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“Please, please, please, please!”Balancing the phone between your ear and your shoulder, you gather up the last of your papers, stuffing books into your bag as you go. “I told you, Jen, I really can’t - I’ve got a test to study for this week, plus two papers due by Friday. Tonight’s my one night completely off. off. Can’t you ask Em?” As your chair scrapes across the cheap linoleum floor, your desk mate shoots you an exasperated look. You can feel your cheeks burning in embarrassment as you mouth a silent apology and quickly make your way out into the hallway. This close to the end of term, it feels like a whole new wave of students have only just realised that the library is there. I miss the quiet. You think back fondly to the weeks upon weeks of empty desks and silent stacks of books. It was so much easier to get things done when you weren't fighting to find a free spot near a power socket. Hopefully things will quieten back down again once finals are over. “She can’t make it - she’s got a cram session all afternoon. You know what she’s like. C’mon, please - I’ll even take one of your crazy Saturday shifts, and I’ll cover your tab next time you want a night off. Tuesdays are dead quiet. It’s like being paid to study, honest.” Jen pleads.You roll your eyes. If it’s that easy, why don’t you keep the shift and study while you’re working? You bite your tongue to keep the words in. Jen may be a bit of a flake, but she's one of the few almost-friends you have manged to make since starting a university. Being a couple of years older than the rest of your coursemates had made more of a difference than you ever would have anticipated.“I like my ‘crazy Saturday shifts’. Do you know how many tips I get on a busy night? Plus, you know there's no better day for finding some hot, no-strings, sexy-” You grin at the loud groan Jen lets out. For someone who literally works in a bdsm club, Jen can be such a prude. Maybe she's more into the aesthetic than the actual scene?
“I will pay your tab for three nights if you cover my shift and agree to never share details of your sex life with me again." Glancing at the queue for the lift, you heave your full bookbag up higher on your shoulder, before squaring up to the staircase. Why today of all days did you choose to study in one of the basement rooms? Stupid lack of tables with sunlight and a free power socket. Glancing down at your phone, you wince at the time. I'm going to be so late if I don't get a move on. "You know I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t an emergency…”You let out an unsteady breath as you reach the ground floor. Sending the librarian a tentative smile, you make your way outside. Jen's got a good point; in your two, nearly three years of working together, she has never asked for a last-minute favour outside of emergencies. “Fine. But I swear, if Tuesdays are like, messy play afternoon or some shit” you snort at accidental joke “then you are paying for my dry cleaning. Got it?” “Thank you! It’ll just be the odd regular, maybe one or two drop-ins too scared to come after sundown when the real fun begins. Honest. Nothing fun ever happens on a Tuesday. You’ve got my word.” Banging on the dented metal back door, you send a cheery wave to the blinking security camera. Within moments, the door opens out, sending out a blast of pleasantly warm air.“Heya Coco. I didn’t know you work Tuesdays.” You greet the friendly dog monster. At nearly eight foot tall, Coco has to be one of the most adorable yet intimidating monsters you have ever met. Despite her huge size and intimidating stature, she’s always been a bit of a fluff ball to you and the rest of the staff. “Here I was thinking we got you all to ourselves on the weekends.”“Someone had to draw the short straw.” She shrugs, grinning down at you. Do not pet the giant, fluffy bipedal Pomeranian dog monster. Do not pet her. She could definitely snap me in two. You can’t help but grin as you see the corner of her pink, floppy tongue poking out between sharp canines. Too cute! “Speaking of which - covering for Jen?”You nod, slipping off your scarf and winter coat. While spring is just around the corner, it still feels bitterly cold to you. “Big test coming up apparently.”Coco follows you into the employee changing room. She remains standing in the doorway with her back turned to you, eyes firmly trained on the closed wooden door as you rush to change into something more work appropriate. I'd hate to be the idiot that tried getting past her. You thought with a grin. “Don’t you have the same big tests coming up?” She asks, sending a knowing look at you over her shoulder.“Sure do! You know me though, I’m the queen of multi-tasking. Jen said it’d be an easy one; plus this way I don’t have to pay entry or back room fees for my next three nights out.” You declare cheerfully, as you shimmy out of your sweater and baggy jeans combo.Coco snorts. “Staff don’t have to pay those during their off hours. You’re too soft with her." You wince, knowing what's coming next. "You shouldn’t let people take advantage of you like this.”“Eh; it’s not taking advantage if it’s between friends, Co. Plus technically Jen’s doing me a favour. I need all the extra hours I can get. Would you mind?” You ask Coco, turning around so she can help lace you into the black and silver corset. Far from one of your favourites, you are just glad you left it on the back seat of your car after your last little night of fun. If you had tried making the trip back to your shitty studio apartment ten blocks from the wrong side of campus, there’s no way you would have made it back in time.“We worry about you. I worry about you. You’re always working on something. Have you considered…” You cut Coco off before she can finish. It felt like you’d been over this a hundred times. It’s not like I haven’t been tempted. You love your jobs. Well, you love working part-time at Sweet Release. You had found the place shortly after moving to town for University. One of the first S&M club that allowed both monster and human clientele day-in, day-out without turning it into some kind of niche fetish night, you had known straight away that you wanted to spend every free moment there. Everyone was so welcoming, open, and accepting. You'd never seen anywhere like it. And honestly? Nowhere else had ever felt quite so much like home. Snagging a part-time job behind the bar had been pretty perfect. Before you knew it, you were helping out with the busier weekend shifts, splitting your time between bartending, waitressing, and helping out in the public playrooms as an overseer to make sure safewords are being adhered to and house rules are being followed. The money’s pretty good for part-time, but it’s still nowhere near enough to cover rent, classes, and expenses. You had picked up a second part-time job at the local grocery store not long after. You had your eye out for a third job if you could swing it, hopefully at the library, to fit around your already packed schedule. Maybe I'll get lucky and more hours will open up at the club or store...This wasn’t the first time a well-meaning friend had suggested you try your hand at another type of job at the club. Being a House Sub, Slave, Domme or Switch would pay more than enough to cover your bills and then some if you picked up a few regulars. And therein lies the problem. “No, Coco. You know I don’t do serious, or regular. One-offs and no-strings nights of passion are more my kind of deal. It’d be a disaster for everyone involved, I’d never be able to show my face here again, and then where would I go to get my regular kinky fix?” You smile at her to take the bite out of your words. You didn’t mean to snap, but the pressure was starting to get to you. If only I had someone to split the bills with, maybe things wouldn’t be quite as bad. Shaking your head, you dismiss the thought before it can take root again. Snap out of it. You’re not ready for that kind of shit right now, and you know it. Just be happy with what you’ve got; it’s more than most people can say. “Besides, I’ve been promised Tuesdays are practically dead.” Did Coco just laugh at that? Why... “What’s the worst that could happen?” So far, so good. Three hours in, and you’ve barely seen half a dozen customers in your end of the club. You can hear the tell-tale low thrum of chatter, music, and dull thuds of impact drifting across from the open play spaces down the hall. Seems like all the day players come fully equipped and ready to go. You were little disappointed to find out you would be covering for Jen in the entry bar. One of the lesser used rooms in the club, club goers face the choice to turn right into the safety of the bar with its quiet open spaces and chilled atmosphere, or left into the club proper, where the real fun could begin.Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll get to see a some regulars before they head further in for a good time.
The bar was clean, the bottles practically sparkling under the dim lights. You had even cleaned every last glass and finished off the prep work ready for the evening shift. It can’t hurt to pull out just one textbook, right? Scanning the bar quickly, you eye the nervous guy - human, early 20s - sitting by himself at a booth in the corner, a single beer slowly having its label shredded as he eyes the corridor leading to the main playroom. A pair of monsters - one humanoid spider, the other more of a bipedal lizzard - aat across from each other at another table off to one side, chatting nervously. First, maybe second date? Definitely negotiating hard limits going by that blush. Ducking through the staff only door behind the bar, you grab a couple of books and a pen from your bag. Might as well get something productive done with the rest of my shift. Only... four more hours to go. Letting out a sign, you tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Oh! I should grab a snack while I’m here. You pull out a packet of granola bars from the shared staff cupboard, you grab a couple to keep you going. I really should have picked something up after class. You had forgotten to pack anything for lunch (again), and breakfast was never your strong suit. No wonder I feel like shit half the time. When did I last eat? Mentally running through your tips for the evening so far, you feel a sense of unease settling in your stomach. Maybe saving one of the granola bars for later would be a better idea.You slip back into the bar, scanning the room for any new customers as you go. Placing your books under the counter, you keep an eye out. Couple still discussing limits? Check. Oh go new guy, looks like he finally got up the nerve to head into the fun zone. You smile to yourself, slipping around the bar top to grab the shredded remains of his bottle label. Good for him. Maybe I’ll just take a peek and see how he’s doing- As you turn, you register a burnt, rusty orange glow and a lazy haze of purple smoke before you run face-first into a leather-clad... ribcage?“Holy shit!” You swear, blush burning your cheeks. “Sorry about that; wasn’t looking where I was going.” You laugh nervously, as you duck back behind the bar. Discarding the rubbish quickly, you glance back over your shoulder. How the fuck did I miss him coming in? You berate yourself. Somehow, you hadn’t spotted the tall, slim skeleton monster. He’s got to be at least seven feet fall, easy. Biting your lip, you try to will away your blush as you tilt your head back to meet his eyes.. From the tip of his dirt-encrusted leather boots, to his fluffy hood topped head, he is… pretty much the epitome of a BDSM club cliche. If he's got a leather harness under that jacket, I might just lose it.Slim, skinny-fit black jeans cling to his skeletal frame, a matching black and gold belt wrapped around his pelvis. Your eyes flick down to his fingerless glove-encased hands, as he unzips the black and gold fur-lined hoodie. A long, slender cigarette hangs from between wicked looking teeth. Are those gold incisors? Two long, sharpened gold teeth glint in the dull light. A puff of purple-tinged smoke lazily drifts out from between his jawbones.“like what you see, darlin’?” His voice takes you by surprise. It’s deeper than you expected, his low, smoky timbre edged with a growl. You drag your eyes up his long, lean form. You pause when you reach his collar. A thick band of red leather with wicked gold spikes encircles his cervical vertebra, a simple gold tag with the word ‘Mutt’ stamped into it lays on his breastbone. Down, girl. No eye-fucking the customers. Forcing your eyes up, you take in his smirk, the orange-red glow of his eyelights watching you knowingly.You snort. Great. Another poser wanting to play with the big boys. Jen’s gonna owe me double for this. “Sorry about that, I didn’t see you there. What can I get’cha?” You offer him your best customer service smile. You clench your jaw unconsciously as you watch him eye you in return, his gaze moving down to take in your corset encased figure. You can feel your smile slip, as his eyes linger on the tight black skinny jeans that cling to your thighs. You know they look practically painted on, but customers usually have the decency to oggle you while your back is turned. “Eyes up here, pal, or I’ll need to start charging you.” You joke, a sharp edge to your voice. He looks like a big, lazy cat; all sharp teeth and no motivation, unless you poke him with a stick. You have to hold in a snort at the mental image. I guess he's the one who'd be doing the poking.“depends on what'cha chargin'.” He winks at you. How the heck does it do that without any eyelids? You eye him curiously. You have never seen a skeleton monster in person before, much less so up close and personal. “how about a drink first. know how to make a michelada?”Wracking your brain, you eye the bottles behind you. Mexican beer, lime juice, Worcestershire sauce… do we have any soy sauce? Check. Just missing one thing. “No can do I’m afraid; we’re fresh out of hot sauce. I can whip you up a bloody mary if you’re after something a little spicy?” You offer.His smirk seems to spread as he reaches into his pocket once again. “good thing i brought my own.” You look between him and the bottle incredulously. Who carries around their own hot sauce? Shaking your head, you quickly set about grabbing the right bottles, mixing a tall glass and adding a small twirl of lime to the rim. You pour a generous shot of hot sauce over the ice, sliding both bottles across to him.“keep the change.” Your smile turns a touch more genuine as you pocked the generous tip. That's more than I've earned all night. A couple more rounds, and tonight might not be such a waste after all. Turning back to put the bottles away, you hold in a sign as you see him settling in on a bar stall. A small pile of ash gathers beneath the tip of his cigarette, marring your previously immaculate counter. You slide an ashtray beneath it, making a point to clean up his debris as you go.“You must be new here. Smoking’s only allowed in here and in room three, unless you go for one of the private rooms reserved that allow fire play; then we’re usually a bit more lenient. You’ve picked a bit of a quiet day, but if you’re feeling nervous, I can get someone to show you around.” You offer, when it becomes clear he has no intention of leaving you to your books.He lets out a low laugh. “that’s cute. i was about to offer you the same.” You watch incredulously as he picked up the hot sauce, drinking straight from the bottle. Did he mean to do that? Or is he just trying to play it cool? “this your first night? i’d be happy to… show you the ropes.” He licks a stray drop of sauce from a glinting gold tooth. You roll your eyes, ready to reply when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. You can see Coco looming at the door, eyeing Mutt with suspicion. Catching her eye, you wave her off with a small smile. Protective fluffball. “huh. not new then. i’ve never seen you around; i’d remember such a pretty face.”“I could say the same to you; Mutt, is it?” You ask, reaching out to touch the tag hanging from his collar. Hard, cool fingers wrap around your own, squeezing out a warning. His bones feel rough, littered with tiny nics and chips. “No touching; gotcha. I usually work weekends, just covering for a friend today so no need to worry. I’ll be out of your way in no time.” You hold up your other hand in surrender. The longer he holds on, the more uneasy you begin to feel. Your eyes dart back to the side door, willing Coco to return.“not the collar.” He slowly releases your hand, watching as you slowly take a step back, then another. “though i would love to feel those hands elsewhere if you’re offerin’” He winks, taking a long, slow drag on his cigarette. You watch the purple smoke as it puffs around him in a billowing cloud. “never seen echo flower cigs before?” You shake your head, reaching for one of the sealed bottles of water beneath the counter. The manager kept the staff well stocked with tiny bottles, so no-one had to risk going back to an open one they may have left unattended. “want one? they help you relax. the perfect thing to go with a little… fun in the bone zone.”Snorting, you spit water on the bar. “Shit.” Wiping it up as you laugh, you can’t quite bring yourself to look at him without laughing again. “Has that line ever worked for you?”He shrugs, slouching back to take up a second bar stall as he rests mud-caked boots on the corner of the bar. “usually i don’t have to try this hard.”“You call this trying hard?” You laugh again. “Damn, I’d hate to see what your casual looks like.” He leans forward, eyeing you with unbridled curiosity.“[y/n!]” Coco calls. “Bosslady is here; you can head home for the night.” She eyes Mutt warily, looking as though she wants to put herself between the two of you.“Thanks Coco. See you on Friday?” You reach out to pet her arm as you slip around the bar, taking note of the way Mutt’s eyes narrow at your touch. She nods. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Mutt. If you ever drop in on a weekend, you’ll have to let me make you another michelada.” You wink, as you grab your books and head for the break room.“sure thing, hot stuff. i’ll be seein’ you.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It's already pretty late. By the time I get home, tidy up a bit, get everything sorted out for tomorrow...I'm not going to really have much time to study if I want a half-decent night's sleep. I might as well...
“Don’t even think about it.” Groaning, you let your head fall back against the wall with a thump as your traitorous thoughts begin to stirr. “You’ve got things to do. Tonight is a study night, not a play night.” You try to remind yourself. But he’s kinda cute, in a gruff, bad boy kind of way. You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts. Fuck, I can totally picture him now... Biting your lip, you can imagine what it would feel like to have Mutt’s impressive height looming over you whilst you were tied down… or bent over, or on my knees, or… “Damnit, me. This is the sort of shit that makes people have to re-take a semester. I'm better than this.” Running a hand through your hair, you eye your bag reluctantly. "No I'm not. I'm really, really not."This is why I don’t usually do weeknights. I’m so weak. Stuffing your books into your bag, you make quick work of your last remaining granola bar. If he’s half as good as that smirk suggests, I’m gonna need to keep my energy up. You sling your bag over one shoulder, taking a moment to run your hands through your hair in the small mirror beside the bank of lockers. Eh. Not like I can do anything more without wasting time. Making sure to grab a hairband from your bag, you quickly pull it around your wrist. You take a moment to lament your lack of boots; you’d usually wear something a little more… leather and platform-y at least, along with bringing at least one pair of fuck-me heels in your bag (just in case). Somehow, between your last one-night stand and making it to your car the next morning, you had managed to lose your backup heels. Those were my favourites, too… Slipping through the side door, you make your way along the maze of staff corridors towards the entrance. Built to help security make their way around quickly in cases of emergency, you are far from the first member of staff to use it to get around while trying to avoid certain patrons.“Heya! I didn’t know you were on today.” You smile as the newest member of the ground of house staff - Abi? Ami? Fuck, what's her name again? - greets you with a smile.“Just covering for someone. D’you mind if I get one of the yellow bands? I thought I might stick around for a bit.” She smiles at you knowingly.“Got your eye on someone cute, eh? No probs.” She passes across one of the glowing yellow bands. Since introducing them, things had been running a lot more smoothly in Sweet Release. The basics more or less follow the same principles as the house traffic light safeword system: green (open and looking); yellow (negotiating or open for discussions); red (taken, not interested in new approaches, or already in a scene).They had introduced a couple of extra colours to help smooth out the edges, with purple (in an existing dynamic that is open for additional players) proving one of the most popular, along with blue (just visiting, unlimited bar access but not allowed to book or enter private play spaces). For the less open-minded, black (humans only, not interested in monsters) or grey (monsters only, not interested in humans) stickers could be added to the bands. The only ones who aren’t required to wear a glow band are House staff, who each instead have a soft gold fabric band displayed somewhere prominently on their outfits, along with the occasional regular whose ownership claim is clear enough (though with the number of vanity collars, they were beginning to let fewer and fewer patrons in with just a leash or brand to set them apart).“Wish me luck.” You smile, waving at her over your shoulder as you head into the club through the main doors this time. As you clip your glow band into place, you pull the simple gold plated bands from your wrist. You had completely forgotten you had worn them to class today. Shit. So much for the ‘no jewellery at work’ rule. Slipping them into your bag, you make your way through the bar first. Scanning the room, you smile at your replacement, noting the presence of a couple in the corner - a bird monster in a rather lovely PCV dress, and her human partner in an equally stunning rubber number. No sign of Mutt. Fuck. Did I miss him already? Biting at your lip, you make your way through to the main public playspace. A second bar, this one smaller, is nestled into one corner, allowing patrons a clear view of the various pieces of equipment and raised platforms scattered throughout the space. Barely a dozen humans and monsters are in the space as the commuting crowd has still yet to make it home, making your search for your still missing prey all the more frustrating. Where is he? How do you misplace a freaking seven-foot-tall skeleton? You slip past one of the human bouncers - I really need to learn the day staff’s names - through to one of the four smaller public spaces. Which one could he be in? All that leather and chains, he could be in dungeon one. Maybe the medical room? Eh. I don’t think he’d be in the rubber paradise, that only leaves the private rooms, or… You pause outside the last of the four decent-sized public play spaces. You usually try avoiding the room with the House Staff. A friendly bunch (for the most part), it isn’t that you are prejudiced against those that like to mix business and pleasure; far from it. You just don’t want to risk someone thinking what you had to offer could turn out to be something more than it is. Never date co-workers, friends, or friends of family. Your one big rule had done well by you these past three years; you really can’t see why you should risk breaking it.What if he’s already picked someone? Just my luck. You hover by the curtained entrance, the familiar claws of anxiety and anticipation clawing at the pit of your stomach as you try to surreptitiously peek past the curtain. Stop being such a fucking pussy and get in there. Running your palms along your thighs, you take a slow, steadying breath. No matter how many times you do this, it never feels any easier. The creeping sense of anxiety and dread mix together, as that little voice in the back of your head insists you aren't good enough; why would anyone pick you, with so many other partners on offer?"Just stop it." Eyes sliding closed, you force yourself to unclench your hands. Deep half-moons line your palms where your nails bit into the skin - not quite enough to break the skin, but enough to leave you aching. So what if he’s already found someone else to play with? Give it another hour, maybe one beer, and there’ll be plenty of other people looking for a good time. What’s the big deal? He’s not the only attractive being around.Letting out a ragged sigh, you force your shoulders back. Holding your head high, you push through the curtains into the room. One of the more brightly lit open spaces, your eyes flick between the men, women and monsters scattered throughout the room. Flashes of gold bands catch your attention, reminding you to slip off the last of your bangles. Glancing down, you quickly return to searching for Mutt. You can feel your heart sink, as you scan the room for the familiar black and gold lined hoodie. Your eyes trail over the room again, then again, searching for any sign of the unnaturally tall monster. Come on, come on. Let me have good luck just this one time. Please... Gotcha. Lounging on one of the booths to one side is Mutt, his dirty boots propped on the surface of the table. A rather eager looking House Slave - Aaron? Old enough to fuck, not old enough to drink - is eyeing those same boots eagerly. You can see him practically salivating over them. It makes you pause. Shit. You had assumed he would be open to a scene with you, but what if he isn’t into women? Or humans? You can’t remember seeing a tell-tale glowstick on his wrists. Did I miss it? Or did the newgirl let him in with just the collar? You hover, unsure of what to do next. The thought of rejection doesn’t usually phase you this much; sure, the uncertainty is never pleasant, but rejection is to be expected when you go out looking for new fun as often as you do. You can’t expect to be everyone’s idea of a good time, no more than everyone fits into your idea of a semi-decent fuck. Why do I care what one skeleton monster thinks about me? I’m being stupid. Watching as he pulls out another echo flower cigarette, you make your decision as Aaron jumps to light it for him. You grab an ashtray, making your way over to the pair.“Hey, hot stuff.” You have to bite back a snicker at your own awful pun. You still can’t quite believe he had drunk half that bottle earlier. What a dweeb. You arch an eyebrow, pointedly looking at where his ashes are lazily drifting to scatter across the table. You make a point of sliding the small glass bowl beneath. “See, that’s not so hard!” You say cheerfully. It’s a struggle to stop yourself from reacting as Mutt turns his burnt orange eye lights on you. His smirk turns positively predatory as he takes you in once more, eyes lingering on your bag.“Oh! I didn’t realise - sorry about that....” Aaron is quick to apologise to you. While you may not go out of your way to hang out with your colleagues who offer sexual services, you don't exactly avoid them either. Having worked at the club for nearly two years now, you had come to know most of the staff, old and new. You catch the disappointment in Aaron's tone, the slump in his shoulders confirming it as he rushes to make room for you. Not too many monsters go for the jailbait look Aaron’s got going for him; you don't blame him for being upset with you.“No worries Aaron. Mutt and I haven’t agreed on anything yet.” You can see Mutt’s browbone rising, the tip of an orange-glowing tongue swiping at one of his pointed gold teeth. “I just thought I’d come over and see if you wanted that drink you mentioned earlier, or…” You trail off, giving Mutt an easy out to turn you down gently and pick back up with Aaron. Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes. “i thought you’d finished workin’ for the night, darlin’.” You shiver as his deep timbre washes over you. His low, raspy voice was one of the first things you had truly noticed about him beyond his impressive height. I do love a guy whose bark is as good as his bite. You shrug, eyes darting between him and the opposite side of the booth. He tips his head slowly, answering your silent question. You send Aaron a commiserating smile as you sling your bag onto the seat, sliding in after it. You don’t feel too bad; the bird monster from earlier and her partner seem to be eyeing him already with a frankly scary gleam in their eyes. He’ll be fine. You find your eyes lingering on his collar once more. Is there a Master or Mistress out there wondering where their pet has gone for the night? Maybe he’s just a switch with permission to play. You drag your eyes - and thoughts - away, pushing down the uneasy feeling in your stomach. You hate the thought of being the other woman. Assume good intentions. Not every guy you meet is a cheating asshole. Don’t push your shit onto other people’s choices and dynamics like that. You take a steadying breath. Without thinking, you make a grab for his glass, downing half of it for courage. His smirk takes on an amused edge as he turns back to face you, one arm bent behind his head, the other dangling over the side of the booth. Ashes now drop onto the black tiled floor. Well, at least it’s not the table. You swallow hard, as the uncomfortable tang of hot sauce hits your throat. Urg. I'm never trying that cocktail again.“I’m going to take a leap here and assume you’re interested.” You pause for him to deny it. He doesn’t move, save for taking a long, low drag of his cigarette. “I one hundred percent put out on a first date. I don’t do permanent marks, needles, or serious bloodletting. A little mark here and there is fine, but anything with knives needs further negotiation. No bareback - I don’t care what your dick is made of, if it’s in me, it’s covered.” You plough on as he lets out a choked laugh, puffs of purple smoke wheezing out through his jawbones and teeth as he tries to compose himself. “No photos, no live streaming, no rose-budding. In fact, let’s put a pin in the whole medical kink side of things; I’m really not in the mood for it tonight.”“that everythin’?” He asks incredulously. I can’t tell if that’s a good or a bad sign. You shrug. “For the most part. I prefer the traffic light system for safewords; I can’t promise I won’t let out a ‘no’ when I mean yes, but if you prefer to do things the old fashioned or have limits around consensual non-con, I can do my best to remember that. Oh; and this?” You point between the two of you. “Is a one-time deal. It's nothing personal; that's just a me-thing. I just need a yes or a no, big guy, not a white picket fence and roses.” Silence falls between you. You try to hold his gaze, unable to read the intention behind those glowing orange orbs. He stands without a word. You can feel your heart sinking. Did I blow it? You lower your eyes, hands falling to the strap of your bag. No matter how much you tried to prepare yourself for rejection, it still hurt. It’s fine. I don’t really have the time tonight anyway. Maybe if I get an early night, I can get an early start and snag a good spot at the library in the morning. A leather glove-clad, skeletal hand appears in your line of vision. “last chance to change your mind. i don’t like to be kept waitin’.” You can feel the nerves at the pit of your stomach begin to settle. The low, slow burn of anticipation takes over. Sliding your hand into his, you let him pull you up.“Quite the grip you’ve got there.” You already sound a little breathless. Play it cool. Do not blow it at the last hurdle. “make no bones about it, darlin’, you haven’t seen the half of it yet.” Mutt’s tongue flicks out again, curling around the base of his cigarette. Two bony fingers reach up to pinch the glowing tip, extinguishing it without a second thought.
Was that a… skeleton pun?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Any preferences?” You ask, as you hasten your pace to keep up with Mutt’s long-legged stride. Don’t mind the poor, short human here; I’ll just jog to keep up, shall I? A sigh escapes before you can stop it. He shrugs, his gait unchanged. You try again. “Any soft limits? Hard limits? Any general preferences?” Still nothing. Starts above, save me from the strong, silent types. “Give me something to work with, big guy, or the next couple of hours are going to be the wrong kind of painful for both of us.”As you reach the back check-in desk, you wave him off to one side. Compared to how you are used to seeing the club at weekends, it seems eerily quiet. You can feel the deep thrum of the bass more than you can hear it. The familiar background chatter you have come to expect is nowhere to be found. “I’ve got it.” You hand him your bag without thinking, as you bend over the desk to snag the log book. Flicking to the right page, you quickly scan the paper to see which rooms are still available and which are already in use. Leaning over to see if you can see anyone slacking behind the desk, you ding the small service bell to draw someone’s attention.“You’re a monster of few words; anyone ever tell you that, Mutt?” You ask cheekily. While a big part of you is near Aaron levels of drooling in anticipation, that small, nagging, logical part that is usually responsible for paying electric bills before replacing your dwindling supplies of amaretto and coke is starting to pipe up.Mutt's lazy grin remains unchanged as he leans against the wall, as though the effort of standing has become too much for him. Without a trail of smoke and a cigarette dangling from his mouth or hands, you’re reminded once more of just how cliche his outfit should seem - gold teeth and all. Yet he’s got that air around him of someone with much more experience than first appearances would suggest. There's something in the way he holds himself - that casual slouch, somehow filled with lazy confidence - no, certainty, in himself and his own abilities. “m’lord prefers brevity.” His sensual drawl pulls you up cold.“You are... here with permission, aren’t you, Mutt?” You ignore the sound of the staff room door opening and closing, the tell-tale whump of boots audible above the low thrum of the base. “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a thief, or a home-wrecker. So just tell me now if some burly dude all wrapped up in pleather is going to storm his way in, demanding to know who’s petting his puppy.” You feel a spark of annoyance at the shit-eating grin spreading across his face. He’s really starting to piss me off. You tell yourself, denying the curl of pleasure growing within. Please be here with permission. “no need to worry, darlin’. m’lord always knows where his loyal attack dog is.” He leans in; for a breath-stopping moment, you think he’s about to kiss you. Brushing past your parted lips, he leans in next to your ear. “no need to worry about any big, burly interruptions. m’lords... stature... would hardly allow for that.” Did I miss the joke? Why’s he grinning like that? You force your gaze back to the desk, feeling equal parts dazed and confused from Mutt’s proximity and words.“Oh!” You turn your attention to the monster now standing behind the desk. “Everything ok?”Lips curling into a genuine grin, you beam up at the new face. “Teddy! My second favourite pupper!” You coo at the towering Shiba Inu monster. His ears twitch, perking up at your praise. You can see Mutt preening out of the corner of your eye. We can’t have that. “You know my heart will always, first and foremost, belong to Coco.” You stage-whisper to him, having to hold back a smirk of your own at Mutt’s disgruntled look. It's gonna take a lot more than a drink and the promise of a good time to get in my good books, buddy.Teddy nods good-naturedly. Everyone loves Coco; she’s the fierce mama monster to all of the staff, human and monster alike. “Did you need help with something?” He asks, pointedly not looking at Mutt. You grin.“No, no. I was just hoping to catch someone to book one of the rooms. I didn’t know you were working security today. Any chance you can hook me up?” You ask hopefully. “I’d really like room three if it’s not pre-booked.”You ignore Teddy’s raised brow. He doesn’t try to mince his words. “That’s a bit... tame for you, isn’t it?” The unspoken 'are you sure?' lingers between you.Shrugging, you lean over to sign the proffered ledger. “Eh; My friend here isn’t too sure what he likes. I thought it would be best not to give him too many options.”Teddy let out a snort. “Best not to overwhelm your new puppy before he’s house-broken.”As you finish the paperwork with a flourish, you miss the savage look Mutt sends Teddy, gold teeth bared, eye socket burning. By the time you look up, Teddy’s hackles are raised, his teeth bared in a snarl at your lounging Mutt. Not mine. Don’t go getting any ideas. “You know me; I’m not really one for training ‘em. I’m more of a play and release kinda gal.” You aren’t quite sure which of the three of you you’re trying to reassure. “You go on in ahead, Mutt. I need to grab a couple of things.”Mutt straightens, unfurling from his previous slouch against the wall to try and tower over you both. Much to his dissatisfaction, Teddy’s still got a good three inches on him (even if it is most likely fur). “don’t be long.” He drawls, his long legs eating up the distance between the foyer and the corridor to room three in no time.
Three... two... one…
“I don’t like him.” Teddy growls. Oh Teds. This again? “You never like any of them, Teddy.” You lay a consoling hand on his paw, unable to meet his persistent gaze. “We’ve been over this. I’m not ready for anything serious. If - not when, if - I am, you’ll be one of the first to know. I promise.”A puff of hot, moist air hits your face. You wrinkle your nose at the faint smell of gravy and liver. “I still don’t like him.”You smile as Teddy passes you your usual order; four mini bottles of water free from the staffroom and great for safe, no chances of being drugged refreshments mid and post-session; an array of multi-coloured condoms ribbed, flavoured, extra safe, and mint tingle for her pleasure; along with a couple of fruit granola bars the allergy-free fuel of champions. Oh! On second thought... ducking behind the counter once more, you grab one of the spare ashtrays from the back-up supply. Bosslady always insists each smoking room has a new ashtray between visitors. Just because a monster likes smelling like a certain type of cigarette, doesn’t mean they’ll tolerate just any old smell in their rooms she’d insisted when asked.As you slide back across the desk, you wink at Teddy, making a shushing motion. Room three is on the no smoking side of the list. As long as I air it out afterwards, nobody will even know the difference. “You don’t have to like him, Teds. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to even like him.” You hold a hand up to stop him from interrupting. “I think he’s just here to dip his toe outside of the vanilla waters. I bet you five bucks I’m back out here again within the hour, while mister tall, dark and lazy blushes like a school girl after we use the fluffy cuffs.” You wrinkle your nose at the mere thought. Why am I doing this again? Ah, that’s it: low standards and a high libido. Why did nobody tell me my twenties would suck this much? Heh. Suck. “I’ll keep an ear out. Shout, and I'll come..” Teddy says.You shake your head. “You’ll come if you hear red. Not shouting or screaming. Red or not at all, ok, big guy?” You tap the ledger once more; your name, Mutts, and your safeword are clearly written beside the three-hour time slot you’ve reserved the room for. You usually preferred all-nighters when you could swing them, but really… your hopes for Mutt are starting to wane.Who doesn't have a pre-set list of limits ready to go? Let’s get to it. Who knows? Maybe he’ll prove to be a good boy after all. “Everything ok in there?” You knock before opening the door. Please don’t be already naked with your dick out. For all of your evangelizing of the joys of no-strings, one-night-only kinky sex, you’d had your string of duds to go along with the studs. The worst was that poor guy who shot his load before I’d even taken my boots off . You wince at the memory. He’d been so apologetic, yet unable to get another erection for the entire evening you had spent together. In the end, you had ordered room service, re-watching old episodes of Supernatural while letting him paint your toenails. At least he did a good job on the topcoat.Peeking before you enter, you can see your bag laying open on a bench against the wall. Huh. I could have sworn that was closed. While you haven’t been in room three for quite some time - it’s just as vanilla as I remembered - it doesn’t look like anything has changed.A large, four-poster bed sits front and centre, it’s mahogany beams dotted with thick metal d-rings at regular intervals. A simple red-leather padded bench sits at an angle off to one side. A leather, seatless throne sits just beside the door, giving the perfect view of the rest of the room, while the far wall holds a little bit of everything; soft black ropes, cold metal spreader bars, entry-level crops, paddles, canes and floggers. Chains with delicate nipple clamps barely stronger than a clothes peg dangle alongside slender leather collars, wide cuffs, and gently padded blindfolds.There’s even the dreaded line-up of fluffy handcuffs in a whole spectrum of valentines day colours. It’s like a freaking 50 Shades catalogue exploded in here. You snort to yourself. It’s not too late to call it a night and get some studying done, right? Mutt stays where he is, leaning against the fake stone-panelled wall as you close the door quietly behind you. He eyes your haul, searching your hands as though something is missing. Placing your stash beside your open bag, you quickly zip it closed.“not much to use in here, darlin’.”You turn back to him with a frown. “As you didn’t seem to have anything in mind, I assumed-shit!” How the fuck did he get that close without making a noise? Your knees feel weak as you lean back, trying to keep an inch of space between your body and Mutt’s. You can feel your cheeks heating with the first hints of a blush.“you know what they say about assumin’” He drawls. You watch as slim fingerbones begin unbuckling his gloves, revealing the long, pale bones beneath. Even with the dim bedroom lighting, you can see what looks like discolouration, along with countless nicks and chips scattered across his metacarpal and phalanx. Your eyes remain transfixed. You can't help but wonder how he will feel against your skin.“I just thought-” Clearing your throat, you busy your hands with one of the bottles of water. He takes it from you, putting it back down.“i must be doin’ somethin’ wrong if you’re doin' this much thinkin'.” You can feel the electric-tingle of his magic brushing against your skin. Eyes slipping closed, you lean towards that addictive buzz. You stumble, hands reaching out only to grasp thin air.“jeans and trainers off. leave the corset for now.” How the heck did he get over there so fast? Your mind feels hazy. Surely you would have heard him move that fast to get to where he now lay, lounging in the bed?“No boots on the bedding.” The words are out there before you even register the command behind them. Mutt’s orange eyelights narrow to pinpricks. You swallow heavily. You catch him this time; between one blink and the next, he’s off of the bed and pinning you to the wall by your neck. You can feel each individual bone in his hand flexing around the delicate column, his steely grip steadily pressing against your windpipe. You instinctively press your thighs together, going limp beneath his grasp like a good girl - or good prey.“i think you’ve misunderstood just who’s in charge here. i don’t think you want to go tryin’ to give orders.” You stay perfectly still. As he loosens his grip, his eyelights remain focused on you, watching expectantly.“No Sir.” You bite your lip in concern as a look of distaste flashes across his face. You flounder for a moment, hands shooting up to grasp at his wrist. “I don’t use Master on a first session.” You blurt out before he can knock your hands away. The annoyance seems to drop from his face, the same cocky, sharp smirk replacing it.“i thought you only did one-night stands.” You return his grin with one of your own.“Yup.” You roll your p, making it pop loudly in the unsettlingly quiet room. Slowly, you lower your hands, making no move to step towards or away from Mutt. “What would you prefer…” You trail off uncertainly.“mutt is fine for now.” He looks pointedly down at your still clothed body. You blush, biting back the keening that threatens to erupt from your throat as he withdraws his hand, returning to the bed with a flicker once more. Maybe he’s not so inexperienced after all. Slowly, you unbutton your jeans, sliding them down your legs. You can feel a blush burning your cheeks. Of course today had to be the day I was wearing period panties . You’d grabbed the first pair of comfortable panties you could find that morning. You could hear his low, rumbling laugh as your ‘It’s Flow Time’ purple-striped underwear comes into full view. You go to pull them off, embarrassment causing your stomach to twist uncomfortably. Humiliation play has never been your thing.“come here. leave ‘em on.” Mutt’s deep drawl commands. You find yourself padding across the cool floor, standing beside the bed uncertainly. Eyeing the still fully clothed skeleton with a mixture of curiosity and excitement, you can feel anticipation warring with your embarrassment. Mutt isn’t the first monster to dominate you; not by a long shot. He will be the first skeleton though.“well aren’t these just adorable.” He smirks, reaching out to pull you forward by the elasticated waistband. Falling on your hands, you half lean, half crouch awkwardly on the side of the bed, one of Mutt’s ridiculously long legs between your own. You feel his femur pressing against your thighs, encouraging them to part. Balancing on the balls of your feet, you spread your legs as wide as you can without falling on him.A single, long finger lands below your bellybutton. Slowly, it trails down your still clothed skin, down the centre of your mound, following the neon arrow with barely-there pressure. You whimper, as he presses lower. Why did I have to wear these panties today? He chuckles as he reads the text covering your already damp lips. You can feel your breath catching as he skims over you, barely touching the hot, damp surface. Forgetting yourself, you press forward, eager to feel his cloth-clad bones against your own skin.From one breath to the next he’s gone again. This time, you feel an uncomfortable tugging at your navel. You flail, trying to find purchase on something, anything, as the sensation of falling overtakes you. You cling on to his hoodie-clad torso with both arms, praying for the room to stop spinning.“easy, princess. just breathe. it gets better the more you do it.” As you begin regaining your balance, the soothing circles between your bare shoulder blades stop. His fingers dip lower, brushing the edge of your corset. You crack open an eye cautiously; you’re both stood beside the thick, red leather padded bench now. “colour?” His tone doesn’t sound any different, but you can see the serious look in his eyes. “if this is gonna be too much for you, i’d rather know before we get too far in.”You shiver as his rough phalanges brush against your back. You try tracking them, but can't feel any pattern to his movements He’s not even done anything yet. Why am I reacting like this? “Give me your best shot.” You try to put every ounce of bravado into your voice.He frowns, drawing back. A whimper escapes you. “Wait!” You grasp his wrist, forcing your eyes down. “I-I can be good. Green. 100% green. I don’t know what’s come over me, I-” You drop his wrist as though it has burnt you, realising your faux pas moments too late. “I really don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.” You repeat quietly. If only your past Master could see you now; he would be so ashamed.You feel a finger tilting your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. “no need for any of that. just remember: i ask you somethin’, i expect an answer or you to do what i say immediately. no backchat, not avoidin’. am i clear?”You nod, ignoring the way his finger digs into the underside of your chin. “Yes s-Mutt.” You correct yourself before you can finish.“good girl.” He motions for you to turn around. You do so without pause. The tell-tale sound of a zipper comes from behind you, the rustling of fabric being removed making you want to turn around and sate your curiosity. I hope he’s not just going straight for taking his pants off. You bite your lip. Though I’d love to see what he’s got under there… You had been with several monsters who has more… unconventional methods of having sex. Not all of them would manifest a magical phallus or opening for you to enjoy, but each had a unique way that they preferred to be pleased. The thought of rubbing against Mutt’s fabric-encased femur has you squirming pleasantly. Down girl. Get your head in the game. You feel his hands return to your back once more, this time lazily stroking across the lacing on your corset. “bend over. hands on the bench.” He nudges your legs fuerhwe apart again as you get into position. You feel bones pressing against the middle of your back - a knee, perhaps? - as his hands return to the knot keeping your corset cord in place. “i want you to tap the bench once for green, twice for yellow, three times for red. got that?” You murmur your consent once more, eager for the real fun to begin.Settling your weight evenly between the balls of your feet and your forearms, you can’t help the breathy gasp that escapes at his first pull. You had thought Coco had laced you into your corset as tightly as she could; apparently, Mutt has a much firmer touch. You can feel the metal boning pressing against your ribs, an unforgiving presence making itself known as you take each unsteady breath.Biting back a low moan, you shift more of your weight forward, acting as a counter-balance as Mutt pulls at the laces quickly and efficiently. He’s done this before you think, as his fingers tighten the fabric effortlessly. Losing yourself in the sensation, you let out a questioning whimper as the pressure lifts from your back, hands tying off the knot deftly. You force yourself to remain still. Don’t think. Don’t move. Just obey. You repeat your mantra, forcing yourself to slip deeper into the right head space.“good girl.” A sharp smack lands on your behind, echoing in the quiet room. You let out a low, breeathy moan. Mutt's deep, rasping chuckle sounds behind you. “like that, hm? i think we’ve got ourselves a bone-ified slut.” You can hear the grin in his voice. Tentatively, you wiggle your butt, pressing it back against his hand. “as you didn’t brin’ any goodies with you, we’ll just have to make do.” What did he expect? A bag full of dildos and chains? You can feel yourself slipping out of the right mindset as you mull over his words. A dull thud to your other cheek brings your attention back to the present. A second hit lands on the opposite cheek, then a third and fourth. You can feel your thoughts begin to slip away slowly, so slowly. Too slowly. Too soft. You want to wiggle away from the light hits of what must be a leather paddle and place something much more fun in his hands. The one with metal studs if he insists on a paddle, or maybe I can work him up to using a crop at least. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Does this room even have any canes?
Thud. Thud. Thud.You can feel warmth begin to blossom on your panty-covered cheeks. You readjust your position, spreading your weight more evenly to relieve some of the pressure on your hands.Thud. Thud. Thud.The heat continues to build. Still not enough to truly excite you, but enough to tease.Thud. Thud. Thud.You rest your forehead on the cool leather of the bench, losing yourself in the rhythm. The warm glow feels pleasant but distant - far from the all-consuming inferno you had been hoping for when you had given in to that wicked smirk and bad-boy exterior. Just another poser in a cute outfit. You sign in disappointment. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Should I pretend to cum? Maybe he’ll move on to something more interesting if he thinks he’s getting somewhere. Ick, what if he just decides to jump straight to fucking?
