart out. They both wailed into each other’s arms as the stone floors made their impressions into their skin, though that pain could never compare to the distress of their souls. The Ghouls of the Abbey all naturally fell to despair as the news of the deaths broke them.
Their Papas, their summoners, their leaders; all dead within a few hours of their routine disappearance to their safe-haven. There was solace that Primo, the gentlest soul of the three, had the most peaceful death. There was agony over Secondo’s end being so painful and no doubt drawn out. There was silence over Terzo’s demise as Omega couldn’t bring himself to say what happened – what he did. They would all find out later on when their next leader would pose with his severed head for the masses.
Omega threw up when he saw it. Not just for the obvious but because the memory of his sin came back in full force. It had been locked away to the back of his mind until that picture made him hear the swoop of the axe through the air, the weight of the handle heavier than his soul, the smell of the blood overwhelming the room, the resistance through Terzo’s skin and spine, the sound of his body hitting the floor in two parts, the human’s skin cooling as time kept moving after his heart stopped… And most of all, the feeling of his muscles enacting it all.
Though until then Omega could somewhat ignorantly exist without that memory; a haze of his mind’s own protection surrounding it so the trauma of it all could be lightened by the tiniest amount.
The Ghouls all became recluse in their sorrow. Rarely was one seen alone, if not with their whole pack. The Air Ghouls didn’t sing, the Earth Ghouls seemed to wilt, the Quints all saw their stars fade, the Fire Ghouls didn’t burn and the Water Ghouls were sure they’d sink to the bottom of the lake with their pain hanging heavy in their hearts.
Though Omega was almost catatonic with dissociation for those first weeks if not months, he still mourned with his pack and his mate before his trauma sparked anger that sought to blame Chain for Omega’s decision in an impossible ultimatum that Chain didn’t even know they were part of.
Amongst the pain of all the Ghouls grief, no one noticed that little Dewdrop suddenly goes missing and Sister’s next cruelty is already in motion. Though the impromptu stunt with Omega would likely go down as one of her favourites, a cruel laugh coming to her throat when she thought of it while sipping red wine with Special. Both were tyrants that knew no bounds, and they had broken Omega’s soul for the remainder of his long, long life…
if you pitched goncharov vs the dangerous crow boy (who destroys plastic) alongside one another to an outside person and asked them to choose which one was a tumblr fever dream and which one was a real thing published in the real world. i do not think they would choose correctly
Almost everything in the world is bad, but I do have a silly little crush on a very cute girl and whenever she messages me I want to giggle and kick my feet. I’m in no way ready to date again, or even hookup but it’s nice to still feel nice things in amongst all the endless sadness and despair.
tags: med kink/med fet; latex gloves; a prostate exam that becomes anal fingering; brief oral; dictation; god-tier bedside manner (derogatory); that uncanny feeling that maybe you're a bug under a microscope
a/n: exactly as it says on the tin. for my beloved freaks and weirdos. may rewire a few neurons and for this i take no responsibility. when i say heavy on the med i mean it - you've been warned
Ao3
i am not kidding or being light when i say heavy med kink. if you click the read more, you will see it. don't read things you know you don't like. ilu fellow freaks and weirdos <3
It’s late when Omega finds him.
The main infirmary halls are dim, cool and quiet, with the evening staff concentrated near triage in case of walk-in emergencies. The rest of the ward lies still, echoing with soft hums and distant footfalls, but otherwise emptied of movement.
Aether, however, is seated at the desk in Exam Room 3, crisp white jacket slung over the back of the chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He has a thing about scrubs — doesn't like them. Never has. Even if the extra pockets are, admittedly, extremely useful.
He's got a chart in one hand, a half-finished mug of something lukewarm and far too caffeinated for the hour at his elbow. He’s not even pretending to relax.
Omega watches from the doorway for a moment.
“You know,” he says, voice smooth in the quiet, “you’re not obligated to chart every case down to the punctuation.”
Aether glances up, unsurprised. “Someone has to do it.”
Omega steps inside, coat catching the light. “You’ve been in here since your shift ended.”
“Had some backlog.”
Omega hums and steps closer, resting one hand lightly on the desk.
“When was your last physical?”
Aether blinks. “What?”
“Your last exam.” Omega’s tone remains even. “Vitals. Muscular tone. Prostate check. That sort of thing.”
Aether makes a face. “That’s for patients.”