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Does this count as vanilla, or have I just forgotten how simple bdsm play can feel?
Thud. Thud.Thwack!You gasp, pushing yourself up and away from the bench before the sharp pain across the back of your upper thigh begins to throb. An unrelenting hand presses you back down.Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!You can’t help yourself; you let out a low groan of pleasure as the short, sharp bursts of pleasure-pain hit their mark. That’s more like it. Someone found a crop. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!You feel yourself beginning to sink into the rhythm again, the hot flesh around your ass pulsing from each impact. You can feel the fabric of your panties growing damper and damper, your sticky juices collecting on the thick black fabric. It wouldn’t take much - just a touch… As though sensing your thoughts, a warm, rusted orange glow surrounds your wrists, keeping them pinned in place.You feel Mutt tugging at your panties, ripping the fabric from your skin with two short, sharp tears. You struggle against the orange glow without a thought, trying your best to stand, to turn around, to make Mutt do - something, anything. A band of orange flares around your neck, forcing your head down beside your wrists.“i don’t remember tellin’ you to move.” You freeze, your breath coming in ragged pants. You can feel the press of Mutt - still fully clothed, but without the telltale soft fluff of his hood - against the curve of your back. “unless that was you tappin out…” he pauses. Slowly, deliberately, you tap the bench: once for green. “it seems like someone’s bein' a bad girl.” You feel the sharp nip of his teeth grazing the back of your neck; you can’t help yourself.“Please.” You whimper, shame long forgotten. His gravely chuckle has you shivering all over again.“begging for mercy already?” He taunts, keeping the pressure of his bones against you consisted and unfulfilling. You shake your head in denial.“No, no, no. More. Please. More.” You can feel his pelvis pulling back, all pressure leaving your bare ass and dripping lips. In your lust-driven haze, you can’t sense his disappointment. As he shakes his head, ready to pull away, you push back once again- not your hands or ass, but this time, baring your neck to him. “Please, Mutt. Please. Please.”The moment stretches on for an eternity, neither of you moving. Holding yourself still, you force yourself not to ask again. As you feel the brush of his razor-sharp incisors against the delicate column of your neck, you relax into your bonds once more. You keen desperately, a chant of more and please falling from your lips.“oh aren’t you just precious.” His teeth press firmly against your neck, nipping, licking with teasing strokes of his glowing tongue, before finally setting at the juncture between your neck and collarbone. He bites down slow, steady, relentlessly. You can feel your skin drawing taut. The sharp pull splits, his teeth breaking the skin in one delicious, pleasure-pain burst.A single finger traces down your mound. Your lips tremble as he feels the clear, sticky substance dribbling from your core. Losing yourself to the sensations - his teeth in your flesh, his tongue lapping at the sluggish trickle of blood, a single finger at your entrance, you can feel your legs trembling as that finger glides in deep, deeper, deeper with ease.“someone’s excited.” You feel the finger curling within you, rubbing against that soft, spongy spot deep within. Warmth builds in the pit of your stomach; you can feel the pressure building.“N-no, stop!” You whimper, squeezing down. Your palm slaps twice against the smooth, red fabric. “Yellow.”Mutt freezes; you clench your walls around him.“I-I” You stammer, trying to find your words. “I can’t hold it. I’m sorry.” You can feel tears of frustration prickling at your eyes. “I’m sorry. I-“His breath puffs against your neck, making you shudder and whimper. “oh someone is trained” He licks at the wound at your throat once more. “are you goin’ ta beg for it, darlin? do you want to come?” He nips at your earlobe, tongue snaking out to lick at your cheek.You shake your head, forcing the words down.“no? you don’t want to come?” He sounds confused, his voice losing some of its gravely edge. You shake your head again.“Want doesn’t matter.” You try to explain. “Can’t-good girls wait for permission. Not…” You gulp, your throat feeling unbearably dry. “Being selfish and-and bad and greedy and-“ strong hands flip you over, the orange-red glow around your wrists and neck gone in an instant. The familiar, dizzying pull of Mutt’s teleporting overcoming you. Sharp teeth cut you off mid-sentence. The soft brush of satin sheets feels cool against your still burning thighs and buttocks. You gasp, giving Mutt access to push his tongue in deeper, coaxing yours into submission.“i like your control, but not that train of thought.” You feel the squirming fear of failure overtaking the burn of excitement. “i want to see - hear - taste you. when you feel close, I want to hear those pretty lips beggin' for it. can you do that for me?” He forces your chin up, orange eyelights meeting your lowered gaze.“Yessi-Mutt” you correct yourself with a wince, biting your own lip in punishment.“don't do that.” He pinches at your cheek, forcing you to release your own lip. “can you be a good girl for me?” You nod, desperate to please.You can feel his finger - just one - return to your mound. Unsure of what to do with your hands now they are free, you flex them uncertainty. You have the overwhelming urge to pull at the leash dangling from his collar, to force his head down, to feel just what that tongue can do. Arching your hips, you force your hands behind you, resting them at the small of your back. Not yours to touch. Be good. Mutt lets out a pleased growl. You watch as he crawls down your body, his gaze still locked on yours. You want to break it, to look away. You can’t. You can feel each ridge as he pushes in unbelievably slow. You let out a long, high-pitched keen as you feel him sink inside one knuckle at a time, until a single, rough tip rests against your g-spot from within. Slowly, he begins to rub. Soon, a second hand raising to press against your mound. You groan loudly; it takes every ounce of your willpower not to move, to beg, to twitch just so and cover his hand with your essence.You can’t bare it any longer. “P-please. So close. Please, Mutt.” You plead. His lazy smile takes on a sharp, pleased edge. “oh darlin; only had to ask.”Your breath leaves you in a single woosh as his finger withdraws, three slamming in hard and fast and deep. The rough touch of his knuckles pounds against your sensitive outer lips as he drives in again and again. Your mouth drops open in a wordless scream; you can feel the overwhelming pleasure mounting. You thrash, trying your best to stay still, to remain in place, to be a good girl for him.“Too good, too good, too good.” It doesn’t even register as you chant your pleasure. Mutt takes your words to heart. You feel the sharp nip of his golden fangs on your quivering clit, his pounding never slowing or faltering. Everything feels too good; it’s missing that edge that you need, that touch of pain to make the pleasure that much sweeter.You feel his other hand forcing its way beneath you; you moan loudly as Mutt scrapes roughly at the marks littering your ass and thighs. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge.“So close. Please, please can I-“ you beg, tears pooling. You realise your eyes are clenched tightly shut; you force them open, refusing to dishonour Mutt by missing a second of his masterful touch.He lifts his head, hands still stroking you inside and out. You can feel the damp, hot brush of his breath playing over your nub. His hands drift lower, leaving behind the red hot flesh to dip between your spread cheeks. His finger teases at the dry rim of your other hole. You clench; not there you want to beg. Mutt curled his fingers within your cunt; you see stars. Closer and closer, you can feel it building.“Please. PLEASE. I can’t hold it. Please, can I. Please please Mutt. Need your permission. Can’t come without permission. Please.” You’re near incoherent as you beg, your desire to come warring with the deeply ingrained need to please.You feel the hard, relentless push of a skeletal finger breaching your tight sphincter, forcing its way relentlessly within. Your mouth falls open in a wordless scream; his fingers massage your g-spot from within, wringing every inch of pleasure from your greedy pussy.“come.” The command has barely left his tongue when you feel yourself plummeting over the edge; too much, too deep, too pleasurable - the perfect balance of pain and discomfort, the burning stretch of your tight little ass, the sloppy gape of your fluttering cunt, still so eager to draw him in, to take as much as he will give you and more.“that’s it. that’s a good toy.” He croons, raising his creamy fingers to press against your lips. Wordlessly, you draw them in, licking each digit clean. You can feel the steady, rhythmic touch as he pets your hair; you’re too lost to your blissful haze to notice when he stops, beyond letting out a confused whimper.You allow yourself to bask in the warm, floating glow. Just another moment, and I’ll take care of him. You promise yourself, fighting the fuzzy darkness that tries to lull you to sleep. Feels so good. Haven’t felt this good in so long. You manage to pull your arms out from behind you, the effort taking more from you than it should have. Wordlessly, you search for Mutt with your newly freed hands. Just a few minutes of snuggling, then I’ll take care of him. “YOU’VE DONE WELL, MUTT.”“thank you, m’lord.” M-what? You fight against the warm haze as you come down from your happy bubble of subspace, trying to comprehend what you are hearing.“THIS TOY SEEMS LESS WORTHLESS THAN THE LAST.“that it does, m’lord.”“Mutt?” You murmur, confused. Why isn’t he in bed? What… what’s with the shouting? Reluctantly, you force yourself to sit up. Your eyes are drawn immediately to the throne opposite. What’s Mutt doing over there? It takes a moment for the sight to really register what you are seeing; Mutt, kneeling on the floor, leash pulled taunt, head lowered. His burnt orange eyelights fix on you, taking every movement of yours in. Beside him sits a smaller, thicker skeleton encased in bulky black and red trimmed leather armour, thigh-high boots shining in the dim light. A crop rests on his leather, short-clad femurs. A smirk - nothing like Mutts - adorns his smug, malicious little face, as he looks at you with an odd mixture of disdain and interest.Grabbing at the sheets, you throw them across your lap, your cheeks burning once more.“Who the fuck are you.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. Tell me this isn’t happening. Your hands clench around the deep grey satin sheets, tugging them more firmly to cover your exposed neither regions. You can feel your breath catching, as you fight down the growing sense of panic. You wish for the first time, that you had worn anything but your corset to work, as your eyes remain fixated on the now kneeling form of Mutt, and the shorter, more rounded skeleton intruder. Is this some kind of joke? Please tell me it’s a bad dream. Humiliation, anger and fear wage war in the pit of your stomach. How long has he been there? How much did he see? You eye the distance between the bed, bag, and your discarded jeans. Clutching the sheets tighter over your bare legs and lap, you keep your attention focused firmly on the two monsters. Violet eyelights glow eerily in the dim light, as your eyes trail over his cracked eyesocket. His teeth seem unnaturally sharp, more skin to that of a shark than a skeleton. Spiked black armour hides his ribcage, while tight leather encases him from his pelvic bone downwards, leaving a glimpse of his exposed spine over the top of his spiked belt. Much like Mutt, his gloves and books give you a budget bdsm feel, as does the matching black and plum crop. Though that particular shade of purple does compliment his eye lights. You can feel a twinge of hurt and disappointment, seeing Mutt kneeling loyally at his side. You refuse to meet his burnt orange gaze, as you look between the two of them Despite his bowed head, Mutt’s cold gaze hasn’t left you. You can feel him watching your every twitch. So much for accidentally picking up a vanilla guy; just my luck. It looks like I managed to find half of a pair of non-con players… or kidnappers. You can feel the first bubble of hysteria beginning to form in your throat, as you do your best to remain calm. I’m not sure which would be worse at this point. “HOW DARE YOU ADDRESS THE MALEVOLENT SANS IN SUCH A DISRESPECTFUL MANNER, SLAVE!” Purple glowing eyelights glare at you, his mouth drawn into a savage grin. It's hard to tell with him sitting down, but if you had to guess, it looks like he would tower over you if he were to stand. He's got nothing on Mutt's seven-foot frame, but he's got to be pushing six feet. If they decide to try something... I don't stand a chance. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you keep your movements slow and steady. You don't want to risk pushing either of them into action. Though... he kind of looks like an irate chibi from an anime, or a pompous blackberry crossed with a yappy Pomeranian. You bite back a giggle before it can escape, concerned that if you begin, hysteria may take over. It takes a moment (far longer than you would like to admit), but his words finally sink in. Wait a minute, what did he just say? “Excuse you.” Your sharp tone cuts the tiny tyrant short in his tracks. You can see every bone in Mutt’s body tightening from his previously languid position as you stand, feet slapping loudly against the bare floor. You force down the uneasy feeling in your stomach. You knew he wasn’t yours to begin with. You don’t even want to be his - you don’t want to be anyone’s. You have no reason to feel...- betrayed? Disappointed? Deceived sure, but not… everything else. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are-” dragging the sheets along with you as a makeshift toga, you storm towards your abandoned clothes. Get changed. Get out. Warn Teddy we’ve got some unsafe players. Go home. Do not make this personal. “DISOBEDIENT AND STUPID? HOW DO YOU FIND SUCH WORTHLESS TOYS, YOU MANGEY MUTT!” The intruder - Sans? - interrupts. “I SEE I WILL HAVE TO GIVE YOUR WORTHLESS HIDE ANOTHER LESSON.”Mutt’s posture remains unchanged as his partner yanks on the chain attached to his collar. “apologies, m’lord.” Do skeleton monsters need to breathe? You find yourself wondering, your own memories of being yanked around by a collar and leash rising to the forefront of your mind. While you loved the safety and security that came with being collared - not just for play, properly owned and collared - and you couldn’t get enough of that delicious sense of powerlessness that comes with breath play done just right, you loathe the combination. A single, careless tug or missed step could so easily bring everything crashing down and ruin even the most well-thought-out scene.You watch as the smaller of the two - I’m pretty sure it was Sans - raises the crop from his lap, aiming to - Holy shit is he aiming that at Mutt’s face? “Hey!” You cut them off, your voice cold. You can barely contain your fury. “What is wrong with you? You could take his fucking eye out!" Can monster eye lights be damaged like regular eyes? "And you!” You turn your glare on Mutt. “You told me you had permission to come out and play! You said I didn’t have to expect any interruptions! You never said any-fucking-thing about your, what, owner? Dom? Coming out to play.” You shake your head in disbelief.Pulling your jeans in with jerky, awkward motions, you feel unwilling to turn your back on either of them. Turning to one side, you awkwardly tug off the tattered remains of your ruined panties. Fan-fucking-tastic. There goes another twenty dollars. This is why I can't have nice things.“actually-” Mutt tries to butt in. Is he sweating? You glance at his irate owner. I’d be pretty worried too if I was caught out lying in front of my partner. “i said m’lord knew.”You wait for the rest of his excuse. When none seems forthcoming, you shake your head angrily, shoving the remainder of your possessions into your bag. You leave the water and granola bars behind, no longer trusting that they have not been tampered with. “You said not to expect any interruptions from big, burly Dom’s wrapped up in pleather.” You pause for a beat, eyes darting between the two. No way... “Oh my fucking god you were making a short joke earlier weren’t you?”If looks could kill, both you and Mutt would be dead by now; Mutt, from the frankly terrifying look he was being sent by Sans, and you from the cold look Mutt had aimed your way. “...m’lord only wears real leather.” Sans looks about as impressed with Mutt’s excuse as you do.“That still doesn’t explain why the hell you thought it would be not only appropriate but ok to bring someone else into a negotiated scene without mentioning him during negotiations!” You are pretty sure your shouting can be heard from the corridors at this point. You spare a moment to hope Teddy isn’t patrolling too nearby; you have an awful feeling he may rip Mutt to shreds before you have the chance to eviscerate him.Sans waves a hand dismissively, flexing the crop between his glove-encased fists. Having seen how close he was to striking Mutt in the face, you feel uncomfortable venturing any closer to him - or the door that lays just past them both.“didn’t realise it would cost more, darlin’” Mutt’s lazy drawl, a complete contrast to how he now holds himself, pulls you up short.“Cost more?” You ask slowly, your mind whirling. “The rooms are a set fee; they’re charged by the hour, not occupancy. Plus I said I had it covered.” You aren’t certain yet, but you have an uneasy feeling about how this may go.“PSST. IT IS A QUESTION OF COST? ARE YOU CALLING ME A WELCHER? THE NERVE! THE MALEVOLENT SANS WILL DOUBLE YOUR FEE. RETURN TO THE BED AND REMOVE YOUR GARMENTS; NOW THAT YOU ARE WARMED UP, I WISH TO REPLACE THE MUTT’S SLOPPY HANDIWORK WITH MY OWN GENIUS.”Your jaw drops. Lost for words, you let an uncomfortable silence fall between you.“WELL?” He taps his foot, browbone drawing in displeasure. Your eyes move between Sans and Mutt in disbelief. You shake your head, moving towards the door. In a blink, Mutt is between you and Sans, his hand curled once more around your throat. It doesn’t feel sensual this time; each fingerbone feels sharp and uncomfortably cold against the trembling flesh of your neck. You can practically taste the panic building in your chest.Mutt’s unblinking stare makes you want to flinch, to cower away. “m’lord doesn’t like to repeat himself. or be kept waiting.”How did you think his voice sounded sensual such a short while ago, when now, it has you trembling in a mixture of fury and fear? You raise your terrified eyes to unsteadily meet his; are you imagining it, or does a flicker of confusion pass his russet eye lights? You draw a slow, deep, steadying breath.“RED!” You scream at the top of your lungs. “TEDDY! RED RED RED RED!”“WHERE?” You feel Mutt’s grip on your neck falter momentarily, as he and Sans appear to be searching for someone. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, breath catching, as you draw in another ragged lungful to scream again.“NO! RED! I DO NOT CONSENT! RED!” Mut seems frozen, the power behind his grip faltering.“WHAT ON EARTH IS SHE SCREAMING ABOUT? WHERE’S RED?” Sans demands, looking around expectantly, crop flexing between his curled fists. He takes a stomping step forward, then another, and another. With each resounding clunk of his boots growing closer, you can feel your breaths shortening, coming in sharper, more panicked gasps. “WHY-”THUMP!The door crashes open with a bang, revealing a furious dog monster. Teddy is in the room like a flash, two human members of the security team giving their much larger colleague a wide berth. Lips pulled back and teeth bared in a snarl, Teddy is barely holding himself back. One of the human security guards, a short but stocky man in his early twenties, tries taking charge. “You heard the lady. Let go. Now.”The other guard, a young woman you aren’t familiar with, hasn’t taken her eyes off of you. She takes a slow step closer, clearly preparing to grab you if things turn sour. “No” you mouth, not trusting the security team's strength to win out against Mutt’s if it came down to it.“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” You can’t tell - is that genuine confusion beneath the indignation and anger? As Teddy’s growling grows louder, you gulp thickly. You can feel tears beginning to well. This isn’t going to end well for me, is it? You feel Mutt’s fingers slacken further; holding both hands up, he remains still, his eyes never leaving yours. “i think there’s been a misunderstanding.” He says steadily. Despite the ever-present smirk, you can hear an undertone of something in his voice; regret? Confusion? In your panicked state, it’s hard to tell.“WHAT IS THERE TO BE CONFUSED ABOUT?” Sans stomps his foot once more, snarling at the intruders. If it were any other situation, you could imagine the smaller monster would be amusing if nothing else. In your current state, crop in hand and dangerously sharp teeth gleaming as he snarls, Sans seems terrifying. “THE HOUSE SLAVE IS THROWING A TANTRUM FOR NO REASON. SHE MUST BE PUNISHED.”Teddy is clearly at the edge of his patience. Before Sans can take another step towards you, Teddy throws himself forward. Mutt blinks away again, slamming Teddy to the floor in an instant. “no-one. touches. him.” He snarls. Before you can intervene, Sans is on the move; wrapping a hand around the end of Mutt’s leash, he yanks harshly.“HEEL! NO ONE TOLD YOU TO INTERVENE.” He commands, forcing Mutt down by his neck. You watch what seems to be a genuine struggle as Mutt snarls and claws at the floor, trying to make his way back to Teddy without dislodging the shorter skeleton. Sans’s booted heel finally presses to the nape of Mutt’s spine, causing the thrashing monster to fall still.As Teddy goes to lunge again, you shout. “No Teddy! Bad boy.” You feel bad the instant it leaves your mouth. You refuse to take it back. You would rather have Teddy feeling disappointed in you than hurt - or worse. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding here. If everyone can just stay calm, we can get this sorted.” The female security guard’s soothing voice breaks the silence. “What’s this about a House Slave?”Whipping his crop around, Sans points it directly at you. “ARE YOU STUPID? THAT, OF COURSE!”The security guards look between you in confusion. “She isn’t…”“Fuck you. I’m a bartender.” You can feel all of the energy seeping out of you, as the sharp edge of adrenalyn finally begins to wane. I just don’t have the time or patience for this. Maybe tit's all just one big, ugly misunderstanding. “No harm, no foul guys. I’m sorry for worrying you three.” Throwing security a weak smile, you run a hand through your hair. Fuck, how am I going to show my face back here on Friday? “Let’s just call this one big misunderstanding. Mutt? Next time you try to pick up anyone - I don’t care if they’re human, monster, in this club or not - you disclose this shit before inviting someone else to join in. Sans, was it? You don’t just jump in and force your dynamics on bystanders. It's beyond unsafe, not to mention rude.” Pulling your bag further up your shoulder, you turn towards the door.“you’re not a house slave?” Mutt’s low, smokey voice stops you before you get any further. You shake your head, holding up your wrist. The yellow glow band is still clearly in place. He frowns, shaking his head, insistent. “you were wearing gold earlier.”You shake your head again slowly. “No, I wasn’t. I don’t even own a gold pin or band. I’ve never been on the House staff like that.” You feel so disappointed. Was that why he was interested? Did he think it would be easier, or I would have fewer limits if I were on staff? “Even if I were a House Sub or Slave, that wouldn’t excuse this kind of behaviour.”You rest a calming hand on Teddy’s arm, gently petting his fur. You can feel him calming beneath your touch. You don’t notice the loaded look Mutt sends you - nor the knowing narrowing of San’s eyes as he watches his pet.“IS IT A QUESTION OF PAYMENT? ARE NON-HOUSE SLAVES MORE?” He asks. “OR DOES IT ALREADY HAVE AN OWNER I MUST NEGOTIATE WITH?” What is he not getting about this? You snap your fingers, drawing his attention firmly back to you. “SHE” you slowly annunciate “is not for sale. I just work in the bar; what I do in my free time is up to me. It’s got nothing to do with renting from the House. Sorry, everyone, for whatever this… cluster fuck is. I’m gonna call this a night. I’d say it’s been nice, but… yeah.”As you head towards the door, the two human security guards keep pace with you, ready to step in if any of the monsters take a step towards you. That… could have gone worse? Not by much, but… oh who am I kidding? You clutch your bag trap to your chest tightly, barely holding the floodgates closed. This is fine. Everything will be fine. I just need to get home, get some rest, and… forget this ever happened.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Stop thinking about them.
It’s Friday night, and you still can’t get the Mutt or Sans out of your head. You should be getting ready for your shift in the bar; instead, you find yourself contemplating something you haven’t done in all of your years of working there: you’re thinking of calling in sick. How can I face Teddy and Coco and everyone after that? Your hands clench, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your palm. Just thinking about it brings an uncomfortable mixture of shame and embarrassment. You were normally so careful when picking your partners. Sure, you had the odd disappointing or outright bad experience, but nothing quite at this level since starting at the club. It had taken you twice as long to drive home that night, your nerves absolutely shot to pieces. If it had happened on one of your regular weekend shifts, you would have asked one of the guys to carpool home with you, or at least seen if anyone wanted to split an Uber. But on a weekday, you hardly knew anyone who was on shift. As for the few people you had recognised... you were too embarrassed to admit what had happened. They're never going to trust me on my own in there after this. Heck, I'm not sure if I should trust myself.The following morning, you had awoken before the first rays of morning light could illuminate your cramped room. The thin curtains were left behind by the previous tenants, and did little to shield you from even the weakest morning rays. Despite the layers of blankets piled on top of the bed, you felt cold to the bone, your skin unpleasantly clammy. Your stomach churned with a mixture of restlessness and anxiety. You could feel that familiar itch firmly beneath your skin; one that you knew you would be unable to scratch. The hot ache of your thighs and buttocks did little to quell the heavy, stuffy feeling in your head and stomach. Not good enough. Failed again. Not good enough to keep. Not good enough to make him happy. Not good enough to use. Discarded all over again. “Great. Subdrop. That’s just what I need.” Just because you could recognise the traitorous thoughts circling around and around in your head, didn’t make them any less painful to deal with. “Just keep your shit together. It’ll pass soon enough.”It doesn’t help that even now, three days later, you can still feel a faint, deep ache deep within from where Mutt had mercilessly pounded into you, stretching you wide three sure, hard fingers. Your entrance still feels bruised from where his knuckles had hammered against you, not to mention your neck…You catch yourself petting the raised bite marks on the back of your neck. Luckily, your hair can cover the deep bruising, as long as you leave it down. During several particularly tough lectures, you had found yourself pressing against those marks, using the flash of pain to centre yourself despite the stress and obligations coming at you from every angle. He basically called me a hooker, while his partner called me a thing. Why am I giving either of them the time or space in my mind right now? You berate yourself. Not that there’s anything wrong with sex work, it’s just… that’s not me. You try to ignore the niggling voice in the back of your head that questions why, then, are you getting so upset about a one-night stand misjudging you? Enough is enough. No more pity parties. “The only way to get over everything is to get back on the horse or… er, monster.” One quick call to your boss later, and you have the weekend off. I'll just pick up some extra shifts at the store to make up for it. As you mentally calculate how much you're set to lose in tips, you try to force down the growing sense of panic. While you do have a small buffer of savings built up, those are reserved for real emergencies and big expenses. Just... don't think about it. It'll all work out in the end.As you try to shift focus, you feel a pang of lingering guilt when you think of letting your team down for not just one shift, but three. I hope Teddy isn’t too worried. Poor guy; for all of his bark, he doesn’t usually have to deal with too many situations like that. With most of the patrons behaving themselves, security rarely needs to be called for anything more serious than underage teens trying to sneak in, or the occasional drunk not understanding that playing and drinking are considered almost exclusively separate activities at Sweet Temptation.Now that your default choice for finding a safe, sane, consensual kinky hook-up is off the table for the next few days (if not longer), you find yourself reluctant to explore your other options. Fetlife has always been pretty good to me. Sure, it’s not the easiest site to find people in the local area, but the community’s pretty safe and outspoken on the whole. Pulling up your account, you start looking through your backlog of messages, comments and friend requests. I suppose there’s always Whiplr. Isn’t that meant to be like Tinder for kinky people? The thought of the horror stories from Tinder alone has always made you feel a little wary about using the app. Taking into account your recent experience at the club? You can’t escape from the uncertain, clawing feeling at the pit of your stomach.
It’s only going to feel worse if I don’t get this over with. What’s the worst that could happen? I find someone, we have coffee, discuss limits. If anything seems even a little bit off, I can just bail.
You start flicking through your options, pointedly ignoring the faint tremor in your hands. Dismissing the human side of Fetlife, you begin working your way through the monsters who have recently liked your photos or dropped you a message. Do I try and find someone who’s into impact play and orgasm control to get everything out of the way at once? Or should I try and ease back into things a little more slowly… Flicking through, you debate your options. Nope… no… yeesh, definitely not. Hmm… maybe? You pause on the profile of a giant goat monster. Your eyes are particularly drawn to his horns and surprisingly kind face. He looks nice. Kind of like a big, horny plushie. Heh. Fluffybuns? What kind of username is that? Oh wow. That is one hella impressive- Ping!Switching tabs, you click to check your inbox. Oh, hello there handsome. You never thought you would find a spider monster particularly attractive considering your fear of actual spiders. The more you read through Spout’s profile, the more he seems like the ideal candidate to get back in the game. Refusing to admit your nerves are still getting the best of you, you take a closer look at his photos and preferences.You can feel your breath catch in your throat. His shibari work really is stunning. You click through from one picture to the next, to the next. Such attention to detail - and such unusual rope! You eye the glittering silver-grey cord used throughout his images. I wonder if that really is rope… “OK Spout, let’s see what your deal is. Hm… shibari, bondage, rope play... sensory deprivation, blindfolds. So far so good…” You pause. “Ah.” The word biting sticks in your mind. Flashes of his teeth pressed against the back of your neck come to mind; you shiver, trying to banish the memories. “Fuckit. Let’s hope this is the start of a beautiful afternoon of sweaty, jiggly fun times.”The sun is shining, the birds and singing, and things are… going surprisingly shitty. Having woken up with a raging headache and feeling more exhausted than when you had gone to sleep in the first place, you haven’t got high hopes for your Saturday coffee date. Does it really count as a date when you’re only there to discuss the terms of potentially fucking? Truth be told, your morning doesn’t get any better as it progresses. Between discovering your hot water heater is broken (again) only after stepping into the frigid water, and realising you have somehow fallen so behind enough on your laundry that your options are down to a low cut (bordering on indecent) blouse you usually save for relaxing in the club after hours, or an oversized cowl neck jumper that is more of a studying from home option. Choices, choices… fuck it, who am I kidding? Comfort over potential embarrassment any day.Deciding not to set off too early lest you seem too keen, you leave with just thirty minutes to spare. I regret everything. Huffing and puffing, you sprint the last half a block, rushing to make it to the bus stop before your ride pulls away. Of course, today would be the day of all days that ol’ rusty gave up the ghost too. You have already done the calculations: your chances of fixing your car whilst still affording luxuries like rent and food aren’t looking so good, unless you dip into your savings to pay for next term's classes. This is fiiiiine. Walking can be a good replacement for that gym membership I’ve been debating about getting. And who even needs to make breakfast and lunch when there are free granola bars at work?As you plop yourself down into a free seat, you pull up your messages once again to make sure you haven’t missed anything. At this rate, walking will have to replace more than just rusty. While missing a couple of shifts as the club should hopefully help you regain your confidence and put the little… mishap with Mutt and Sans behind you, you hadn’t quite taken into account how it would affect your bank balance. If I can pick up just a couple of extra shifts at the store and maybe extend my hours next weekend, as long as there are a few good tippers, I should be able to make it this month. Maybe. Hopefully. You pull up the university job board again. While there are plenty of options, there’s nothing that quite fits around your existing schedule (and nothing worth giving up two steady, stable paychecks for).
As long as I’m careful, everything should be fine.
Why didn’t I just pick a freaking Starbucks? How the heck can than charge so much just for a coffee? You arrive nearly fifteen minutes late, relieved to see Spout already sitting at a table with a coffee at hand.“I am so sorry I’m late! Just give me two minutes to order, and I’ll be right back.” You apologise in a whirlwind, rushing back to the line.Within a few minutes, you are back with Spout. Hands curled around your coffee - plain Americano, the cheapest they had - you begin fumbling your way through the awkward small talk that always comes with these kinds of hook-ups.
No, I’m not really an escort here to trick you out of your life savings. You’re not really a serial killer, are you? Good, good.
Why no, I don’t think Ann Summers and fluffy handcuffs are hardcore. Do you know how safewords work? Awesome!
Neither of us is expecting anything more than a one-time kinda deal, right? Jackpot. You, good sir, have ticked enough boxes to get yourself to the next round!
“So, ah… have you ever, I mean, have you been with a…” Spout trails off, waving four of his arms his general direction. You can feel a small, genuine smile curling on your lips.“Have I ever had a random s and m hookup before?” You try to get around his obvious worry. “Or have I ever been with a spider monster before?”"Either?" He nods, looking down into his cup. All eight of his eyes look nervous.Reaching out, you lay a hand on top of one of his. “I’ve done this plenty of times before; it’s about the kink connection and the mutual fun for me, not specific parts or trying to find my soulmate. Have you ever…?” You trail off, leaving him room to interpret your question however he prefers. Considering how fucking terrifying spiders are, spider monsters actually look kind of cute. His hair looks so soft. Would it be rude to pet him without asking? You eye his arm hair speculatively. What am I thinking; of course that would be fucking rude. I wouldn't do that to a human. Wearing just a simple pair of slacks and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, you can’t help but admire the shape of his arms. He looks pretty strong. I wonder how dexterous he is. I bet he could pin me down by my wrists and ankles, and still have the flexibility to open me up with those strong hands of his. He nods, his nervous smile taking on a more confident edge. “Yes. Mainly monsters, but it’s a bit harder to find more casual opportunities to explore and try new things out. Since getting out of a relationship a couple of months back, I just want to get out and have some fun.”You can feel the last dregs of tension leaving your shoulders. He seems nice. Trustworthy. Kind of cute - not in a smouldering sexy way, but… safe. “I know exactly what you mean. When you get out of a longer or more serious relationship, sometimes you just need that time to rediscover what you enjoy all over again.”“Yes, exactly!” Oh yes. He does look good when he relaxes. Smiling, you pull your hand back. Taking another long sip of your coffee, you try not to wince at the bitter taste. “Let’s talk limits.”Despite his attempts at a smile, Spout is back to looking nervous again. “Sure. Sure. I think I listed all of the major ones on my profile; I’m happy switching, but I would prefer to remain in charge. I strictly avoid soul play; nothing that could get anyone dusted of course, no impact play.” A little tame, but I can still work with this. You nod along, your mind already racing through the possibilities. “What would you say to grabbing a hotel room together, later today? Or tomorrow If that doesn’t work for you?” You suggest. “Strictly bondage. Blindfolds yes, no hoods.”“Earplugs?” He interrupts, leaning forward in his seat. Ah yes, he’s into full sensory play. Someone’s eager. “As long as they aren’t combined with both gags and blindfolds at the same time. Full or partial sexual intercourse is fine, but no permanent marks, anything that goes in me is wrapped, and no surprises. I mean it - no photos, no live-streaming, no introducing player three while I’m tied up or in no position to consent.” His vague look of horror does a lot to calm you. “I’m not saying it to offend you, it’s-“He sends you a wry grin. “No harm, no foul. Bad experiences are harder to shake than the good ones.” Spoken like a man with first-hand experience. You send him back a tentative smile of your own. “You’ve got that right. Shall we?”“It would be my pleasure.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
By early evening, you find yourself making the awkward ride up to meet Spout in his hotel room. You feel a twinge of guilt; despite having picked somewhere cheap and relatively nearby, you still don’t feel comfortable about the gentle-mannered spider monster footing the bill. I can always slip him half when he’s in the bathroom later or something. You reassure yourself, as you adjust the strap on your bag. It had been worth the almost two-hour detour to make it back to your apartment from the coffee shop, throw everything you might possibly need into your bag, before rushing back to meet him. A girl’s gotta have her favourite toys.An array of lubricants, condoms, dildos, and miscellaneous items from your favourite blindfold to a tiny bottle of spearmint and bubblegum mouthwash fill your messenger bag. Gotta be prepared and all that jazz. You deliberately left behind your preferred gag and anal beads. Baby steps. Just go for something simple to get back in the swing of things. You remind yourself, making your way towards room 309.Knocking gently, you smile as Spout opens the door to let you in. Without his overcoat, you find yourself admiring his arms once more. That is some nice, consistent definition. Dude must work out. Brushing past him, you glance around the room, taking stock before you set your own bag down. A warm twinge of appreciation bubbles up, as you notice the clear path Spout is careful to leave between you and the door.The room is small. Spartan, but clean. The latest MTT special is playing on a tiny wall-mounted flat screen, the volume turned down low. The bedding has been stripped back to just an undersheet and two carefully positioned pillows. You can see an array of silver-grey, delicate-looking rope resting on a low desk beneath the window. So pretty! You hold back, hand hovering, as you reach out to touch it. Spout nods in approval.“You like it? I made it myself.” He soundss pleased with your appreciative murmurs. Carefully, you run your fingers over the silvery rope. It’s much softer than you were expecting, like pure silk but less flimsy. “No need to worry about breaking it. That stuff can hold back a 600lb monster without straining.”Your eyes scan the table, looking for - ah. Good. You spot two pairs of safety shears off to one side. Making small talk as you unpack, you place your toys alongside his. You leave your own safely sealed bottle of water in your bag. You never can be too careful. Making a point of placing the condoms front and centre, you add a couple of bottles of lube - water-based and silicone, along with your favourite organic brand that promises to ‘tingle for your pleasure’.You leave the dildos closer to your bag, as well as your favourite bullet vibrator. While some of your past partners - humans and monsters - had been happy using them, others seemed almost personally offended at the idea that you would prefer a piece of plastic over their own fingers, cock, or in a few cases, magical phalluses. I really don’t care what they use, as long as we both get our fair share of pleasure. “How would you like me?” You send Spout a teasing smile as you try to quell the butterflies in your own stomach. He gestures towards the bed with two of his left arms. Are they four arms and four legs, or six arms and two legs? Your eyes linger, as the rolled up white sleeves of his shirt strain at his movements.“If you wouldn’t mind, ah, undressing but leaving your underthings on?” You are almost certain Spout is blushing under all of that soft, downy hair. Nodding, you slip your clothes off without any fanfare. I think he would combust if I tried to do a striptease for him. This time you are prepared. As you pull your comfortable jumper up and over your head, a simple, black lacy bra comes into view. Pushing your breasts in and up in all the right places, it’s one of the few that you own that is both comfortable and sexy. Wiggling out of your jeans, a matching pair of black lace boyshorts are revealed, the delicate fabric clinging to your cheeks like a second skin. You hear an appreciative intake of breath from the other side of the room. I wonder if he’s a fan of the view, or he's appreciating the lace? You lower yourself onto the edge of the bed, scooting back into the centre at Spout’s wordless request. Making no move to remove his own clothes, you can’t help but draw comparisons once more between this softly-spoken monster and another. They’re nothing alike. Stop thinking about him. You feel a shiver of anticipation as Spout unspools the long, silver-grey rope. Instantly pliant under his hands, you can feel a growing curl of desire in the pit of your stomach. His hands are much more sure and steady than his words have been.Under his careful guidance, you bend your knees. Pressing your angles against your buttocks, you lay back, your legs bent, exposing you in a way that thrills you. You feel the soft press of silken rope being tied first around your right ankle, then you left. He loops the rope steadily, binding your lower leg to your upper thigh. Looping once, twice, three times, dexterous fingers tie the silver thread in place by your knee before looking back down. Passing the rope between each rung of silken fabric, you can’t help but admire the matching patterns that soon adorn your outer and inner thighs. It almost looks like the start of a spiders web. Four hands each pull at the rope here and there; checking that he can slip a finger between your skin and the rope without any discomfort, tightening knots, rubbing at your exposed skin with practised ease. You shake your head as he asks if you feel any coldness, numb spots or unpleasant tingling. Something is definitely tingling, but I wouldn’t call it unpleasant. You can feel yourself sinking as he runs his hands across the ropework. Oh wow ok. I need this more than I thought if I’m going down this easily. “Colour?”Blinking at him slowly, it takes a moment for his words to sink in. His look of concern melts into one of amusement as you dreamily respond. “Green. So, so green.” You drag your eyes up from the ropes binding your legs open, a light blush dusting your cheeks at just how deliciously exposed he has you feeling. “More. Please?” You bite your lip in excitement as he smiles at you, holding up another length of rope.“As you asked so nicely. Let’s get you turned over.” You can feel two - no, three - sets of hands lifting and turning you as though you weigh nothing. Fuck he’s strong. You let out a low groan as he settles you on your front, turning your face so your cheek resst on one of the scratchy hotel pillows. The fabric feels both soft and irritating beneath your skin. A low-pitched whine escapes as he removes his hands from you; you move to follow, wiggling ineffectively in your bindings. “Hush now. So needy.”His words act like a bucket of ice-cold water. You can feel your eager need for his touch waning, as those familiar words cut through, pulling you out of the floaty comfort of subspace. Always so needy. Too selfish. Too much. Why do I always… Before you can become lost in your thoughts, you feel the comforting coolness of a new length of rope at the base of your spine.You arch your hips to try and give him more room to work, but with the immobility of your legs, it does little more than to flex your excited, wet lace panties in Spout’s direction. Strong hands press around you as he loops the length of rope from the bottom centre of your back, around your ribs then back again once, twice. Tying it in place, he secures it beneath your breasts before re-centring the remaining rope behind you. Moving up, this time above your breasts, he repeats the process.Tugging the rope firmly in place, he tugs it up and across your right shoulder, looping it beneath the rope already on your front then up across the opposite shoulder to create a snug V between your breasts. You can feel the rope securely holding your breasts apart, the silk pressing securly through the lacy barrier of your bra. Twisting your neck, you try to get a proper look at his handy work. A firm hand presses between your shoulder blades, restricting your movements as he holds your wrists in one hand at the small of your back. You bite your lip, trying to hold back your groan of pleasure. This is what I need. Deft fingers press between the cool flesh of your chest and the ropes, checking to make sure there are no pinch or pressure points that may be causing undue discomfort. “Green green green.” You murmur before he can ask. You lean into his touch as he pets your hair, making you sigh happily.“If you feel any numbness or need me to pause, just say the word.” Spout’s hand trails down the length of your body slowly. His gentle touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake, ending on the uncomfortably tickly arch of your foot. You can feel him loop the rope around each of your tied ankles, leaving your legs still spread, your panty-clad pussy further exposed. Running the length of rope up, he bypasses your bound wrists to loop it beneath the bottom of your chest harness. He keeps a steadying hand on your thigh as he pulls the rope taut, hogtying you in place.As you give an experimental wriggle, you can feel yourself teetering on the edge of subspace once more. Unable to move towards or away from his teasing, soft touches, you feel utterly helpless and exposed. His teasing touches, rather than remaining soothing, keep you teetering on that edge, unable to fall deeper into the bliss you know awaits you. Too soft. Too gentle. The soft touch of a silk blindfold brushes against your face. You raise your head just enough for him to loop it around, blocking off your sight. The lack of visual input makes every touch seem that much more sensitive, more heightened than before. “Perfection.” His words make you shudder. You wish you could press back and into his touch; you wish you could remain like this, helpless and free from the crushing weight of day-to-day responsibilities.Hands brush against the curve of your ears, causing you to jerk in surprise. “Amber.” The word escapes you before have time to register the small plugs pushing into then quickly pulled back out of your ears. You can feel the disappointment in his touch as he pets your side, retreating to put the earplugs away. You want to call him back, to tell him you are sorry, that you can take it. You can’t bring yourself to be that clueless about what is going on around you. Not yet. Not so soon after… You try to force your mind away from where it has drifted once more. He isn’t even that hot. Ok that’s a lie, Mutt is hot like burning. There’s something about the confidence of someone on a leash who can still seem like he could bring the entire room to its knees. It has been a while since someone has managed to surprise you quite as much as Mutt had. Why did he have to do everything so well up until the end? Are my standards really that low that the first tall, dark and mysterious kinky person who shows even a hint of interest in me suddenly seems like the freaking fetish messiah? You find yourself so preoccupied with thoughts of Mutt, it takes several long minutes for Spout’s actions to fully register with you. Sharp teeth graze the back of your neck, trailing over the fading marks left behind by your last conquest; a low moan reverberates from behind you as he presses softly against your skin. Softly, then firmer, firmer. Pressure finally prickles with the sharp relief of pain as he breaks the skin.“Ah!” You cry out; you can feel a steady trickle of blood now flowing from the junction between your neck and collar. That is much harder and deeper than we agreed. Unline the fading mark left behind by Mutt, Spout's will be impossible to hide.“A-amber.” You force the words past your lips. However good it may feel, you had both agreed to no long-lasting marks and no serious bloodplay. You can already feel thick, red droplets trickling down to stain the sheets beneath you. Yeah, that’s gonna end up costing us extra. “Sorry, sorry.” Strong hands swivel you around to face the edge of the bed. You blink, dazed, as the blindfold is removed quickly. Struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness, you squint up at Spout, confused. He looks apologetic, blood faintly staining his mouth. Oh. You can feel your pulse steadying once more as he gently pets your hair, soothing away your irritation at being yanked from that happy, floaty precipice. His hands flutter near your neck once more, lightly brushing over the bite mark. “May I?”You glance between his face and his other set of hands; two rest on your head and neck, two gently stroking you, whilst the final pair hover over the zipper on his slacks. Licking your lips, you hum your agreement. He’s… smaller than expected. Maybe he’s a grower, not a show-er? You soon lose yourself to the familiar rhythm, six hands tightly grasping the back of your head as you bob back and forth. He gasps, hips stuttering as you lick along the underside, tongue flicking back to lap at his slit. His fingers trace along the bitemark once more, pressing against the sluggishly bleeding wound. A sharp tendril of desire shoots through you. You let your teeth graze against the tip of his member, a warning not to press too tight.“Oh!” He pulls back with a jerk, thick, sticky strands of silver-grey shooting across your cheeks and lips. Is that… the same as the rope he used? You watch, transfixed, as he seems to keep coming… and coming… and coming. I would say that was anticlimactic, but… dude looks like he’s having a good time. You press your cheek against his hands as he gently pets you. Well darn. That was over quickly You sigh, disappointed. You watch as Spout slowly seems to come back to himself.“That was… wow.” He smiles as you goofily. “Let me return the favour.”That makes you perk up. You track him as he disappears just out of sight, making his way back to the waiting table of toys. You flex against the ropes, sighing in pleasure as you manage little more than a wiggle. A cold, smooth pressure pushes against the hot, damp exterior of your panties. You jerk, biting your lip as fingers push aside the wet fabric to the eager flesh reach below.The blunt head of one of your favourite toys pushes against your slick entrance. The thick, curved length teases against your lips as Spout spreads the awaiting stickiness. “You look wonderful like this. So helpless…” You whimper, straining against the ropes once again.“Please?” Your mouth falls open in a silent cry as you feel the thickness pressing relentlessly against your lips. Spout pushes the toy in steadily, paying no mind to your eager whimpers and gasps as he pushes deeper and deeper. He draws it out at the same maddeningly slow, steady pace. “Oh god more, please. Faster.” You beg. Spout pets your bound thigh absentmindedly, another hand pressing the small of your back down onto the bed, thoroughly trapping you in place.“Hush now. None of that.” He pushes again, watching as inch by maddening inch sinks inside. You can feel tears of frustration building. More more more please more. It’s been so long since someone took things this slowly; you had forgotten just how deliciously frustrating it can be. “So sticky and messy. Humans are quite fascinating.”Panting, you let your head flop forward onto the bed, surrendering yourself to the sensations. “Good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” On his next inward thrust, you feel his thumb brush against the hard, dripping nub of your clit.“Gah!” The sensation feels overwhelming. He gently circles his thumb against your slick flesh, matching the unrelenting, slow speed of the dildo. Holy fucking shit I need to see more multi-armed monsters in the future. You can feel another set of his fingers probing at your entrance, testing the opening where the dildo disappears into your greedy, fluttering hole.“Can you take more?” He asks. You nod eagerly, words failing you. He pulls the toy out steadily; this time, as he slowly eases it forward, a long, slender finger pushes in alongside it, stretching your pussy as it eases its way in. “So slick. You don’t even need any of the lubricants, do you?” All too soon, both his finger and the toy are out once more. “I think you can take another.” Two long, slender fingers bracket the toy. You can feel the slight burn as they push, heedless of the resistance your hypersensitive pussy tries giving.Your whole focus hones in on where his fingers rest inside of you. Silently, you plead for him to curl his fingers, to push just a little deeper, to flick your clit just a little harder - anything to make you come.In. Out. In. Out.“And another.” You bite your lip as a third finger probes your stretched lips. Even with the slickness dripping from you, it’s uncomfortable, bordering on painful. Your breath comes in harsh pants now as Spout pushes and pulls, stretching you wider than you have been stretched in some time. “Another.” You cry out. He’s four fingers deep, a thick dildo already protruding from your swollen cunt. “It just keeps getting wetter...”As he pulls out this time, you hear the faint pop of the dildo being pulled completely free. You whimper loudly at the loss. “Hush. I’ll look after you.” He pets your leg with one hand, a second still on your lower back, third still teasing the rim of your pussy. You feel a fourth and fifth set of hands pushing at your mound, stretching the skin around your pussy taunt so he can see every inch of you. His sixth hand rests alongside your open hole, tugging gently on the rim. “You’ve been so good for me.” Your legs tremble from the strain of being restrained, of being helpless for so long.You feel him shifting his hand, pulling his thumb and pinky together as he angles his hand. He pushes. “Oh fuck.” You cry. He can’t be… You can feel the widest part of his hand pressing against you. It’s too much. It will never fit. He keeps pushing. The pressure is relentless. His other hand lifts, flicking at your nub again. You can feel your entrance fluttering, clenching and unclenching at the spike of pleasure washes over you. Fuck. It burns so, so good as he forced his way inside.“Look at you; taking it all. Such a good girl.” You can feel his entire fist moving within you. It hurts so good; stretching you beyond capacity, it feels like both bliss and agony all at once. He pushes in deeper, impossibly deep. You can feel each knuckle rubbing against your inner walls as he teases his way within, looking for just the right spot.“Can you be a very good girl for me?” Spout asks. Another finger traces where his wrist meets your sopping hole. As he presses gently against the stretched skin, he firmly flicks your clit with his thumb.“Fuuuuuuck!” Your entire body trembles with the force of your orgasm. You can feel it coming in waves. You shake and shudder, clenching and unclenching around Spout’s still steadily moving fist. He presses again and again against your g-spot from the inside, his thumb rubbing against your clit. It’s too much; you feel overwhelmed, your orgasm draws impossibly long - or is it two merging into one? You can feel the tears streaming down your face. You clench around him again, wordlessly begging for mercy.“Again.” He twists his wrist, rubbing and pulling and pushing and overwhelming you from every relentless point of contact. You can feel your own wetness gushing against him as you tremble and sob, surrendering completely to the skilled monster. You feel that blissful floating take over once more, the edge of your vision darkening as he overwhelms you one final time. “Good girl.” Everything hurts. You wake up slowly. Your muscles feel like they are on fire. Your pussy, still wet, feels uncomfortably empty. “Ssh, just relax.” Spout’s fingers comb through your hair. You try to focus. You can feel those steady, magical fingers massaging your skin as he unties you knot by knot. You must make a noise, as a finger rests against your swollen lips. “Hush. Let me take care of you.”The familiar smell of mint and aloe reaches you. Those wonderful, terrible hands press against each limb, massaging warmth back into you. You turn your head to watch as he meticulously continues rubbing you from neck to toes. “Thank you.” He meets your gaze with a smile.“I think I’m the one that should be saying that.” You manage to say, as your arms flop uselessly beside you. You feel so heavy and light at the same time; your body useless, your mind clearer than it has felt in weeks.“Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He promises, pressing a tender kiss against the palm of your hand. A heavy weight settles in the pit of your stomach. Please don’t say that. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
So warm…
Grabbing blindly for your phone, you frown as your hand comes up empty. It’s a little past three am when you awaken. Blinking blearily at the small, cheap digital clock beside the bed, it takes several long, sleep-logged moments for you to remember where you are. Right. Spout. Shibari. Not so great blowjob. Awesome fisting. Multiple orgasms. Actual aftercare. I… am gonna be feeling all of this in the morning. As you sit up, you bit your lip to hold in your hiss of pain. Everything aches; from your stiff neck to your throbbing pussy, even your ankles are aching. Man, if I feel this rough with a massage and half-decent aftercare, how bad would I be feeling without it? The temptation of an actual, hot shower is almost overpowering, but you don’t want to risk waking up Spout.Glancing at the other side of the bed, you smile; six of his arms are wrapped around your pillow, snuggling into the warmth you left behind. Thanks for the fun night, Spout. I’ve got a feeling I’m gonna be remembering it for quite some time. You gather your things quickly, wrinkling your nose as you slip back into your dirty clothes. With each step, you can feel a deep, throbbing ache from where Spout thoroughly filled you up the night before. As your fingers brush over the tender bite marks left on your neck, you hiss. Hot to the touch and swollen, they send a different kind of throbbing through you. Down girl. Now is not the time. You can't help but feel disappointed, as your fingers reach further back to run over the remaining mottled greeny-yellow from Mutt's bite. Nothing lasts forever. You remind yourself.As you reach the door, you hesitate. Would it really be so bad to stay the whole night? To wake up next to someone for a change? You shake your head, pressing the strap of your bag harshly against your bite marks. The sharp flash of pain helps to ground you once more. Pull yourself together. That wasn’t the deal and you know it. You’re not even that into him. Don’t make this into something it isn’t. It’s still dark outside as you begin making the walk of shame back to the tiny studio apartment you call home. You pull your coat closer around you to fight off the biting chill. Do not waste money on an Uber at this time in the morning. Paying for everything is already gonna be tough enough this month without adding unnecessary expenses. You hadn’t quite had enough to slip Spout half for the room, but you had tucked away the little cash you did have to spare into his coat pocket. You knew, logically, he wasn’t expecting it, but it has always grated on you the way some people thought you would expect a free ride. I don’t need anybody’s charity or pity. I am a strong, independent woman. You snort to yourself. I’ll have to remember that one when the electric gets cut off. Damnit me, this is why we can’t have nice things. Why do I always have to be so stubborn? The walk back seems to take twice as long as it did the previous afternoon before. As you approach the final block, you eye the open corner shop down the street. If it’s already going to be a tough couple of weeks, I might as well get something to help ease the way… no, no. That’s stupid. You try talking yourself out of a late night - or should that be early morning - snack run. It can’t really hurt to drop in, can it? Maybe I can take a peek at the rota to see if I can pick up any extra shifts next week… It may not be the best paying part-time job, but the sheer convenience alone convinced you it is worth the barely above minimum wage position. With shifts available around the clock and just a ten to fifteen-minute walkable commute no matter what the weather, you really can’t ask for a better second job. Well, I could, but I’d be pretty goddamned lucky to find something to fit around everything else that wouldn’t cost a fortune in gas or public transport to get to at all hours. Before you know it, you find yourself outside of the dim glow of the store. What harm are a couple of bars of chocolate and some cheap wine really gonna do at this point? As you slip inside, an uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. The front counter appears to be unmanned. Your hands clench nervously around the strap of your bag, as you head straight for the chocolate isle. Don’t start this shit again. You just had a pretty darn good afternoon. Why the heck are you freaking out now? You admonish yourself, fingers skimming over the available bars as you select your favourite. Sure, not everything was perfect - but perfection is in the eye of the beholder, or something like that. You didn’t exactly have an A+ performance yourself. You make your way to the far aisle, scanning the bottles to see which is both cheapest and best value for money. It’s just the sub drop talking. You know that. For some reason, you can’t seem to dispel the ‘what ifs’ playing in your mind.What if you had stayed? What if Spout wanted to see you again? What if things were different this time? What if he's The One?You snort, shaking your head. You grab your chosen bottle before making your way to the partially obscured ‘Employees Only’ behind a stack of cereal boxes and empty delivery packaging. He’s not even really my type. Russet eyelights, a glint of gold teeth, and a plume of purple-tinged smoke come to the forefront of your mind. You pointedly ignore them. Hasn’t there been enough pain and humiliation? Let’s not go through this shit again. One night stands or nothing; it’s safest this way. “Always has been, always will be.” You murmur under your breath as you raise a hand to knock on the door. Raising your voice, you call out. “Hey Debs, you on shift tonight?” The silence stretches on. You listen out for any hint of movement. “Hello?” You punch your code into the keypad, peeking your head around the corner. You can’t see anyone in the stockroom, nor can you hear any telltale sounds coming from the cramped breakroom just beyond.“Actual paying customer who could be robbing the store blind right now. Anyone on shift? Hello?” Slipping inside, you make your way across to the manager's office come security room. You knock on the door; no answer. Pushing your way inside, you glance at the security cameras. “Where the heck are you?” Should I call someone? I should totally call someone. Grabbing the office phone, you quickly dial the manager’s number. “Er, Ken? Really sorry to be calling you so early, but I think you’re going to want to hear this.”Thirty minutes later, you have four shiny new overtime shifts scheduled and a sneaky twenty slipped to you for your time, along with free wine and chocolate for your trouble, and the thanks of your second favourite boss. Even after checking the security footage, Ken still isn’t sure where Debbie has gone. One moment, she slipped out the side door for a quick cigarette, then nothing. That was nearly an hour before you had arrived. I really hope everything is ok. Maybe she just… Your thoughts trail off. Maybe she just what? Why would she just up and leave mid-shift life that? Debs isn’t a flake. She doesn’t have a drug problem, she doesn’t have a scary ex. She’s always been reliable. What else could it be? I really hope she’s ok. As you trudge up the final flight of stairs to your apartment, you can feel that the next few days are going to be unbearably long. And painful. You wince, rubbing your neck as you click the door shut behind you. Careful to pull across the extra two deadbolts and chain, you allow your shoulders to drop with a sigh. You really do ache everywhere.Dropping your clothes behind you as you make a beeline for your bed, you glance at the clock. If I manage to fall asleep pretty much immediately, I should get… two and a half maybe three hours of sleep before my first class if I skip breakfast and splurge on a bus ticket. You groan, face planting on your unmade bed. Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts. At least these extra shifts will help offset my missed ones at the club, and… hey! Maybe I’ll be too tired to even remember what’s-his-face and his sexy gold fangs…
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It’s been days. It can’t still be sub drop. Is this what depression feels like?
You're four hours into an eight-hour shift, it’s nearly one am and the store has been dead for the last hour. Between work, uni, and your new transport-free commute, you're running on about six hours of sleep over the past three days.For once, the evening shift seem to have left things in fairly good order, meaning there’s little for you to do. Usually, you would relish the chance to squeeze in a little extra studying, but tonight you can’t seem to focus. Your mind keeps wandering back to your night with Spout.
What do I expect? It’s not like I’m even giving these guys the chance to provide proper aftercare, let alone a second date. How the heck am I supposed to feel all sunshine and roses if I’m not even half-assing self-care? Of course I’m gonna feel like shit. Anyone would feel like shit. It’s why we have aftercare in the first place.
You stifle a yawn as it threatens to break free. Note to self: eight-hour shifts after eight hours of classes and a two and a half hour round commute? Not a good idea. You feel exhausted. Everything aches; from the pounding headache and aching bite on your neck, down to your tired, swollen, and no doubt blistered feet. Just gotta make it to five am, then I can have four whole hours sleep before my first class. Thank you sweet baby Jesus for late starts on Wednesdays. You sweep the shop for customers just in case someone came in whilst you were daydreaming, before slipping out from behind the counter. While Ken’s only your second favourite boss, he’s still pretty awesome; on long night shifts, he’s fine with staff grabbing a drink or sandwich from the cooler as long as they still keep an eye on the counter. I’m gonna need, like, the biggest can of Monster and one of those meat feast subs if we’ve got any left. Urg; why do all energy drinks taste like shit? They even smell nasty. Browsing your options, you make a mental note of which drinks could do with topping up after your very late dinner. You’ll never admit it, but the free food and short distance between the store and your studio had sold you on the job; the nearly dead shifts and slightly above minimum wage (anything above minimum wage is, you realised while searching, depressingly rare) are just icing on the cake.
Well, if you ignore the occasional drunk customer, shoplifters, Debs unexplained disappearance, the understaffing…
Popping the tab as you go, your eyes slide closed as you take a long gulp of your drink. Once I’ve caught up on bills and built a bit more of a savings buffer, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to give the whole… well, not dating thing another shot. God no. But would a regular play partner be so bad? Downing half the mega can in one long pull, you wince as the taste. “Why do all Monsters taste so fucking awful?” You groan, resting the can on the side of the counter. Stretching, you let out a long, low sigh of satisfaction at the loud pop your back gives. “That’s bett-errr…”
Fuck.
You freeze in place. A tall, purple monster made entirely of fire is staring at you from the front of the store. You can feel your cheeks burning.“Oh my god, I mean the drink! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean all monsters - not that I think about how monsters taste - not that I don’t think about it, I’m not some species-ist or something, I-I” you trip over your words.
Why am I such a dumpster fire?
“ I’m just going to shut up now and let you get back to your shopping. Please, um, let me know if you need anything. I’m sorry there isn’t anyone else on shift to help you instead…” Looking down, you stumble over your apology as you slip back behind the counter. See, this is why I don’t have friends. How do I manage to fuck things up like this every time? C’mon, me! Don’t let this awkward shit spread into work-time too! You try not to stare as the purple fire elemental silently walks through the store. If you weren’t so busy berating yourself, you would almost certainly be appreciating his rather dapper outfit. Who wears dress pants, a shirt and waistcoat at one am on a weeknight? And how is it even possible for fire to look so handsome? Oh wait - is that speciest? Stop objectifying the customers! Busying yourself behind the counter, you continue to silently berate yourself. You let out a groan as you reach up to rub your face. “Fuck, I can still feel myself blushing. What is wrong with me tonight? I can’t get this flustered every time someone hot walks-fuck I did it again!” You slap both hands over your mouth a second too late. He’s back, standing in front of you.
Is… is he laughing at me? Please tell me that’s laughter not rage.
“Please tell me you are an exhaustion-fueled figment of my imagination.” You plead hopefully. You press the palms of your hands against your eyes, rubbing until little black spots start floating behind your closed eyelids. Peek out between your fingers. Purple flames quietly crackle, as the customer waits for you to pull your shit together. Welp, he’s real. Double crap. “I am so, so sorry. We don’t have any customer feedback forms or anything, but if you want to leave a complaint for my manager, I can totally give you his number - er, though he may not pick up for another few hours…”“That’s quite alright.” His voice is... exactly what you would expect it to sound like. Low and smooth, it reminds you instantly of a wood-crackling fire and long, cosy nights spent in a log cabin. Or, well, what long cosy nights in a log cabin look like in movies.You begin scanning his items quickly, placing them gently into the reusable string tote he places alongside his purchases. You peek up at him as you work, your brow furrowing. He looks kind of familiar… As you hit total, instead of asking if there’s anything else you can help with, you blurt out “Do I know you from somewhere?” You can feel your cheeks burning. Again. You watch as the flames that make up his face flicker and fluctuate, the deep purple darkening to more of an indigo hue. “You know what? That was rude of me. Just pretend I was never here. Sleepy me should not be allowed around people.”
Please don’t be mad enough to complain, hotstuff. I really need this job.
“-Sweet Release?” You stare at him blankly. As the pause stretches, quickly turning awkward, he speaks up again. “My apologies. I must be mistaken.” Tipping his head, he gently places his money on the counter, careful to avoid touching you.“Ah. No? Oh! Is that where I’ve seen you before?” You finally catch on. He does look kind of familiar. You wreck your memory, trying to place him. “Sunday evenings, right? Baileys comet, hold the flaming rum?”He nods, the flames around his small spectacles creasing. Ooooh that is a smile. Damn, he’s hot like burning. Heh. Burning. Wait… is that rude? Someone should really write a handbook. “You remembered.” He sounds pleased. You smile, nodding as you count his change. “It’s been a while.”“Oh, yeah. I had to miss a couple of shifts. I should be back this weekend though; I didn’t think anyone would notice one of the plain ol' bartenders missing.” You laugh, hands reaching to twist in the hem of your ugly uniform shirt. Your stomach flutters pleasantly at the thought you have somehow caught his attention. Calm the fuck down. He’s not even flirting. He’s probably just an observant guy. That, or someone fucked up his order when I wasn’t in. “I cannot speak for everyone, but it did not feel the same without you.” You look down, blushing. Is that an untied bowtie? Fuck. How have I not noticed him properly before? A bubble of nervous laughter escapes before you can stop it. “Oh, you’re too kind, mister - er..” Crap. Please tell me I didn’t forget his name! “Grillby.” He fills in for you.“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Grillbae.” Wait what did I just say? “Fuck! I meant Grillby. Oh gods just kill me now.” You whimper.“I usually prefer to get to know someone before things progress to pet names and… heat up.” He says so sincerely, it takes a moment for his words to really register with you. You can feel a smile curling at the corner of your lips.“Oh really now? You prefer to make sure you’ve found the perfect match before you consider playing with fire? I bet a date with you would be… really lit.” Two can play at that game. Wow… his laugh is to die for. I wonder what it would feel like against my - gah, down girl! “Well, there’s only one way to find out.” Reaching into his pocket, Grillby pulls out a cellphone. You automatically to take it, shivering at the warmth radiating from his fingers. He pauses, just a hair's breadth away from you. It takes more than you would care to admit to resist the urge to reach out and discover what those flames feel like first-hand. Just a little bit further. “Er…” It feels like your brain is stuck on blue screen. “I don’t really… date. It’s not a monster thing! I’m just… I’m not really good at the whole vanilla thing. If you’re looking for a good time, I’m your gal. I’m more of a tinder and thrill, than a netflix and chill kinda girl. If you’d like to get together to discuss limits sometime?” You offer as you type in your number. Wait. Shit. What if he just meant to get my number as a friend-thing? Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.“I have been called many things, but vanilla is not one of them.” As Grillby smiles at you, a flash of one pointed, perfect white fang peeks out from between his flames. You bite your lip, anticipation warring with nerves.
I wonder how those would feel against my bare skin…
“I prefer my partners to be open to a little more commitment than a single night of burning passion. Please do not think I am asking for commitment or exclusivity. When you get to a certain age and level of experience, I have found things are that much more… intense, when both parties truly has the chance to get to understand what stokes the fires of their interest, and allows for dynamics to form more organically.”Glancing down at the phone, you hesitate. I really don’t want to lead him on. He’s… If I’d met someone like him a couple of years ago, I would have jumped at the chance to get to know him better. Would it really be so bad to give things another shot? “If that does not make you comfortable, I-”Your hands tighten around his phone as Grillby reaches out. You take a moment to study his face; for a man-made entirely of fire, his expression seems surprisingly open.“Partial disclosure: I work, like, all hours of the day. And night. And I’ve got classes, so fitting in an actual date might be a pain in the ass. It’s… been a while since I’ve done something like this. I’m not promising anything, but…” you take a deep, shuddering breath. “I think I'd really like to get to know you better. Heck, anyone who still wants to try talking to me after I’ve put my foot in my mouth this badly is worth getting to know a lot better, let alone someone as smoking hot as you. Just… don’t expect too much?”
Nooo, don’t give him an easy out! What are you saying? Climb that hot piece of ass like a tree. Don’t go sharing mushy feelings and personal crap. Nobody really wants to hear that shit.
“I work long hours myself. There is no need to worry.” As he smiles as you, you can feel yourself melting. “I will give you a call at a more reasonable hour. I do hope next time we meet, I can convince you that not all monsters taste quite so ‘awful’.”
I’m never going to live that one down, am I?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
After a week interspersed with the painfully slow crawl of lectures, late-night cram sessions, and all of the overtime you can get your hands on, you find yourself less than enthusiastic about the weekend ahead. To help make up for your weekend off, you had volunteered for shifts, shifts, and more shifts across both of your jobs. C’mon, I just need to pull myself together. I know I’ll love it when I’m there in the moment. Stretching slowly, you let out a long yawn. These precious few moments before you have to get up are amongst your favourite of the day. Sheets soft from countless washes, a stack of plump pillows (one of your few indulgences) scattered across the top of your bed; you wish you could stay here forever. As soon as exam season is over, things will calm down again. Then I’ll be able to catch up on sleep and still pick up extra shifts without feeling like shit half the time. It’ll be worth it in the end. Thanks to the three extra night shifts you had managed to pick up at the store, it looked like you would be able to pay for your broken water heater at least. Piece of shit landlord. What’s the point in calling him if he’s not gonna do anything about it? But thanks to the call-out charge, labour, and new parts needed, there is no way you will be able to get both your heating and car fixed. “Maybe it’s time to condemn ol’ rusty to the scrap heap. At the rate things have been going, I’ll have paid out more in repairs than she’s worth.” You mutter to yourself, as you enjoy one last, long moment beneath the sheets. All too soon, you slide your legs over the edge, feeling for you bag amongst the scattered clothing that litters the floor. Typically, you would take everything you need with you to get changed before heading to your shift at the club. With the end of the month looming, your already stretched overdraft just wasn’t looking like it could stretch to many more bus rides, let alone late-night ubers. Guess I'll be getting a free workout with all that walking.You pick through the trail of discarded clothes behind as you make a dash for the tiny bathroom. You’ve got 10, maybe 15 minutes tops if you want to make it on time, but you can’t stand the thought of another long night under hot, dim lights without first washing the grime of your day away. Taking a steadying breath, you steel yourself before taking the plunge. The frigid spray leaves you gasping for breath. “Jesus-motherfucking-Christ-on-a-tricycle, that’s cold!” Making yourself stand beneath the freezing water for as long as you can, you fumble for a discarded towel as you emerge, teeth chattering. Think happy thoughts. Think warm, happy thoughts. Roughly rubbing at your skin with your still-damp towel, you hiss as your scrub roughly against the livid purple bruise that still marks the junction between your neck and shoulder. Spout's bite mark had outlasted Mutt's by an impressive length of time. Though truthfully, you were a little uneasy at how quickly Spout had disregarded the simple limits you had both agreed on. Am I that bad at judging people's character? You make your way back in to the chaos of your tiny studio, towel wrapped firmly around you. Grabbing your outfit for the evening, you quickly begin to dress.
Think warm, toasty, happy thoughts. Cups of cocoa on a chilly winter morning. Hot, steamy baths filled with those fancy-ass bombs from Lush. Crackling log fires on a —
“Fuck, not again!” You whine as your fingers push a ragged hole through your tights. You learned early on not to bother with thigh-highs during your shifts; the constant faff trying to keep them in place really wasn’t worth it. You look down at the wrecked pair of tights forlornly. That was my last good pair. You glare accusingly at your phone as it buzzes again, the tell-tale ‘ping!’ of a new message echoing in your cramped studio. Now is totally not the time, Grillbae. Snatching your phone off of the floor, you cram it into your bag. There will be plenty of time to flirt later.Despite the abysmal first impression you had made on the smartly-dressed fire elemental, things had been going... surprisingly ok. Glacially slow, but otherwise not half bad. Though at this rate, we’re never going to get past texting. Maybe I should just give in and give dating a try. Could going for coffee really be that bad? It’s not like, a major commitment or anything. Despite your best efforts, Grillby still seemed set on getting to know you intimately before getting to know you intimately. Your fingers itch to open your messages. Your fingers move before you can register it, pulling out your phone from one breath to the next. Tapping the home button, the time lights up in big numbers, causing you to swear under your breath. Work now, flirt later. After nearly 30 minutes of power-walking, you finally arrive at the staff entrance. Breathing more laboured than you like to admit, you take a moment to lean against the door to collect yourself. While your messages with Grillby had been beyond tame, they have been doing an excellent job of distracting you from the cluster fuck that was your last night at the club. Just don’t think about it. Chances are, I won’t even run into them again. You hadn’t even worked up the nerve to log back onto FetLife since your last tryst with Spout. The slick, low burn of shame made you feel queasy each time you thought back to your night sneaking out of the hotel room whilst he slept. Couldn’t even make it to the awkward morning after. How pathetic is that? Knocking on the door, you sent the staff camera a one-handed wave. Within moments, the heavy metal swings open to reveal your second-favourite dog monster. “Teddy! It's been too long.” You can feel the strain in your smile, as you awkwardly edge past him. You can’t help but pet the fluffy, stray strands of fur that bulge out from beneath his ‘Staff’ t-shirt. Puppy! Moving quickly, you make your way towards the staff room, ready to dump your stuff and rush to the bar. Please don’t bring up last time. Please, please, plea- “So, ah… a couple of skeleton monsters have been asking about you. Dropped in a couple of times throughout the week. One asked for you by name.” Your let your head fall forward for a moment. Of course you weren’t going to get through the night without The Incident coming up again. You let the silence stretch between you, as you try to figure out what to say. As it stretches on, you try to hide your discomfort as you continue to pull off your pumps and start lacing up a more impractical pair of knee-high boots. “Do you… if they come back, I could give you a heads-up? Or we could keep them out of the bar. It’s just… BossLady doesn’t like to ban anyone on their first offence, and they’ve been saying it was more of a misunderstanding? If it were an outright rule break, or not listening to your safe word, they’d be out of here, no questions asked. But…” Glancing across at Teddy, you can see his ears are lowered, his shoulders hunched up uncomfortably. You've never seen him look so uncomfortable and uncertain.Taking pity on him, you send him a weak — but more sincere — smile. “I understand. It was a misunderstanding; there’s no need to turn away good business because of one communication fuck-up. Don't worry, big guy; I know you’ve got my back. I'll be fine” Slipping your bag into a spare locker, you adjust yourself one last time before heading onto the floor. “Ah, Teddy?” You hover in the doorway, keeping your gaze firmly focused on the floor. “If... if you do see them again over the weekend…” You rub at your neck nervously. “Ah, shit!” You hiss. How the fuck did I forget again? Your bruise throbs painfully. That’s it. No more fangs. This is a fang-free neck from now on. Firm but gentle paws push your hands away. Tilting your head to the side with one paw, Teddy bends down to get a closer look at your neck. His deep, low pitched growl makes your stomach flip. “Oh, that wasn’t — I mean, Mutt didn’t…” You can feel your cheeks burning as you try to explain. In the space of one blink to the next, his paws have left you. Looking down, you see a small, wrapped piece of monster candy being pressed against your limp hand. “You deserve someone who gives you the proper attention you deserve. Aftercare shouldn’t be optional.” You fumble with the candy, at a loss for what to say. How do I tell the big furball that I didn’t give either of them the chance to even talk about aftercare? This is all my fault. I deserve this. “If you ever want to try with someone with more pedigree than that mutt, it would be my pleasure to take you for dinner sometime.” You almost inhale the candy as his words sink in. “Ah, I—” Glancing up, you can feel your cheeks burning once again at the sincerity in his gaze. “You’re a really great person, Teddy. Really great. I’m just not a dating kind of girl… especially when it comes to those I count as friends.” You hover nervously, unsure if you should reach out or if your touch is now unwanted. A big, fluffy white paw pets your shoulder gently. You let out a sign of relief. “Oh, ah, I wanted to apologise as well, about the, um... calling you a... bad boy?” A wuff of warm breath ruffles your hair. “Don’t mention it. Heat of the moment; it played its purpose. Just don’t let it happen again.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
What is even wrong with me? Why am I disappointed?
Your shift had ended a little after three. Showing a rare spark of good judgement, rather than stick around in the hopes of finding someone for a quickie, you made the journey back home alone. By the time you made it to your unkempt bed, it was closer to four am than you would have liked. Despite the generous tips stuffed precariously beneath the underwire of your bra, you couldn’t help the taste of disappointment that lingered. There had been no signs of Mutt, nor your favourite texting buddy all night.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
You can see the dim glow of morning light beginning to rise in the sky, as you lay on your bed, unable to switch off enough and get some much-needed sleep. Exhaustion is buzzing at the back of your mind, the pressure just teetering on the edge of what’s bound to be a pounding headache if you don’t drift off soon.
What would I even have done if he’d have been there, huh?
At this point, you weren’t even sure which he you were more focused on. It’s not like I could trust Mutt again after the shit he pulled. And Grillbae’s made it abundantly clear there’ll be no sparks flying until we ‘get to know each other better’. Men. Who fucking needs them. You pause in your internal tirade. Wait. Do...all monsters have genders? Or gender-pronoun preferences? Goddamnit. I really need a manual.Rolling over with a groan, you struggle with the claps of your bra, tired fingers fumbling to release them from beneath your skintight top. You kick your clothes off to join the discarded garments already littering your floor, before pressing a pillow tightly to your face.
Why can’t I just switch my brain off like a normal person?
Not quite ready to admit defeat, you reach blindly over the side of your fold-out bed. You had splurged for a couch-come-bed when you had first moved in — just a second (more likely fifth) hand thing, but you’d planned to keep things neat, maybe have some classmates over for study sessions.
Pfft. Like that will ever happen.
Pushing past old, discarded socks and still-warm panties, you curled your hand around your prize with a cry of triumph.“Fuck yeah. If in doubt, buzz my brains out. It’s time for some serious self-care.”Lifting your favourite magic wand beside you, you reach again for your phone. Nothing like some good porn and some long, hard solo-play to wear myself out. Flicking open your browser, you can’t help but notice a string of unread messages waiting for you. WhatsApp: seven messagesWhiplr: eighteen messages Wiggling back in your pillows, you adjust yourself. Slipping one beneath your hips, you stretch, reaching your toes out as far as you can. A satisfying click makes you sigh. Your fingers already reaching up to brush against the light dusting of hair on your mound, you roll your shoulders. I need this. You glance between the two apps, temptation warring against your building heat. Whiplr is usually great for some standard dick pics and a bit of roleplay. Maybe someone’s commented on some of my pics; that’s always a confidence boost. Eyes straying back to the WhatsApp icon, you know it can only be one of two things. Either someone in my study group was having a boring-ass Saturday night, or…
Or maybe Grillby is getting just as impatient with the glacial pace as I am.
You hadn’t even exchanged any picture messages yet. Mind wandering, you thought back to seeing him in the store for the first time. Top buttons undone, bow tie hanging untied around his neck. His waistcoat had clung to him, hinting at the muscle that must lay beneath. And those flaming forearms…
How did I never notice him at the club? He gives burning a whole new meaning.
Your hips twitch involuntarily, as you imagine being held down by those strong, hot arms. Fingers leaving your mound, you run the tip of your forefinger against your slit. You shudder; the warm, wetness is unexpected. You’re practically dripping at the thought of Grillby pinning you, holding you in place, forcing you to submit. Biting your lip, you click on the green icon. Grillby: I am afraid I, too, am working tonight.Grillby: I do hope you are not working yourself too hard. When was your last night off?Grillby: Did you make it home safely from your classes? I heard there was a pile-up not far from the university.Grillby: Please let me know you are safe. Grillby: I know I have no claim over you, nor any right to make demands, but as a friend if nothing else, I would appreciate knowing you are not injured.Grillby: I apologise. I must have overstepped. Please disregard my prior messages.Grillby: I hope you are safe and well. “Goddamnit.” You can feel a different kind of warm glow settling into the pit of your stomach. “Don’t develop feels for him. Don’t you do it!” Eyes slipping closed, you bite down on your lip again, this time more harshly. The bitter tang of blood against your tongue makes you shift once more, the spike of pain drawing you back to the present. Resting your phone against your stomach, you reach up to press harshly against the purple-black bruise on your neck. You gasp as you hit a tender spot, jerking. Your fingers graze against your neglected clit, sending an unexpected shock of pleasure through you.
Fuck this. Who does he think he is, pretending to care and being all nice? We both know what this really is. I’ve seen his type before. Get her all worked up, make her think you care, make her think she can rely on you, let my — her, guard down. Fuck this and fuck you. I’m not falling for that again.
Pressing your thumb and the heel of your palm against your clit, you reach down, plunging two fingers deep into your needy hole. You gasp, your walls fluttering around the sudden intrusion. Still tender from Spout’s stretching and pounding of your most sensitive place, you let out a sigh. Slipping a third finger in makes you twinge, but your bruised pussy stretches to accommodate it. Wishing you had taken the time to find one of your dildos first, you twist your fingers harshly, reaching deep for that spongy spot that will make you see stars.
I’ll show him. I don’t need his mind games, or his pity. If anything, he’s the one who’s missing out.
Pressing one last time against your bruised collar, you trail your hand down across the curve of your breasts. You pause to gently roll the hardening nub of your nipple. Your fingers still, pressed deep inside your cunt, as you circle the nub, nails catching on the sensitive flesh. You grip it firmly between your thumb and forefinger, applying pressure. Harder, and harder. You plunge your fingers in as deep as you can, pleasure and pain warring for dominance as you twist both hands. You release your nipple with a whimper, licking your fingers before rubbing the puffy flesh once more, the damp making it pebble even more in the cool early morning air. Giving one last, hard flick, you press the ball of your hand against your clit, grinding down as the stinging ebbs. You grasp your phone, clicking through your apps without a thought.You hit record. “Sorry for worrying you. As you can see, I’m a bit distracted after such a long day. If only someone was here to help me unwind and relax, maybe even teach me how to respond like a good girl should. It’s such a shame there’s no-one who wants to teach me how to be good for them…”You pan your phone down with clumsy fingers. Spreading your legs, you can’t help but press against your fingers once more. You let out another groan; this one more frustration than pleasure“It just feels too good when I’m doing this by myself. I can never seem to get it to hurt just right. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, hot stuff? That perfect edge…”Pulling your fingers out from your dripping pussy, you drop them down lower as you shift your hips up once again. Brushing them between your cheeks, you circle the dry, tight hole hidden below. “You know the one; where pain and pleasure just get all mixed up in one big, delicious mess.” Panting, you let out a low, pained keen as your middle finger forces its way in to the first knuckle. You rarely do this with others, much less alone; it’s so hard to make it feel pleasurable compared to playing with your pussy. You can feel your muscles clenching around the intrusion, trying to force it out.
I can do this. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone.
The slick from your pussy isn’t nearly enough lube to ease your finger in. Ignoring the warning sparks at the back of your mind, you push deeper. You can feel the burn as muscles unused to such rough treatment are forced to accept your thickest finger.Balancing the phone on the sheets between your legs, you angle it to face your holes. Grabbing your abandoned hitachi magic wand, you press the round, bulbous head against your clit. You shiver in anticipation; it only has two settings - high, and overwhelming.“I guess I’ll just have to do the best I can without any guidance.”You force your finger in to the hilt as you hit the switch. The buzz of your vibrator fills your apartment, drowning out your gasp of pain, then pleasure. It’s overwhelming, all-consuming. Your brain flips from good to too much in a heartbeat. You flex your finger, clenching your ass around the digit in an effort to distract yourself from the sensations crashing through your clit. You can feel your whole mound vibrating with the sheer power of it.“Shit. Fuck, that’s-ah.” You press a second, dry finger against the stretched rim of your hole. You don’t want to push it in, but the pleasure is too much. “Too good, too good, can’t” you utter under your breath. The thought of letting go - of giving into your pleasure before you can earn it, leaves you feeling restless and needy. Yet you really don’t want to push another finger in.“Please no, not-” It doesn’t even register that you’re speaking. You’ve forgotten all about your phone, about making a point, about showing Grillby what he’s been missing. All you can think of is earning your release.You clench your legs, keeping the wand balanced in place as you’ve been taught. Don’t drop it. Be a good slut. Don’t you dare cum. Keeping your finger deep inside, the other poised, you reach up your other hand to roughly tug at your nipples; first one, then the other. Your skin stretches taunt, the flash of pain barely registering. It’s not enough.Moving up, fingers skirt across the dark bruising surrounding your bite mark. You press down against the bone, a hard, harsh jab. Your entire body jolts; pain washing away the pleasure for a brief, blissful moment. “Please, please, please, can I, I need - yessssss.” You press again and again, hips undulating, ass clenching, neck throbbing. Your pussy flutters and clenches, the emptiness making you whimper and whine. You need something, anything, filling you, now.You pull your fingers free from your ass. Wiping them against your sheets without a thought, you fold your fingers together making a cone. You push against your dripping lips; the slickness if your juices soaking the sheets. Your whole body trembles and shakes as you push, opening your sore, bruised passage. You can’t help yourself; you clench as your fingers slide in, deeper and deeper. Unable to force yourself to push your limits, you whimper and cry as you sink one, two, three knuckles deep. The overwhelming crescendo of your orgasm takes hold; hand soaking, muscles screaming, the relentless buzz of your vibrator forcing you over the edge. Muscles locked in place, without the comforting hand of a master, without gentle words of praise or softly spoken commands, you can do nothing to fight against your instinct. As the first wave ebbs, a second takes its place. Then a third.You’re sobbing by the time a forth wave begins; you can’t stop yourself from shaking. Numb, you drop the hitachi, your other fingers slipping out, covered in slick. You feel wrecked; the harsh panting of your breath takes long minutes to calm into something more natural.As you turn, exhaustion finally taking hold, it doesn’t register as you knock your still recording phone over. As you tug the cover of your sheets up across your hips, you don’t notice your leg pressing against the lit screen. As your eyes finally flutter closed, you don’t register the familiar ping of ‘message sent!’ Ringing out in your tiny, messy studio apartment.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“For the love of all that is soft and fluffy, please, kill me now.” You groan, as the loud ringing of your phone alarm chimes far, far too early. It feels like you’ve barely closed your eyes. Fumbling for your phone, you blearily peer at the time; it’s nearly 9am. That gives you an hour to make it to your inventory shift.
Nearly five hours sleep. Nice.
You rub your eyes, jaw cracking as you yawn. You should have made the most of your relatively early finish that morning. Having any extra time to sleep has become such a rare occurrence. Swinging your legs over the side of your thin mattress, you wince at the unexpected pain in your neck and back. Why the heck am I so sore? Man, I must have been over-enthusiastic while trying to fall asleep last night. I’m gonna regret that later today. You make a grab for your phone amongst your tangle of bedding, frowning as you come up empty. Huh. Maybe… You search beneath your bed, before pushing aside the tangled mess of discarded clothes and books. “Ah-hah!” You crow in triumph. How did it manage to fall into a sock? Taking your prize with you to the bathroom, you flick through your messages as you go. While the club is usually pretty good, the corner store has a bad habit of switching your shift start-times without giving you advanced notice.WhatsApp: 3 new messagesStudyBuddies - Ali: Hey guys, anyone else stuck on their paper for Tues? I could really do with a catchup if anyone’s free today or tomorrow. I’ve got, like, no clue what I’m doing. That’s what fucking happens when you don’t turn up for class, Ali. You shake your head, clicking back. Like hell I’m touching that cluster fuck with a ten-foot barge pole. That paper is worth a quarter of our grades for that class. You shoulda been done weeks ago. You know, deep down, if Ali were to ask you directly, you would give in in a heartbeat. But between the extra shifts and your own mounting list of deadlines, you force yourself to hold back instead of volunteering.SecondBestManager - Ken: cn u start @8 not 10 on tues pls n stay til 6? mite be in late to take overGritting your teeth, you ping back a quick message to say you should be able to cover. Don’t whine like a little bitch. As long as I can get some studying done on shift, I can skip the library and just caffeine through Wednesday until I can crash. Sleep is for the weak. You try to convince yourself. Just think about the money. You flick back, skimming through another study group chat that seems to be blowing up. Does no-one read ahead? That test has been on the course handout since week one. It shouldn’t be some big surprise. Just as you’re going to close your phone, you see three little dots appear next to Grillbae’s name. Grillby: I think it would be best to speak on this more in person. Are you free sometime today or perhaps Monday? Speak on...what? You scroll back up through your messages nervously. You really, really don’t want to know what you sent to push Grillby into asking to meet up with such short notice. I told him I have a crazy busy schedule. He seemed cool, wanted to take things slow… “What did I do? Why past me, why?”