Omega arches a brow. “That’s for bodies. You have one.”
He waits. Aether doesn’t answer.
“You need to treat yourself with the same care you give everyone else,” Omega says, quiet. “Go sit down for me.”
Aether doesn’t move. Just keeps scratching at the chart like Omega didn’t speak.
“I’m almost done.”
Omega says nothing. Only watches him patiently, fingers resting lightly on the desk like a pulse.
The two of them hold the quiet like a drawn scalpel.
One more note. One more breath.
Then Aether exhales, annoyed and resigned in equal measure. He finishes the line he was on, clicks the pen shut, and sets the chart aside.
“Fine.”
He rises, starts to unbutton his shirt.
“You don’t need to undress completely.”
Omega’s voice is smooth. Assured. He doesn’t glance up from the clipboard in his lap as he says it — just makes a quiet notation, clicks the pen, and flips the page.
Aether hums from the corner of the room, halfway through shrugging out of his button up. “But I should bend over and brace for impact, right?”
Omega’s lips twitch. “Only if you want to be dramatic about it.” He finally looks up. “Which you do. Obviously.”
Aether snorts and moves to unfasten his belt anyway.
"Sit first."
A pause.
"Standard order. Shirt first. Sit on the table."
Aether blinks. "You're actually doing a full workup."
"Of course. You’re overdue."
With a muttered grumble, Aether tugs off his rumpled undershirt and sits on the table. The paper crinkles under him as he shifts his weight once.
Omega crosses the room, lifts the stethoscope from around his neck, and warms the bell against his palm for all of two whole seconds.
Aether watches his hands. He knows them well. Has seen them summon storms, cradle grief. But today, they’re gloved. Precise. Meant to assess.
Meant for him.
Omega presses the bell directly to Aether’s chest with gentle, practiced, clinical ease.
He flinches. "Bastard."
Omega hums, utterly unconcerned. "Breathe in."
Aether does. The cold metal sends a shiver down his spine, tightening the muscles under Omega’s touch.
"Again."
Omega listens carefully as he moves the stethoscope across Aether’s ribs, to his side, then up beneath his clavicle. His gloved fingertips rest lightly against skin.
“Lung sounds are clear,” Omega says, soft but precise. “Heart rate is… elevated.” He lifts his eyes to meet Aether's. “Curious.”
Omega removes the stethoscope, but his gaze doesn’t drop.
“You always get a little flushed when I touch you,” he adds, like he’s saying blood pressure normal.
Aether doesn’t answer. Just exhales, slow and shaky.
Omega steps back. “Quintessence scan next.”
Aether sighs, but raises his arms slightly in compliance.
Omega steps close again, placing one hand flat over Aether’s sternum, the other low over the curve of his abdomen. His gloves are cool. Hands steady and exact.
He closes his eyes and the whole room shifts.
The air thickens with pressure. Like static before a lightning strike. Like the moment before a breath becomes a gasp. Like a muscle held in tension—begging for release.
Aether feels it beneath his skin. A hum, low and unmistakable, not quite sound or pain. Just some ancient nameless presence, watching. Measuring.
His bones feel tuned. Like someone’s adjusted the tension on a wireframe. The space between organs tightens. An echo runs across his ribs and down his spine; a diagnostic hum vibrating at just the right frequency.
Omega’s magic doesn’t blaze as much as it sinks into fascia, saturates connective tissue, and nestles into his myelin, humming like a sensor too close to the source.
His voice, when it comes, is calm.
“Baseline resonance within normal range. No oscillation drift. Elemental signature is steady. No evidence of inversion or drain.”
His fingers press slightly deeper, grounding Aether in place with a magic that tastes like ozone. Like memory burned to the back of the tongue.
Like blood you weren’t supposed to taste… but did anyway.
Then Omega opens his eyes.
“You’re carrying more pressure than usual,” he says calmly. “Right beneath the skin.”
Aether raises a brow. “Problem?”
Omega doesn’t answer at first.
“Not yet,” he says. “But your channels are saturated. You're compensating.”
“Still functional.”
“Functional isn’t optimal.” His thumb brushes once over Aether’s sternum. “And you know how I feel about suboptimal systems.”
He doesn’t step back.
His palm stays against Aether’s chest a moment longer than necessary, like he’s waiting for something else to surface. Aether can feel the trace of magic still lingering like breath across a wound.
“And you’re running hot.”
Aether’s voice is rough. “So are you.”