Did I reply when I got home last night? Damn, I hope I didn’t sleep-dial him, that would be so embarrassing —
“What. The Fuck. ” You whimper, freezing as the round play button comes into view. “Tell me I didn’t.” Your stomach drops, as the video begins to autoplay. The sound of your own breathy moans filter out into the room. Cheeks burning, you fumble, quickly hitting the pause button.
This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This. Is. Not. Happening. I wasn’t even drunk! Or that tired! I was running on a solid four and a half hours of sleep; that’s practically well-rested.
You can’t bear to watch what you sent. What will he think of me now? It’s not like I made a great first impression. “Why do I always manage to fuck it up with the good ones?” Your thumb hovers over the play button once more; your stomach twists uncomfortably, your breath catching in your throat. You can’t do it. With a flick of your thumb, the app is closed. Well, that’s the end of that. It was a nice thought while it lasted. By the time you’ve hurried through a tepid shower and a more black-than-yellow banana, you’re pulling your hair into a messy bun. Gone are the seductive and tight-fitting outfits, in their place loose yoga pants and a baggy (frankly hideous) rainbow jumper you would usually reserve for the rare day spent alone at home. Grabbing your bag and a spare outfit — just in case they’re short-staffed for tonight — you’re out the door without a minute to spare. Inventory shifts may not be glamorous, but they sure are a great way to take your mind off of things.
Sweet, sweet freedom, here I come!
Six hours in, and the end is in sight. You’ve got more dust in your hair than is even remotely reasonable considering how long you spend cleaning between customers, and you already feel the warning twinge in your lower back from lifting too many crates is edging towards something more serious.
I’ll just grab some ice or something for that later. Gotta stay in shape; there’s no need to risk having to call in sick due to something so silly.
The club has been open for hours - in all honesty, it rarely seems to close. But the real crowds - and subsequent fun - aren’t due to pick up for another few hours. Running a hand through your hair, you stretch, trying to work out all the kinks that have accumulated from hours of stooping, bending, and reaching. Twin throbs from your neck and core make you wince. Instead of the usual sense of satisfaction, you push down the growing sense of shame.
Just don’t think about it. If I ignore it, he— it, will go away.
As you make the short trip to the back office, you swing by the staff room to check the rota. It looks like they’ve already got a full lineup scheduled to come in for the night. Maybe Jen will call in again? It’s pretty close to finals… You debate asking if they could use another pair of hands tonight. You could always use the money. Or I could do the sensible thing and study. Alone. In my freezing apartment, with only dubious leftovers and that one neighbour who doesn’t know how to close a damn door quietly for company. Or… You pause outside of the office, fist poised to knock. I haven’t used the facilities in a while. I could do with a good night out. Let my hair down a little, have a few hours of fun… The idea is growing on you. By the time you’ve dropped the paperwork off with BossLady, you’re not even phased by her apologies for being unable to throw on an extra couple of hours to your shift.“No worries, honest! I haven’t had a real night off in ages; I might as well make the most of those staff perks, right?” You laugh, as you wish her a good evening and make a beeline for the staff room once more. Who’s on the back desk tonight… Coco and Immi? They’ll totally let me snag one of the rooms for a quick shower and change before things start to pick up. Smiling to yourself, you round the corner, coming out beside the bar closest to the entrance. As you begin to make the short journey to the private rooms, you can’t help but let the anticipation begin to build. “Tonight is all about me. It’s time to relax, have a little fun, and forget about everything. I’ve got a feeling: tonight is gonna be awesome. I just know it.”“I’m so glad to hear that.” You freeze. The growing warmth of excitement in the pit of your stomach instantly turns back to something more slick and uneasy. “I see you are well after all. Phone troubles, perhaps? Or was it more a change of heart?” From where he is sitting casually on one of the few scattered barstools, the purple elemental still toweres over you. He’s every bit as handsome as you remember; black pinstripe slacks, spotless, crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled back to reveal toned forearms, and a fitted waistcoat. In any other circumstance, you would be itching to pull it off of him - inch by tantalising inch- using nothing but your teeth and determination. Yet…“I have absolutely no problem with someone changing their mind. Not everyone is compatible. It would be absurd to think so. But I thought you would have at least had the common courtesy to have let me know you were safe. Then you decide to pull that little stunt, and proceed to go back to pretending nothing has happened. It’s my own fault, I suppose; I must have expected too much. I will make sure not to make the same mistake again.”It sounds like his words are coming from under water. You can barely focus. His tone - the overwhelming undercurrent of not anger, or entitlement, but of disappointment - is what twists at you the most. “I fucked up?” It comes out as more of a question than anything, but it has its intended effect. Grillby pauses, sending you a look that you interpret as bordering on disbelief. “I did. I fucked up.” You try again, less of a question, but just as wobbly as you were the first time.
Why did I have to look like a rainbow and a dust bunny threw up on me while having a conversation with the hottest guy to ever show interest in me? Fuck my life.
“I didn’t mean to ignore you. I had a late shift last night. By…” you cough, trailing off nervously. You hug the strap of your well worn messenger bad close to your chest, peeking up through the messy, escaping strands of your hair to gauge Grillby’s body language. He seems to be looking at you — really looking at you now. Going by the frown on his face, he doesn’t seem to like what he’s seeing.
Just as well. Let’s get this over with; maybe I’ll still have time to find some fun afterwards.
“By the time I finally went to take my break, it was already so late, I just grabbed some granola bars and went back to help out. We aren’t allowed to have our phones on us on the floor for security reasons. Nothing that can film or take photos, no exceptions.” As you bite your lower lip, your eyes automatically lower to the ground; you can’t tell what that look means, not from him, not when you know so little about him outside of your short-lived messages back and forth.“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you, or to come across as rude. It honestly didn’t occur to me that anyone would be worried.” Fighting the urge to fidget, you let the awkward silence stretch between you. The faint, pounding base of the club’s music isn’t enough to drown out the unsteady, anxious thumping in your chest. “I think it’s high time we discussed things over a drink. Let’s go; I know just the place.”
How is this my life?
When Grillby had asked to discuss things over a drink, you thought he meant at the club. Instead, he had wished you off towards a rather… unique bakery.
Didn’t even give me the chance to get changed. Fuck I must look like such a mess; no wonder we’re getting so many looks. I can’t believe a guy like Grillbae is still talking to me; fuck knows what everyone else must be thinking.
You can feel dozens upon dozens of pairs of tiny, beady eyes watching you. They’ve been following your every move since the tall, purple fire elemental had opened the door for you. Muffet's certainly isn’t what you were expecting. Tuning the room out, your eyes dart across the menu, quickly searching for the cheapest options. What the fuck are these things made of? Those are some seriously expensive pastries. Maybe I can just get a tea? That can’t be that expensive, right? Fuck - is it imported, hand picked, and rolled in gold leaf? How can a cup of tea cost that much? “He-hem.” You start as Grillby clears his throat - clearly not for the first time. Both he and the slender, purple-skinned spider monster behind the counter are staring at you. “Ohmygosh I am so sorry - I totally spaced out. Ah…” you scan the board again, praying you can spot something cheaper.“Pick whatever you like; my treat. After all, I am the one to impose on your evening. I’ll get us a table; if you could put it on my tab, please, Muffet?” You watch as he walks away, unable to resist the view of his slim waist and the figure-hugging cut of his slacks.The rhythmic tapping of hands or are those feet? On the counter pulls your attention back to the spider monster. Laughing nervously, you rub at your neck; you can feel the hot spread of a blush creeping across your skin. “Sorry about that. Can I have ah, a tea please? Earl grey?” You smile at her? I think? nervously. This time, you’re not the one who seems distracted; her gaze is locked firmly on your neck. Oh shoot! The low, baggy scoop neck of your jumper is showing off the riot of purple-black-blue-green tinged bruising and the still clear puncture marks from Spud’s enthusiastic attention. Double damnit; if she’s noticed, there’s no chance Grillbae didn’t see. If I hadn’t blown my chances before… Despite the open, welcoming arms offered by most of the local fetish scene, few dominants — human or monster — enjoy seeing the marks left by others on their potential play partners. Sure, it’s all fun and games watching someone take a solid paddling while tied on the St. Andrew’s Cross in the main room, but try and negotiate some good ol' fashioned fun while still wearing the marks from your last play partner, and suddenly you’ve broken some huge taboo. Pfft; prudes. You let out a long, ragged sigh as Muffet eventually turns to get your order started. Slinking your way between the tables, you make your way towards the patiently waiting flame monster. “Here; allow me.”
I...don’t think anyone has ever pulled a chair out for me before. Is he for real? How is he real? Did I fall asleep in the stockroom or something? I’m gonna be so pissed off if this is just another weird-ass dream.
“Ah, thank you?” Your smile betrays your nerves. Keeping your hands on your lap, you fiddle with the hem of your baggy jumper. Why’s he just staring? Does… should I be the first one to talk? Is he waiting for an apology? Biting your lip once more, the familiar tang of copper trickles onto your tongue. Grillbys eyes flick down, his brow drawn in displeasure. You bite down harder, as the creeping tendrils of anxiety begin to grow in the pit of your stomach. Even when I say nothing, I still get it wrong. “I-” just as you begin trying to form an apology, four sets of arms appear, plonking a fully laden tray down with a rattling cacophony of clinking china. A pot of tea, a delicate cup and saucer — aww, is that a tiny spider pattern? So cute! — and the biggest, most delicious doughnut you have ever seen in placed in front of you. Across from you, Grillby accepts a tall, slim iced coffee with mounds of fluffy white cream and delicate sugar strands. Huh. I never would have guessed. “Ah, I’m, I didn’t order…” you smile apologetically are Muffet, gesturing to the doughnut. It looks so, so good! “It’s on the house. Just this once.” She throws Grillby a stern look, before turning her gaze back to you. All eight are looking at you so intently; you do your best not to flinch. “If you have any more… problems” her eyes dip to the neck of your shirt as she pauses, clearly eyeing the livid bite that is peeking out. “with any spider monsters, let us know. Any toy-”“I believe you mean friend, Muffet” Grillby interjects. She doesn’t spare him a second glance as she ploughs on.“Any toy of Grillby’s has the potential to be a loyal customer.” The grin she flashes you shows off her unnervingly sharp teeth. It sends a shiver down your spine. That… is one spider I would not want to upset. As Muffet bustles away with the empty tray, you can’t bring yourself to lift your eyes up to face Grillby. You let out a small, nervous huff. “Well if this wasn’t awkward before…” You trail off. Maybe I should just leave? I should do that. Make this less painful for us both. “I apologise for Muffet’s...crude choice of words. She isn’t used to seeing many humans in here yet. I think it’s something to do with all of her little helpers. ” You stare at him blankly. You turn your head to look at where he is pointing to a recently abandoned table. Dozens of tiny, scuttling spiders are picking up discarded cups, crumbs, and napkins. Half a dozen more appear to be carrying - quite successfully - a spray bottle and cleaning cloth.
The fuck?
“But… they’re just little...spider...monsters?” Are those regular spiders or spider-monster-spiders? They seem pretty sentient either way… You notice a couple of the tiny spiders have stopped to stare back at you. Hesitantly, you wave. A crackling laugh brings your attention back to the waiting fire elemental. “That they are.” The silence between you returns. Fidgeting with the hem of your jumper, you can’t stand it any longer. “I’m sorry!” Looking down at you over the top of his neat, rectangular glasses, Grillby takes a long, slow sip of his drink. “For?”You pause. Is… that a trick question? “Ah...for...not responding to your messages? And for...for, ah…” You tug the loose neck of your jumper up, trying in vain to cover the marks below. Grillby huffs. Did he just roll his eyes? “I don’t care about the marks. You’re more than welcome to partake in any kind of fun that you wish with others. It was consensual, I take it?” You nod, wordlessly. “Then I fail to see the problem. What I do, however, have a problem with, is your little stunt last night.” Pulling his phone from his pocket, he slides the sleek device across to you. Your cheeks burn, as you can see the big, round play button sitting there, taunting you. “I made myself perfectly clear that I do not play casually before getting to know my partner. You took it upon yourself to try and break that limit. I am very disappointed.” Oh. I… hadn’t thought about it that way. “I…” What am I meant to say? Who the heck does something like this and can’t even remember it in the morning? It’s going to sound like such a cop-out — even I wouldn’t believe me. “I know it’s no excuse…” You clear your throat, trying to find the right words. “But I...kind of...can’t remember, what I sent you last night?” As the silence stretches on, you flick your eyes up to look at him. Yup, there’s that familiar look of disbelief. Good going, me. “I was kinda running on about five hours sleep and back-to-back work and classes, and I know it’s no excuse - really, I do! I just...couldn’t bring myself to watch...whatever it was I sent you last night. I’m really sorry about that.”
It’s not like I can even promise it won’t happen again. Apparently sleep-deprived me is some kind of mega-slut, and it’s not like I’m gonna have bags of free time for sleep and self care and all that jazz. See, see? This is why I don’t get my hopes up. This is why one night stands are my safe-space. You can’t disappoint someone, if their expectations are at zero.
Sighing, you let your eyes slip closed for just a moment. It was nice while it lasted. I might as well just...leave my half of the bill, and head home. “I’m sorry for wasting your time. I’ll just-” You trail off. Is he...laughing? “I’m sorry, my dear. I can’t decide if that’s endearingly derpy, or utterly ridiculous. How…” He wipes at his face, his chuckles showing no signs of subsiding. “At least I know that you’re an honest one. I cannot imagine someone would try using that as an excuse under any other circumstances.” Pouting, you reach for your doughnut and take a big bite. Sheesh, there’s no need to be mean about it. I’m not that derpy...why is this doughnut crunchy? You pull back to look down as the sweet, fluffy dough. Oh god, is that a...spiders leg? Did I just eat a spider? “How about we put this behind us, and start again? We both had our missteps. I clearly failed to pick up on your needs if a part of you felt the need to send that when you were… let’s say a little inebriated — or as good as, at least. Have you thought more on if you would do me the honour of going on a date?” Grillby leans back in his chair, giving you space to gather your thoughts.
Do I want to go on a date? A real, actual date? Do I really want to risk getting close again?
“Just a date. Nothing more. If we can make it past a coffee to appetisers, I could be convinced to discuss limits and kinks. There really isn’t a better way to see if there is the potential for things to...heat up between us, wouldn’t you say?” Slowly, Grillby reaches out to rest his hand on top of your wrist, giving you every chance to pull back and away. His purple-tinged flames feel pleasantly warm against your skin, bringing a faint red hue to where he touches. Watching, his flames seem to flair for a moment, the heat intensifying. Wow, that tingles so good. “I...ok?” Caaaalm the heck down. He’s just touching your wrist. Stars, if that’s what it feels like when he’s touching my wrist, what’s it going to feel like when he touches other, more sensitive places? “I mean yes. Please. That sounds...good. I just haven't really...done this in a while. I might be a bit out of practice.” You laugh nervously. He lets out another low, deep laugh; it sends tingles down your spine. “It has been a while since someone tempted me to reconsider my own rules. I get the feeling that you deserve better than that. I cannot wait to get to know you better.” You can feel your blush spreading. Goddamnit, he’s a smooth talker. I don’t stand a chance… “I can’t decide whether you’re a tease, or a gentleman. Please tell me we’ll at least get to second base if we make it through one date?” You smile. Damn, that laugh of his. How can just a laugh give me tingles? I’m doomed. Is...is that a smirk I see? You can’t help but lick your lips as Grillby sends you a flash of fangs, his rumbling laugh capturing your attention once more. “Oh, I’m sure that can be arranged.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. You need the money.
After your work-filled weekend, you had been looking forward to making the most of the few blissful free hours you to yourself. Now, instead of catching up on some much-needed sleep — or on the mounting pile of revision and coursework that you have been avoiding — you have back-to-back shifts to look forward to from midday until midnight at the earliest.
At least Monday afternoons are quiet. All I need to do is get the stocktake done, maybe a little cleaning, then I can squeeze in some revision. Oh, oh! Maybe I can grab a quick cat nap! Teddy will totally cover for me. Well. As long as I don’t call it a cat nap.
Dropping by the staffroom, you slip your book and bags into your locker. There just hadn’t been time to slip home to get changed and drop things off between classes and making it to cover Jen’s shift. Again. Flicking through the spare clothes you left behind for just such an emergency — thanks past me! — you are quick to get changed out of your simple jeans and tee combo, slipping into something a little less comfortable but more work appropriate. As you remove your watch and move to slide the simple golden bangle from your wrist to join the rest of your stuff in your locker, you catch sight of the time.
Shit. How am I running late? I only just got here.
Slamming the locker closed, you make your way through the winding back corridors that make up the staff-only behind-the-scenes part of the club. Buttoning up your blouse as you go, you leave just enough open at the top to let a tantalising glimpse of your fading bruises show when you turn just the right way. Spout might not have kept to the rules, but damn, he knows how to leave a girl wanting more. If you are being honest with yourself, Spout isn't the only monster on your mind. Purple flames and orange eyelights flicker in your mind. Down girl. Down.Taking the corner quickly, you have to press firmly against the uneven wall as another member of staff wizzes by. You send them an apologetic smile. Initially, you had thought that the maze of back corridors were creepy. With barely enough space for two people to squeeze past, and a penance for the lights to flicker, it looks like something straight out of a bad horror movie. But on nights when the crowds get too big, the lights too bright, and the incessant pounding of the bass feels like it was setting your teeth on edge, it provides a welcome reprieve. “I thought today was your day off?” Glancing up from your chipped nails, you pull your fingerless gloves into place. Long past the ‘artfully torn’ phase, they are more holes than fishnets at this point, but the familiar brush against your fingers and palms feels oddly comforting. Teddy’s broad, fluffy figure fills the doorway ahead of you, as he frowns down at you. Craning your head back, you smile at him, as you come to a stop. “Eh; rest is for the weak.” You smile at him brightly. You can feel your shoulders beginning to slump, as he continues to stare at you. “Ok, so a girl has to eat. Overtime is a good thing for some of us.” Your smile falls into something more natural — barely more than a quirk of your lips, but it seems to ease something in Teddy’s stance. “I don’t like it when people try to take advantage of you. You’re too kind.” A surprisingly gentle paw reaches out to pet the top of your head. Heat rises in your cheeks, as the soft fur brushes accidentally against your forehead. I hope I didn’t get any makeup on his fur. Is the first ridiculous thought to cross your mind. “Nobody’s taking advantage, T. Jen needs an extra day to study. I need enough cash to fix up my water heater and my car. Plus boss-lady said they could do with another pair of hands after Jen’s usual shift would end. It’s a win-win-win.” Petting his arm, you move to edge past. I feel like a broken record. How many times have we had some iteration of this conversation now? It's like we're stuck in the same loop. Over and over and over...“Just how late are you planning on working today? You’re in the same course as Jen. If you’re running low this month, I-” You lift your hand before he can get any further. Damn, why’s he have to be so tall? I can’t even reach his mouth. “I don’t need charity, and I don’t borrow money from friends. Jen’s doing me a favour. That’s the end of the conversation.” Brushing the rest of the way past, you pause before you can make your way out onto the floor of your favourite bar. “How about we catch up later. Maybe on my break? It’s been a while since we last had the chance. I want to hear all about how that date of yours went last week — don’t think I didn’t hear about that. Coco’s quite the chatterbox when you get her started.”You smile, as the faint stammering of Teddy follows you out onto the floor. There. That should keep him distracted for a while at least. In all honesty, you really could have done with the day off. But studying doesn’t pay for my here and now bills. Running your fingers through your hair, you make sure to fix your regular customer service smile on before you round the final corner behind the bar. I’ve got this. It’s barely a third of the way into your shift, and you can already feel yourself beginning to nod off. A little after four, and the bar is still dead. Inventory? Check. Prep work? Check. Everything neat, tidy, clean, and in the right place? Check, check, check and check. Your eyes pass over your open notebook once more, skimming over the words. You just can’t seem to focus. Maybe it’s time to switch things up from water to espresso. One little open cup behind the bar shouldn’t be a problem as long as I keep my eye on it, right? You slowly look around the bar, checking every corner and dimly lit booth to make sure you haven’t missed anyone arriving. I’ll be a minute or two, tops. You say to yourself, as you eye the staff-only door. I really shouldn’t… Sighing, you rest your elbows against the bar top, propping your chin against them. Knowing my luck, the place would get robbed while I was gone. Maybe I can get Teddy to grab me one when he makes his next round. Reaching beneath the countertop, you grab an unopened mini bottle of water. Toying with the label, you curse as the bottle skids out of your grasp. You crouch, peering down as you try to spot where it has landed. As your hands finally wrap around your prize, you pop back up, only to band your head against the edge of the bartop“Ouch! Holy fucking shitballs, owie.” Wincing, you rub your head firmly. God fucking damnit. Am I trying to get a concussion? We talked about this! No. more. Extra. Expenses! “Mother fuuuuck where did you come from?!” Eyes widening, you take half a step back at the unexpected appearance of an all-too-familiar skeleton. “it’s been a while, darlin’. how about we grab that drink we talked about?” A single gold fang glints in the dim light as he eyes you. For someone who had screwed up as monumentally as he had, he oozes far, far too much confidence for your liking. What was I thinking? On the hot to psycho scale, Mutt is practically Harley-fuckin-Quinn. Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you take half a step back before steeling yourself. Don’t show any fear. That’s like blood in the water for these half-assed, wanna-be dominants. “Are you serious right now?” Your voice is steadier than you had hoped. Eyes scanning Mutt up and down, you take in the familiar leather get-up. Your traitorous mind reminds you of just how soft the fluffy grey fur lining of his hood really is. Beneath his smouldering eye sockets, you catch sight of a familiar cigarette, the end glowing a striking shade of violet.“What did I say about getting ash on my bar!” You pluck the cigarette from him without a second thought, quickly stamping it out on one of the many glass ashtrays scattered across the perfectly polished surface. “Try that just one more time, and I’m putting the next one out somewhere far, far less pleasant for you.”
Threatening the customers. Real great thinking there. It’s like I don’t like being gainfully employed. Fuck my life.
Your eyes flick past Mutt as your nerves begin to grow. Still empty. C’mon, Teddy. Please be early for once in your life. Flicking back, you force yourself to stay still. For fucks sake, don’t act like prey. “I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon. I thought I made myself pretty clear last time.” Your fingers curl, playing with the edge of your fingerless gloves. Your attempt to project confidence feels pitiful even to you. “I’ve never been on the House staff. I can get someone to show you through and explain the whole system if that’s what you’re after. Just. just make sure you’re up front about everything. Ok?” You send a weak smile at him. Silence falls uncomfortably between you.Browbone drawn in a clear frown, you follow Mutt’s line of sight down. Your fingers still, as you try to stop your nervous fidgeting. A tell-tale glimpse of gold catches your eyes. Oh no. No. Tell me I didn’t. “Oh shit.”Your gold bangle twinkles innocently beneath the ripped black netting of your gloves, a barely-there glint in the low light. Had you been wearing that the last time? Was this whole misunderstanding your fault after all?“That’s not — I didn’t realise. I’m not. This…” You rip your gloves off with shaking hands, fingers trembling as you grasp the familiar gold bangle. With one swift tug it’s off, clattering to the floor to roll somewhere beneath the cupboards. You can’t bring yourself to raise your eyes. I can’t believe I’m so stupid! There aren’t that many fucking rules to remember. Not wearing gold is pretty goddamned simple. What is wrong with me? “I didn’t mean to wear that. It’s not. It’s not part of my uniform. I forgot to take it off. I’m…”
I’m what. Sorry? Like wearing a tiny piece of jewellery excuses all the other shit Mutt and his 'M'lord' tried to pull?
“i don’t need to hear your excuses or your lies. you stay away from m’lord, and we’re not gonna have a problem. understand?” Burnt orange eyelights stare at you, unwavering. “I’m not lying. It was an accident.” A twinge of something — annoyance, discomfort at being misunderstood? — wriggles uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. “And even if it wasn’t, that doesn’t excuse what you tried to pull.”Mutt’s deep, raspy laugh brings you up short. “what. is this another one of those stupid human customs? is it bad taste to talk about payment, but not to expect payment? hypocrites.”The look that he sends you is disconcerting. It’s not something you’ve ever had aimed at you before to your knowledge. The closest you’ve ever come to seeing yourself is that look aimed by anti-monster protestors, when monsters get too close to their picket lines. Is he really that disgusted with me over a simple mistake? Staring at Mutt, you’re at a loss for words. How can such a simple misunderstanding have stirred up something clearly much, much deeper? Glancing behind him, a wave of relief passes over you, as the familiar form of Coco passes by the door. Voice catching in your throat, your breath hitches as she pauses, taking a step back into the room. You beautiful, beautiful girl, Coco. I owe you one. Before you realise what you are doing, you skirt around the edge of the bar. You can feel Mutt’s eyes on you. Coco can watch the bar for five minutes while I get that coffee and try not to have a heart attack. “that’s it, honey. run away. blame the monster for not getting your stupid human hang-ups.”As you feel that overwhelming pressure finally leave, Mutt’s gaze now off of you, you can feel something new warring with the uncertainty and unease. Anger coils, hot and unfamiliar and heavy in your chest. In just three steps, you find yourself beside Mutt once more. Your fingers grab the familiar leather of his jacket, pulling him down to your height.“Oh honey.” You shoot the unwanted pet name back at him, as your fingers clench around the fabric in reflex. “Oh puppy. It’s not a monster thing. Don’t you see?” Tilting your head to one side, you can feel the fabric of your blouse shifting. Orange eyelights break your staring match to trail down the now exposed skin. You watch as they widen, taken in what is left of the marks left behind by your little night of fun with Spout. Clearly no human could have bitten you quite like that. “It’s not a monster thing. It’s a you thing. You just don’t get it.” Heavy footsteps sound behind you, as Coco draws near. You let go of Mutt with a smile. It doesn’t reach your eyes. His gaze remains locked on the bite mark on your throat. Steady fingers graze against the bruised flesh, pressing down on the marks. You bite your lip, as a jolt of pain shoots through you. That lingering ache has always been one of your favourite parts of any session. Orange-red eyelights finally lift to meet your own. Scowl gone, you can’t decipher his look.“Everything ok here?” Coco's gruff voice is like music to your ears.“Would you mind watching the bar for me for a few minutes, Coco? I just need to use the powder room. Our friend here was just leaving.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Why are men just…urg. You sigh, hands resting on the cold porcelain sink. In the safety of the staff bathroom, you allow your bravado to fall. Reaching down, you run the tap, before scooping up some cold water to splash on the back of your neck. I really need to look up if that’s a speciest thing to say. Is Mutt a he? Did he- they? - even use pronouns? “Fuck.” Well, hopefully that was the last time I will ever have to see Mutt’s stupid face. Glancing at the clock, you can’t help the uncomfortable, squirming feeling at the pit of your stomach. It’s almost the end of your shift, and your tips were far below what you had hoped for. “Damnit. Maybe I could…” You bite your lip. Could what? You’ve already taken all of the extra shifts on offer at both the club, and the store. If you’re not careful, your grades are going to be impacted soon. I could sell some stuff on Ebay or Depop? Or…take up crafting and try Etsy? Mentally cataloguing your tiny studio, you already know it’s going to be a no-go. Even your least worn clothes are starting to look less aged-for-style, and more this-needs-replacing-immediately. Case and point: the more holes than not fishnets you're wearing. If I don’t have time for a third job, I definitely don’t have time to learn how to sew or knit or…make fused glass or whatever. “Why don’t I have any other marketable skills?” You groan, as you check the clock one last time.
Might as well check-in with boss lady to see if I can squeeze in a couple more hours.
As you make your way down the brightly-lit back corridors, the faint thrum of the bass feels like it is pounding in time with the pressure behind your eyes. A headache has slowly been building in the hours since your last run-in with Mutt. I just wish… You smile as you pass by another bartender, pressing closely against the wall as a pair of bouncers - one human, the other a six foot fall bunny monster - rush past. I just wish that I could afford to take one night off for myself. No work. No coursework. No worries. Just some much-needed self-care and relaxation. “Like that’s gonna happen anytime soon.” Just ten short minutes later, you begin making your way back to the staffroom. It would seem that it wasn’t just your back luck that has left you running low on tips; the club has been a lot quieter than expected. They were actually looking for people to send home early.
And my bad luck is going strong. As usual. Yipee.
Closing the staffroom door behind you, you head straight for your locker. Grabbing your phone, you tap the screen. Your lips curl in a soft smile. You have: 3 new messages Despite your reservations, a certain purple-flamed elemental has been worming his way into your life, little by little. So much for no dating, huh? While you wouldn’t go as far as to call any of your interactions truly close to dating, waking up to a new message from Grillby or reading a string of messages and casual photos from the bar on your walk home has become one of the highlights of your day. Maybe…dating wouldn’t be so bad, if it was with the right person? You grab your coat from your locker, quickly pulling it around you in preparation for the cold night air that is to come. Your fingers drum impatiently against the side of your phone, as you make your way down the corridors once more, past the security guards, and out into the cold, late night air. It has become part of your routine to wait until you are making the long walk back, before you open any of his messages. With your car still out of commission and funds too tight to splurge on an Uber (not to mention no hope in hell of getting public transport so late at night), reading over his messages offer a level of comfort and almost a sense of protection, during your dimly-lit walk. I wish Grillby’s was nearby. I wonder if he’d mind if I dropped in on my way home sometime? The idea has been circling your mind for some time, but a quick look on google maps had squashed that plan. Thirty minutes in the wrong direction so late at night didn’t sound like a good idea. Sure, Grillby seems like a perfect gentleman, but really… You don’t know until you know. And that’s why I don’t date. Shaking your head, you pull up your phone once more. The bitter chill makes you long for a better coat. Maybe I’ll get lucky checking out a few charity shops if I hit them up after the weekend. That’s when all the good stuff gets donated, right? Bored housewives and busy people offloading all of their unwanted junk. You force down the small, bitter seed of resentment that threatens to sour your good mood. That’s a future-me problem. Let’s see what Grillbae has to say. Grillbae: [19:57] Good evening my dear. How was your day?Grillbae: [19:58] I have had quite the day myself. One of my regulars came in in a foul mood. I do believe I will be cleaning up from that particular mess for quite some time.Grillbae: [23:59] I know your schedule is quite busy. But do you have a free late morning or early afternoon later this week? You smile, eyes scanning the words quickly, then once more, forcing yourself to slow down and really take in his words before you begin typing out your replies. Me: [01:07] Evenin’, Grillbae! Me: [01:07] Or should I say morning?Me: [01:09] My day was good. I picked up an extra double, got a little coursework done when things were quiet. Just the usual really, nothing special. Your mind flashes back to your little run-in with Mutt. Shame and embarrassment churn in your stomach, as you think back to the one, little mistake that led to everything. No! It’s only partially my fault. Even if I hadn’t been wearing my bracelet, they still tried to pull that shady player-three shit mid-scene. I really need to work on my self-esteem, if I’m this quick to take the blame. Consent is a two-way street. Consent can be withdrawn at any time. I’m not the bad guy here. Is there even really a bad guy, though? You shake your head. You’ve been down this road before. How many guys are you going to give a free pass to screw you over? Stop making excuses for them. Focus. Me: [01:13] I had kind of a meh run-in with a new regular at work. If that’s even a thing? Pretty sure he’s becoming a regular. Or maybe I didn't notice him before Anyway. I’m really sorry to hear your night ended on such a messy note! I hope he didn’t leave you with too much to clean up? What did he even do? Holding your coat tightly to your chest, you look right, left, right again, before making a dash across the road. Cars are few and far between at this time of night, but you’d rather be safe than sorry. You make sure to keep as close to the street lights as possible, as you scurry down the dimly-lit streets. The further you get from the club, the quieter it gets, until barely a third of the way through your walk home, there’s no-one else in sight.Clutching your bag a little tighter, you hold your phone to your chest, before reaching up to rub at your eyes. Nearly there. Then I can get an early night. Only…five more hours until I need to get up for class. Pulling up the calendar app in your phone, you scroll through the days, trying to see if there’s a time that could work. I guess if I don’t pick up an extra shift at the store on Thursday, and fit studying in before and after my late… Me: [01:37] Sorry about that. Just getting home. What did you have in mind? Thursday’s looking pretty good for me at the moment. Lemme know what you think sometime tomorrow? You ignore the uneasy feeling in your stomach as you push yourself to go that little bit faster. The only area you can afford to rent without a roommate isn’t the type of place you feel comfortable walking alone at night. You had tried asking around to find a walking buddy, but no-one else who works the same kind of shifts lives anywhere near you.
I know if I asked Teddy or Coco, either one of them would go out of their way to walk me home. But then I’d just be taking up even more of their time. I’m the one who got into this mess. I’ve got to deal with it.
You fumble with your keys, as you finally reach your building. That small voice inside of you feels like it’s shouting, don't look back, and the monsters can’t get you. You know no-one is there at this time of night. But if they are… You hold your breath, as you finally push your way inside. Quickly, you close the door behind you with a resounding click, before making your way past the broken-down elevator to the stairs. Nearly there. Nearly there. It’s cold and dark, as you close the door behind you. “Fuck. Did I leave the window open again?” Gosh damn it, past-me. Why would you do that? Dropping your bag, you struggle to force the window closed. Rather than taking off your coat, you grab the discarded blankets from your bed for extra warmth. Just a few more minutes, and then the blankies will be warm enough without my coat. Maybe. Pulling open your messages, you re-read your last few messages to Grillby. He usually responds pretty quickly…oh wait. You finally spot the time. Me: [02:19] Oh geez, I wasn’t even thinking - it’s pretty late. You must already be asleep, huh? I hope my messages didn’t wake you up.Me: [02:19] and that that one didn’t wake you up.Me: [02:20] or that one … I’m still doing it! I’m just gonna stop now. Me: [02:21] Hope you sleep well x As you flop back onto your bed, you begin to chew nervously on your thumb nail. What was I thinking? I don’t want to date again. It’s never worth it. The wasted time - time and energy that I don’t have. The money. I mean, I can’t not offer to split everything fifty-fifty. The stress. And for what? An adequate at best lay that slowly but surely becomes more and more vanilla over time? A guy with an ego disproportionate to his dick, and no real clue about what he’s doing? Burrowing beneath the covers in your newly created pocket of warmth, you finally begin removing your coat and work clothes.
Is that…really fair of me, though? To just assume that Grillby will be like that? I mean…I don’t even really know what he likes, other than his drink order at the bar. And his tolerance every time I manage to put my foot in my big mouth. And that super, dapper look he has going on. The suit porn is strong with this one. And how does he even make flames look sexy? How is that a thing?
You smile to yourself, as you reach over to plug in your phone. I know he’s hot. But what else do I know? You pause, as your screen lights up. Isn’t that…the point of dating? Getting to know the other person? Giving things a chance to see where they could go? Me: [02:48] Me again. Sorry. Last time tonight - this morning? - I swear. I just need to say this before I chicken out, or forget or something. I’m really, really not good at this whole…dating thing? Going on dates? It’s been a while. And even before it’d been a while, I’m pretty sure I still sucked at it.Me: [02:52] I know I said it before, but I don’t date. But I think I want to…get to know you more? You seem like a really awesome guy. And other than knowing you’re hot - Me: [02:52] ATTRACTIVE. I MEAN ATTRACTIVE.Me: [02:54] I don’t really know that much about you. And I guess that’s kind of the point of dating? Me: [02:53] So this is my weird, caffeine-and-sleep-deprivation-fuelled, long-winded way of saying I’d like to retract that not-dating thing.Me: [02:55] If you’d like to go on a date. With me. Sometime. Me: [02:56] Like Thursday. Me: [02:57] Or whenever works for you!Me: [02:58] But only if you're interested. In me. And dating. Me: [03:01] With me.Me: [03:02] Shutting up now. Night. “Why do I have to be such a goddamned dork?!” You whisper-scream into your pillow. So much for getting a good night’s sleep. I can run off of three hours, right? Right.
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“I’m doomed.” You’ve searched from top to bottom, back to front, inside and out. “I have nothing to wear.” Your wardrobe, made up of two extremes, seems to hold nothing appropriate for your date with Grillby. Unless corsets and fishnets, or yoga pants and oversized jumpers are the latest in dating fashion. What was I thinking? I can’t go out like this. Truthfully, you weren’t sure what you had been thinking. By the time you woke up the next morning - nearly thirty minutes after your alarm should have gone off - why didn’t I remember to set it again? - and made the dash to the bus stop - yet another unexpected expense I can’t really afford - you hadn’t had the time to check your messages before heading into class.
I really need to stop messaging people when I’m yo-yo-ing between exhausted and hyped up on caffeine. At least this time I didn’t do anything embarrassing like trying to sext Grillbae or sending another video. Stars. The video. I’m never going to live that down.
Thankfully, Grillby had seemed more amused than anything by your stream of conscious, word-vomit messages.
Bless that beautiful, beautiful man. I’m lucky I didn’t overshare anything even worse than that. Jeeze. Note to self: never get drunk around Grillbae, or I’m gonna end up sharing something I will regret.
The two of you had settled on a lunch date. Something casual, no pressure; the perfect reintroduction to dating. Yet your stomach still churns at the thought, what-ifs circling in your head.
What if I mess things up? What if he really is too good to be true? What if…I end up wanting more? Wait. What if he doesn’t want more, and he’s just being polite? Lunch date in a public space. He’s totally trying to let me down gently, isn’t he?
Running your fingers through your hair, you clench reflexively around the strands, tugging at them until the dull thrum of pressure takes on a sharper edge of pain. Slowly, you can feel your breath beginning to calm, the racing thump-thump-thump in your chest taking on a more reasonable beat. Don’t be stupid. Think. Grillby wouldn’t need to wait until we were together in person to turn me down. He was the one to ask me out. Just because I’m a disaster pan, it doesn’t mean he realises how much of a disaster I really am. Now. Happy, calm thoughts. I’ve still got…an hour until I’ve got to be there. Factoring in time to walk, add on a couple of extra minutes in case I get lost, and I’ve still got…seven minutes to choose an outfit. “Mother fucker.”“You look lovely today. That colour really brings out your eyes.”In the end, you had gone with one of your favourite oversized jumpers; the stripey pastel rainbow had faded from dozens upon dozens of washes, but the fabric is amongst the softest in your wardrobe. Curling your fingers beneath your long sleeves, you rub the soft material gently between your thumb and forefinger to help calm yourself.“Thank…you?” You send Grillby a tentative smile. How does a pastel rainbow bring out the colour in anyone’s eyes? I don’t even… “You look hot, as usual. I mean sexy-hot. Not on fire hot. Not that you don’t look like you’re on - you know what? I’m just gonna shut up and look at the menu.” Your cheeks burn as embarrassment takes hold. Why am I like this? A deep, crackling chuckle helps loosen your tense shoulders. You can feel the warmth radiating from the fire elemental, as you slide into place at the back of the queue. Have I been here before? This cafe looks awfully familiar… “I will take that as a compliment.” You watch, as purple flames reach up to adjust his open collar. No bowtie in sight this time, the top two buttons of his pristine white shirt reveal the dancing purple-indigo-violet flames beneath. The colour seems to shift, flicking back and forth, back and forth, the more you watch. You find yourself unable to look away.
So pretty. I wonder what he feels like?
A cough. Then another. Oh my gosh, please tell me Grillby didn’t notice me ogling him. Biting your lip, your eyes flick away from those top two unbuttoned buttons on his dress shirt. Gone was the usual bowtie, but the slimline black waistcoat and pristine shirt remained. Thank the gods for suit porn . Another cough, this time more insistent.“I am so sorry!” The words come out as more of a squeak than anything else, as you hurry to catch up. The queue had moved without you realising it, leaving several irate customers huffing and puffing their displeasure behind you, much to Grillby’s apparent amusement. At least, I think when his flames flicker like that, it means that he’s amused… As the two of you draw closer to the front of the queue, you glance at the menu, intent on turning your attention firmly back to Grillby. Wait. It’s HOW MUCH for a coffee? Stars, why didn’t I just pick a Starbu- “Spout.” You say under your breath. You knew this place seemed familiar. Had it really only been a few, short weeks since you were last here? Guess I’m having another plain black Americano. Damned hipster prices for freaking tea. It’s just leaves and water! Why does it need to be so expensive? “May I?” Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you tilt your head back to look the taller elemental in the eyes. Well, in the space behind where his glasses are. I really need to google monster anatomy and the correct terms to not seem like a complete asshole. “Ah…sure?” You say, not quite sure what you are agreeing to, as the two of you take another step towards the front of the line. You can feel a wave of warmth emitting from Grillby, his flames undulating in a rather fascinating fashion. So pretty. You dig your nails firmly into the back of your hand in order to stop yourself from reaching out to touch. Don’t fucking pet him without his permission. Boundaries. Consent. Not being a complete douche! Do better, me. Do better. You hover half a step behind Grillby, eyes scanning the menu one last time, just in case there may be another, cheaper alternative you missed the first time. This is ok. I can say I just had a really big breakfast, and coffee is more than enough. I’ll just load up on creamer and sugar, and it won’t taste…completely awful… Oh, who am I kidding? Maybe if I tip half of it into a spare cup, I can use enough cream to make it passable? “Come. There’s a window table just about to open up.” It takes everything in you not to jump, as one purple-flamed hand wraps gently around your own, pulling it to rest in the crook of his arm. He feels softer than you expected. More corporeal, too. If the smell of freshly baked bread had a feeling, this would be it. Soft and warm - almost hot, but perfect. Comforting. Homely. You’re halfway towards Grillby’s selected seats - a rather cosy looking, forest green loveseat with a dark walnut coffee table and a smattering of plants forming a makeshift barrier between the window seat and the rest of the cafe - when you remember. “Ah, but I haven’t ordered yet.” You look back at the queue (now trailing back to the door) with a wince. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Now I’m gonna waste so much time queuing all over again. “I took the liberty of ordering for us both. I do hope that is alright?” He places a warm hand on your back, as he guides you into the seat furthest from the window. Out of habit, you find yourself searching for the nearest exits. You never can be too careful when meeting new play partners. Yet to your surprise, you realise Grillby has seated you in the perfect position. You can see clearly outside, whilst still being able to slip away as needed without having to make your way past the much taller elemental. You’re just a few spaces away from the ladies' restroom - another perfect spot to hide and text for backup if needed - and even the emergency exit isn’t much further back, if you really want to make a quick getaway. Did he…do that on purpose? For me? Soon a waitress comes over with a tray laden down with drinks and food. A pot of fragrant tea, two delicate teacups, a stout little jug of milk, and a tiny glass mason jar filled with perfect brown sugar cubes make their way onto the table first. Two plates, one piled high with an array of sandwiches - golden egg and cress, rich cheese and bright red cherry tomato, and half a dozen more you can’t yet identify - the other stacked with gooey cookies, delicate pastries, and beautifully baked scones. It’s far more than you ever would have ordered yourself, yet it’s…perfect.“You seemed to enjoy the tea at Muffet’s last time we went out together. Earl Grey scones are somewhat of a speciality here. They do not quite have the same range, but they have a lovely Lady Grey blend I thought you might like to try. It is a little fruitier than Earl Grey; a far more delicate flavour. But I thought you might…” Grillby trails off, as he busies himself with preparing your cup. It’s much fancier than the sad box of teabags in your cupboard at home - an expense that, quite possibly, you won't be able to stretch to replace when your supplies soon run out. You watch with rapt attention, as he places the strainer in place to catch any loose tea leaves. In goes a single sugar cube, followed by a generous splash of milk. “It’s a shame that they do not serve it with honey. It adds a unique but pleasant depth.”You smile to yourself, as Grillby slides the first steaming cup towards you. When was the last time someone remembered what you liked to drink, much less went to such efforts for you on what, a second date at best? Or is this our first date. Is it even a date? “It’s perfect. Thank you, Grillby. I…I really appreciate it. You didn’t have to go to all this effort for me. Really. I know I like to put up a stern front with some of the pushier newbies at the club, but let me tell you: I am what the regulars like to call a sure thing. You don’t have to waste all of your charm on trying to impress me.” You joke, as your fingers curl around the delicate bone china.
I’ll have to find a way to slip him the money somehow. Maybe…I could comp his drinks at the club for a while? As long as I let bosslady know I’m just using my share of freebies to cover him, she won’t have a problem with that. And I’ll just…not use the other staff perks for a while. It’ll all even out.
“Please don’t talk about yourself that way.” You pause, cup half raised to your mouth. “It is never a waste to treat someone else with common decency. And you are worth far more than you give yourself credit for.”You shift uncomfortably at his tone. He seems earnest, so sure of what he is saying. You can feel something unfamiliar, something long-forgotten unfurling deep within the pit of your stomach. You try to push it down.“I don’t know about that.” Smiling, you turn your gaze back to your tea once more. “So. I believe there was mention about talking about limits…”Grillby chuckles as he leans forward to finish pouring his own cup - no milk, three sugars. “I believe the caveat was that we made it past coffee and appetisers first.” You can feel a pout beginning to form on your lips. “Sandwiches and scones should surely count as dinner and dessert. That has to get me past just talking, and onto some actual…doing.” You can feel him watching you, as you eye the plate of delicate pastries and desserts. Those scones look so good. But I can’t. It’s bad enough accepting tea without knowing what it’s going to cost me. Actual nice guys don’t do casual play, only Nice Guys and people who can’t find something more permanent. Like me. You know you aren’t being fair even as the thought crosses your mind, but you can’t help yourself. Years of conditioning win over the small, rational part of your head that rallies against your thoughts. The club rarely has incidents, a testament to how closely they watch for the actual unsafe players. “I will not be pushed into something I am not comfortable with.” Grillby’s says, a note of finality in his voice. You can feel yourself shrinking on instinct, trying to make yourself a smaller target as he sits back, crossing one leg over the other. You watch at the slim, fitted black trousers shift, outlining his form in a way that is both alluring and intriguing. A small part of your mind still can’t quite get over the fact that his flames appear to be so solid, even as another, larger part of you is shouting to hide, to apologise, to make things right. You can feel your hands beginning to shake. Before you completely humiliate yourself by spilling your tea all over your yoga pants (or, heaven forbid, Grillby’s own spotless attire), you lower your cup. Your fingers clench around the delicate china, welcoming the familiar feelings of frustration that are beginning to rise. Anything feels better that the creeping terror, the need to please instantly - before anything can get any worse.“Fine.” You set the cup down. “I’ll be the only one who is uncomfortable.” Bringing your hands together on your lap, you entwine your fingers beneath the overly large sleeves. Once out of view, you clench your fingers once more, nails digging into the sensitive skin. Just enough pain to stay calm. Just enough to stay grounded. I’m blowing this. I should have known I’d do this again. This is why I can’t have nice things. “It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable. Perhaps…” Grillby sets his own cup down. You can feel a small spark of hope. Maybe he’s changed his mind, and you can skip straight to talking about limits after all? “Perhaps we are not compatible after all. Partaking in kink-based activities, whether those are of a sexual nature of not, is not something I am comfortable doing without knowing the person well. I need to know that I can trust you to tell me what you need, until I know the signs to look out for myself. I need to be able to trust you to tell me what you want, until I am able to know your desires from a mere look. I need to know that you can trust me to look after all of you, in body, mind, and soul. That…” He pauses, head-turning to look out of the window, as he tries to find the right words to explain.“I need to know that I am not just a curiosity to be toyed with and discarded once my novelty has worn thin. And that cannot happen when one jumps straight to negotiations without planting the seeds of a true connection. I understand if that is not compatible with how you prefer to do things. And if that is the case…I wish you all of the best in your endeavours, and shall happily agree to part ways now without hurt feelings. I can only apologise if you felt pushed into something more than you were ready to try. That was not my intention.”
Fuck.
Your nails bite deeper. You clench harder, as the first hot, sticky droplets make their way between your fingers. You know that you are going to stain your favourite jumper at this rate, but you cannot bring yourself to stop.
I don’t want to lose him before this has even begun.
“I…” How do you explain it, when you can’t really articulate it to yourself? “I never meant to make you feel that way. You aren’t a novelty. Or a curiosity. I…” You take a deep, steadying breath. “I really do like you, Grillby.” You let out an unsteady, breathy laugh. “Fuck. That feels weird to say. I haven’t said that to anyone in…quite some time. I didn’t want to say it to anyone again. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself. I’m not explaining this very well. Fuck. I’m so bad at this.”A warm hand settles on top of yours. You can feel his heat through the layers of fabric still encasing your hands.“Try. That is all that I ask. Help me understand.”“Dating…makes me uncomfortable. All of it does, really. Regular play partners. Ongoing play dynamics. Committed relationships with a kinky element.” You shake your head. “This isn’t coming outright. I’m making it sound like I’m a vanilla prude. Not that all vanilla people are prudes. It’s not…” You dig your nails in deeper, as frustration takes hold. Your words fall away, as purple flames reach beneath the sleeves of your jumper to touch the flesh below. Warmth wraps around them, prying your nails from your skin with a gentle but unrelenting touch. What I wouldn’t give to be held in that kind of touch. You hold your breath, ready for the admonishment, the judgement that is sure to come. It isn’t self-harm. Not really. Only…it is. Isn’t it? Just because some people do things much deeper, with other tools, it doesn’t lessen what I’m doing. It doesn’t make it any more acceptable. Silence stretches between you. Ten, twenty, thirty seconds. You crack before a minute is up, not quite believing the lack of judgement - at least verbally - on his part. “I know that what I do isn’t strictly…on the safer side of how these things should be done. But I can’t…I won’t…” You take a steadying breath. Fuck it. “I can’t let myself be hurt like that again. Last time I took things slowly, I ended up getting hurt. I don’t want to be the one who gets pushed out again. I…don’t think I have it in me to move past it a second time. And so things are easier this way.” You smile, despite the tight feeling in your throat, and the wetness trailing down your cheeks. “If I don’t give myself the chance to get attached, I can’t get hurt. This is the only way for me to stay in control, even when-”“Even when every fibre of your being wants to give up that control, and trust that someone else will be there to catch you when you fall.” You close your eyes, as his warmth brushes against your cheek. The faint sizzling of your tears evaporating forces a giggle from you, even as you nod in agreement.
He gets it.
“It sounds like you have had an unforgettable experience, for all of the wrong reasons. I myself am quite familiar with the less forgiving side of the community in which we both choose to reside.” His hand falls back to yours, cradling them softly. “I hope that one day you feel able to trust me enough to share who hurt you so. For now…it seems as though we are at am impass.” “Oh.” You still, as his words sink in.
Why do I have to ruin everything? Grillbae has been nothing but a gentleman. If anything, he’s too good to be…true.
“Tell me something bad about you. Or embarrassing. It can be anything.” Maybe if I can find just one thing, we could… “I can go first. I’m always busy. Frankly, I’m an awful friend. I can’t imagine anyone would enjoy dating me. I’ve got two jobs, and if I’m not at one of them, I’m in classes. Or studying. Or picking up extra shifts. I’ve got a shitty apartment, in a shitty part of town, and I’m never going to invite you back with me. Nothing personal against you. I just wouldn’t invite anyone around. It’s pretty goddamned depressing there, really. I can’t cook for shit. I would live off of granola bars and bottled water if ramen wasn’t the cheaper option. And…I’m afraid of commitment. But I want to try.” You glance up at him, finally pausing for breath. “For the right person. For something real. I think…I think I could try and be uncomfortable. For something - for someone - real.”Grillby remains motionless, the edges of his flames lightly flickering from indigo to violet and back again. You can feel your heart sinking, as he searches for something in you. You wish you knew what it was. “I own a bar myself. I spend almost every waking hour there. Except for my one day off each week, when we remain closed, and I make the trip to my second favourite bar. Where this disaster of a bartender works. She never stops moving, yet somehow finds time to study whilst keeping everything clean, patrons served, and a careful eye watching out for newbies who may be out of their depth.” You can feel a blush beginning to creep across your cheeks. Just how long had Grillby been coming to the bar before you had noticed him? Would you even have remembered him, if not for that night in the store? “I rarely leave the bar, not because of my love for my work - though I do enjoy it. I despise being stared at. I feel on edge, whenever I go out in public. When will unwelcome hands reach out without thinking? When will small, viscous minds act on their thoughts: I wonder if water will hurt him? I wonder if it even has feelings? When will the next attack come. “In my bar, I am safe. I am with my own kind, who know not to cross me. I am with those who I have known for a lifetime, and with whom I never have to explain myself. I am in control. I am safe. And I…am lonely. And I know that a single night with a stranger will not fix that. And so I hope, without wanting to risk leaving the safety of my routine. And I wish, without reaching out to make the first step. Until one night, I see the disaster human, who makes a semi-decent drink (for a human). And she makes a joke at my expense.”“I didn’t mean-”He pushes on, refusing to wait for your excuses.“And it is refreshing. She stumbles over her words. She blushes, and mumbles, and makes a fool of herself. It is amusing. Endearing, to my eternal surprise. And I find myself hoping for a chance, but knowing…It is unlikely that such a beautiful, honest, whirlwind of a disaster would give me the time of day. For how could anyone not be drawn to her, in the same way that I had been?”“Oh.” What are you supposed to say to that? What could you possibly say, to follow that up? He’s perfect, but not. He’s…worth the risk, isn’t he? “It’s funny, isn’t it? How so afraid we can all be. How much we hold ourselves back, unwilling to risk our little island of safety, even when we know that reaching out for something more - for someone else - could be infinitely better. I’ll make you a deal, Grillby. I’ll help push you outside of your comfort zone, if you help push me outside of mine. What do you say. Do we have a deal?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“I need…to sleep.” Glancing at your phone, you can see it’s a little after ten, and yet you feel beyond exhausted. You rub at your eyes, wincing at the dry, gritty feel. How much sleep have you managed to get so far this week? Everything feels sluggish and slow, as though everything is going in slow motion. Or maybe that’s just me. You think, as you re-read the same sentence for the fourth time. Or is it the fifth? Everything began blurring together sometime around Wednesday. When was the last time I had a day all to myself? I miss those days. You reach out for the paper coffee cup, hoping against hope that it has somehow magically refilled. It’s still empty. Fuck. You fumble in your pocket clumsily, trying to see if you have any spare change left. The contactless reader on the vending machine had broken back during autumn term, and still, nobody had come out to fix it. I’ve got to have change in here somewhere. Moving to your bag, you sift through the stacks of paper, books, notebooks, and pens, hoping against hope that you’ve got enough for just one more cup of shitty, over-brewed coffee. The taste may leave something to be desired, but the caffeine would be enough to keep you going. With Easter break just around the corner, your schedule has become somewhat unmanageable. Between classes, coursework deadlines, practice exam papers, regular essay deadlines, and presentation groups, not to mention revising, and it feels like you haven’t had a moment to spare in weeks. And that’s before taking into consideration your jobs.
I just need to focus on studying now and make it through until three. Then I can head over to the club, have a quick catnap before covering Jen’s shift from six, hustle on over for a late at the store from two until five, then I should be able to squeeze in…four hours before I need to make it to my study group tomorrow morning? Oh shoot, no - they moved that across campus, didn’t they? That’s gonna take me at least another thirty minutes to make it on time. Better set my alarm forty-five minutes earlier just to be safe.
Abandoning your quest for caffeine, you pick up your phone. Clicking through to your alarms, you set three new ones (just to be safe). As you pull up your calendar app, you can’t help the soft whimper that escapes from between your lips. Your schedule looks every bit as brutal as you had feared it would be. Only three more weeks, then it’s spring break. Just three more weeks, and I can have time to breathe. Even as you try to convince yourself, thoughts about overtime begin crowding in your head. Not to mention that elusive third job you’ve been trying to find to help make ends meet. Ok. This is ok. I’ll just…I’ll get through the next three weeks. I’ll work as many hours as I can over break.Once I have enough saved up to build my buffer back up, I can start looking for a new apartment. Well, studio. Fixing the boiler is gonna cost more than my deposit, and the weather isn’t going to stay cold for that much longer. It’ll be pretty bearable soon. And if I just sell ol’ rusty, I should at least get scrap value for her. “Just keep pushing.” It feels like you have said these words a thousand times over the last couple of years. I’ve got to be due some good luck soon. I can’t keep going like this. It’s a thought that brings you up short. Of course you will keep going like this. What’s the alternative? It’s been a long time since you wistfully pictured some white knight in shining armour wishing you off into the sunset. Sure, things have been…tough at times. But I make do. I can do this on my own.
It’s not like anyone else is gonna do it for me.
Eyes drooping, despite the uneasy feeling in your stomach - Is that nerves, or did I forget to have breakfast again? - you find yourself struggling to stay awake. By the third time you feel yourself lurching towards your stacks of papers and books, you decide a quick break to search further afield for caffeine may be in order. Oooh, maybe the vending machine in the lobby has restocked on energy drinks. Gathering your things, you make your toward the stairs. With so many exams and coursework deadlines coming up, the library had been growing busier and busier as the weeks had drawn on. There’s no way I’m going to get another table after this. You think mournfully, as you descend the stairs. Maybe if I just head to the club early, I can study in the staff room for a few hours. You pull your bag up higher on your shoulder, as you begin descending the final staircase. Oooh, there might be some granola bars left too. I’m pretty sure I left half a box behind… As you reach the halfway point, you yawn, a wave of exhaustion washing over you once more. Fuck me, I need to sleep . As you go to take your next step, your stomach lurches, your foot slipping off of the edge. Making a grab for the bannister with one hand, your other latches onto your bookbag, trying not to throw it at the person in front of you. Hands slipping, you feel a sharp pain shoot through your ankle, as you trip down the final four steps, landing in a heap at the bottom. You sit, stunned, as the sharp pain in your ankle begins to throb, your hands stinging from the impact. It’s the sight of your papers spilt everywhere that does it in the end. All of your notes are scattered across the entryway, with careless feet and clueless students already beginning to leave footprints on the precious paper. Fat tears stream down your cheeks, as you bit your lip, forcing down the painful sobs that want to break free. Mumbling apologies even you can barely hear, you cram the crumpled, dirty, and disorganised pages into your bag once more.As your fingers fumble within the depths of your bag, you find your phone. At least I didn’t break that. You choke back a laugh, as you try to hobble on your injured ankle. You can walk, but it’s painful. Looks like I’m gonna have to find the money for an uber after all. Giving the vending machine a miss - even that small luxury would be pushing it, if you’re going to need to pay for transport for a few days - you limp towards the rows of stone benches that line the pavement outside. Easing yourself down, you try to appear busy with your phone.No missed calls. No new messages.You pull up Grillby's number Me: [10.11] Morin GrillbaeMe: [10:11] How’s it goin? Me: [10:12] I hope you’re having a better day than I am. Forcing yourself to take a break, you snap a quick selfie to send. I look like a mess. Urg. At least I wasn’t wearing any makeup. Your face looks blotchy and clearly tear-stained, your cheeks a rather unattractive shade of red. As you go to click delete, your eyes flick to the top of the screen, a new message notification popping up. By the time you look back down, you realise your thumb has accidentally hit send. Of fucking course. Grillbae: [10.15] Good morning. I am quite well, thank you. I am sorry to hear that your day is not going well.Grillbae: [10.16] Are you safe? Can I call you? You reach up to rub at your temples, the tell-tale low throbbing of a tension headache beginning to pound behind your eyes. He really is too sweet for this world. How am I meant to explain this without sounding like a complete disaster? Me: [10.17] I’m fine! Sorry - didn’t meant to hit send.Me: [10:18] or to worry you. Just havin a shitty morning. Me: [10:19] Sorry for being a downer.Biting your lip, you watch as those little three dots appear, then disappear, then reappear. Grillbae: [10.22] Please never apologise for sharing how your day is going, or how you are feeling. You are never ‘being a downer’.Grillbae: [10.23] May I ask what brought you to tears? You can feel the tightness in your chest beginning to ease as you read over his messages. A small smile curls on your lips, as you recount your little trip. Grillbae: [10.28] Might I suggest a change of scenery may be in order? If it’s not too much trouble, meet me at the below address. I think I know what could help turn your day around. Pulling up the address, you see that it’s a little out of your way - maybe ten minutes in the wrong direction on a good day of power-walking - but the promise of spending time with Grillby after your awful start to the day seems more than worth it. Me: [10.33] Sounds great. See you soon!
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“You look terrible.”You pause in the doorway, unsure how to react. It isn’t exactly the greeting you had been hoping for. But it might just be worth it. You think, as you watch Grillby’s flames flicker from indigo to pale lilac. Is he…embarrassed? That’s just too cute! You hadn’t managed to make it further than half a block before giving in and calling an Uber. Despite your brief respite in the drive over to the bar, your ankle still throbs out a painful reminder. “Thanks. That’s the three little words every little girl dreams of someday hearing, Grillbae. You know just how to make me feel special and brighten up my day.” You grumble as you hobble your way inside the dimly-lit bar. A few regulars, you assume - all monsters, a small part of your mind notes - seem to be doing their best to avoid looking at you. Yet you can still feel the hairs on the back of your neck rising. Yeah…they’re definitely watching me. What kind of place is this, Grillby? “I only meant — that is to say, you-” Dropping the cloth he had been using to wipe down the bar top, you can feel a smile curling on your lips as he moves to your side. Hands clenching and reaching in small, aborted motions, he clearly wants to help but isn’t quite sure how to do so without risking further offence. “-do not look to be your usual self. Whatever happened?”Eyeing the nearest barstool, you aren’t sure if getting up there is the best idea for your ankle. Yeah…that’s gonna hurt like a bitch when I try to get down. Looking around the room, you spot an empty, much more comfortable looking booth on the far side of the room. You dismiss it. Tough luck. Grillbae’s clearly working. I’m here to spend time with him, not get comfy. I can revise just as well from a barstool as I can from a booth. “I’m just having one of those days.” You wince, as you haul yourself onto the nearest stool. It feels like your ankle is on fire, as you finally take your full weight off of it. Swinging your bag up onto your lap, you daren't put it on the pristine bartop. Stars know I hate it when people smudge the bar when I’m working. “I had a bit of a disagreement with some stairs. It’s nothing. Really!” Your smile, if the stillness of Grillby’s usual flickering flames is anything to go by, is more of a grimace than anything else. “That’s what I get for waiting too long between caffeine fixes.”The flickering of Grillby’s flames remains unusually slow. “Do you…rely on caffeine to get through the day often?” He asks hesitantly. You laugh. He makes it sound like I need a drink to get through the day. Geeze. Just because a girl needs a couple of extra-strong black teas to help stay awake through classes… maybe the odd 32oz energy drink for those really late night shifts… and the occasional pro plus when exam season is in full swing... “It’s really not that bad?” You wince as the words leave your mouth. “Well shit. When you put it that way… I swear it’s only to get through exam season. I can function like a semi-normal human being. Usually. Most of the time…” Silence stretches uncomfortably between you for a beat, then two. “Honest?” Yeah…even I don’t believe me on that one. “I’ve just got a lot on at the moment. I don’t have a lot of downtime between work, coursework, more work, homework, classes, group work…” You trail off, mentally running through your calendar. Shit. Did I double book a study group and group project for Thursday? Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Shaking your head, you try to focus back in the moment. “Sleep isn’t a luxury I can afford to indulge in too much when things get super busy. It’ll all even out in the end! I just need to get through the next couple of weeks, then…” Then what, huh? I need to stop lying to myself. I don’t have a plan for the holidays, do I? This isn’t all going to magically get better. “I can understand that. I, too, have faced times where self-care has had to come further down in my priorities than it should have, due to circumstances outside of my control.” Shaking your head, you peer up at Grillby as one warm, purple flamed hand gently rests against the back of your own. A bottle of water - still sealed, and blessedly cold - rests on a neat little coaster in front of you. “Just because I can understand, does not mean I have to like it. Pushing yourself too far, putting that much pressure on yourself…you will burn out.”Looking down, you can feel your cheeks flaring, a potent mixture of shame and obsternation rising in your chest. “We don’t all have the luxury of sitting back and taking things easy. Sometimes, if you stop-”“You may never get the chance to restart.” You let the silence fall heavily between you this time.
What was I thinking? Of course he knows better than me how hard things can be. We’ve all heard about how tough things could get in the Underground. If the rumours are even just a tiny bit true…
“I’m sorry. That was really insensitive of me. I didn't mean to sound like…that.” You can feel tears welling once more. I’m just so tired. I hurt. Everything aches. I want to forget everything, even if it’s just for a little bit. “Fuck me, I need to get out of my head.” You say under your breath, as you rub your eyes. Stars knows how I’m going to pull it together before work. “I believe I may be able to help with that.”Brow furrowing, your eyes snap back to stare at Grillby. He can’t possibly be offering… You eye him, taking in his calm demeanour. Purple-indigo flames flicker in a familiar rhythm, the small glasses perched on his face giving nothing away. “I thought you had a three date minimum before moving onto the fun stuff.”
Not that I would say no! Though…I’m not 100% sure if I would be much use in my current state.
You can admit to yourself that, while the promise of subspace makes you want to break down and beg for it, the process of actually getting there seems somewhat…less appealing right now. Though…I wonder how he’d do it. He doesn’t seem like the whips and chains type. Hmm. Fireplay would be a bit obvious. Maybe a bit of temporary branding? That would…be a whole new experience. You aren’t sure if the idea sounds all that appealing right now. “If our time together thus far has not counted as ‘fun’, I can only apologise for disappointing you.” “Oh no, I didn’t mean-” You stumble over your words, hands reaching out automatically to grab at Grillby’s rolled-up shirt sleeve as he goes to take a step back. In your haste, you can feel yourself teetering on your seat. Reflexively, your feet shoot out beneath you to steady yourself. The dull throb in your ankle turns into a sharp, overwhelming wave of pain. “Motherfucking FUCK!” You can feel tears streaming down your cheeks, as your ankle gives way. You flinch, expecting to go down hard. Yet as the seconds tick by, no fresh wave of pain takes hold, just the familiar, relentless throbbing remains. Opening your eyes, you realise that Grillby had reached out to catch you beneath your arms before you could fall any further. Leaning precariously over the bar, you can feel as he smoothly lifts you - That must be magic, right? Dude can LIFT - before settling you gently back on your seat. “Can you stay here for one moment?” Warm fingers — they really do feel like fingers through the flames. Only…not as solid? — gently rest against your head, as he waits for your answer. Wordlessly you nod. “Thank you. I will be but a moment.”
I’m such a fucking mess. Look at me. Can’t even keep it together long enough to have a normal fucking conversation. No wonder no one ever wants to stick around. Maybe he was right. I really am hopeless. Just another lost cause, taking away valuable time from people who actually deserve it.
“I’m going to pick you up now. Loop your arms around my neck. There you go. I’ll come back for your things.”
Warm. Smooth. Deep. Nice voice. Feels nice. Comfortable. Why is he being so nice to me? Must want something. Need to be careful. Can’t take advantage. Can’t risk owing too much before I know what it’s gonna cost later.
“That’s it. You sit here for me. Isn’t that more comfortable than the barstool?”You can feel yourself nodding. You aren’t sure if it’s your tears or the steady throbbing of your headache returning, but everything has taken on a distracting, fuzzy hue. “Looked comfy.” Your voice sounds faint, almost hazy to your ears. Why does everything feel floaty? Footsteps. Lots of them. Voices. You can’t quite make out who’s talking, let alone what’s being said. A door opens and closes. More footsteps - this time drawing closer. “I’ve got your bag, and your bottle of water. See? Still sealed. Can you take a drink of that for me, please?” Nice voice. Grillbae? Asking for nice things. Why is he so nice? “For you?” It comes out as a question, your voice sluggish to your own ears as you move to do as he says. I’ve missed feeling fuzzy. Everything’s been too sharp for too long. Too much. “Yes, for me. Thank you. Drinking enough water is a good basis for human self-care. It makes me happy to see you looking after yourself.”
Happy. That’s good. Making others happy means everything hurts less. I did good?
“...You are doing brilliantly. I had hoped we would be able to negotiate somewhat more before even attempting…”The happy, warm floaty feeling flickers, as his uncertainty filters through. “Sorry?” The whispered apology sounds more like a question. It brings him up short. “You have absolutely nothing to apologise for. This is poor planning on my part. I did not anticipate…” You can feel yourself shivering at the undercurrent in his tone. Did something wrong? Bad? Bad. Always mess things up. Bad me. Bad. Something uncomfortably warm wraps around you, holding your hands still. When did I start digging my nails in? Something - Grillby? - wraps more firmly around you, holding you still. “No more of that. As we did not have time to discuss limits, I am going to take things very gently. I will do my best to keep you safe, if you would like to relax and give up control for a little bit longer. I would not usually ask for consent with a partner already near subspace, let alone…but that is neither here nor there. Is that something you would like? Would you like me to be in charge for a while?” Give up control? To Grillbae? Yes. Yes please. Yes. Warm. Safe. Sexy. Safe. Kind. Safe. Warm. Safe. Safe. Safe. You can feel his chuckles reverberating through your body. Funny? “We are going to have quite the conversation about this later. For now, can you tell me what needs to get done today? Where you need to be later? I will handle the rest.”Trying to focus your thoughts feels like grasping at smoke. You find your mind wandering. A familiar, welcoming warmth presses against the back of your hand. Focus. “Homework. Work. Club?”“That’s good. Thank you. What time is your shift at the club?”“Seven?” It comes out as a question once more, but you can’t bring yourself to care. “Far. Walk? Ow... Bus?”“Or we could share a ride to the club. I was planning on visiting there myself. It would be no bother. How about food? Have you eaten yet today?”You think back. It feels like you’re searching through quicksand, unsure of when the last time was that you stopped to eat. Everything feels too comfortable. It’s nice. Warm. Kind of floaty. Just right. You don’t want to stop and think about things that are sure to have a wrong answer.“Food. When did you last eat?”You shake your head, tears of frustration beginning to well. You can’t remember. “Sssh. That’s ok. Thank you for trying. If you cannot answer, that is ok. Shake your head if you are unsure of something. Can you do that for me? Good girl.”
Good?… I’m good?
“Here are your notes. Can you begin looking through these for me? I will be back in ten minutes. The door will be open. If you need anything, just make a sound. I will hear you. Does that sound ok?” You nod once more. “Good girl.”Eyes scanning over the text, you can feel the calmness that has settled around you continue holding firm. Something begins to settle in your chest, as the words - familiar, no longer overwhelming - start to sink in. Good girl. Good girls can do this. A warm hand returns to your hair. You blink slowly. When did a burger appear in front of your revision notes? And fries? That’s not in my budget. You want to reach out for them. Not yours. Can’t afford. “Eat. These are for you.”You can’t seem to find the words to explain. You can’t bear the idea of taking advantage of this wonderful, kind person. “You aren’t taking advantage. I made them for you. There’s even a monster candy for dessert to help with your ankle. But first, you need to have some real food in your stomach. Can you do that for me?”Hesitantly, you nod. If that’s what he really wants… “It is. You’re being so good for me. Thank you for trusting me to keep you safe you while you let go. Here. Try this.” You can feel something hot resting lightly against your bottom lip. Your tongue darts out reflexively. Salty. Fluffy. Crisp. Before you know it, you have eaten three, four, five fries pressed against your lips. You can feel their warmth travelling down inside of you, settling in your stomach. So this is what it’s like to feel cared for. I had almost forgotten. “Do you need to change before going to work, or can you do so there?”You shake your head. “Would you like a shower before we set off? I have fresh towels.”
Naked. Together?
“No my dear. You aren’t in the right headspace for that right now. Let’s get you cleaned up.” The steady, rhythmic patter of warm water against your scalp is the next sensation you can remember feeling. You are sitting in a shower, gleaming glass and chrome surrounding you, as the faint scent of vanilla and sandalwood wash down the drain. Your hands still. How long have you been out of it?
Did I…did we…what did…
You force your hands still. What if you had made a fool of yourself once more? What if he doesn’t forgive you this time? What if, what if, what if. Turning the showerhead off, you reach for the nearby towel. So soft… Wrapping yourself in its fluffy embrace, you peer around for your belongings. A small stack of clean clothes - not yours, by close enough in size - sit on top of the toilet seat. Besides them, a note: Come to the bar when you are ready.You place the note down, already taking a step towards the door when you pause. Something is different. Wait…why isn’t my ankle still hurting? Bending down, you prod at the delicate joint. It should still be swollen and tender, yet it looks completely back to normal. Just like magic. Getting changed in record time, you find yourself rushing out of the bathroom and through what must be the attached apartment to the bar. Is this…where Grillby lives? Pushing the thought to one side, you make your way back into the bar. Empty. But why? “Ah, there you are! Back with us?” Warm hands brush against your forehead, indigo-violet peering into your eyes. A crackle of pleasure sounds from the tall elemental. “I thought it best to leave you to shower by yourself. It’s one thing to guide you through subspace without prior negotiation. It’s quite something else to take advantage of you to such an extent to see all of you without explicit permission.”“I’m so sorry.” The words run together, as you rush to apologise.“Why? It wasn’t something either of us intended to happen. I am just glad that you trusted me to guide you through it. I am sorry I did not notice you were so close, or I would have attempted to intervene sooner.” Close? You try to think back. But I never get into that headspace without some kind of sexual play first. It usually takes a fair bit of pain to get me anywhere near. “What happened?”Looking around, you can see abandoned drinks and places still scattered around the bar. When did everyone go? Surely he didn’t… “I thought it would be best to close the bar early, so we could continue somewhere safe without prying eyes, and without the presumption of taking you home with me.” Grillby explains, ushering you to sit at the bar once more. A fresh bottle of water is pressed into your hands. “I am not certain if it will have stuck with you, but you seemed to get through a fair amount of revision. You ate. You drank. You seemed content. And now, we shall share a ride to the club, so I might be permitted to keep an eye on you in case of any drop over the next few hours. Ideally, I would have liked for you to have had time for a nap, to have been on hand in case of any complications, but with the time constraints, I thought this the best course of action.” Guilt gnaws at the pit of your stomach. “You didn’t have to close up early for me. Shit. I’m costing you so much money right now, aren’t I? I’m so-”“Some things are far more important than money. Do not ever apologise for the choices others make. Those are not your responsibility.”“But it’s my fault-”“Do you think I did not enjoy our time together?”You look down, feelings of shame and doubt beginning to crowd in. “I mean…I didn’t exactly do anything for you…”“Oh my beautiful girl. You were so good for me. You went down so well. I couldn’t have asked for anything more exquisite.” You lean into his touch, as his familiar warmth cups your cheek.“But you didn’t…I mean, I don’t think you…unless I’m forgetting…”“Not everything is about physical release. Some things are far more satisfying than mere moments of pleasure. And you gave me one such thing this afternoon. For that, I thank you. And once you have had enough time to fully pass the potential drop stage…I would very much like to discuss our third date. And talking further about limits, desires, and expectations. If that still sounds amenable to you?”“Yes. There isn’t anything I would like to do more.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Hey. Would you mind dropping table seven’s drinks off for me? I don’t know where the hell the newbie has gone, but we’re backing up like crazy over here.”As you glance across the bar at Jen, your hands never stop moving. Saturday shifts are amongst the busiest of the week. They never fail to leave you feeling exhausted, but the tips make it worthwhile. Between the tips and the chance for a late-night hookup, Saturdays are the best. Despite being equally as busy, the juggling act of balancing classes, coursework and work makes Fridays that much more stressful. “Sure, no problem. Just gimme a sec to finish these. What am I taking over?” You smile at the customer in front of you, as you slide their drinks across to them. Even for a Saturday night, the place is heaving. Yet despite not having a moment to stop, you feel unusually relaxed. I swear, it’s like I’m still high from that afternoon with Grillbae. Your smile takes on a more fond edge, as you think back to those few, relatively short hours together. If you hadn’t been there yourself, you wouldn’t have believed it. Who would have thought? Subspace from just a few gentle words. Either I’m going soft, or he’s some kind of dom-ly magician. Even as the thought passes your mind, you dismiss it. He wouldn’t really have used magic to induce subspace. That’s not even a thing. Or is it, hmm? You thought it wasn’t possible without a heck of a lot of pain and a little bit of pleasure thrown in there. Now you’re just gonna dismiss the possibility of magic? Shaking your head, you finish wiping down your section of the bar, before spinning back to help Jen. He wouldn’t do that. Grillbae’s not like those other assholes. He’s nice. Sweet. An actual gentleman. You catch yourself biting at your lower lip, as yet another traterious thought crosses your mind. But…how well do I really know him? What do I really know about him? “One michelada, double-double hot sauce. One tall blackberry lemon smash, hold the rum. Oh! And a replacement ashtray.” Something about the order seems familiar, as you grab the tray from a harried-looking Jen. I need to stop looking to borrow trouble. So what if I haven’t dropped yet? Not everyone drops after a scene. Feeling good about myself doesn’t mean it’s freaking magic. I’m allowed to feel good. You try to convince yourself, as you slip out from behind the bar and into the crowd beyond. The two of you have been exchanging messages in the days since your impromptu session, but between your own busy schedule and the hours upon hours Grillby spends at his bar, you have been unable to find a time for that long-promised third date. Your hands itch instinctively to reach for your phone to check and see what latest messages he has sent, despite your phone being locked away safely in the staff room. He really is too good to be true. I mean…who apologises for not getting you to nap, when you’re the who who turns up all blotchy and lumpy and a complete mess? It’s no wonder… You pause, holding on tightly to the tray of drinks. It’s no wonder I’m considering breaking my own no dating rule for him. It’s the first time you’ve acknowledged the thought so blatantly. It makes something slick and uneasy yet not entirely unpleasant begin to squirm in your stomach. Is that what you really want? To try dating again? It’s been so long, yet it feels too soon. Stop. Borrowing. Trouble. He just wants a few casual dates. It’s not like he’s asking for a commitment, or anything even halfway serious. There’s no need to worry. We'll go on another date. Maybe two. Have some mind-blowing sex. Then... Then what?Shaking your head, you for your thoughts back to more comfortable, familiar territory. His flames felt so warm and safe. A little bit tickly. I wonder though…if the mood is right, could he leave behind delicious pink wealts and burns in all the right places? A safer, familiar warmth settles in the pit of your stomach, as the first tendrils of excitement take hold. Oh the possibilities…Will he always be that gentle but firm? Or does he have a more fiery side I haven’t seen yet? As you approach the table, you manage to squeeze through a gap in the crowds. Why does that purple smoke seem so familiar? As the thought crosses your mind, you slip an ashtray beneath the falling ash. “YOU! I KNEW YOU WOULD COME CRAWLING BACK. READY TO BEG FOR FORGIVENESS, I SEE!”“Oh no.” The whispered words escape you before you have registered who is there. Your eyes finally fall on the two monsters occupying the booth. Two familiar skeletons - one short, a wide grin splitting his cheekbones as he lounges back against the faux leather seat; the other tall, kneeling beneath the table, acting as a footstool for his Lord.“Your drinks.” You force yourself to give your best customer service smile, as you set the two drinks down gently atop two coasters. “back for another round?” You glance down, frowning at Mutt’s cocky smirk. “I don’t like to go back for sloppy seconds. Especially when they don’t have permission to be out playing in the first place.” You gather the empty glasses quickly. Don't stop. Don't linger. Just keep moving. Just get back to the bar. They can't do anything to me here.“no bands this time?” You can feel two sets of eyes on you now, your skin crawling from the intensity of it.“Of course not. I’m working. If you’ll excuse me.” As you turn to leave, a bony hand shoots out to grasp your ankle. Gasping, you barely catch the tray in time to stop it from landing on Mutt. “we should talk. when do you get off?” His burnt orange eyelights lock onto you, the dim lighting in the club making his golden fang twinkle.
Fuck me. Why do I have to go for the badboy type? Down girl. Be strong. You’re better than this.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not looking to be a homewrecker. And poly isn’t exactly my thing. Good luck finding someone tonight.” Pulling yourself away, you glance up at the shorter skeleton once more, before looking away.
Pull yourself together. Just a few more hours, and you can get back to texting Grillbae. It’s about time we set up a date, once and for all.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Man, I am tired.” Stretching your arms above your head, you can feel a yawn threatening to break out.
I wonder how long I’ve got left.
Feet aching, eyes sore, you’re glad for the lull that finally seems to have fallen at the bar.
Even for a Saturday night, we’ve been absolutely rammed.
Over those first few hours of your shift, you had kept an eye on Mutt and Sans’s table, watching for any overt red flags. As the hours had drawn on and the turnover of customers had remained just as relentless, you had found yourself looking their way less and less frequently.
I wonder if they’ve left yet? It’s got to be getting late.
You think as you duck through the staff-only entrance to grab another case of water. Your hands itch to reach for your phone.
Stupid rules.
You know that isn’t fair. If you had your phone on you during your shift, chances are, you would get distracted messaging Grillbae all night long.
As you make your way to the stockroom and back, you take the chance to pop your head into the staffroom.
How is it almost 2am already? Jeeze. The late-late shift must be running late. Hopefully, Grillbae won’t be too mad that I haven’t messaged him all evening.
No matter how understanding he has been since your first little texting mishap, some small part of you can’t help but worry that it’s only a matter of time before you manage to find it. That one, final thing that makes the other shoe drop, and pushes Grillby to finally show his less gentlemanly side.
That’s not fair. There’s not one single, ungentlemanly thing he’s done around me. Or said. Or even hinted at. Is it really that hard to believe he’s just a nice guy?
Sliding back behind the bar, you heft the unopened water bottles beneath the back counter. You take a moment to grab one for yourself, glad for the lull in customers that appears to have finally overtaken the bar.
I wonder if Grillbae is still up? Maybe I could call him on the walk home.
Plan beginning to form in your mind, you lean against the bartop. “Now. Where the heck has Jen gone?” Scanning the room, your eyes drift between groups of patrons. This late at night, most have already made their way through to private rooms with their chosen partners. A cute human couple seems to be making their way out of the bar finally. A throuple - a beautiful cat monster, with a sweet middle-aged lesbian couple, all three regulars - are getting hot and heavy in one of the booths.
Good for them! They’ve been trying to catch her eye for weeks.
Unscrewing the top of your bottle, your eyes continue to wander.
Single dude. Single dude. Is that…Spout over there?
You squint, trying to peer into the back corner. A tendril of guilt wraps around your chest. You haven’t thought of the sweet spider monster in some weeks.
Nope. Definitely not him. His arm-hair wasn’t that silver. Another single dude. Two skeletons and a fire monster.
You choke on your water. You feel frozen in place. Forcing yourself to remain still, your eyes slide back.
It can’t be.
But it is. Sans. Mutt. Grillby. It feels like your brain is stuck on bluescreen mode. Do they
…know each other? Why else would they be talking? But how…
You watch, transfixed as Grillby slides into the booth opposite Sans. No longer able to see his face, you get a clear view as Mutt stands, sitting beside the shorter skeleton for the first time all night. Your mind is empty, even as you can feel your heart trying to beat outside of your chest. Do they
know each other? Are they friends? More? But why. How…
Cheeks burning, you start, as something cool runs down your cheeks. When did you start crying?
That…that doesn’t mean…
Wiping roughly at your eyes, you can hear San’s distinct laugh across the room. Something heavy settles in the pit of your stomach. “Oh.”
“Hey. Are you ok?”
A familiar hand lands on your shoulder. You jump, eyes darting away from the three familiar monsters. You feel sick. Jen’s worried gaze meets your own. You try to force a weak smile onto your lips. You fail.
“Shit. Did someone try something again? Want me to call Teddy?”
A weak laugh forces its way out of your mouth, as Jen puts herself between you and the empty counter.
She may be a flake, but Jen’s good people. I’m lucky to have a friend like her.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Just a misunderstanding. Could…”
You hesitate. No matter how many favours you have done for others, you still feel reluctant to ask for one in return.
“What do you need?” Her voice, so carefully gentle as though trying to soothe a cornered animal, brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes. You reach up to rest your hand on top of hers.
“Could you cover for me, until the next shift turns up? It should be any minute. I need…” You trail off.
What do I need?
Your eyes instinctively feel drawn back to where Grillby is sitting, his impeccable suit-clad back still turned to you. Just a few, short minutes ago, the answer would have been simple. You need Grillbae. Needed. Need?
I don’t need anyone. I just need…
“I just really, really need to get laid.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Are you sure? It’s getting a bit late, isn’t it?”
You send Jen a watery smile, as you slip out from behind the bar. “Trust me. This is exactly what I need. I’ll see you in class on Monday.” Making your way back through the staff only door, you send one last glance back into the bar.
I just need to forget about him. I should have trusted my gut. When something seems too good to be true, it is.
“Stupid. I should have learnt by now.” Your hands instinctively reach for your wrists, nails digging firmly into the soft flesh until the sharp sting of skin breaking brings you back into the present. You can feel something beginning to ease in your chest, as the familiar pain begins to set in.
I just need to get out of my head for a bit. Then I can…things can get back to normal.
You make your way into the staff room. Kicking off your more comfortable platform shoes, you pull out something far less comfortable. A pair of perfect, shining black stilettos. Your feet throb already from hours of standing and moving. Ignoring the familiar ache, you slip them on. Leaving your bag and phone in place, you close your locker behind you, before taking a moment to readjust yourself in the mirror by the door. You try to straighten a few flyaway hairs, taking a moment to tug your corset more firmly in place once more. Glancing at the clock, you wince at the time.
That’ll have to do. If I leave it any later, there won’t be anyone left.
Before you know it, you’re at the podium at the entrance of the club. This close to closing time, there’s no one there. Ducking behind the little desk, you rummage through the wristband options.