Omega’s lips twitch into something that might be considered a brief smile, just once.
He steps back, precise as ever.
“Go ahead and finish undressing, then lie back on the table. Legs to the side for me.”
Aether exhales like it’s a task, then slides off the table with a muttered curse under his breath and waits for Omega to turn around.
He doesn’t.
Of course he doesn’t.
Not like Aether’s got anything Omega hasn’t seen before, but it’s the watching that gets under his skin. The way Omega doesn’t blink. Doesn’t shift. Doesn’t even pretend to look away.
Like he’s not just permitted to see. He’s meant to.
“You’d think a little clinical modesty would be standard,” Aether grumbles under his breath.
He turns his back to Omega as he works his belt loose, shoving his slacks down with sharp, practiced motions. Kicks them off without ceremony. He doesn’t rush but he doesn’t linger, either.
Behind him, there’s the soft click of a pen.
Aether pauses. “Are you seriously taking notes right now?”
Omega’s voice is maddeningly even. “You have tension along the left scapular ridge. Slight vascular flare along the spine. It's irregular.”
Aether makes a sound somewhere between a snort and a growl. “You diagnosing my posture now?”
“As I said, there’s strain in your channels. It’s showing through your skin.”
Aether doesn’t reply, but his jaw flexes. He climbs back onto the table without a word and settles on his side, legs drawn slightly forward, one arm folded beneath his head.
Omega doesn’t move yet.
Just observes.
Then, quietly, like a final note in a chart:
“Thank you.”
There’s a pause. Not long, but enough for Aether to realize the gloves hadn’t been changed yet.
Omega lets the silence stretch.
Lets the weight of his gratitude settle over the table, over Aether, like a sterile drape.
He turns to the desk, slow and precise, and selects a pair of gloves from the box. Latex. Powder-free. Aether can hear the faint creak of the material as Omega flexes them once, testing, before sliding one on.
Snap. The first glove. Snap, goes the second.
The sound is obscene in the quiet, the way the cuffs seal at his wrists. Aether’s breath catches, and Omega doesn’t miss it.
“Sensitive today?” he murmurs, smoothing the glove flat over his palm, then over each finger one at a time. Like he’s worshiping his own hands.
“You sure take your sweet time,” Aether glares.
“I do everything with care,” Omega says softly. His voice has dropped an octave—half clinical, half coaxing. “You deserve precision.”
Aether doesn’t answer because his body already has. Sprawled out on the table, thighs parted just slightly, breathing deeper now as Omega steps closer.
He swallows audibly.
“Look at me,” Omega says softly, and Aether does.
“There we go.”
He steps forward.
Omega slicks two fingers with lube, watching the way it beads and clings to the latex. He strokes them together once, slow. The drag of latex over latex, slick over slick, echoes quiet and wet in the room.
He rests a hand on Aether’s thigh. Warmth radiates through the glove. His thumb brushes slow circles into Aether’s skin, soothing and grounding and very intentional.
“I’m going to palpate first,” he says. “External only. Tell me if anything’s uncomfortable.”
Aether huffs like he's trying to sound amused. It doesn’t quite land.
“Isn’t that the point?”
Omega doesn’t answer with words.
Just hums, and parts him.
He trails his hand in, fingertips stroking carefully between Aether’s cheeks. Light at first. Not searching as much as… familiarizing. As if learning the exact texture of his skin. Memorizing it.
Aether shivers under the contact.
Omega lets his fingers linger. One hand on Aether’s hip, the other mapping slow strokes, slick and steady. He presses a little more firmly; not enough to breach, but enough to test how Aether yields under pressure. The pass makes Aether’s hips twitch, involuntary.
Behind him, his tail flicks once, sharp and small. Then again.
Omega tracks it. Obviously.
“Still okay?”
Aether’s voice is low. “Fine.”
Omega brushes his fingers across him once more.
“Good. Then I’m going to proceed,” he says. His tone is almost bored, like he’s discussing the weather. Then he leans in, grounding more weight into the hand braced on Aether’s hip.
“You’ll feel some pressure.”
“I know.”
Omega presses in.
Slow. Deliberate. One finger, slick and steady, sliding past the ring of muscle with practiced care. Aether’s breath catches as he’s breached with a slow yielding. His head tips back against the paper, eyes fluttering shut.
He breathes deep again.
Omega watches. Always watches.
The way the muscles in Aether’s back tense. The flush rising over his shoulders. How his mouth opens and then closes again, a sharp retort swallowed before it can bloom.
His tail twitches again too. Slower now. Tighter.
Then it stretches back. Finds the side of Omega’s thigh and curls around it, faint and seeking.
Omega doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Good,” he murmurs. “You’re doing well.”
Aether exhales through his nose, trying not to whimper. “You’re enjoying this.”
Omega’s voice doesn’t waver.
“You like being handled by someone who knows what they’re doing.”
Aether groans. “Fuck.”
Omega hums like he’s confirming a lab result.
“Going to check your prostate now.”
He curls his finger forward.
And Aether gasps, hips jerking as his hand flies out to grip the edge of the table. It’s not pain. Just stimulation, direct and sudden and sharp, that lights his nerves like a live wire.
“Oh, shit—”
Omega doesn’t falter. Doesn’t tease. He holds the pressure there, steady and measured, as though mentally charting the way Aether’s body reacts to his touch.
“You’re very responsive,” he says, like it’s a note in a file. “Do you need me to stop?”
Aether’s teeth flash. “Absolutely not.”
“Noted.”
Omega strokes once more. This time firmer, more exact.
“You’re soft here,” he murmurs. “Good tone. No signs of swelling or tension. Breathing’s elevated.”
Aether swallows. “So’s yours.”
Omega smiles, faint. “Clinical observation. Not judgment.”
A pause.
“Do you want me to continue?”
Aether’s voice is rough, just this side of an eyeroll. “Yes, Omega.”
Omega continues to press in with infinite care.
He exhales once, shallow and even, and begins to speak.
“Initial penetration smooth. No resistance beyond normal tension. Patient is… relaxed.” He strokes in just a little deeper. “Temperature elevated. Expected. Body is responsive to touch. No involuntary spasms. Good.”
Aether chokes on a breath. “Are you dictating notes right now?”
Omega hums. The finger inside him curls again, enough to make Aether’s spine jolt and arch off the table.
“Of course,” he murmurs. “For accuracy.”
He moves slow, dragging his finger along the inner wall in a practiced arc. Aether makes a noise that sounds like fuck and please at the same time.
Omega doesn’t react.
Just continues, utterly composed.
“Prostate is palpable. No sign of swelling. Tissue is responsive to stimulation.”
He curls his finger again, precisely. “Very responsive.”
Aether’s hands scrabble uselessly against the edge of the table. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“That would be counterproductive,” Omega replies, tone still maddeningly mild.
“Breathing elevated. Pulse is visible at the neck. Pupils dilated.”
His free hand settles lightly on Aether’s lower back. A grounding touch. A silent command to stay still.
“Recommend continued stimulation,” he murmurs. And presses.
Aether cries out a bitten off sound and Omega pauses long enough to listen to the ragged hitch of breath. To mark the tremor.
“Noted,” he says softly. Almost fond. “Marked increase in vocal response.”
Another curl. Another drag of pressure that sends Aether’s hips jolting forward.
“Subject is vocalizing freely. Voluntary.”
“Omega, please—”
“Verbal confirmation received,” Omega purrs. He strokes again, firmer now.
Aether shudders. His whole body tightens around the pressure, and still Omega doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t give more than what is earned.
His hips rock forward again, helpless. Omega allows it for now.
“Internal pressure: normal. No signs of strain. No resistance.” Another beat, another curl.
“However… further observation is warranted.”
Aether whines. It’s pitiful. Sweet. Omega smiles like he’s just finalized a diagnosis.
“Sit up,” Omega says, calm as breath.
Aether obeys. Barely.
His thighs tremble as he shifts, trying to keep his balance as Omega steps forward into the cradle of his legs.
The movement isn’t fluid. Not with how hard he’s breathing. But Omega catches him with gentle hands—one at his waist, one under his thigh—guiding him down into a deeper seat.
The paper crinkles beneath him.
“Further,” Omega murmurs. “Slouch. Let gravity assist.”
Aether exhales shakily and allows himself to sink. Hips rolling forward, spine curving, legs spread wide around Omega’s frame. His knees fall open, vulnerable and loose, the position exposing everything with no room to hide.
Omega hums, satisfied.
“Good. This will allow for increased depth.”
He lowers himself with unsettling ease, like gravity answers to him. Positions himself neatly between Aether’s parted thighs, a hand already steady on his knee. The other trails back between his legs, already slick, already poised.