Green for open and looking to play.
You snatch one up without hesitation. Your eyes linger on the purple, reserved for those in existing dynamics who are open for negotiations.
Don’t be stupid. You’re not his.
Your fingers linger hesitantly above the bands, before finally reaching for a second one. It isn’t the type of band you would usually select. Black.
No monsters.
It makes soemthing in you squirm uncomfortably, even as another part of you urges you on.
No more bad luck. Not tonight.
You slip both bands on as you make your way deeper into the club. Careful to keep your head turned away as you pass by the doorway to the bar, you make your way into one of the quieter public playrooms. Glancing around, you take in the few remaining patrons. The furniture all remains empty, wiped clean of all signs of earlier play. Your eyes drift between the St. Andrews cross, past the stocks, and over the array of padded benches and thrones. The thought of even this many eyes on you while in such a vulnerable position makes your skin crawl.
There’s got to be a few options available. Not all of the good ones will be taken, surely?
Stepping further into the room, you take another look. Scattered couples dotted here and there, gentle fingers running through long hair, petting soothingly, telling their partners how good they have been. How beautiful they look. How well they handled themselves.
I wish that could be me.
You wish you had thought to bring your water with you. Mouth dry, hands awkwardly grasped together, at least having a drink with you would have given you something to fiddle with. Slowly, you make your way across the room and into the next.
Keep looking. There’s bound to be someone.
More couples. The sweet human-cat-human throuple from earlier. You catch Teddy’s eye across the room, and awkwardly look away. Part of you wants to hide your wristband in shame, while another part wants to explain to him.
I’m not a bigot. I’m not speciest. I just need something familiar tonight. I can’t handle any more surprises. I can’t take one more new thing. I just need to get out of my head for a little bit, until I can pull the pieces back together and make everything alright again.
“I haven’t seen you here before.”
His voice is low and smooth. Full lips twist into a smirk, as bright blue eyes slowly look you up and down. Something about him sets your teeth on edge. His voice lacks a familiar, smokey warmth. His lips look too plush. His eyes…
There’s something about those eyes that isn’t quite…
“Can I get you a drink? Or are you looking for something a bit stronger?”
Oh my stars. Did he just flex when he said that?
You bite back a laugh, as he takes another step closer to you. “Funny. I haven’t seen you here before, either. Are you new to the scene, or just new to the area?” You motion towards one of the empty seats with a smile.
“Just passing through. It looks like I got here after all of the fun is over for the night. Unless…” A hand slides smoothly onto your knee, slowly inching its way up towards the hemline of your skirt. Flinching back instinctively, you can feel his hand holding your leg in place. The strength of his grip feels promising. Just a little bit more pressure and he could leave a ghost of a bruise on your pale, delicate skin.
This is what I need. Something familiar. Something easy.
You force yourself to relax beneath his grip. His fingertips stroke against your skin, petting you softly through the holes in your fishnet stockings. You can feel your eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. How long has it been?
Too long.
“Limits?” You ask, your voice taking on a breathy edge.
His smile really isn’t that bad…
You think, as your eyes fall back to his smirk.
“I prefer not to limit my time and pleasure with my partners.” His wandering hands inch closer to the hem of your skirt. “Where’s the fun in spelling everything out before you begin?”
You reach down, halting his progress. “No blood. No permanent marks. Let’s just say no bodily fluids at all. Condoms are a must at all times. No marks on my face or neck, or below my wrists or ankles. And…” You hesitate for a moment, your thoughts circling. “No name-calling. No pet names. No endearments.”
I don’t want to even think about them while we’re playing.
He chuckles. “Anything else?”
You shake your head.
I’m asking for too much, aren’t I? Who would want to play with such a demanding partner? I didn’t even ask what he likes or wants. How selfish is that? No wonder…
A hand reaches out for you, pulling you unsteadily to your feet.
“I said, are you coming?”
Wordlessly, you nod.
I hope so.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Strip.” You tense, freezing in place. It’s a familiar command, yet somehow, it feels wrong. Stop being stupid. This is normal. This is what you prefer! It’s Grillby’s approach that is weird. Not this. You berate yourself, as fleeting thoughts of a familiar warm touch and softly-spoken words of praise flash through your mind. Your fingers feel slow and clumsy, as you reach around to grasp the laces on your corset. You fumble with the laces, fingers scrabbling to undo the knot. He huffs impatiently, as he retreats to examine the toys lining the wall. Blunt nails tug more firmly, trying to loosen the smooth, black leather lace. Just stay calm. You’ve done this a thousand times. Stop it, before you really start freaking yourself out. You take a shuddering breath, as you press your palms flat against your hips. In. out. In. Out. Try again. A familiar crack reverberates through the room. You hold your breath, eyes zooming in on where your soon-to-be partner is standing. You haven’t played with a crop since your session with Mutt. Maybe this isn’t the best idea if I want to keep my mind off of certain things. “Could…” You clear your throat, trying again, this time louder. “Could we use something else, please? I’m not really feeling crops right now.” The laugh that greets you leaves your cheeks burning uncomfortably. Embarrassment rises in the pit of your stomach, as he replaces the simple, basic black crop with a narrow shafted flapper crop. He swings it against his palm, the swish and resulting crack sounding that much louder.“You can’t be serious. I thought only genuine kinksters came to these kinds of clubs, not vanilla wanna-be cosplayers.” You want to tell him where he can stuff his stupid, childish baiting. You know walking out is the safest option. Refusing to follow basic requests at this early stage is a huge, neon red flag. Yet the words catch in your throat. Three little words keep circling in your head, rooting your feet in place.
I need this.
You look away, unable to hold his gaze. Your hands fall to rest against your thighs. You’re still fully dressed, only your heels kicked off by the door. The cold, tiled floor feels good against your aching feet. You focus on the sensation, as heavy, booted footsteps draw closer.
What if I can’t do better than this?
Your breathing becomes uneven, as you struggle to draw in deeper, uneven breaths. Your fingers clench against your skirt, digging into the fabric. You can’t force your gaze away from the crop. His words don’t register as anything more than a low hum.
What if this is all I’m good for? What if he was right all along, and I really am broken and useless and worthless?
You blink as the crop finally moves out of your line of sight. Broad hands — strong, calloused, and unpleasantly sweaty — wrap around first one wrist, then the other, drawing your hands up and together. He smiles at you - a barely-there twist at the corner of his lips - before drawing you forward, towards the only unpadded bench in the room. You don’t resist.He positions you alongside the bench, facing the dark painted wooden frame. Before you can continue removing your clothes, he pushes a foot between yours, pushing your legs apart as he presses your hands and forearms forward to rest on the bench. The familiar, faint touch of the crop drags up from one ankle, across the back of your stocking-clad leg, and over the curve of your bottom. It feels both awkward yet close to familiar, as you lean, presenting your ass, your hair falling down to keep your face from view.The low thrum of excitement and nerves war in the pit of your stomach, each vying for dominance. Footsteps draw away, before returning again. You remain unmoving in place, making sure to hold the position he had moved you into.
I can be good.
Thick fingers return to your clasped hands, pulling them apart. You shift, trying to redistribute your weight without moving from your position. He tugs you forward, manoeuvring you so that your forearms rest more firmly against the unforgiving wood, your stomach pressing against the rounded edge of the bench. A pair of cuffs - cold, metal, unexpected - snap into place in quick succession, encasing one wrist, clipping onto the bench, and then closing firmly around your other wrist. You start, trying to pull away on instinct, before forcing yourself still once more.
Stop it. You can be good. You just need to try harder.
You spread your legs, trying to get comfortable in this new position. Even fully clothed, you feel uncomfortably exposed. Peering through your hair, you track him as he returns to the wall of toys.
If I can just show him that I can be good, everything will be ok.
His hand - no, it has to be the tip of his crop - returns, flipping up the fabric of your skirt to expose your simple, lacy black boyshorts beneath. Your eyes flutter closed, as a single finger runs down the fabric, starting at your tailbone and dipping lower, lower, moving across the warm, damp fabric. A disappointed tut has your eyes springing back open.“Such a slut. We haven’t even started, and you’re already wet. You won’t be needing these.” Cold air meets your hot flesh, sudden and unexpected. You try to figure out what has happened. You didn’t feel the familiar tug of fabric being pulled down your legs, nor the less welcomed sound and feel of of lace being pulled taunt before ripping. Your world narrows down to a single, sharp point on your right thigh. A cold, sharp, single point of pressure, the likes of which you haven’t felt in quite some time. That you have never - would never - choose to feel.You crane your neck around. Your underwear lays discarded on the floor, neatly cut into pieces. You can’t hear yourself think over the pounding in your chest. “Yellow.” The word is out of your mouth before it even occurs to you to say it. Hands clenching, you can feel the unrelenting press of metal against your wrists as the too-tight cuffs pinch the delicate skin beneath. You close your legs, forcing more of your weight onto your forearms as you attempt to pull away from that single, all-consuming point. He steps away. The ragged up and down of your chest begins to slow. Footsteps go. Footsteps return. Damp fingers catch on your hair. Your eyes shoot up to meet shining blue. Had they looked so harsh in the dim club light? The soft whisper of a satin blindfold slips over your eyes, sealing you in darkness, and gentle hands card through your hair. Petting the silken strands, they worm in deep, twisting against your scalp as he grabs a handful of hair. Hot, wet breath brushes against the shell of your ear.“Safewords are for pussies and cucks. Real dominants don’t have to listen to what a fucktoy has to say.”A knee forces its way between your thighs, spreading them wide. The air whooshes out from between your lips, stealing your breath as your weight falls from your forearms to your chest. The uncomfortable, unexpected drag of leather against flesh makes you cringe.“R-” Before the scream can leave your mouth, something hard and round is forced between your lips. Pushing against it with your tongue, you can feel leather straps biting into your cheeks, forcing the ballgag in behind your teeth and bulging out of your mouth. You choke on your own saliva and panic. Forcing yourself to take deep breaths through your nose, you shift once more, trying to regain your balance, ready to kick back. Hot. Thick. Wet. You freeze, as something begins to drip down your stocking-clad thigh, seeping through the fabric. It takes a moment for the pain to register.“Good choice.”Hands tear at your stockings, ripping the fabric away in one, two, three pulls. A hand pulls the waistband of your skirt taunt, before it falls away, landing around your feet to the resounding, tell-tale sound of fabric being slit in two.You hold yourself perfectly still, as static takes over your mind. Rough fingers pull at your corset, before you feel it coming loose, one jagged slice at a time. You clench your hands rhythmically, feeling the bite of the metal cuffs as you open and close, open and close. You feel one, two, three, four sharp, haphazard nicks against your skin, as he impatiently cuts his way through the laces that hold your corset together.
Still. Silent. Safe.
The mantra circles in your mind, over and over as you try to block out the movement behind you. Without the use of your eyes, it feels like every touch and every sound is that much more intense.
Still. Silent. Safe.
You can feel the woodgrain of the bench, pressing a pattern against your forearms. A familiar whistle and snap resound through the room, before the sharp sting registers on the meat of your left thigh.
Still. Silent. Safe.
Two. Five. Eight. Fifteen. You force yourself to breathe, to focus on each inhale and exhale. To keep those three, all-important commands at the forefront of your mind, as new marks begin littering your thighs, your calves, and the curve of your ass.
Still. Silent. Safe.
Gentle hands cradle your foot, stroking the soft, sore sole.Whistle. Crack.Teeth bite through your lower lip. Hot, wet blood floods your mouth, as you force down your scream. Whistle. Crack. Stroke. Whistle. Crack. Stroke. You’ve never felt the sting of a crop on the archs of your feet before. It’s overwhelming. All-consuming. Indescribable. If it weren’t for the telltale sound, you would swear your feet were having lines of fire drawn on them. Each brush of his fingers seems to prolong the sparks of pain, drawing them out and making the ache feel that much deeper.
Stay still.
Footsteps fade away. He paces, up and down, up and down. Is he watching you? Is he trying to get a better view? Or is he deciding what to do next? You remain in place, breathing in and out, in and out. Footsteps begin drawing close once again.
Keep silent.
Your face is a mess of tears and blood. The stinging fades to more of a dull ache. Each little cut and nick throbs in time with the thump-thump-thump in your chest. Something cold presses against your chin, forcing your head up. A hand tangles in your hair, wrenching it further back. You press into his touch, doing your best to obey his unspoken commands.
Be safe.
It’s thicker than the crop, yet still no more than a fingers width across. His hand remains tangled in your hair, forcing you to arch you back as he moves behind you. The shifting strain in your arms and legs brings a fresh wave of pain, as muscles tense and each mark makes itself known once more.
Stay still.
When this one lands, it reaches from your right shoulder to your left hip. It’s a deeper impact, less like a sting, and more like a kick. It steals the breath from your lungs, as tha pain radiates out. You can feel each hit last that much longer. As they begin to overlap, you could swear it is like being kicked over and over and over, past bruising, past the point of sensation.
Keep quiet.
As his hand releases your hair, your head lolls, falling forward onto your arms. Some small part of your mind screams that this should hurt, that it should bring you to tears. You feel numb.A rough hand reaches between your legs. Sweat and blood slick the way, as cruel fingers pinch and twist and claw. He sets a steady pace. Relentlessly, he circles your nub, teasing around the slowly engorging flesh. It feels like something inside of you clicks out of place. A familiar slickness begins to join the blood and sweat. A fresh wave of tears slide silently down your cheeks. Something dry and warm presses further back, trying to force its way inside. It retreats. The sound of someone spitting, before wetness lands on your puckered hole. Still his fingers circle. You can feel the first wave building. You begin to tremble.“Bad toy.”The hand, wet with your juices, leaves. In one smooth motion, you feel it forcing its way inside. Three fingers cone together, pressing relentlessly against your hole. As he forces his way in, he spreads his fingers wide, twisting and probing, forcing your walls apart faster than you have felt before. You can feel your cunt fluttering at the pain, signals confused and overwhelmed at the sudden switch from pain to pleasure to pain. A hand presses against your mound, holding you in place as he forces his fingers in deep into your ass. Past the first knuckle, down to the second.
Be still.
Your limbs tremble, even as you stay limp and boneless in his hold. Fingers push from the inside and out. The pain in your ass becomes a confused tangle, as you can feel pressure pushing against your bladder, making you feel painfully full and helpless.
Keep quiet.
“Disgusting.”One last, hard push against your bladder forces your hand. Hot urine begins its steady descent, dripping down your legs, pooling on the floor beneath you. Fingers withdraw from you, as he moves away from the growing mess. He wipes his hand on your back, smearing your fluids against the rapidly darkening marks on your skin.“I should make you lick the floor clean. You filthy, pathetic slut.”A zip opens. Something is unwrapped. A condom? His weight drapes across your back, pushing you down and against the bench. Fingers dig into your hip, reopening the cut in their haste, as his other hand guides his length into your pussy. “You’re a sick fuck. You know that?” His words feel hot against the shell of your ear. “You let anyone do this to you. You don’t even make them work for it, do you?” His hips snap against yours, driving him in to the hilt. He feels short, but thick. Without being able to see, it feels like you are being split in two by a soda can. “Didn’t even have to buy you a drink before you bent over for me. Pathetic.”Your hands feel cold. Your feet are numb. All you can truly feel is the unforgiving stretch and burn as he pushes in, again and again.“Should have brought my phone with me. Stupid bitch made me check it in. Then I could have given you something to remember me by. Still. I can make sure to leave a few reminders you can keep for the weeks to come.” A hand wraps around your throat. His thrusts become erratic. Short. Sharp. Deep. Still, you stay silent. Still, you remain limp. He pulls out with a grunt. Something hits the floor, before the wet sound of skin on skin fills the room. You focus on his panting and grunting as he draws close. Hot cum splatters across your face. Fingers smear it against your skin, rubbing it into your hair, your cheeks, your stretched-wide lips.Footsteps, moving away. A zipper. Footsteps, fainter now. Something clicks. Another toy? A camera? No, he said he didn’t have his phone. Could it be, the door at last?You remain still, listening. Listening. Are those footsteps in the distance? Or is that just your heartbeat echoing in your ears? The seconds drag on, turning into minutes. You lose track as the minutes stretch out. The static in your mind remains.
Stay safe.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Be quiet. Keep still. Stay safe. Be quiet. Keep still. Stay safe.
You don’t know how long those words have been drowning out the rest of the world for you. Still, you strain to hear any tell-tell sign of his returning footsteps.
I didn’t even get his name.
It feels like you have been focusing for hours, yet you realise you must have been losing time. Footsteps come and go in the distance; some heavy, some barely there. Each time, it sets your heart pounding in your chest. You can feel fluids beginning to dry and crust on your legs, your arms, your face. Your jaw aches around the unforgiving ballgag.
When did it get so cold?
You can hear the distant hum of something drawing closer. A hoover, perhaps?
Why is the cleaning crew here already? They don’t start until morning.
You wish that he had at least removed the blindfold before leaving. You laugh. I wish he had and hadn’t done a lot of things. I wish I had, too. You don’t hear their approach. It feels like they have teleported between one blink and the next. You flinch back from the sudden, bright light. Warm hands - no, paws - tilt your head back to check your eyes. You can’t focus. When did Teddy get here? Your gaze slides past him, to the now open door. A cleaning cart sits abandoned by the open doorway, another security guard’s wide back blocking the corridor from view. How many people… “Hmph!” You let out a muffled cry, as your wrists finally fall free. Warm paws rub at the raw skin, trying to chase away the lingering numbness. You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze again.“I’m going to remove the gag now.” Teddy waits for you to acknowledge his words, before slowly moving. He makes sure to stay in your line of sight at all times.A wave of relief washes over you, followed quickly by a wave of shame. It’s just Teddy. I’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s just Teddy. I know him. Uncomfortably warm paws rest on the curve of your jaw, as the buckle falls away from the back of your head. They rest there for a moment, warming your clammy skin.“This might hurt a bit.” Teddy warns, as he gently eases the ball from between your teeth. How long have you been clenching them? Everything feels like a blur. Between one blink and the next, you find yourself in a familiar room.hey must have moved me to bosslady’s office. You blink slowly, cheek against the soft fabric of a chaise, laying flat on your stomach. Everything feels stiff and sore. Unease claws at the pit of your stomach. You try to sit, to see who is in the room with you. A cry escapes from between your lips, pain jolting throughout you. “You’re safe. It’s just me and Coco here.” Teddy’s familiar voice makes something settle in you. There’s something about his voice - is he growlier than usual? Has he always had that edge to his tone? - that both soothes and sets you on edge.“What happened?” You croak. It feels like you’ve been gargling glass. Soon, a bottle comes into your line of sight. Still sealed. You watch as paws carefully twist it open, holding it out to your lips.“You kept saying no doctors. No hospital.” Coco speaks up for the first time. “Even when bosslady offered to pay.” The unspoken question hovers between you.
I can’t. Not now.
You lower your gaze.“The healer on duty last night was still around. They did their best to heal anything that could have taken a turn for the worse, but didn’t want to do more without verbal confirmation you were happy with magic being used on you.” Teddy explained. “We’ve got some monster food and candy here that should take care of most of the damage, if that’s something you would be comfortable with.” Wordlessly, you push a hand out from beneath the blanket. Some small part of your mind realises you are still naked beneath the soft fabric. “Please.” Steady hands move to help you sit up. Your back no longer feels like it is on fire, but the ache is deep and sharp. That’s gonna leave a mark. You can’t bring yourself to look at either of them, as Coco helps you settle back on the chaise. This is all my fault. What was I thinking? “Bosslady has pulled the tapes of everyone who went in and out last night. They’re not going to get away with this.” Coco says softly, as she hands you several wrapped candies, a mini chocolate bar, and a sandwich. The bread tingles against your fingers. It reminds you of popping candy, sparking against your skin with little warm pops and cracks. “Can…” You trail off, setting the food against your blanket-covered lap. Words fail you. A paw slowly comes into your line of sight, clearly telegraphing their every move, before coming to rest against your hand. “Eat. It will help.” Physically, maybe. You can feel tears beginning to well. A laugh catches in your throat. Warm arms wrap around you, holding you tight as the floodgates open.“I’m sorry.” You manage to croak out between sobs. I’m sorry for being such a mess. I’m sorry for taking up your morning. I’m sorry for causing so much trouble. I’m sorry for making such a stupid, amateur mistake. I’m sorry. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Coco’s steady voice feels like a lifeline, as she gently wipes away the tears from your cheeks. She presses the chocolate bar into your hands once more. Tentatively, you begin to nibble on one corner. Warmth begins to slowly spread, radiating down and out. Silence falls between you, as you slowly work your way through the magical food.“Could you…” Taking a deep breath, you try again. “Could you help me get out without anyone else seeing? I can’t deal with…that…right now.”
I just need to get home. Then I’ll be safe. Then I can…Think.
“I don’t-”“Of course. If that’s what you want.”You glance up, as Coco talks over Teddy. Neither looks happy. I can live with that, if they just help me get out of here without anyone seeing. If they don’t see, I can…I can move on. It can be like this never happened. “Thanks Coco. I really appreciate it.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
This is fine.
It’s nearly midday on Monday, and you haven’t left the safety of your bed since returning home in the early hours of Saturday. Other than short trips to the bathroom, wrapped in every blanket you could find in your cramped studio apartment, you’ve been holed up amongst rumpled sheets and empty water bottles. Your phone - at least I remembered to plug it in - has been lighting up with text messages and missed calls from the store, classmates, study group mates, Grillby, and the club. You should have been in class hours ago. Heck, between the store and the club, you’ve missed at least three shifts.
This is fine.
You watch, as your phone vibrates closer to the edge of your bedside table. Another text from Grillby. You resist the urge to turn your phone over.
Be quiet.
You’re tempted to risk going into your overdraft ordering food, but you’re not sure you could bring yourself to answer the door even if you did order something. Who knows who could be on the other side of the door? The risk doesn't seem worth it.
Keep still.
You know you can’t afford to miss any more classes, let alone work. But after that first night, when your neighbours banging on the wall woke you from screaming nightmares, you haven’t been able to bring yourself to sleep.
Stay safe.
The faint buzzing of your phone draws your attention again. Reaching out blindly, you grab it. Irritation rises unpleasantly in your throat. Why isn't he getting the fucking hint? I don't want to talk. “I’m really not in the mood to talk right now. Take the fucking hint.” You croak. When was the last time you had something to drink? No wonder I feel like shit. “I’m sorry. I’ll try calling another time.”You freeze. Pulling your phone away, you glance at the screen. Please tell me I did not just curse out my boss. Eyes slipping closed, you raise the phone once more. “I am so sorry about that. I thought you were someone else.” The excuse sounds weak to your ears. Please, please don’t be calling to fire me. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call in yesterday. And for all of the trouble I caused." I must have set everyone back by hours. Cleaning crew, security, overtime hours...fuck. "I'll make it up to you. I know it’s asking a lot, but please, don’t…” Please don’t tell anyone. Please don’t fire me. Please don’t make things any worse. “Enough of that.” You can feel your breath catching in your throat. You close your eyes, biting back your tears. This is it. Maybe I can...I can defer a year. Pick up a full-time job or two until autumn classes start back up. Maybe...Maybe they won't tell any other local clubs? If I'm not blacklisted, I can always try and get another gig.“Nobody expected you to come in after what happened. And no one blames you. That was not your fault.”You shake your head. “I should have known better. I’m not an amateur.”“We all misjudge someone at one point or another. If anything, I’m the one who should be apologising. It happened at my club. What happened to you…it shouldn’t have happened. But it did. It was fucked up, and it shouldn’t have happened. But it’s the nature of what we do. These things are going to happen. Not because we aren’t careful. Not because we forget to use safewords, or take unnecessary risks. But because there is always going to be someone out there - some fucked up, selfish asshole - who thinks that their wants and desires matter more than safe, sane, consensual play. I am sorry we didn’t catch him. I can assure you that if he sets foot in any club within the city again, he will be reported. We won’t let him hurt anyone like that again.”
If you can find him. If he returns. If I agree to press charges. If. If. If.
“I can’t go to the police.”“We have clear shots of his face, staff willing to give statements, photos of how the room looked-”“I can’t. ” It hurts to say it. The silence that falls on the other end of the phone hurts even more. She’s going to say it’ll be my fault. If he does it again. If someone else gets hurt. It’s may fault if I don’t… “Then you won’t. We’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that.”
You can’t promise that.
Silence falls awkwardly between you. For the first time in days, you realise just how hungry you are. “Um, if you weren’t calling about the missed shifts…” Please, please say you weren’t calling to fire me. “With everything that happened, I thought you might like to switch a few shifts. We’re about to do a big stock take; drinks, all tableware, toys and equipment, everything in the club. We could really do with just one person handling everything. I’m looking to pay triple time, as you won’t be able to earn any tips while you’re doing admin work. You can work the hours whenever you want; we just need everything done in the next month or so. How’s that sound?”“I-yes. Please. Thank you. That. That sounds great. If you’re sure?”“I’m sure. How about you come in sometime this afternoon, and we can run through the basics so you can get started? Just track your hours as you go; we trust you.”Fear clenches in the pit of your stomach. “T-today?”“Today.” You’ve never heard bosslady sound quite so gentle. Yet that same, familiar no-nonsense edge is still there.
You can do this. Just say yes. Don’t be stupid, you aren’t going to get another chance like this.
“If it helps - nobody else knows. Teddy. Coco. Dan - he’s the other security guard who was doing rounds with Teddy. And Niamh - she’s the cleaner who found you. That’s it. And nobody else has to know unless you want them to.”It feels like a lot of people, yet you know it could be so much worse. Pushing down your unease, you force yourself to respond.“Thank you.”“There’s nothing to thank me for.”
There really, really is. You don't have to do this.
“I…I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”“I’ll be waiting by the staff entrance for you. Send me a text when you’re nearly here. You don’t have to do this alone.”
I…really don’t this time, do I?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Have a great evening. Next!” You can feel the smile pulling unnaturally on your lips. You’ve been forcing yourself to smile at customer after customer for hours. You’ve been on your feet since a little after two, working your way steadily through the tail end of the mammoth stock take. It has taken the best part of a week and is showing no signs of ending. The time away from customers has been helping your nerves, but you are already starting to feel pinch caused by a lack of tips and limited overtime. Just a couple of hours covering the podium can’t be that bad. You tell yourself, as you greet another regular with a forced smile and an array of glowing wristbands to choose from. If I can show bosslady I can handle this, I can show her that I can handle a couple of bar shifts on top of everything else. Things wouldn’t feel quite so tight, if not for your other job temporarily closing for refurbishment. Ken had emailed everyone to let them know that while they are still paying out the next two week’s worth of regular shifts — better than nothing — but not the shifts that you would usually cover outside of your contracted hours. Unfortunately for you, that makes up the majority of your hours. Add in upcoming coursework deadlines, midterm exams drawing ever closer, and sleepless nights filled with a faceless presence and overwhelming sense of wrong, and it is starting to feel like you’ve been running on empty for too long. Not to mention the overwhelming guilt that churns uncomfortably in your stomach each time your phone lights up. He’s still sending messages? I just…I can’t right now. You haven’t been able to bring yourself to open any of the dozens of messages building up from Grillby. What would I even say? Teddy and Coco have been, for lack of a better term, hovering ever since you decided to return to work. It feels like whenever you turn around, one or the other isn’t far behind. And yet, despite the overwhelming sense of safety and gratitude (and guilt and shame, a smaller part of you doesn’t want to admit), you still can’t even bear the thought of returning to the back rooms.
It’s gonna make it one heck of a challenge to finish the stock take back there. I really need to just push through. Get over it. It was my own damned fault. I can’t be a baby about this forever.
Shaking your head, your eyes scan across the different, brightly coloured glow bands, taking note of which you will need to restock. Your own band - a bright, cold blue, signalling your lack of access to private play spaces (something that you had honestly never thought you would wear) - glows on your wrist, a familiar gold circle indicating your position as a member of staff stands out in stark contrast.
Be quiet. Keep still. Stay safe.
Your hands still, before falling away from the bands. Pressing your palms firmly against your jean-clad thighs, you dig your nails in through the soft fabric. It’s not enough to break the mantra that still haunts your mind in the dark stillness, when things grow too quiet. But it’s enough to take the edge off.
Stop it. I’m here. I’m safe. Just stop it.
You glance at the clock. You can feel the rise and fall of your chest beginning to take on an uneven canter. You scan the empty entryway, eyes shifting over every inch. Why does it feel like you’re being watched? You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck beginning to rise. Placing your hands on your forearms, with one swift motion, you dig your nails in deep. You can feel the uncomfortable well of blood, hot and fresh and slick, beneath your roughly-bitten nails.
It’s all in my head. There’s no one here. It’s not even six yet; it’ll be hours before things really pick up. It’s just me, the early shift, and a handful of nervous newbies. There’s nothing to be afraid of.
No matter how many times you repeat it to yourself, a larger part of you knows it isn’t true. He’s still out there somewhere. And if he can do it here at the club, where there are security guards and cameras and everyone knows the warning signs to look out for… Parts of that night still seem so fresh, while others have faded into a blur. Your back and thighs still ache uncomfortably, the skin pulling tight as the marks left behind where he broke your skin have begun scabbing over, healing slowly. Would you even recognise him, if he were to come in again? His voice. I’d recognise his voice. You hear it enough in your dreams to know that that, at least, would give him away. The metallic scent of blood makes your nose twitch. Your mouth feels uncomfortably dry, as memories begin creeping back in once more. Not now… You dig your nails in deeper, trying to ground yourself in the moment.“Can I get you anything?” You turn, as Teddy’s comforting presence looms behind you. You can feel yourself sagging in relief, tension seeping out all at once. “Teddy!” You smile, hands finally unclenching. “I’m good, I’m good. I didn’t see you there. Have you been here for long?” You twist, making sure that none of your injuries are visible to him.He shakes his head. “Shouldn’t you be on break?” Glancing back at the clock, you note the time. It’s later than you realised. “Oh. They must just be running late…” Before you can turn back to Teddy, the door pushes open. Fixing your best customer service smile back in place, greeting at the ready, the words freeze in your mouth.A low, deep, rumbling growl sounds from beside you. “darlin. fancy seeing you here.” His voice reminds you of smoke and excitement and fear. His single gold tooth glints in the dim light, as he slouches towards the podium, hands stuffed into the pockets of his oversized, furlined hoodie. Your eyes drift down, catching once more on his collar. “you’re lookin a little stiff. long shift? or lookin for somethin to help you loosen up?” Your eyes flick down to the unlit echo flower cigarette that he has produced from the depths of his pockets. Part of you wants to fall back on what you know, to drag up the familiar banter that you used to be able to call on so easily with regulars and potential play partners alike. Another part of you is relieved it’s only Mutt, suddenly the lesser of two evils. Yet another, tiny part of you can’t help but pipe up: What if I just need to get back on the horse? One amazing, mind-blowing session would wipe away all the bad memories…wouldn’t it? “Out.” Teddy growls, taking a step forward.Without thinking, you find yourself stepping forward, placing yourself firmly between the two. “Down boy. You know bosslady didn’t ban him, Teds. You need to keep your cool.” You press a hand firmly against his chest, trying to push him back. Beneath all the fluffy and the armour, you forget that Teddy is essentially a wall of muscle. He wouldn’t budge an inch if it wasn’t what he wanted. “C’mon, T. Please. Don’t get sent home.” Lowering your voice to barely amove a whisper, your eyes slide closed. You can feel the warmth radiating from him. You swear you can almost hear his heart beating beneath the thump-thump-thumping base that fills the club. It’s one of the few things that has been able to help you feel calm since that night. You hate to admit it, but somehow, in your mind, Teddy has become firmly entwined with the idea of feeling safe. “I need you here.”“oh, i see. when did this happen?” You can feel the familiar glow of his eye lights burning between your shoulder blades. Or is that the uncomfortable sting of your back opening up once more? “Could you watch the podium for me, T? I-I…” You take a steadying breath, as you try to send him your most reassuring smile. If the look that he sends you is anything to go by, it isn’t very reassuring at all. “I think I’m gonna take that break.”Slipping past Teddy, you make your way through one of the side staff-only doors, back into the warren of corridors between the public and private spaces. Clearly, I’m not ready at all. What was I thinking? You can feel your hands trembling. Head down, you make your way towards the staffroom. At this time of day, it’s bound to be empty. Fine. It’s fine. I’ll just…I’ll pick up that extra job. I’ll make things work. You’re reminded of the growing stack of coursework you haven’t even started yet. You were already behind on reading for classes before this had all happened. Since, you hadn’t felt able to keep up with classes themselves, much less the extra study groups you used to attend. At this rate, you may end up having to repeat multiple classes if you don’t somehow find more time for both work and study. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. Maybe OnlyFans?There’s a market for everything on there, right? Someone’s got to be interested in my neurotic ass. Well, feet. Feet pics are a safe bet. It’s not that you have anything against sex work. Sex work is still work. It’s just the thought of photographs and videos of you, out there for anyone to see, to download, to share without your permission, has always left you feeling sick with worry. Don’t think about it. Just do it. I’m gonna run out of options at this rate. Do I want to end up homeless again? This is how people end up homeless. They get picky. Being prissy and picky isn’t a privilege I can afford right now. You find yourself power walking down the final corridor, the promise of an empty, safe space urging you on. How long has it been since you last put ointment on your marks? You know you put some on when you first woke up, then again before your shift started, but had you actually finished? Oh yeah, I started talking with Coco…I must have forgotten. No wonder your back feels tight and sore. Other than the over-the-counter cream you picked up at a local pharmacy, you haven’t had anyone look at your injuries since that initial healer visit at the club. It’ll heal fine. There’s no need to waste time and money getting someone to confirm that. Your mind thinks back longingly to the magic-infused food you had at Grillby’s. It did wonders for your ankle. I bet it would have this all fixed up in no time. Even the thought of finally being able to sleep pain-free isn’t enough to make you look through the backlog of unanswered messages from the fire elemental. I can’t right now. I just can’t. You let the door fall shut behind you, as you make a beeline for the bank of lockers on the far wall. The staffroom isn’t much really: a battered round table and chairs; a little kitchenette with a chrome microwave (kept meticulously clean and shiny), a mini-fridge filled with free water and neatly labelled lunches, and an old, overstuffed couch. Fumbling through your bag, you let out a happy huff of relief as your fingers curl around not only the half-empty tube of ointment, but another prize you were sure you were out of: an unopened granola bar. “Score.” You place it beside you on the squishy couch, before popping up to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge. You’ve not got long until your break is over, and trying to reach parts of your back is going to suck. Might as well drink something and try to eat while I’ve still got the stomach for it. Downing half the bottle of water before you sit down, you find yourself toying with the unopened granola bar. You can’t quite bring yourself to open it. Eating has been surprisingly hard over the past few days. I can save it for after I guess. You try to convince yourself, as your fingers slip beneath the hem of your top. Reaching behind you, the skin on your lower back feels hot to the touch. That’s not a good sign. Maybe I should get someone to take a look… Before the thought is even finished, you know that you won’t do it. Who would you ask?Uncapping the ointment, you bite your lip. Steeling yourself for what is to come, you reach behind you. This is gonna suck. “does grillby know?”Eyes flying open, instinct takes over. You lob the half-empty tube of ointment at the intruder before ducking behind the couch. Heart racing, you peek over the top. “Mutt?” Ointment drips down the side of his skull, oozing into the crevices and nicks littering the pale expanse. “no wonder you looked so still back there. must have been quite the night. i didn’t have you pegged as into the heavy stuff. looks like I totally missed the mark. heh. ” Golden-orange eye lights scan across every inch of your skin, taking in the marks and bruises that are now on show.All of a sudden, your skin feels three sizes too small. You would do anything to be back out there on the main floor, the safe, steady trickle of regulars providing just enough of a buffer to keep Mutt at bay. Keep quiet. Stay still. Be safe. “i’ll ask you, one last time. does grillby know? or are you messin' him around, too?” You look between Mutt and the door. It’s not far, but you don’t like your chances. When did he get so close? Your breath catches. You find yourself clinging onto the back of the couch, unable to move, as Mutt stalks closer. There’s something in his slouch that wasn’t there before; an edge, that sets every nerve alight. You have never felt so much like prey before.“i know what his handiwork looks like..” A rough hand pulls you up by the wrist. Spinning you around, he pulls your top the rest of the way off, revealing the entirety of your back. “... and this ain't it.”You try to pull away. You stumble, surprised that he lets go so easily. “I don’t see how this is any of your business.” Your voice trembles, as you hunch in on yourself, arms instinctively going to cover your chest. The movement leaves you gasping once more, pain radiating out from the dozen or more remaining wounds scattered across your back, hips, and thighs. “You can’t be in here. Staff only.”Silence stretches uncomfortably between you.“may i?” Peering over your shoulder, you see the familiar tube held in his hands. You nod wordlessly, doing your best to keep him in sight as he approaches you from behind. Stay calm. If you need to, scream. Someone will hear.You tense at the first cool sting of ointment on your back.“Thank you.” The words are barely more than a whisper. “i know you think it’s none’a my business.” Mutt’s low, smokey drawl cuts through the silence. “but this? it doesn’t match up with the mouthy gal i had a good time with. do i need to have a word with someone, darlin?” You can feel his hands still, as he reaches your waist. Wordlessly, you pop open the button on your jeans. Pulling the fabric down, you can hear him hiss as the patchwork of marks are revealed. “when grillby finds out, it’s goin’ta make m’lords worst day look like a kiddie temper tantrum.” He says, fingers ghosting across your skin. "who did this?"It hurts, to think that even now, a part of you has been holding out, hoping that things will still work out with Grillby. I knew I’d fuck things up eventually. “He won’t care. I’m not his." The words come out with more confidence than you feel. "And there’s no one to have a word with. It’s... my fault.”Before you can tug your jeans back up into place, you feel strong hands turning you, making you face him. He frowns down at you, ready to argue, when he catches sight of the marks on your inner thighs and stomach. “tell me.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “squishy human parts means bein’ more careful. you coulda had internal bleeding! look at these.” Before he can touch the inch-thick mark running from your pubic bone to the base of your kidneys, you take a step back. “Stop. Just…stop. This is the cost.” Lifting your hands, you let him take a good, long look. “This is what happens when you keep things casual. I knew — I know the risks. Every time I step into a playspace alone. It doesn’t matter how careful I am, or how many safety measures are in place. I’m always going to be running the risk of running into that one guy who doesn’t play by the rules. I just have worse luck than most at finding you.”Something sharp and fierce flashes behind his eyes. “don’t you dare lump us in with this. no monster would do this to you. there’s not playin by the rules, and there’s bein an animal.”
Be calm. Stay still. Keep safe.
Your mantra plays over in your mind, again and again. You try to push it down. For all of his bravado, Mutt isn’t someone you feel the need to be scared around. Not really. What’s pulling a surprise player three, compared to what I just went through? “I didn’t mean to. That was rude of me. I apologise. I’ve…I’ve been having a tough couple of weeks.” You smile at him weakly, your hands fumbling to pull your clothes back into place once more. “Thank you. For your help. If you’ll excuse me.” Skirting around him, you grab your half-empty water bottle, making a beeline for the door. “i’d stop playin with fire if i was you.” You freeze. “i don’t appreciate being played with. m’lord doesn’t appreciate being played with. An grillby… take it from me. you really, really don’t wanna mess with a fire elemental, darlin. they have long memories. they live long lives. hold even longer grudges. stop fuckin’ around, an’ apologise before you really fuck things up.”You shift out of the way, as Mutt moves towards you. Shaking his head, he brushes past, making his way out of the door. “i’ll be seein you.”Somehow, your little encounter has left you feeling even worse.
What am I going to do now?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It’s too late, isn’t it?
Stocktake done for the day, you finally have a few minutes to yourself before you have to decide if you want to stay late and pick up a little overtime. Sprawled out on the staffroom couch, you stare at your unopened messages. You can feel the familiar low level of exhaustion that has plagued you for weeks is starting to take a firmer hold.
It’s been nearly three weeks. I wouldn’t want to talk to me at this point. What must he think?
Despite your unplanned radio silence, you find your thoughts turning to him without fail, each and every single day. The way his flames dance when he’s amused or happy, the warm crackle of his laugh, the sharp edge to his smile, how dapper he looks no matter what time of day or night you catch him.
If I’d just opened up and taken things at face value, none of this would have happened. If I wasn’t such a neurotic idiot, I could have been wrapped up in his arms instead of going through all of this.
You want to open his messages but can’t bring yourself to confirm what you fear you already know. What if he really has reached the end of his patience? What if you have missed your chance, once and for all?
There’s nothing I can do about it now. Maybe…I should go to the bar after work. Apologise in person. Then maybe, he’ll…he’ll what? Want to be friends at least, like some kind of weird consolation prize? He’d be an idiot to forgive and forget. But, it’s better to have him as a friend than nothing. If he’ll even consider that…
Pocketing your phone, you rub your eyes. You can’t remember the last time you didn’t feel exhausted. With your busy schedule, it’s not like you usually have the chance to catch up on sleep, but things aren’t typically this bad.
I can afford to miss one overtime shift to apologise to Grillby. Then maybe I can get an early night.
Decision made, you grab your bag from your locker and make your way back towards bosslady’s office. Within minutes, you’ve made your excuses for the night.
I better say goodbye to Coco, or she’ll worry.
Mind made up, you make your way through the back corridors, peeking your head out to see if you can spot the towering dog monster in each of the rooms as you pass.
Not in the lounge or any of the public play spaces…maybe in the entryway? Nope, not there either…let’s try the bars.
You’re starting to wonder if she may be on her break, by the time you finally reach the bar near the entryway. It’s strange, to be back in your bar outside of your usual shifts. You peek inside, knowing it’s unlikely for Coco to be within. It’s mainly newbies and those waiting for their play partners to arrive in this part of the club, meaning there’s usually little need for security to linger or make their presence known.
“Oh!” Just as you’re getting ready to leave, you spot a familiar, waistcoat-clad back. You would recognise those violet-indigo flames anywhere. Before you can stop yourself, you find yourself approaching where he sits alone at the bar. “Grillby?”
Your mouth feels inexplicably dry, as he turns to face you.
Stars, I’ve missed him.
Your eyes dart across him, taking in every inch. You can’t bring yourself to meet his flickering gaze. You have no clue what to say.
Why didn’t I plan this better?
“You are alive.”
His words make something heavy settle in your stomach. Your words catch in your throat, hands clenching by your sides, as you struggle to find what to say.
Violet flames flicker, taking on a darker shade, before Grillby lets out a low sigh. With a shake of his head, he turns away from you, his attention returning to the open book laying on the bartop. One fiery hand toys with the stem of his drink. His dismissal is clear.
“...I…” You cough, trying to clear your throat.
Don’t fuck this up. Just say what you need to say.
“I-” You try again. You can feel the pressure of the past few weeks building, ready to burst. You’ve got so much you want to say, yet you can’t bring yourself to say it.
I wish I was the kind of person who deserves you.