And when he presses in, two fingers this time, it’s deep.
Deeper than before.
Aether gasps, body jerking, spine arching in response. His head tips back against the wall with a thud, lips parted in a helpless, breathless oh.
“Depth improved,” Omega murmurs, like he’s narrating for an unseen audience. “Angle optimal. Prostate fully accessible from this position.”
He strokes.
Just so.
Aether lets out a sound that isn’t quite a word. A strangled noise, part sob, part plea. His hips jerk again until Omega plants one gloved hand against his lower belly, holding him steady.
“Hold still,” Omega says gently. “I’m not finished.”
His fingers move with maddening precision. Curl. Press. Stroke. Assess.
“Muscle tension increasing,” he notes aloud. “Gland is—” another press, another tremor, “—engorged. Extremely sensitive to pressure.”
Aether groans, fists curling in the paper sheet. “You’re enjoying this.”
Omega tilts his head, clinical and calm.
“I am fulfilling a professional obligation,” he replies. Then, deeper still, pushing into some untouched spot that makes Aether’s vision spark— “Though I must admit, you make an exceptional patient.”
Aether whimpers sharp and open.
He adjusts Aether’s position again—guiding his hips with gloved hands, angling him just so, like a specimen in perfect repose. Aether’s legs fall further open as Omega settles between them, and those two fingers slide in again with devastating precision.
“Yes. That’s better.” His voice could be mistaken as proud.
This time, the depth he reaches nearly unseats Aether completely.
“Prostate remains highly reactive,” Omega murmurs, gaze never leaving his work. “Repeat stimulation increasing full-body tremor response. Fascinating.”
Another stroke. Firm, slow, exacting.
Aether gasp, both hands gripping the table's edge like it might keep him from shattering completely.
Omega hums, utterly composed. Keeps stroking in that perfect rhythm. Aether's whole body is trembling, open and exposed under the full weight of Omega’s unblinking scrutiny.
“I wonder,” Omega says softly, “how many times I could make you come with nothing but my fingers and your own anatomy. Should we find out?”
He shifts forward without waiting, the press of his fingers never wavering, and now his breath is ghosting low over Aether’s abdomen. So close. Full of intent. For a moment, Aether doesn’t know whether Omega means to observe or consume.
“Your heart rate has increased,” Omega notes, almost idly. “Pupil dilation as well. Shall I infer that further external stimulation would be… beneficial?”
Aether makes a noise raw and pleading, all yes, all please, please.
Omega doesn’t wait. Still kneeling between his thighs, he leans in and licks.
A single, slow stripe along the underside of Aether’s cock. Not rushed. Not teasing. Just… curious, like a scholar taking notes with his mouth.
“Fascinating,” he murmurs, reverent now. “You react more intensely to direct glans contact than I anticipated.”
Aether shudders, a helpless sound breaking in his throat.
“Of course I do, fucking hell.”
Omega hums, low and pleased, the vibration a shockwave where his lips meet flushed skin. He finds a shred of mercy and doesn’t stop. His fingers curl again, pressing inside with perfect rhythm as his mouth works, tongue circling the head, then flattening, then wrapping around with devastating focus.
Then he sinks down. Deliberate. Like he’s memorizing the taste. The texture.
The exact shape of Aether’s surrender.
Aether breaks.
His hips lurch but Omega is ready, his free hand already firm against Aether’s abdomen, holding him steady.
“Control yourself,” he says smoothly. “I need accurate data.”
He takes him deeper.
Down to the root. Slow. Fingers still stroking inside like they belong there, like he’s unlocking some sacred truth with every curl.
Aether is trembling, ruined and wrecked, held open by science and obsession and the singular devotion of a ghoul who doesn’t need to pretend he’s anything but unstoppable.
When Omega finally pulls off, his lips are slick, his voice a low purr of certainty.
“You’re close.”
Aether whimpers. Nods frantically.
Omega’s gloved hand slides upward, palm flat over Aether’s chest, feeling the hammering of his heart like it’s his own.
“You may come,” he says, low and unshakable.
“Please. For science.”
Press.
“For medicine.”
Curl.
“For me.”
The orgasm strikes like a spinal reflex: sharp, inevitable, and all-consuming. Aether gasps, hips rocking, legs trembling around Omega’s shoulders as he spills between them. Omega doesn’t flinch. He watches every second, fingers calmly curled inside, holding him through the aftershocks with one hand braced against his chest.