“You’ve made yourself perfectly clear. Please leave me to my drink.”
It’s as though his words finally release something in you. Throwing yourself forward, you wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face against the back of his vest. You can feel him tensing against you, ready to push you off. Your grip tightens, as you squeeze him.
If this is the last time I get to touch you, I want to make it count.
“I’m sorry.” You feel him fall still, as the first words tumble free. “I’m so, so sorry. I…I fucked up so badly. Please. Please, let me explain?” You loosen your hold, prepared for rejection. You won’t try and force your apology on him, if he really is done with you.
Safe. Sane. Consensual. Even outside of scenes; it’s all about listening to your partner.
“Your lack of communication these past few weeks has spoken louder than any words could.” You flinch. Has he always sounded so cold, so aloof? Or is this just how he is when he’s not with you? “Go ahead. Say what you have to say, then take your leave. Or I shall. I’ve had enough of these childish games.” He turns, meeting your nervous gaze with a stern look. “I deserve better.”
You reach up to hastily rub at your cheeks, doing your best to hide the evidence of your tears. He’s right. He does deserve better. Glancing around nervously, you hover beside him. It feels wrong to take the seat next to him, but there are no open booths, and you doubt his goodwill will extend to moving into a more private area to have this discussion.
Fuck around and find out. Stars, I messed up with the best possible person that could have happened to me.
“You do. Deserve better. Than this. Than what I’ve been doing. Than me.” Your words sound low, your voice more hoarse than usual. You swallow back your tears, trying to push on. You keep your head lowered, gaze locked firmly on Grillby’s lap. You can’t bring yourself to see his face, to watch his reaction, see his judgement, as you finally apologise.
“I saw you. Three weeks ago. Here, at the bar, with Mutt and Sans. I…made some assumptions. That I think may have been unfair?” You peek up at him through the loose strands of your hair. He’s turned to face you now, brows drawn, mouth pressed into a thin line. You glance away.
“I made some pretty big jumps. I thought you…I thought they…you and them, together, I was-”
Scared. Angry. Stupid.
“I couldn’t stand the thought that you were-”
Like them. Were using me. That it was just a game.
“I-”
“You panicked.” His words wash over you. There’s something in them - understanding? Pity? You force yourself to push on, unwilling to take the easy route again.
“I fucked up. I fucked up again, and I ran off. I didn’t just ask you about it. I was scared and angry and-and, so
stupid!
” Your hands find their way to your thighs once more, digging in roughly against the bare skin peeking out from beneath your mid-thigh length skirt. The skin breaks easily, giving way beneath your nails.
“If I’d just gone over and talked to you. If I’d asked Teddy to move Mutt and Sans along to another bar earlier in the night. If I’d just stopped being a little bitch for two goddamned minutes-” You’re choaking on your words, tears falling thick and fast. Is it tears, or blood you can feel on your hands now? Everything is too much.
You take an unsteady step back, as you try to catch your breath. If you don’t say this now, you might never get the chance. You have to let Grillby know; to make him understand, that none of this was his fault. That he’s always been a perfect gentleman. You’re the one that is a fuckup.
He deserves so much more than this.
Hands trembling, heart racing, you try to suck in a deep, steadying breath. When did your mouth get so dry?
I think I’m going to be sick.
You reach out, one hand clutching at the nearest barstool. The pounding bass fades into the background, as the thump-thump-thump in your chest drowns out everything else.
“Oh dear. It is going to be ok. Can you feel my chest?” Hands -
Warm. Perfect. What? -
hold yours, pressing your palm flat against Grillby’s chest. Your fingers curl instinctively against the dark, soft fabric. You spare a moment to hope that you aren’t leaving any bloody fingerprints on the crisp, clean white shirt below his waistcoat. “Focus on the warmth. Can you copy me? Count to five as you breath in nice and deeply for me. Hold. Now out for the count of seven. And pause. Again. Hold. Again. That’s it. Good girl.”
Honing in on his voice, it feels like the fuzziness out of the corner of your eyes finally begins to recede. “You are doing so well for me. Here, let me help you sit.” Warm arms manuver you into place. A bottle - icy cold water, still sealed - is pressed into your hands. Gratefully, you unscrew the top and take a long, slow drink.
“I am sorry I did not allow you to move this somewhere more private. Had I realised…but that is neither here nor there. Clearly, there is more to this than a change of fancy.” Your eyes focus on Grillby’s face as he apologises. You can feel a fresh wave of tears starting to well, as you shake your head.
“I wanted to call. I did. But after I fucked up…I needed some time to get my head straight, then by the time I was…” You can’t bring yourself to call it normal. You still aren’t back to normal.
I’m not sure I even know what that is anymore.
“By the time I was finally ready, there were so many missed calls and messages. I didn’t know how to…” You trail off again, as you rub none too gently at your eyes. You itch to lower your hands, to dig your nails back into the fresh marks littering your thighs. But you can already feel Grillby’s eyes on you, really taking you in.
I’m such a fucking mess. What must he think of me?
“I think it may best for both of us if we were to continue this conversation somewhere a little more private. May I suggest my bar? It is closed for the night. Or if you would prefer, we could return to your place. Or one of the rooms here.” Grillby frowns, as you shake your head vehemently. Just the thought of returning to the back rooms, even with someone like Grillby, leaves you breaking out in a cold sweat.
“The bar.” You manage to choak out. Nobody has ever been back to your tiny studio apartment. You don’t have the space for much, and can’t stand the thought of seeing pity in Grillby’s eyes when he seems your tiny depression cave. “Please.”
“You are sure?” Purple flames gently brush against you, tilting your chin up. Swallowing, you meet his gaze. You nod. He feels so warm, his presence making you feel relaxed for the first time in weeks.
“Please.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The ride back is uncomfortable at best. You aren’t sure whether to try and make awkward small talk, or to rehearse what you’re going to finally say to him. In the end, Grillby makes the decision for you.“How is your ankle?” You blink at him in confusion. It takes a moment; you have completely forgotten the injury that he had cared for just a few short weeks earlier. “Good. Thank you again. It…healed quickly. You must be really great at healing magic; I’ve never had an injury heal so fully and quickly.” Your smile freezes in place, as you notice his furrowed brow.“Do you often find yourself needing to seek out a healer?” It feels like he is trying to scan every inch of you, glasses taking in every mark and blemish. “Only recently…” You thread your fingers together in your lap, glancing towards the front of the car. You blush, as you meet the Uber driver’s gaze in the mirror. Why do we have to talk about this now? “Do you still require assistance?” You jerk your gaze back to him. “Hm?”“Are you still injured?” He looks pointedly at half moon marks on your thighs. His hand hovers, as though he wants to reach out to touch you, to trace each mark. Slowly, he lowers it back down, fingers clenching around his knees.“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” You say softly, your voice barely audible above the rumbling sound of the engine. “That is not what I asked.” He says sharply. No. It isn’t. Turning your gaze back to the window, you can feel a sense of relief building, as the familiar sign for Grillby’s bar comes into view. Can you really miss somewhere you’ve only visited once? Soon, you find yourself back in the comforting familiarity of Grillby’s bar. It’s strange, seeing it without any patrons or lights. You follow behind Grillby, hands clutching at the strap of your bag, as he bustles about, flicking lights on, locking the door behind you, before making his way towards a side door next to the bar.“Sit. I will be but a moment.” You find yourself gravitating back towards your booth. At least I was able to be a good girl for him once. Placing your bag onto the seat, you shuffle into the booth. I wonder what it would have been like to have been really his. I wish…I wish I didn’t fuck everything up. “Drink.” All too soon, Grillby returns, a teapot and cup in hand. You watch, as he pours you a cup. Placing it beside a small dish holding the most perfect-looking piece of strawberry shortcake you have ever seen.“O-oh. I couldn’t possibly.” I really, really want that piece of cake. You try to refuse.“Nonsense. It’s my own special recipe. There’s enough magic infused to heal a broken ankle or similar. I assume that should be sufficient?” Grillby asks, watching you closely. You hesitate, mentally cataloguing your injuries. How do you compare bruises, welts, cuts, and scars to broken bones? “I see.” The table creaks ominously, as Grillby grips the edge. “I understand that we did not have a discussion about exclusivity, but I must confess, I find it most troubling that you would allow yourself to be injured to such an extent without seeking proper medical treatment. Or do you not trust monster healing?”“It’s not like that!” Reaching across the table, you grab his hand with both of yours. “I would never say no to a monster healer just because they use magic. I didn’t turn down healing, I swear!” You find your gaze fixing on the plate, as you try to find the words to explain. How did he make it look so perfect? It’s like the strawberry is twinkling. “I find it hard to believe that a healer would have left you in such a state. You are still limping, and your posture — it is not like you.” You can feel Grillby pulling away from you.Biting your lip, you take a deep breath. “They did. Heal me. They…probably thought I would go to a regular hospital afterwards. They needed to save some magic in reserve, just in case anyone else at the club needed help while they were on duty. Only…I don’t have insurance. Or anywhere near enough savings. And I was too embarrassed to go to a free clinic.” Your breath hitches. You can feel tears starting to make their way down your cheeks once more. You haven’t said it out loud yet. Not to a single person. The only ones who know are those who were there that night.“I fucked up, Grillby. I was just so mad. And hurt. And STUPID. The club was so busy that night. It was great. Exhausting, but I was making a killing on tips. And I still felt so GOOD after our…after you…” You blush, unsure how to put into words just how much your scene together had affected you. “I was going to call you after my shift.” The words come out quieter now. “Then those two assholes were there. Do y’wanna know the funny part? I can’t even remember what it was they said that pissed me off so much. Then I saw you, with them. And I couldn’t get it out of my head. What if…”“What, exactly, did they do that made you react in such a way?” “Oh. They were…I had a session with Mutt, and he…after we…” Blushing, you look away. “We had fun. And then, he just kind of…sprung Sans on me? Without any warning? It was just a misunderstanding, but he thought I was…it was a mix-up. They both know I’m not a house submissive now. And I’m pretty sure Teddy and some of the guys in security ran through proper club etiquette with them again. So really, if you stop to think about it, I was just over-reacting.”“So you thought I was…just another asshole, trying to pull one over on you. Just like Mutt and Sans?” You glance up at Grillby, taking in his posture through your tears. You push on. “Stupid, right? So, so stupid. But I couldn’t get it out of my head. So I decided to do something even more stupid.”“Instead of coming over and talking to me like an adult, you decided to what, get a little petty revenge? You wanted to see if you could rile me up and get me to lose my cool?” He pushes his glasses up with one hand, the other perfectly still on the table. You wince.“It wasn’t…I…” Frustration bubbling over, you lower your hands beneath the table. Gripping your thighs, you wriggle your fingers, worrying your nails in back and forth, back and forth, until new, bloody half-moons appear. Calm. Stay calm. You try to force the words out before they can get stuck again. You can do this. “I wanted so badly to be yours. But seeing you, with them, reminded me that I don’t get to have nice things. Good people don’t choose people like me. And either you are good, and I’m not good enough. Or you were lying, and are just like them. It felt like a lose-lose situation. I couldn’t bear it. And so I made a stupid, shitty decision. I decided it was my turn to take charge. To find someone I couldn’t disappoint, or be disappointed in.” You laugh at the irony of it all. If only I’d taken the mature route for once in my damned life, I would have gone over and talked to Grillby. Everything would have been ok. “I was gonna call you the next day. When I’d had the chance to cool off. But…but I was stupid.” You dig your nails in deeper. You can hear the low, faint whispers returning. Be silent. Keep still. Stay safe. A hand falls on your shoulder. You turn, looking up at Grillby. Gently, he tugs your hands away from your legs. He crouches beside you, brushing a strand of hair away from your eyes.“Whatever happened, it was not your fault.” You shake your head. “I know better. But I still followed him into one of the back rooms when I knew he didn’t want to use limits. I didn’t leave when he…” When I saw the first warning signs. When he kept pushing. When I knew something was wrong. “When he didn’t listen to a simple request, and started name-calling. Not in a fun way. I thought if I could just be good, if I could show him I was good, everything would be ok.” You trail off, your voice barely above a whisper. “I am going to hold you now. If that is not something you would like, please say.” He warns you, before warm arms wrap around you. You press your face against his shoulder, arms automatically wrapping around his waist as you cling to him. “I said yellow. I did. I said it. And he said he didn’t have to listen to a-a fucktoy. He made sure I couldn’t say red.” Heat flares around you, blindingly bright and overwhelming. It feels like he is trying to crush you against his chest. You cling back with all of your strength. It’s the first time you have felt safe in weeks. “I don’t even know for sure if he used protection. At…at least he didn’t get any photos. By the time anyone realised something was wrong, he was gone. Heh. This is what I get for not having a safe call arranged. If I’d been a bit more careful, if I hadn’t been so emotional, so stupid, I-”“Your choices did not lead to his choices. It may not have happened to you. But it may have happened to someone else. His actions were not your fault. Whatever poor choices you may have made - your communication could be vastly improved. You could work through your emotions first, before reacting. None of that matters. Nobody chooses to be raped.”Time stands still. You can feel your breath freeze in your chest. You shake your head, denial ready on your lips. “I wasn’t. I didn’t. I consented. I put myself in that situation. It was my fault.”“Content is not a blanket permission slip. It can be given or withdrawn in an instant. You asked for him to slow down. You tried to verbally say no. You withdrew consent.” Indigo fingers brush against your cheek, cupping the wet flesh. A laugh escapes, even as your mouth twists; the faint sizzling of your tears evaporating from his touch drags a momentary smile from you.You haven’t dared to put a name to it, to what happened to you. “It can’t. I wasn’t. I was wearing…I was at a bdsm club. It was my fault.” You search his gaze, looking for any hint of condemnation. It was your fault, wasn’t it? It was all down to your stupid choices. “What you are wearing does not excuse what happened. Where you were does not excuse what happened. Saying yes initially, does not stop the fact that the second you said no, he no longer had the privilege to touch you. It was not your fault.” You aren’t sure how long you sit there, clutching at Grillby. His hold on you never wavers. It feels like your head is stuffed full of cotton wool; a deep, sharp throbbing starting up between your eyes. Your throat feels raw. Was I really… “Teddy found me. He’s one of the guards at the club. A handful of people know something happened. I had some candy. They healed me while I was still out of it. I think they managed to get about fifty per cent? It’s all fuzzy. I knew I couldn’t afford to go to the hospital. It’s all a blur, the next few days…by the time I finally dragged myself back to class, and tried to get back into my routine, I…there were so many missed calls and messages. From classmates. From colleagues. From-from you. I can’t…” Wordlessly, you open your phone. You spin it around to face him, showing him the sea of unopened messages. “I can’t. Because then it’s real. And if I don’t…if I just keep pushing on, then maybe, I’ll wake up. And it’ll be Sunday all over again. And I’ll have a hangover, and a string of embarrassing texts I sent to you. And none of this will have happened. I won’t have lost the best person to ever happen to me, all because I can’t find the right words at the right fucking time.”Hands gently cradle the back of your head, as he draws you back to his chest once more. You can feel your eyes slipping closed, as you listen to the low, soothing crackle of his flames. You haven’t felt this safe in so long.“He is lucky I was not there.”“Who?” You can feel yourself beginning to drift off. So comfy. Warm. Safe. “All of them. Mutt. Sans. The human. What they did was abhorrent. There is no excuse for any of it.”You can feel him tensing beneath you. You curl closer. “I’m sorry.”“I do not think you understand what it is you should and should not be apologising for. We can talk about this again in the morning.”“I can stay?”“I insist.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Warm. Soft. Safe.
Your thoughts feel heavy and fuzzy, as you slowly begin to wake up. You can’t remember the last time you slept through the night without being interrupted by nightmares. Stretching, you can’t help but sigh, happily rubbing your face against your cocoon of blankets. The overwhelming scent of firewood and smoke, with faint hints of pine wash over you. As you lay listening to the early morning sounds of the world going by, you think back on the night before. Ever the perfect gentleman, Grillby had insisted you take his bed, as his guestroom wasn’t in any state to receive company. You protested, but he wouldn’t hear it.He really is so damned great. Anybody would be lucky to have him. You bite your lip, worrying it between your teeth, as you remember how soft Grillby’s words were, how gentle and kind he was, despite your behaviour. And that suit. Damn, Grillbae looks fine in a shirt and waistcoat. You’re reluctant to leave the safety of his bed. Outside seems awfully big and scary, but you know it’s for the best. I can’t stay here forever. Padding across the bedroom, you find your clothes from the night before are gone. I didn’t even remember to fold them. In their place sits the softest, fluffiest towel you have ever felt, along with a clean, crisp white shirt and a pair of black boxers. Cheeks burning, you bury your face in the shirt, taking a none-too-subtle whiff. Definitely Grillbae’s. Oh my gosh. You mean to hurry through your morning routine. Don’t wanna keep Grillbae waiting. But you can’t help yourself. A brand new, tiny set of hotel-style soaps and shampoos sit waiting for you on the pristine countertop in the ensuite. You wiggle your toes in the oh-so-soft bath mat. Holy shit, it’s softer than my bedding. Then you discover the godliest shower to end all showers. The water pressure, the rainfall head, and the seemingly endless supply of hot water. I would marry Grillbae for bathroom access alone. Though I wonder...why does he have such an amazing shower? Wouldn't water be, like, super bad for him?Towelling your hair dry, you can’t avoid spotting yourself in the mirror. One good night’s sleep may have helped you to feel better, but it has done little else. Dangit. I didn’t even get the chance to eat the cake or tea Grillbae made me. I bet the cake’s still good though. Maybe I can have it for breakfast.Pulling on the soft black boxers Grillby left out, you can’t help but blush as you wonder if he has worn them before. Stroking the fabric, you can imagine what they must look like on him. I wonder just what he looks like under that suit. I mean, his ass looks fantastic. But I still haven’t managed to take a closer look. You shake your head. Thoughts like that are no help. Just because Grillby was willing to let you cry on him and stay the night, doesn’t mean he will be open to giving you yet another chance. You grab the shirt, quickly buttoning it in place. It’s dress length on you, falling neatly to mid-thigh. It does little to hide the blemishes still marking your thighs. Maybe he just won’t ask about them. He’s a gentleman, right? It would be rude to ask. Listening at the door, you finally peek out. Was the living room left, or right? You can’t quite remember, but the scent of sizzling bacon lures you in the right direction. Mmm, that smells so good! I wonder if I Grillby would mind me grabbing a coffee or something before I head out? I don’t want to be a bother…You make your way into the cosy living room. You can see Grillby in the surprisingly large kitchen through the open doorway, humming as he cooks. Damn. A girl could get used to this. “Ah. Um. Good morning?” You call, as you twist your hands within the overly large sleeves of your borrowed shirt. Should I ask if I can help? Or should I just grab my stuff and leave? What’s the proper etiquette when you end up crying yourself to sleep in your kinda-friends-with-benefits, kinda-without-the-benefits, buddy’s arms? “Good morning. Please, take a seat. I trust that you slept well?” As Grillby turns to face you, you can feel the blush heating your cheeks.
Is that a maid's uniform style apron? I think I’m gonna explode!
“Here. Eat.” You realise you have been staring, as a plate is placed in front of you. It’s overflowing with just about every breakfast item imaginable: bacon, eggs done three ways, pancakes, hash browns, perfect little sausage links, toast, and freshly cut fruit. “Is…that an English muffin?” You poke the round, steaming little disc. It smells so good. And looks so fluffy! “Here. Try it with some homemade blackberry compote.” You wordlessly accept the glass jar with a smile.“Ah. Thank you. Did you make this yourself?” Why am I making small talk about JAM? Stars, I am absolutely hopeless. I’m just gonna go throw myself in front of traffic now. Grillby smiles at you, as he retrieves a second (much smaller) plate. “I did. I enjoy all forms of cooking, including pickling and making my own preserves.” You look down at the plate, unsure of what else to say. “I’m…really sorry for being such a nuisance. I didn’t mean to overstay. Or to cause you any extra hassle. Or to kick you out of your own bed.” You slide down in your seat, as you realise just how much trouble you have caused. “Nonsense. I invited you. Besides, cooking for one rarely seems worth the time. You gave me the perfect excuse to indulge. Eat. I insist. We can talk afterwards.” With that, Grillby turns his attention firmly back to his own steaming cup of coffee in clear dismissal.“I mean, technically I asked…” You trail off, at the withering look Grillby sends you over his glasses. When did I get so good at reading his expressions? Or has he always been this transparent? Slowly, you pick up your cutlery. Where to begin? It all looks so good. You haven’t felt this hungry - nor this interested in food - for quite some time. Finally, you decide to try that muffin first. At the first, tart bite, you let out a muffled moan.“Holy shit. What is in this thing? Is it crack? It’s totally crack, isn’t it? Fuck me, this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” You can feel the sticky residue of jam coating your lips and smattering on your cheek, as you finish cramming first one, then the other half of the muffin into your mouth. Warm, gentle hands reach out to dab at you with a napkin. A low, crackling laugh makes you blush, as he tilts your head to get a better look at your sticky face.“I am glad that you like it. It is human food infused with magic. You should start to feel and see the effects within the hour.” He explains, sitting back in his chair once more. “Oh. I. Thank you.” You slow your pace, savouring each mouthful as you try a little bit of everything on your plate. Nothing quite tops that blueberry slathered muffin, but the honey soaked pancakes come in at a close second. The longer you eat in silence, the less comfortable you feel. Questions begin circling once more, worries resurfacing. What now?“I think now would be as good a time as any to have this discussion.” You sit up straight, putting your knife and fork down as Grillby speaks. “I shall get straight to the point. I would be interested in pursuing whatever this is between you and I. I know we have had several stumbling blocks already, and communication is clearly something we must both work on. But I would still be amenable to discussing regular play sessions together. Ideally, something with a little more commitment and structure. But I would equally be interested in offering to be a friendly ear to listen when you need it, or an ad-hoc healer for as long as is necessary. I would not have any interest in a single, one-off session. That has not, and will not change for me, I am afraid.”The clattering of your fork hitting your plate startles you. Cheeks burning, you quickly look away. Surely he can’t be serious? You lower your hands to your lap, toying with the hem of Grillby’s white shirt. “I…don’t know what to say.” You admit. “I never thought…after all the ways I meseed up…are you sure you really want to give me another chance?”Warm fingers gently reach out to stroke your head. You can feel your eyes sliding closed, as the warmth - just the right side of bearable - soaks into your skin. Peering through lowered lashes, you take in Grillby’s indulgent smile. “Stars, you’re beautiful.” Your eyes widen, as you realise you said that out loud.“Thank you. I am glad that you find me…atttractive. Not everyone can get paste the flames.” He admits, as he lowers his hand. You have to stop yourself from trying to follow that wonderful, comforting heat. “I would not have asked, if I was not serious. Continuing to learn and grow is a part of what makes life interesting. The fact that you are willing to accept and acknowledge your own faults and mistakes speaks wonders for your potential for growth. That is not to say that you aren’t lovely as you are. But it is always a joy to find another who is not so stuck in their ways, that they are unable to work through their own faults.” “Ah. Thank you. I think?” You smile, feeling overwhelmed. In less than 24 hours, you have gone from being convinced that you had blown your chance with Grillby, to finally opening up to him, telling him about what had happened, and even staying the night. And now, he’s willing to give you yet another chance? “Am I still dreaming?” You mumble to yourself.Grillby reaches over and places a single finger against the back of your hand. You watch, as his flames flare, momentarily turning white, before returning to their normal violet-indigo hue. “Ow!” Pulling your hand back, you rub the skin with a pout. “Oh!” You smile sheepishly, as Grillby holds out a slice of magic-infused pancake, pressing the honey-soaked treat to your lips. You can feel the mark already beginning to heal. “Not asleep.” You smile, as he nods.“Indeed.”Settling back in your seat, you take a moment to sip your own untouched coffee. Savouring the warmth of the cup and the heady, bitter scent, you consider your answer carefully. What do I really want? I know I’m not good enough for Grillby. But…maybe that doesn’t matter, as long as he’s willing to give this a try? Maybe it’s ok to trust that he knows what he wants, better than I do? Wouldn’t it be great to finally have a partner again? No more risky one-night stands. No more subdrop alone. No more wondering if I’m going to be left aching in pain or pleasure the next day…“Would it help to know more about my relationship with Sans and Papyrus? That’s Mutt’s true name. Not that he has used it in quite some time.” You eye Grillby, as he trails off, muttering about ridiculous nicknames.“That would actually be pretty great. If you wouldn’t mind?” You smile tentatively. “Of course. Mutt was a regular of mine, before we relocated to the surface. He would often visit my bar and run up his ridiculous tab. I take it you know a little of how…different, parts of the underground could be?” You nod. While you’re no expert, you knew the basics from news coverage and online forums. I really should learn more about where Grillby is from, if I’m interested in something more with him. “Despite his chronic lack of funds, Mutt was still good for business. His presence alone kept many of my rowdier patrons in line without needing any intervention on my part. Friendship wasn’t a term I would use to describe our relationship, but we had an agreement. As for his brother, Sans…” Grillby shook his head, as though trying to find the right words. “I mainly know Sans by reputation. He has always stayed out of my way, and I his. From what I have heard, he isn’t a fan of my style of cooking, so he rarely came to the bar unless Mutt had been out for too long.”Your eyes flicker down, as Grillby places a hand on the small coffee carafe. You watch, transfixed, as it begins to slowly bubble and boil, steam coming out of the spout.“You must understand that the part of the underground we lived in was challenging at best. Sans and Mutt had reputations to uphold. Sans himself was a high-ranking member of the royal guard. Ruling by fear was the safest method. For many, the transition to the surface proved challenging. I would never presume to try and excuse their behaviour, but…there is a chance that they genuinely did not realise their faux pas. On the first instance, at least. I take it they have bothered you more than once?” You watch as Grillby frowns, displeasure clear, as you nod in agreement.“I see. I will deal with that. Thank you for telling me.” Grillby refills your cup, clearly lost in thought.You hesitate, one particular thought stuck in your mind. “Um. Did I mishear, or did you say Sans was Mutt’s…brother?” “Ah. Yes. They are brothers. I would not go as far as to say it is a common practice amongst monsterkind, but it is not unheard of. For many, it started as a way to offer protection, to ward off others. It was a way that was easily understood. Accidentaly pregnancies are not a thing for monsters. Intent from both parties, and deliberate mixing of magics are needed. And so many of the concerns that humans have around our customs, such as genetic issues, are not worries we have ever had to deal with.” “I guess that makes sense.” Maybe it’s just a cultural thing? I guess there really is a lot more I should read up on about monsterkind. “I completely understand. There is much for you to think about. Why don’t we come back and talk about this at a later time? I could walk you home; the bar is not due to open for another hour or so.” Before Grillby can finish making his offer, you shake your heard. You know it will take longer than that for you to get back to your apartment, and honestly? You don’t want to have to make excuses for Grillby not to come up. Stars, it’s in such a state right now. I really need to make time to clean everything up. “Thanks, but it’s kind of a long bus ride. Plus I should really try and catch up on all of the classes and assigned reading I missed over the past couple of weeks. But how about I…text you later?” You wince. Smooth. Real smooth. That’s a great offer, isn’t it, considering my track record? “We could try and get to know eachother all over again? Maybe make time for another date next week, if we can get our schedules to match up? I think…” You take a deep breath. “I think I might just need to take things slowly for a while. I hope that’s ok.”“That sounds perfect. I know we have yet to discuss things properly, but I would like you to know that you are a good girl for saying what you need. Your needs, preferences, and wants are a priority. I am glad you feel comfortable enough to speak up.”“Oh. Um. Thank you.” You can feel yourself blushing. Why does that phrase always make me feel so warm and fuzzy inside?“Though I must admit, it is strange. For all you seem to know about dynamics, safety, and rules, it still seems like there are so many areas in which you have little to no knowledge. It displeases me to think how many others must have taken advantage and hurt you in the past.”“I know more than enough.” Sure. Even I don’t believe that. “I really do need to head off, though. Thank you again for letting me stay. And for breakfast. And listening. And giving me another chance.” You wince, as your list goes on and on. “I’ll make sure to return your shirt next time I see you!”“One last thing before you go.” Grillby calls, as you gather the last of your things. “You mentioned your schedule. It is quite full, is it not?” You hum in agreement. “Yup. Two jobs, coursework, classes. The usual really. I manage.”“If you ever find yourself wishing to reduce your hours, or in need of a change of scenery, my bar is always in need of another experienced member of staff. I have been told that our rates are competitive, our customers tip well, and you would have full discretion to have anyone removed who may try and bother you. We do not get many humans in, but my regulars are usually good at remembering their manners.”“That…is really generous of you, Grillby. But I couldn’t possibly take advantage like that.”“Just keep it in mind. My offer shall remain open, if ever you need it.”“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
I can do this.
Back in the safety of your studio apartment, you finally flop down on your bed. The usual tangled nest of blankets and half-pulled-off sheets is nowhere to be found. While you had intended to catch up with your study groups (or rather, grovel and hope they would let you back in) and maybe do a little bit of extra reading to try and keep up, you had found yourself unable to stay in your room while it was so messy.
Several hours (and countless trashbags) later, you can at least see the floor of your depression cave.
Though the smell…
Rolling over, you open the window a little wider. The air tastes stale, with an unpleasant musky undertone.
Note to self: crack a window next time. And don’t leave the laundry to fester for so dang long.
Making yourself comfortable, you stare at the blank screen of your phone.
I can do this. It’s not that hard.
Despite your heart-to-heart with Grillby, you still haven’t felt able to open your chat app. The tiny, red 99+ is taunting you at this point.
I gotta do it. Stop being such a pussy, me. Just do it.
You lower your phone with a groan.
Maybe calling would be easier? But Grillby’s probably still working…
Your stomach crawls uneasily. When was the last time you ate? Breakfast, maybe?
Urg. I bet there’s nothing good left in the fridge. When was the last time I went shopping?
Rubbing your face, you pick up your phone once more. “On the count of three. One. Two. Two and a half. Two and three quarters.” You bite your lip. “Two and four-fifths? Two and five-sixths?”
Your phone vibrates as a new message pops up. In your effort not to drop your phone, you fumble, accidentally hitting the notification icon.
“Well, that’s one way to get over my fear.” Biting at your nails, you watch as a brand new chat message pops up from Grillby.
Grillby [23:57] Good evening. I do hope that you managed to find your way home safely? I have been thinking about you all afternoon, but I did not want to be too presumptuous by bothering you so soon.
Grillby [23:58] I thought it may be for the best if we were to start a brand new conversation here, so you will not have to face any of our previous messages.
Oh, Grillbae. You absolute sweetheart.
You smile, as you begin typing out your own reply.
Me [00:01] Hey! Sorry about that. Yeah, I got back a few hours ago. I’ve just been doing some tidying up. How’s work going?
You snap a quick photo of your mostly tidy room, before pausing. Do you really want to share what your private space looks like?
It’s Grillbae. I’ve seen his; it’s only fair he gets to see mine.
You hit send before you have too long to think about it. Immediately, you feel unease beginning to rise in your stomach. What if it’s smaller than he expected? What if he judges you for having that basket of laundry still waiting to be folded in the corner of the room? What if —
Calm, happy thoughts. Grillbae likes me for me. You know him. Kinda. He isn’t like that.
Grillby [00:17] Things here are much the same as usual. It looks like I am going to be here for quite some time still. Several regulars are showing no signs of leaving.
Grillby [00:19] Were you able to spend time studying as planned?
You groan, looking at your stack of untouched books and papers.
I really, really need to get back on top of studying if I want to pass all my classes this term. I don’t wanna have to repeat any units if I can help it.
Me [00:29] Um…define studying…and planned…
Me [00:30] I kinda got distracted. But! I managed to tidy up. So, it was sort of a win?
Keeping an eye on your phone, you roll off of the bed to grab your laptop. Despite your great night’s sleep at Grillby’s, you have the sinking feeling that a single good night isn’t enough to cure the problems you’ve been having falling (and staying) asleep.
Might as well get some work done if I’m gonna stay up until I pass out anyway.
You begin the slog through your emails, leaving the group chats for your study sessions for now. At least if you catch up on the basics covered in class, you should have a starting point to help you dive back in with your study groups.
If they let me back in, that is.
The soft rumbling vibrations of your phone pull your attention away from your work.
Grillby [2:17] I would certainly count that as a win. When you have a calm environment, it can do wonders for your mind and soul.
Grillby [2:37] Alone again at last. I thought Drunk Bun was never going to leave. I am sorry I missed the chance to catch up with you again tonight. I hope we can find a time that will work for us both soon.
Me [2:48] Grillbae! Sorry for the wait. I was just catching up on my emails. Stars, remind me never to do that again. So many messages. Urg.
Me [2:49] You heading to bed, or did you want to chat now?
You watch as those familiar three little dots appear, then disappear, then reappear on your screen again.
Grillby [2:58] May I enquire as to why you are up so late? I thought you have classes in the morning.
Me [2:59] I do. First class at 9.
Though if I wanna make it in time, I’ll need to set off by half seven at the latest. Better make that seven, if I wanna restock on coffee and breakfast bars.
You take one last look in your bag, hoping you’ve missed a stray granola bar during your earlier searches. Still, you find nothing.
Grillby [3:01] You should be asleep.
Me [3:02] Yup.
Me [3:02] And yet.
Grillby [3:03] I’m afraid I do not follow?
Me [3:04] Can’t sleep.
Grillby [3:04] May I call?
Me [3:05] Didn’t you just say you were about to head to bed?
Grillby [3:08] I may have inferred that before I realised you were still awake.
Me [3:09] I mean, sure, go ahead. I’m gonna be up for a while anyway.
Despite expecting Grillby’s call, it still makes you jump when your phone starts ringing. You take a deep, steadying breath.
It’s just a call. There’s nothing to be nervous about.
“Um. Hi?” You wince.
How high-pitched did my voice just freaking go? Jeeze.
The tension eases from your shoulders, as a familiar, deep chuckle sounds through your phone. Smiling, you put him on speaker.
“Hello again. I was not expecting to hear from you this early in the morning. May I ask why you are not yet asleep, when you have classes in less than six hours?” Grillby asks.
Relaxing back against your bed, you carefully place your phone on your bedside table, making sure to plug it in as you do. You’ve fallen asleep without remembering to charge it too many times.
I definitely can’t afford to miss any more classes just because my alarm doesn’t go off.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Is there any particular reason why?” Grillby's gentle voice makes you feel both relaxed and silly.
Stupid nightmares.
“I just keep thinking about stuff I guess.” You grab your pillow, pressing it firmly against your own face.
So much for better communication!
Clearing your throat, you try again. “I’ve not been sleeping so good. Keep waking up. I thought I might as well not bother falling asleep…”
The line goes quiet for a moment, before Grillby’s soft voice returns once more. “Nightmares?”
“Yeah.”
“Has anything you have tried helped with them?”
“Nothing yet.” You admit. It feels like you’ve tried everything. You’re hesitant to say it, but force the words out. “Nothing helps. Not even leaving a light on.”
“I thought you slept well when you stayed over last night? I did not hear you get up during the night.”
“That was the first night I’ve slept all the way through in a while.” You say as you run your fingers across your tired, bobbling bedding. Compared to Grillby’s sheets, even your favourite blankets, worn soft and smooth from years of overuse, feel rough and cheap.
“May I try something? We can stop at any time if you become uncomfortable.”
Smiling, you nod wordlessly, before remembering he can’t see you. “I’m willing to try anything at this point. I just want more than one good night’s sleep.”
“Tell me where you are, and what you are doing.” You find yourself straightening, as Grillby’s voice filters through your phone. His low, crackling voice has taken on a deeper, more commanding edge. It melts something deep inside you, ignoring something you haven’t felt in some time.
“I’m…in my room? On my bed?”
He laughs. “Are you sure about that? You do not sound very confident.”
You let out a soft huff, equal parts amused and embarrassed. “I am laying on my bed, still wearing a borrowed pair of the softest black boxers I have ever felt, with my second least sexy bra on and a giant, slouchy hoodie. It is possibly one of the ugliest hoodies I own, but it's the most comfortable one. It’s got little rainbow clouds on it and everything. Wanna see?”
“If you would be so kind, I would love to.” You freeze. That wasn’t the answer you were expecting.
“I thought you didn’t like getting random nudes.” Your mind flashes back to your last disastrous attempt at sexting.
“I do not like receiving unsolicited photographs or videos without a prior agreement being in place. I would say that we are both in a position where we are awake, sober, and able enough to consent. Though if you are feeling shy, I can of course get things started.”
Holy shit. Is Grillbae going to send me nudes? There is a god. Please, please let him still have half the suit on.
You grab your phone, eagerly clicking on the one new message icon as it pops up. A whimper escapes from between your lips. “Stars.”
It isn’t a full nude, but it’s more than you have seen before. Grillby’s usual waistcoat has been unbuttoned, falling off of his shoulders to rest in the crooks of his arms. His pristine white shirt is unbuttoned, revealing the edges of a simple, clean white undershirt that is being held firmly in the flame elementals' grip. There's no sign of his bowtie. Your eyes drink in the miles upon miles of freshly revealed skin, as photo-Grillby has lifted up his undershirt to reveal what can only be described as perfection.
Is…is that a six-pack beneath the flames? I want to see what he feels like so, so bad.
Instead of a short, happy trail of dark hair peeking above his suit trousers, you can see small, flickering plum-coloured flames. You can feel yourself beginning to heat up. You tug at the collar of your hoodie.
If I’m getting this excited about one little partial topless photo, am I even going to survive him going fully nude?
“I take it that you approve?” That familiar, smooth voice asks. “I do believe it is your turn.”
“Yes. My turn. I can do that.”
I totally cannot do that. How am I meant to compete with that?
You shake your head, trying to banish the thoughts.
Right. First thing’s first: hoodie off.
Scrambling to pull the ugly, rainbow-vomit-coloured material over your head, you look down at your underwear contemplatively. You have already warned Grillby that you’re in one of your ugliest bras.
At least it kind of matches? It’s not cute, but it’s still black.
“Hold on. Just a second.” You call out, as you try to find the perfect angle to take a photo. “Shoot!” You scramble to catch your phone, as it falls from your fingers. “Gosh darn it, I-OH MY GOSH.” As you glance at your phone, you realise you have accidentally hit the start video chat button. Instinctively, you throw the phone away, as you try to hide your growing blush.
“That was an unexpected reaction. Take a moment to calm yourself. Would you like me to hang up and call back once you have had a moment?” The faint, muffled voice asks through your layers of blankets and discarded clothing.
“It’s ok! I just misclicked.” You laugh at your own clumsiness, as you grab your phone once more. Smiling, you give a short wave. You realise without the lights on, Grillby must barely be able to see you. “Hold on, let me get the lights.”
As soon as you’ve flicked the switch, you start noticing all the little things you missed while cleaning up earlier; a stray stocking half hidden under your pillow, screwed-up paper on your tiny desk, an empty can of monster energy drink on the window ledge.
Welp. At least he already knew to keep expectations low.
“Hi. Again. Sorry about that. I could just hang up, and try and retake the picture?” You offer sheepishly, as you settle back down.
“If that would make you more comfortable. Or we could continue on like this.” Grillby offers, readjusting his own phone.
Ooooh yas. He really did take that photo just now, didn’t he? Damn, he looks so good.
You can see bare collarbone at this angle. Clearly, Grillby has just finished removing his shirt and undershirt.
I wonder if he’s still got those trousers on…
“Um. This is good?” You squeak. Letting out a soft laugh at your own ridiculously high pitch, you settle back into your bed, trying to make yourself more comfortable. “I guess it’s still my turn.” You wink, trying to exude a level of confidence you definitely aren’t feeling.
Fake it till you make it, and all that jazz.
Pulling your phone back, you slowly tilt it down, giving Grillby a clear view of his black boxers and the worn, fraying at the edges lacy bra you had thrown on. Most of the remaining marks have begun to fade after the amazing breakfast Grillby made for you. For many, in their place remains a silvery white scar.
You bite your lip, as the line remains silent. All you can hear is your joint breathing, as you shift on the bed. Beginning to feel self-conscious, you tilt your phone back up so only your face is in view.
“Heh. I guess I should have gone with a photo after all. Then I could have picked a much more flattering angle.”
“Nonsense.” He says firmly. “You look beautiful. I must admit, seeing you still wearing something of mine has affected me more than I had expected.” You can hear him shifting off camera. Is that the sound of fabric rustling, or are you just letting your imagination get away with itself?
“So…” You trail off, unsure of what to say next.
“My apologies. I did not mean to get so distracted.”
That is definitely rustling I can hear. Was that a zipper?
“You said that you have been having trouble sleeping, correct?”
“Yeah…” You squirm, glancing away from your phone. “Um. I’m just gonna…” You click to end the video part of your call, leaving the audio still running. “I’m sorry.”
“There is no need to apologise. Whatever makes you feel most comfortable. Are you having trouble getting to sleep, or staying asleep?” He asks.
“Both.”
“Nightmares?” He asks gently. You hum in confirmation. “Those can be tricky. And yet you slept better when you stayed over with me last night, did you not? Did you experience any nightmares then, or have any difficulty in falling asleep?”
“None. I…I think knowing you were nearby really helped? I knew that you’d keep me safe if anything happened. And that you wouldn’t put me in any situation where I’d be unsafe in the first place.”
“Thank you for trusting me. I am glad that you know that I will always do my best to keep your safety and best interests at heart where possible.”
You let the silence sit between you for a moment. “I think that it helped as well, finally…saying it out loud. It felt like a weight was lifted. I thought…”
“You thought that meant you would be able to forget about it and move on straight away?” Grillby gently prompts. You laugh; that is exactly what you had thought. “It’s rarely that easy. While I myself would never presume to say I can understand what you have been through, for I have not had that same experience before, I have lived through traumatic events that have left their mark.”
“How did you get past it?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper.
He sighs. “I did not. For the longest time, I tried to force myself to push through. To keep moving forward. I thought if I could ignore it, my feelings on the matter would go away. But they never do.”
“Never?” You can feel your throat closing, a tightness threatening to steal your words and quicken your breathing.
Keep calm. Stay still. Be safe.
“They fade over time, but for me…they have yet to go fully. I believe that, deep down, they will always leave their mark on me. The trauma has in many ways become a part of me that I cannot change.”
Quietly, you ask. “Would you change it, if you could?”
“That is impossible to say. While I would not wish to relive those experiences, nor wish them on my greatest enemy, I do not know who or where I would be, if not for what happened. Our traumas in many ways shape us. We can hope for the best, and prepare for the worst. But being able to open up and talk about it is the first step towards processing those feelings, and finding your own way of moving into the next day without drowning in your own what-ifs.”
“I hate it.” You admit. “I hate that what he did is gonna affect me like that for the rest of my life. What if I can’t even go back into the club playrooms? What if I can’t go down, without thinking back to what happened? Stars. I can’t even have phone sex with my kinda-maybe-boyfriend, without letting it ruin things.” You can feel the tears starting to stream down your cheeks now. You allow yourself to get lost momentarily, caught up in the whirlwind of anger and sorrow, of regrets and fear, that feel like they are always vying for your attention.