Only when Aether slumps back against the table spent and flushed and dazed does Omega finally withdraw. He peels his gloves off with quiet precision and disposes of them like ritual instruments, his expression unreadable.
Aether breathes, slow and shaking.
The hum persists. Quieter now, but no less present. Like a presence tucked into fascia, too deep to exorcise. Like every sheath of muscle remembers the pressure of gloved hands and refuses to let it fade. Omega’s magic has nested in him, not with fire, but with something steadier. Invasive. Subdermal.
His nerves misfire gently, like a touched wire. Like his body’s still calibrating to the feeling of being stretched open and rewritten from the inside out, like every fold and boundary has been redrafted in soft-gel ink.
Omega reaches up, tilting Aether’s chin with those two devastating fingers.
“You were an exemplary patient,” Omega murmurs, almost tender. He strokes lightly along Aether’s jaw. “I’ll need to note your refractory period response next. We'll need to make sure it’s within predicted parameters.”
“I’ll be sure to cite your bedside manner in my peer review,” Aether mutters.
Omega hums, unbothered. “Would you be willing to sit for Phantom tomorrow? They need a little more practice with blood draws.”
Aether lets out a hoarse, disbelieving laugh. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“They’ve improved,” Omega replies, too smoothly. “But they do get… distracted.”
Aether exhales like a man walking willingly into the abyss. “Is that meant to surprise me?”
Omega’s smile sharpens. “I’ll supervise, of course.”
Aether, still glowing, glances down at his own mess, at Omega’s steady hands, at the slight lingering twitch in his thighs.
“Fine,” he mutters. “But if I pass out, you’re carrying me back to the den.”
Omega’s voice drops to a purr, and his fangs glint with a smirk.
“Deal.”
— ⊰ ⚕ ⊱ —
The lights are low now.
The natural hush of a space winding down after something intense. The exam bed paper crackles as Aether shifts, one leg falling open again as his limbs settle heavy into the vinyl cushion. He’s not out, not really. Just quietly drifting.
Omega doesn’t speak.
He’s seated on the small stool beside the bed, legs crossed neatly, pen tapping once against the clipboard before resuming its smooth, looping arc.
The scratch of ink is the only sound.
Aether breathes, long and slow.
Still flushed. Still open. Still slick and half-hard, though the tremors have faded. He could move, probably. Sit up. Reassert himself.
But the weight of Omega’s hand on his ankle says he doesn’t need to.
“Refractory period: eight minutes,” Omega says absently, writing as he speaks. “Predictable curve. Residual tremor present. No reported discomfort.”
He doesn’t look up. Only adjusts the warm, utilitarian blanket over Aether’s hips and returns to the clipboard.
Aether hums, nearly voiceless. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m thorough.”
A faint pause. Aether opens one eye.
“You gonna let Phantom read that?”
Omega’s mouth twitches. “Obviously.”
“Mhm.” Aether yawns. “You’re gonna drive them crazy.”
Omega doesn’t argue.
Just keeps writing.
— ⊰ ⚕ ⊱ —
Patient ID: Aether (Quintessence)
Exam Date: [REDACTED]
Examiner: Omega (Lead Clinical Officer)
Procedure: Annual physical and QBE with focused prostate stimulation and behavioral response evaluation
Informed Consent: Obtained verbally; confirmed via biometric readout
Allergies: fluoroquinolones, bullshit
Findings:
External sensitivity within standard deviation; notable escalation upon sustained contact
Internal palpation revealed optimal muscle tone; no swelling or resistance
Prostate presented as highly responsive, engorgement achieved with minimal stimulation
Subject verbalized consent continuously throughout procedure
Vocal and physical responses: pronounced, consistent, and replicable
Ejaculatory response achieved via simultaneous internal and external stimulation
Refractory period: 8m12s; secondary arousal initiated within observation window
Additional Notes:
Subject exhibited full compliance with positioning requests
Emotional state post-procedure: dazed, affectionate, mildly combative
No signs of distress. Patient alert and oriented x3. Patient resting comfortably on exam bed at time of note. Fluids replenished. Tail untangled.
A&P:
Patient is in excellent physical and metaphysical health; recommend annual labs
Phantom to conduct blood draw (Lab Series: 3Q)
Supervision required. Potential for distraction.
Recommend prolonged gloved contact at wrist to ensure steady flow and compliance.