As your breathing finally begins to calm and you can focus once more on your phone. You can hear faint humming, warm and soft and low, filtering down through your phone.
“Sometimes…we cannot get back what we have lost. But in our search to try and rediscover who we have become, we may find something equally as pleasurable, if not more so.”
You let your eyes slide closed, as you take a moment to just breathe.
I really could see myself falling for him.
“Thanks for not saying everything is going to be ok.”
“I would not lie to you like that. Neither of us can say for certain what ‘ok’ will look like for you, or how long it will take to get there. But I can say that I will do my best to ensure you feel safe and able to find what you need. As your kinda-maybe-boyfriend, or as a friend”
“Hey Grillbae?”
“Yes?”
“Can we just stay on the line until one of us falls asleep? Last one up hangs up.” You ask, half expecting him to laugh. It’s such a childish request to make, yet it feels right.
“It would be my pleasure.”
As the minutes drag on, you can feel your eyelids growing heavier. You reach up to stifle a yawn. The gentle, rhythmic sound of breathing and the crackling of flames creates the perfect background noise, blocking out the faint hum of traffic below.
“Hey Grillbae?” You ask sleepily.
“Yes?”
“Are you disappointed we aren’t having phonesex right now?”
“I am extraordinarily happy that you felt comfortable enough to ask for what you need, not what you thought I would want. There will always be another time for more carnal pursuits. Your health and wellbeing should always come first.”
“Stars. I don’t know what I did right, but I’m so lucky to have met you.”
The soothing sound of crackling fire begins to lul you in deeper. Without thinking, you reach out for the discarded, borrowed white shirt. Bringing it up to your face, you cuddle close to it, as though cuddling a favourite teddy bear. The faint scent of firewood, smoke and pine permeates the pristine fabric. It brings a smile to your lips.
“I do believe I am the lucky one. Sleep well. I will be here to guard you against your nightmares.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“How’ve you been doing?” You take a moment to answer, as you finish making your notes on the clipboard. You’re nearing the end of your stocktake shift. Exhausted, sweaty, and covered in dust, you want nothing more than a long, hot shower, and another night of uninterrupted sleep. Too bad my hot water is out again, and there’s no way I’m imposing on Grillbae for a third night in a row. You had awoken in time for your first class, mortified to see that your call to Grillby was still going. I must have run his bill up so high! How am I going to pay him back? While your night hadn’t been totally undisturbed, it had been much quieter and more restorative. Peering in the mirror before classes that morning, you could have sworn that your eyebags were slowly reducing. It’s not like they could have got much bigger. I was starting to look like I had two black eyes. “Good?” You smile, as you lower the clipboard, giving Bosslady your full attention. “Um, I wanted to thank you again for moving my shifts around and being so accommodating. You really didn’t have to do that.” You can’t quite meet her eyes. A big part of you is still so embarrassed that of all the places, this happened to you where you work. What must everyone think of me? At least rumours haven’t started going around yet… “Don’t mention it. It’s really the least we could do. And I want you to know that we’re changing some of our security measures around here. We’re gonna do our best to avoid the same mistakes happening again on our end. Just wanted to let you know that these day shifts are yours for as long as you want ‘em. Or you can have your old shifts back if and when you’re ready.” She promises, leaning against the doorframe. You nod, trying to force a smile onto your face. You really could do with moving back to your regular shifts; the loss of tips is starting to hurt, but honestly? You know you aren’t up to it yet. “Thank you. I’ll…keep that in mind, and I’ll let you know if anything changes.” You glance up, meeting her eyes. To you, Bosslady has always had this untouchable aura; despite the clear lines of crow's feet around her eyes and greying temples, she has practically radiated ‘Don’t fuck with me’ energy ever since you met her. And yet now, you can’t help but think that she looks somehow smaller, shrunken even, compared to her former self, and worn down. Maybe I’m not the only one having a hard time processing everything. It’s strange, to think that the one thing that has been crowding your thoughts, hasn’t just been affecting you. It’s oddly comforting to think that there are others who know, who understand, and who are pained by this too. Glancing at the clock, you realise it’s time to start heading out. Library time for me. Maybe if I grovel enough, I can get back into my study group. Putting away the last few bits, you head back to the staffroom to grab your things. I wonder if I’ve got enough to pick up some doughnuts for everyone? That’d be cheaper than coffee or energy drinks. You gently close your locker, before leaning your forehead against it. The cold metal soothes the faint throbbing that has begun between your eyes. Just another few weeks, and it’ll be half term. I can do this. Bag slung over your shoulder, you take a moment to straighten your jeans. Running your hands over the worn, threadbare fabric, you can’t help but think of the black boxers hidden below. You haven’t been able to bring yourself to return them to Grillby yet. Surely he won’t mind if one pair stays missing. They’re just so soft, and somehow, the fabric brushes against you in all the right places. It’s like I’m getting a constant hug while I’m wearing them. You hadn’t gone as far as to wear your borrowed shirt to work — mainly out of fear of ruining it — but you had decided to go for something a lot more casual than you would usually wear to the club. An oversized, slouchy rainbow jumper hangs from one shoulder, holes poked through in the overly long sleeves to allow your thumbs to push through. That’s one good thing about working behind the scenes at least; no need to dress up in hopes of getting better tips. As you turn, something flickers out of the corner of your eye. Startled, you take a step back. You crash into the lockers, banging your head with a painful thump, as Mutt appears beside the battered staffroom table.“Fucking shitballs. What the — you can’t come back here!” You shout, brows furrowing. This is supposed to be a quiet, safe space for staff, away from the craziness that can happen out there amongst the customers. Mutt shouldn’t be here.Your breath catches in your throat, as Mutt stalks forward. His faded black jeans look particularly scruffy today, the familiar black leather and fur-trimmed jacket hanging open to reveal a rather fetching red turtleneck below. Don’t even go there. You remind yourself, as your eyes fall onto his spiked collar once more. Off limits! Don’t put your cooch near crazy. Wordlessly, he reaches your side. Eyelights glowing despite the bright, fluorescent lights, your eyes flick to his exposed gold tooth, tracing up along his cracked cheekbone to his eye socket. Has he always looked this serious, or is something wrong? You can’t tell. A strong, unforgiving hand reaches out to grasp your shoulder. Fingers curl around your exposed flesh. The world seems to stutter for a moment, black bleeding in, lights blurring. It feels like the bottom has fallen out of your stomach. It’s over in a second, though it feels like an eternity. Stained fingers clench around your shoulder, holding you up as your knees buckle. You feel like you’re going to be sick.Finally, he lets you go. You drop to your knees, dry heaves wracking your body. “What the hell was that?” You wheeze. A bottle appears out of the corner of your eye. You grab it without thinking. Before you can take a swig, you freeze. The bottle is already open. Fuck. You throw it as far as you can, watching with satisfaction as Mutt jumps, clearly not expecting your reaction. Water sprays across the bench, arching to splatter the opposite rack of toys and equipment, before rolling into the centre of the room. Your breath catches, as you realise where you are. This…is one of the back rooms. It feels like everything stands still. Your eyes dart from one corner to the other, seeking out any sign of someone else. You draw a ragged breath; it isn’t the same room. It isn’t the same person, the same situation. For now, it would appear that it is just the two of you.“What do you think you’re doing, Mutt?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You meet his amber eye lights, trying to show every inch of your displeasure in how you hold yourself. “Why are we here?”He tilts his head, gaze still locked with yours. “i thought i warned you about playin with fire.”Your eyes dart, constantly shifting, watching for any sign of movement from Mutt. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders slouched, relaxed. Yet it’s his face that gives him away. Beneath the relaxed exterior, you can see a sharpness, focused solely on you. “i heard Grillby’s got a new, squishy human visitor. looks like you’ve healed a lot since the last time we ran into each other. it makes me think: these two things might be related.” Your eyes flick down, as his hands leave his pockets. Stained bones open a distinct little packet; you don’t recognise the brand, but they look like the cigarettes you saw Mutt with before. He pulls out two long, slim, purple cigarettes. You catch a whiff of something faint and floral that you can’t quite place. “So what if they are?” You ask, voice loud and firm. This thing with Grillby is new and delicate; you hadn’t expected anyone to notice, much less question it so soon. “You were wrong, you know. Grillby didn’t have any kind of temper tantrum when he found out. He was kind. Sweet. I guess you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”A long, loud laugh echoes through the room. You jump, taking half a step back as Mutt doubles over, collar and tooth glinting in the light. Full-body chuckles wrack his frame, dragging on as he tries and fails to compose himself. “oh darlin, you are funny. y’think Grillby would risk losin’ his cool where you could see? where were you when he found out, the club? a bar? oh, don’t tell me you were at Grillby’s?” He laughs again, shaking his head. “did he leave the room at any point? excuse himself, maybe to make some tea? get you or him something a little more stiff to drink? or maybe he had to pop upstairs real quick for somethin?”You pause, thinking back. He did go out back to get us more drinks. And…it took him a little while to go and make up the bedroom for me to stay. A knowing smirk breaks out across Mutt’s face, as he takes in your uncertainty. “i’d bet a month’a sentry duty that he had to sneak out back to let off some steam before he could talk to you more rationally. y' think ya know him after a few weeks? i’ve known him for years. he likes to play all prim and proper in front of outsiders, but when you get down to it? there’s a reason why he’s considered a boss monster, darlin. and it aint cause he makes a killer burger.”Frowning, you slowly shake your head. Boss monster? I don’t think I know that term. Maybe there’s some kind of social hierarchy? I really, really need to read more about monster culture and traditions. “y’need to accept some things if you’re gonna play with the big boys. monsters like Grillby and M’lord? they need outlets. sure, some of 'em are gonna be nice about it, pretend like they don’t need to go somewhere private and let loose until their magic stops screamin' at ‘em to hurt. to break. to take and protect and own what is theirs. to destroy anythin' that dares touch their property. but behind that nice little human-friendly facade, is the same drive. you’re a distraction. nothin’ more.”You can feel your breath speeding up once more, becoming unsteady. He’s getting to you in new ways you hadn’t even considered before. Stop it. Just stop. You know Grillby. You trust him. He’s not like that. Just because Mutt’s known him for longer… “Funny how you didn’t include yourself there, Papyrus.” You watch closely, as Mutt straighteners, all traces of his casual slouch gone. “Oh yes; Grillby told me that’s your real name. He told me all about you and your brother. Are you saying you’re not like other boss monsters, was it? That you don’t have the same needs?”You blink. Between one second and the next, he’s gone. A black-orange blur catches the corner of your eye. As you turn to face it, you feel a body, unbearably tall and hard and unforgiving, crowding against you, forcing you to back up against the wall. An arm falls heavily on the wall beside your head, making you flinch. Those eerie, amber eye lights are just inches away now, staring into your own eyes, as he takes a long, deep drag on one of those two cigarettes, the other nowhere in sight. You watch, unable to banish your thoughts - I wonder how he smokes with no lungs. Can magic really mimic that? - as he holds it for several long seconds, before blowing a billowing cloud of lavender-tinged smoke in your face. You can feel your eyes watering, as you begin to cough.The smell is actually lovely. Now that he is closer, you can identify it: a mixture between lavender, roses and hibiscus. But the unexpected and unwelcome nature startles you, leaving you wheezing. You shake your head, a creeping, uneasy feeling beginning to form in the pit of your stomach. I must not have drunk enough water today; I’m starting to feel woozy. “you really are a mouthly little thing, aren’t ya? i guess i did know what i was doin’ when i picked you up all those weeks ago. you need to relax. you’re gettin’ all worked up; no need to get so excited. not yet. here; try one of these. they’re guaranteed to help ya relax.” Mutt pulls the other cigarette out from the depths of his pockets, sucking on his own lit one to light the tip. You watch at the embers flare, momentarily matching Mutt’s amber eye lights.“No thank you. Nope. No judgement here, but smoking things from strangers is not my idea of fun.” You lean as far away as you can, pressing tightly back against the wall. You can taste the smoke now, as it unpleasantly coats your tongue in sticky-sweet floral flavours. Your eyes dart to the door. I could try screaming. If someone is passing by at the right time, they should hear me. “strangers? darlin, after what we did together, you’ve got me wonderin' what it would take to be considered acquaintances, let alone something more.” Mutt smirks at you, as he takes another long, deep drag. Slowly, he blows a plume of lilac smoke into your face. Reaching up to cover your mouth, you duck your head to one side, trying to escape from the growing cloud. Your mouth feels like you’ve been chewing on cotton balls. Everything is starting to take on a softer, wobbly edge, as though you’re five drinks in and showing no signs of stopping. “Heh. Y-you make a good point. Damn, that was-was.” A giggle escapes. You pause, blinking. Where did that come from? Shaking your head, you tilt your head back to look up at Mutt. “Was a really, really great fuck. Until ya went and ruined things. Stupid ruiner.” You pout, as Mutt chuckles. What’s so funny? “Stupid smug puppy. Ruining a-a pretty fucking great fucking. Heh. That rhymes.”“it really doesn't. heh. anyone’d think you’ve never smoked an echo flower cig before.” You blink at him slowly, his words filtering through at a glacial pace. Rough fingers, surprisingly warm for bone, brush against your cheeks, pushing back your hair. You lean against the warmth with a happy sigh.
Warm. Warm is good. Grillbae is warm. I like warm. I really like Grillbae. I should tell him I like him. Then we can be warm together.
“well shit. how many fingers ‘m I holdin up?” A hand shakes your shoulder until you open your eyes. You try to focus. You find yourself looking at the tip of your nose, the faint, blurring outline of bone and fur somewhere behind that little button tip. “I miss fucking.” You sigh mournfully. Somewhere, you hear faint, choked laughter. “I used to have really great, kinky sex. I mean really out there! Some of the things…” You trail off as your eyes lower to the floor. Wet. wet. Wet. Why’s it wet? “oh? old grillbz not enough for you? need a real monster or two to show you a good time. cause i know one or two who’d volunteer.” Fingers brush against your cheek once again. They’re warm, but not as hot as you were expecting.
Not-warm warm? Not…Grillbae?
“N-noooo. Not fuckin Grillbae.” The faint sound of a low, raspy laugh barely breaks through the haze that has taken over. “Not yet. Taking things slow. Sloooooow. After I fucked up, need ta start all over again. Don’t wanna…don’t…” You can feel fingers brushing against your forehead as you trail off, urging your head back. You wince, as something - fingers? - try to pry your eyes open. When did they close? “shit. you are out of it. shitty human tolerance levels. ok darlin', i’m gonna lay you down on the bed and get you some water. i like a bit of consensual non-con as much as the next guy, but this is too outta it…” You can feel something behind the back of your legs moments before you feel weightless. “Noooo. No bed.” You ball up your fist, trying to push back against the strange, warm wall that is holding you. “I’m mad at you. You did…bads. Bad things. Naughty doggy. no-no-no treats.”You’re falling. It feels like you land on a puff of marshmallows, bouncing one, two, three times. You giggle. “Clouds are silky.”“what the fuck is in this batch?” “I really, really wanna fuck you again. But you’re bad. Bad for me. Bad bad bad. Can’t trust. Nopey nope nope. Can’t trust anyone. Only Grillbe. Grillbaaaaae. Grillbye? … Hotbae.”You roll onto your stomach, pressing your face against the silky-soft fabric below. Smells wrong. No smoke. No pine. No wood. Where… “please tell me you call him hotbae to his face. i would pay to see that. does it make him blush? i heard dogressa say she saw him blush one time. bright pink. is it true?”You reach out without lifting your head, fumbling around for something. Your hand lands on something soft and squishy. Picking it up, you press it against your head, trying to drown out the noise of someone talking.“hey, no, don’t—” Your fingers tighten, trying to keep hold of your prize. Unrelentingly firm yet gentle fingers continue trying to pry the pillow from your grasp. “pretty sure squishy humans need ta breathe. stop that.” You feel something swat at your upturned butt. Instinctively, you push back, eager for another, before your mind — Why are my thoughts so slow? — catches up.“Nopey nope nope. No second sessions. Not for you! Bad puppy.”“not even for grillby?” “Haveta have a first session to get to a second.” You explain as you flip onto your back. Hands tug at your shirt; you swat them away. Silly. Trying to take my top off by pulling it down. Heh. jokes on him; it’s not gonna work that way. “he really hasn’t?” You can’t make sense of what the fuzzy-blur is asking, but you’re pretty sure your answer should be no. Rubbing at your eyes, you squint, trying to focus. You see a collar. A flash of gold. “Mutt?” Your head really is pounding. “Why’m I in a bed with you?”“i’m technically not in the bed. just watchin ‘t make sure you’re ok ‘till backup arrives. can you drink somethin' for me?” You can feel a cool, damp bottle pressing against your hands. Weakly, you push it away.“Nuh-huh. I know your tricks. You’re not gonna pull one over on me again! You and your sneaky-sneak pocket dom.” Why does Mutt sound like he’s choking? “Stupid sexy skeletons. Trying to trick me. ‘M not falling for that again!”“so you think we’re sexy?”“Bad, sexy, stupid puppy! ‘M not a toy to play fetch with.”“aww, really darlin? but you were such a pretty toy for me. don’t you wanna be a good toy for me again? for both of us?”You frown. Why are words so hard? Trying to shake your head, you roll to the edge of the bed. Hands grab you, steadying you before you can tip over. “easy darlin. how about you lay down for a bit for me, hm? you lay down an let things wear off, an i’ll text grillby for you. does that sound fair?”“Promise?” You can feel his fingers stilling in your hair, at the pleading note in your voice. Slowly, they start petting the loose strands of hair once more.“scouts honour.”“Heh. Is there really a monster version of boy scouts?” Eyes slipping closed once more, you let the floaty feeling take over. Why fight it? Floating is nice. “nope. and if there was one, they sure as shit wouldn’ta let me in. m’lord would have been one probably.”“Hey Mutt?”“yeah?”“I don’t feel so good. I think I wanna be sick.”“just try ‘n sleep for me. it’ll all be better when you wake up.”“Kay.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
My head is fucking killing me. Why does it feel like I drank a dozen jager bombs?
As you begin to rouse, the all-consuming pounding in your head takes precedent. It feels like your head is going to split in two. You crack your eyes open, only to slam them closed again with a weak groan. At least I remembered to turn down the lights. You think. Something nags at the back of your mind. Thanks, past me. You coulda drunk some water or got painkillers ready, but no; you just turned the lights down. Great forward planning as always, especially considering…my apartment's lights don’t have a dimmer…on them… “Oh fuck.” You whimper, forcing your eyes open once more. You blink, momentarily blinded by the lights, as you try to push past the pain to find out where you are and what the hell is happening. I was at work. Then…Mutt? What the fuck. Please tell me I didn’t do anything stupid. Rubbing your eyes, your limbs feel heavy and unwieldy. You swing your legs over the side of the bed, noting the familiar black satin bedding. This is definitely one of the back rooms at the club. I wouldn’t have…not with Mutt. Not again. Would I? You fumble on the bedside table, hoping to find your phone. It’s empty, save for an open bottle of water. Yeah…nope. Not touching that if it’s the last bottle of water on earth. Reaching up, you rub your temples once more. What did I drink? Or…did I take something? With a shake of your head, you look around the room, trying to spot your missing things. As you give the room a cursory glance there are no overt signs of Mutt. Spilt water…some weird smell. Maybe cleaning products? Oh! There’s my bag. You sigh in relief, as you stumble across to your abandoned messenger bag. You doubt anyone would want to steal the damaged, taped-together thing, but it has one of your more expensive textbooks in it, and you can’t afford to replace it if it goes missing. Gotta be more careful. Maybe it’s time to stop bringing uni supplies to work with me. Your thoughts return to your long since broken down car, knowing that without it, you won’t have the chance to make the journey between university, your studio, and the club, just to drop off your books. Or, well, I guess I could leave them locked up safely in the staffroom if I absolutely have to… You rifle through to make sure everything is there. It all seems untouched. “Huh. Why would I have put my phone in there…” You grab it, frowning as the screen remains dark. Did I…forget to charge it again? I could have sworn it was at, like, at least seventy percent… “HE-HEM.” The loud sound of someone clearly trying to gain your attention grates on you, making the pulsing, pounding pressure between your eyes double. Oh no. No way. It couldn’t possibly be… “I SEE THAT YOU ARE AWAKE AT LAST. SO LAZY AND INSOLENT, JUST LIKE THAT NO-GOOD MUTT.” Clutching your bag to your chest, you turn, eyes scanning the room once more. How did you miss him the first time? There he is, lounging on a dark mahogany and purple leather throne. Legs thrown over one arm, skull resting on a glove-covered fist, everything about how he is lounging screams confidence and boredom. And yet… Your eyes hone in on the long, black crop in his other hand. The leather tip taps against his shinbone, and he watches you with his dark purple eye lights. They’re just like plums…or blackberries. Now I come to think about it, they kind of remind me of Grillbae’s flames when he gets all fired up… You try to keep him firmly in your line of sight, as your eyes dart once more around the room, trying to catch any hint of Mutt. Nothing.“Why are we here?” It takes everything in you to keep your voice calm and steady. Mutt promised he’d text Grillby for me. I want Grillbae. “ISN’T IT OBVIOUS?” His booming voice is already starting to get on your nerves. You rub at your forehead, trying to ease the pain, as you shake your head. Of course it isn’t fucking obvious, you little shit. What is wrong with both of you? “No. It isn’t. Mutt didn’t exactly have much to say, when he kidnapped me.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, all traces of ease seem to leave Sans’s body. It’s like watching a switch being flipped. His back goes ramrod straight, shoulders settling more widely apart. He swings his legs over the side of the throne; purple booted feet thump heavily against the cold flagstone floor. Your eyes flick down, as the crop is finally down, leant against the side of the chair.“KIDNAPPED? THAT IS QUITE THE ACCUSATION, HUMAN. ONE THAT WOULD REQUIRE PROOF.” His eye lights narrow, as he bares his teeth at you. Each looks as though it has been filed into a sharp point, more closely resembling a row of sharks' teeth rather than anything else. It makes something deep within you spark with curiosity. I wonder what those would feel like, biting down on a shoulder, a thigh, a breast…would I trust him down there, with those things? A larger part of you is terrified. Even without your growing, less than stellar shared history, his teeth look like they could tear through flesh and bone with little thought or care. Your mind scrambles, trying to think of something. The playrooms don’t have security cameras for the sake of privacy. We didn’t take the corridors; no one else would have seen us. That only leaves… “He cornered me in the staffroom. There are cameras there. For safety reasons. He did that…thing. What was that?” You can’t help but ask, as the memories of the dark nothingness, the feeling of weightlessness, and the insurmountable terror, rise once more to the forefront of your mind. “It was like…he wasn’t there, then he was. Then we were…”“HE TOOK YOU THROUGH THE VOID?” It’s more of a snarl than a question. You can hear the arms of the throne creaking under the pressure of his clenched hands. Tiny black splinters begin to appear, as the wood gives way beneath his fury. “THAT STUPID, STARS-FORSAKEN IMBECILE! TO TAKE A HUMAN THROUGH THE VOID, WITHOUT WARNING, WITHOUT-”“Consent?” Those burning purple eye lights turn on you once more. You watch as they flicker, momentarily becoming smaller, as though stunned anyone would date to interrupt. “Because he didn’t ask first. Or tell me what he wanted. Not really. He just took me.” You can feel your terror beginning to give way to something much less familiar. Anger burns in the pit of your stomach, radiating out through every inch of you. It’s something you haven’t truly allowed yourself to feel in so long. It burns, as the words work their way out of you, your voice growing louder and louder. “Not to mention drugged me! What even was that?!”“He Did What?” On anybody else, it would have sounded like he was speaking loudly, but for Sans, it was practically a whisper. The arms of the chair - previously damaged, likely already past the point of repair - shatter completely, crumbling to the floor as glowing purple magic seems to eat away at the splintered edges. You refuse to cower.
I’ve been afraid for long enough. I’ve already experienced so much. What more can happen to me, really?
“You heard me. Those purple cigarettes of his.”“Those? A Disgusting Habit, But Hardly What I Would Call Drugging You.” He takes a step forward, as he brushes off his black and purple shorts.“Oh really? Confusion. Trouble concentrating. Memory loss. Unconsciousness. Headache. Dry mouth.” The more symptoms you list, the more Sans’s anger appears to be returning, and yet, there’s something else there. Is he…confused? But why? Your stomach gives an uneasy lurch, reminding you that it has been quite some time since you last ate. Or drank anything. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give for some water right now… You eye the spilt bottle mournfully. Not worth it. Who knows what could have been in it? “And that’s just from second-hand smoke! Not to mention nausea.” Your stomach gives another lurch. “Ooooh. I don’t…” You drop your bag, hands instinctively going to cover your mouth. You spot a small bin off to one side, standing next to the table of complimentary items each room comes equipped with: sealed bottles of water, a veritable rainbow of condom options, lube sachets, and two opened boxes of gloves - both latex, and latex-free. You made a dash for it.Bent over the trashcan, dry retches wrack your body. Urg. This is always so much worse than just throwing up. Tears begin to fall, streaming down your face and into the opened, thankfully empty, bin, as you gag and retch. The acrid taste of bile coats your tongue, as you spit and hack, trying to empty your already empty stomach.Hands - tentative and gentle - brush back your hair, holding it away from your face. Another comes to rest against the small of your back, a soothing heat radiating from where it touches. It reminds you of Grillby’s warmth; comforting and soothing and perfect. It feels like embers, soft and low and stoked just enough to heat a room to perfection, coated in popping candy. It fizzes and crackles against you even through the fabric of your clothes, making your skin tingle and jump with excitement. “Does This Happen Often?” The words make you jolt. You try to pull away. Of course it wasn’t Grillby, holding your hair and rubbing your back. You knew that. “Should I Call A Healer?”You laugh, low and wet. “Now you wanna call a healer?” You can feel shivers beginning to wrack your body. Not all of your vomit - more stomach acid than anything - made it into the bin. Why do I feel so cold? “I’m fine. I just need to get out of this.” You try to pull away again, as you tug on the hem of your oversized jumper. This time, Sans lets you.Pulling your jumper off without a second thought, you instantly regret it, as the chill air hits your damp skin. You hear footsteps drawing closer, a hand reaching out to touch between your lower back and the curve of your hip.“Who Did This?” Warm bones drag across your bare flesh, leaving a trail of static-like tingles in their wake. It takes a moment for you to realise what he is asking. You feel a flush of shame rush to your cheeks. Even after Grillby’s magical food, you still have so many silver-white scars littering your body. A few of the deeper marks are still red, with a mottled, dark purple-black background where they are still struggling to heal. “These Were Not Here Before. Who Did This?” You take a step back, head lowered. You don’t want to talk about this. Not with anyone. Except maybe Grillby. Especially not with Sans. And yet…“What Animal Did This?” He’s not touching you physically, but you can feel that popping candy sensation skittering across your back. You glance over your shoulder; his hand and right eye both glow a deep shade of blackberry-purple. A lighter shade of that same magic skitters across your skin, as though trying to find each new mark.“It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past.”“I Decide What Matters. These Were Not Here Last Time We Met.”You turn, now facing him. You let your vomit-soaked jumper fall to the floor. Instantly, his eyes dart down, tracing each new scar and mark that has been revealed. He seems to linger on one mark imparticular; you know, from hours spent tracing each blemish in the mirror, which one has caught his attention. Only half of it is visible; a five-inch mark, still raw and puffy, cuts a straight line across from your kidneys to the crease of your thigh. I’m lucky that one didn’t do any internal damage. Or perhaps it did. I don’t know exactly what the healer did for me that first night… “No. They weren’t.” You watch, a sense of detachment soaking into you, as glove-encased bones clench into fists. Jaw clamped firmly shut, he seems to be searching for the right words, the right questions to ask. At least he isn’t demanding things this time. “We seem to be getting away from the point. Your Mutt drugged me. Why?”“Clearly He Had Questions. As Do I.” He takes a step forward. You remain where you are. I’m done hiding. “What right do you have to ask questions? I’m nothing to you, nor you to me. Why do you care what happened to some random human you’ve barely even met? I fucked Mutt, not you. We don’t even have that connection.”“If What You Say Is True, Mutt Did Not Drug You. He Barely Smoked Enough Echoflower For Any Normal Monster To Get A Contact High.” Sans dismisses. “A Disgusting Habit, But Far From Harmful.”You jump on his words. “But I’m not a monster. I’m human. What effect do those things have on humans?” You push. It’s as though he doesn’t hear you, or perhaps, he is only hearing what he wants to hear. “Mutt Will Be Dealt With For Acting Without Permission. But Now, You Will Answer Me. What. Happened?” He’s close now. Close enough to touch. Despite his height, there is something about the way he holds himself that makes you want to cower, to bow in deference. What he lacks in stature, he more than makes up for with his larger-than-life presence. It makes you feel small in comparison. A part of you realises it should make you feel scared. It doesn’t. “Not everyone listens to the rules. You know all about that, though, don’t you?” For a moment, he looks at you as though you have slapped him. Soon, rage fills his face.“You Would Dare Compare The Maleficent Sans To Some, Some Animal Who Would Do This-” He’s trembling, as he reaches out, hand hovering over the mark that dips beneath the waistband of your jeans. It’s not the worst scar left behind, but it’s the worst on show. It indicates how little care or knowledge the wielder of that cane possessed. “Not everyone follows the rules. Not everyone plays safe. Safe, sane, consensual kink. Risk-aware consensual kink. Not everyone cares enough to listen. Not everyone keeps their word, when they say-'' Your words catch for a moment, as your mind flashes back to his words. Limits are for vanilla wanna-be cosplayers. “Not everyone follows through on what they agreed on during negotiations. You and Mutt know all about that.”“We Never Had Any Negotiations,” Sans says.“Exactly. But Mutt and I did. And he sure as shit didn’t mention a player three.” You hold his gaze. You can see something flickering - is that uncertainty, perhaps? Or regret? Or maybe you’re just imagining things.“I Have Never Required The Use Of These So-Called Safe Words. Where I Come From, They-”You cut him off. “Yeah? Well, neither did the guy who did this.” You gesture to the marks, both visible and not. Sans gaze follows your hands, lingering on your jeans. He clearly wants to know what other secrets lay beneath. “Only An Animal Would Do Such A Thing. I Do Not Appreciate The Comparison.” He shakes his head, returning to meet your gaze. “I Was Trying To Say, Before I Was So Rudely Interrupted: Where I Am From, If You Are Foolish Enough To Engage In A Dynamic Where You Feel The Need For A So-Called ‘Safe Word’” He grimaces at the term, rolling his eyes.
That doesn’t bode well for you, buddy.
“It Is A Sign That You Do Not Trust The Other To Know Your Limits, Or Their Own. In Which Case…You Are Being Entirely Idiotic To Even Contemplate Any Kind Of Play With Them. Only Imbeciles Or Those With A Death Wish Would Engage In Such Things.” He crosses his arms, looking down at you.Something heavy settles in your stomach once more. There’s a gnawing, insistent part of you that wants to reach up, to take hold of the crack that runs from above Sans’s socket to just above the curve of his stupid smirk, and to pull. In this moment, you want him to hurt as much as he is hurting you. And it scares you.You consider your words carefully, before quietly asking. “So you’re saying I’m either suicidal, or I was asking for it?”You can see him faltering for a moment, before he nods once “I say this with all sincerity, Sans. I mean it truly and deeply.” You take a deep, steadying breath, as your eyes slip closed for just a second. “Fuck you. Fuck you and your victim-blaming bullshit. I didn’t ask for this. It wasn’t somehow my fault that some asshole didn’t take no for an answer. Fuck you for-for…” You stumble. Your words are getting all jumbled together, your thoughts running away from you. It’s so hard to think over this fucking headache. “Not all of us have the fucking luxury of a dream dynamic. We can’t all find the perfect partner for us, that we can trust. Some of us have to make do with what - with who - we can find. We do our best to be safe. We take precautions. But I can’t…We can’t account for everything. There are bad people out there in every walk of life. We can’t avoid them all forever.”“You Can.” Your eyes shoot up to meet his, a fresh wave of anger battling at the lingering hurt and pain. “Where We Are From…If You Are Weak, Or In Danger, Or Have A Certain…Predisposition For This Lifestyle…” He gestures to the walls lined with toys and ropes, with cuffs, leather, crops, and a dozen other things. “You Find Someone Who Can Protect You. Who Can Own You. And Few, If Any, Will Dare To Challenge Them For You.”Silence falls between you, tense and uncomfortable. He’s…really suggesting jumping into a master and slave dynamic, is the safer option? What. The fuck. Slowly, you shake your head. I can’t believe this is real. “Master-Slave dynamics don’t always work out like that. Not above ground.” Your words are soft, but certain.“How Would You Even Know, If All You Do Is Seek Out Casual Affairs?” He scoffs, rolling his eye lights. “I know.” Your words are final. He doesn’t deserve to know your past, to know what you have been through. He’s far from a friend, let alone anything more. I don’t even want to talk with Grillbae about…that. “I’m going to leave now. We’re going to pretend that this didn’t happen. I won’t tell Grillby about it; I’ve heard he can get quite…heated, when people try to take what is his.” You let the threat sit between you. You have no clue if what Mutt had hinted at is actually true or not, but you have no desire to see if your mind-mannered, potential partner really does have a more violent side hidden behind those spectacles and dapper suits. You grab your fallen bag, cursing your lack of backup clothes. I’ll have to see if there’s anything hanging around in the lost and found bin. Urg. I hope there’s something without too many stains… “I Didn’t Say We Were Finished Here.” He reaches for you, grabbing your wrist. You try to pull, to twist away. His grip remains unmoved. It hurts.“Fuck you!” You reach up, pushing against his chest. The black and purple fabric feels strange, almost like body armour. Are those shoulder pads? You wind your other hand through the long, purple scarf looped around his neck. With one quick, harsh tug, you pull, forcing him to rise on tiptoes, as you drag him closer to you. “I said I don’t get involved in other people’s dynamics. Poly isn’t for me. Too much jealousy and politics and bullshit. I don’t get this fucking weird obsession you both seem to have right now. Why me? It’s not like any of us have done something to make a threesome seem fucking appealing. A couple of good hours of sex — not mindblowing, just good — with one hot guy? Big fucking deal. Mutt isn’t a fucking god. He’s just hot. All this shit you’ve pulled between you? Big fucking red flag. Massive.” You let go of his scarf, pushing his chest plate once more. This time, he lets you. Dropping your wrist, he takes a step back.“Not to mention, finding a poly dynamic that actually works is like gold dust. It’s just not worth it. And…” You take a deep breath. “I like Grillby. Why would I risk that, for a little casual fun?”“You Are Exclusive Then. With The Grease Peddler?” Sans asks, eyes narrowed, as he watches you closely. You shake your head. I mean, technically, I’m the one who wants to keep things moving slowly… “And Yet You Have Risked His Affections Already, With This Casual Dalliance.” He gestures to your marks. “So You Are Clearly Open For The Right Offer.”Without a word, you turn for the door once more. “Wait!” You feel his hand land heavily on your shoulder. You spin around, heart pounding. You didn’t hear him move; how did he get so close? Can he do that…thing that Mutt did? “Let Us Start Again. Humans Are Beyond Frustrating. You are Taking All Of This The Wrong Way. Sit. I Shall Have Mutt Fetch Us Some Refreshments.”You shake your head in disbelief. “You think I’m gonna trust food or drink from Mutt, after everything he’s already pulled?” You watch as Sans’s mouth twists into a snarl.“You Think We Would Waste Precious Food Supplies To Do What, Exactly?” Your eyes flicker back to the spilt water bottle. Sans follows your gaze. “Never trust open food or drink that’s been out of your sight in a play place or club.” You murmur. It’s such a basic rule. Why does he act like this is something new to him? A grudging understanding seems to flicker across his face, before once again settling in a scowl. “Who Would Have Thought That Humans Would Be So Cautious. I Give You My Word; No Food That I Nor My Brother Offers You Will Be Tainted In Any Way.”You shake your head. “Heh. Do you think I’m stupid? Why would I trust your word?”“YOU DARE TO CALL THE MALEFICENT SANS A LIAR?” “I dare to remember your fucking brother already broke his word! He SAID he’d call Grillby for me!” You can feel tears beginning to gather once more. I’m tired. I’m cold. I just want to go home and forget. I want Grillby. “MUTT!” Out of the corner of your eye, you see the familiar flicker returns. Between one second and the next, Mutt appears, slouching with his hands in his pockets. It’s as though he’s trying to make himself look smaller next to Sans… You realise, as a glove-encased hand darts out to grab the leash dangling from Mutt’s collar.“WHAT IS THIS I HEAR ABOUT YOU GOING BACK ON YOUR WORD? HAVE I NOT TAUGHT YOU THAT YOUR ACTIONS REFLECT POORLY ON ME?” Mutt’s face gives nothing away, as the shorter skeleton screams in his face.“i know, m’lord. i didn’t break any promises.” Amber eye lights lower in deference, as he is yanked forward towards his furious lord and master. You speak up. “You said you would text Grillby for me. You said everything would be better when I woke up.” His gaze flicks up to meet Sans’s eyes. “i did text grillby.” He glances across as you. “see for yourself.”Opening your bag, you pull out your phone once more. Pushing at the power button, you frown; Why is it off? Before finally, it starts. Your battery is at just ten percent, you realise, as you pull up your messages.Me [19:01]: hey. just finishing work, catching up with some friends. will message you later <3Grillbae [19:19]: Thank you for letting me know. I do hope you have a wonderful evening. I would appreciate it if you let me know when you arrive home safely.Me [19:20]: will do.You read over the messages again. “What the fuck. You said-”“i did exactly what i said. if y’assumed somethin else…” He trails off with a smirk. “He Has You There.” Sans loosens his grip on the leash, allowing it to fall slack between the two of them. “You said everything would be better when I woke up.” You say, as you hold your phone close. I could call Grillby; he’d probably pick up, right? But…it’s still early, and he doesn’t always have another member of staff on with him even when it’s busy… “everythin is better when m’lord is here.” He sounds so genuine when he says it. Is Sans…blushing? Your eyes flick between the two of them, as a light purple glow begins to emit from Sans’s cheeks. “You know what? I am done here. This? This is never gonna happen. I don’t want any part in whatever fucked-up relationships you’ve got going.” A laugh, cruel and high and loud, cuts you off. Two sets of eyes lock onto you; one impassive, one filled with mirth.“YOU MISUNDERSTAND THE DYNAMIC HERE, HUMAN. I, THE MALEFICENT SANS, AM THE LORD. MUTT IS MY LOYAL ATTACK DOG. HE IS MY PROPERTY. HE DOES EXACTLY WHAT I SAY, WHEN I SAY IT. WHEN IT PLEASES OR AMUSES ME, OR WHEN HE HAS BEEN A GOOD LITTLE MONGREL, I LET HIM OFF OF HIS LEASH. DO YOU KNOW WHAT GOOD MUTTS GET?” He pauses, waiting for you to answer. Silently, you shake your head. “GOOD MUTTS GET TOYS. A GOOD MUTT WILL FIND THE BEST TOY OUT THERE; HE WILL TEST IT, PLAY WITH IT. IF IT IS WORTHY OF TIME AND ATTENTION, HE WILL BRING IT BACK. THEN IT IS MY DECISION WHAT HAPPENS WITH THAT TOY. WHO WILL PLAY WITH IT, AND HOW. NOT MUTT’S. NOT THE TOY’S.” Your breath catches, as those cruel eyes flick up and down, taking you in. Finding you wanting. “I Decide If A Toy Is Worthy Of My Time. I Decide If It Is Worthy For My Mutt To Play With. And I Decide If It Will Be Kept Or Discarded. Do You understand?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“I Decide If A Toy Is Worthy Of My Time. I Decide If It Is Worthy For My Mutt To Play With. And I Decide If It Is Kept Or Discarded. Do You understand?”
Your breath catches in your throat, as his words slowly sink in. You can feel yourself beginning to tremble. “I am not some fucktoy to be played with and discarded.”
Your mind races, swirling, caught up in memories of the last time someone called you their toy.
“Bad toy.”
“Disgusting.”
“I should make you lick the floor clean. You filthy, pathetic slut.”
“You let anyone do this to you. You don’t even make them work for it, do you?”
“Didn’t even have to buy you a drink before you bent over for me. Pathetic.”
Your breath is coming in short, sharp pants. You wheeze, trying to take more in, to breathe deeper.
Why is it so cold?
You flex your fingers, trying to reassure yourself that you are not still there. You can move. You aren’t freezing. He doesn’t have you. You’re safe. Probably.
“Should have brought my phone…then I could have given you something to remember me by. Still. I can make sure to leave a few reminders you can keep for weeks to come.”
You’re shaking now, eyes unfocused.
Footsteps. He’s coming back. Be quiet. Keep still. Stay safe.
A hand reaches for you. With a cry, you stumble back, slapping it away. You feel dizzy and sick and light-headed. You would give anything to be back in the safety of Grillby’s cosy bar or curled up in his cluttered yet perfect apartment.
“darlin?”
The words sound faint. You can barely hear them over the echoing woosh of memories.
I’m not there. I’m not. I’m safe
. You try to focus, to break away from the onslaught of memories, even as tears continue to streak down your face. You can’t.
Too weak. Too pathetic. Too useless. Can’t do anything right. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!
A crack sounds throughout the room. Your cheek burns, your neck turned roughly to one side. Slowly, you reach up to cup your stinging cheek. Mutt beats you to it, cupping both of your cheeks with his long, scarred bones. You’ve never noticed before just how battered they are. Tiny nicks and chips litter the stained, rough surface. Somehow, it makes him - makes this - seem more real.
He forces you to look at him. “come back. y’re safe.”
He keeps his eyes locked onto yours, as one hand leaves your face, the other still cradling your sore, stinging cheek. He reaches down, taking one of your hands in his. Slowly, he reaches up, placing it on your chest. Of all the times you have seen him from a distance, spoken to him in person, done more with him, you’ve never seen him this gentle.
“breathe. in for five. hold one, two. out for seven. that’s it. y’ can do it. focus on how y’re heart feels. in. hold. out.”
It takes time, but you can feel your ragged breathing beginning to slow, the racing thump-thump-thump settling into a less worrying rhythm. It no longer feels like you’re watching everything through a tunnel.
Have they always glowed like that?
You wonder, as your eyes flicker across Mutt’s amber eye lights.
They’re so pretty.
A breathy, barely-there laugh escapes as Mutt’s earlier words finally register. This is the last place you had ever expected to feel safe again, with one of the last people. Yet, despite the ridiculousness of his works, you feel more solid. Grounded. You can feel every chip and notch in the bones resting against your cheek. Your hand drops from your chest, reaching out to grasp his other hand. You trace the scattered marks and blemishes as you keep up your careful pattern of breaths, wondering just what could have caused so much damage. They offer nothing like the warmth of Grillby’s hands. But they’re also nothing like the sweat-damp heat of the human’s hands.
“y’re here with us. focus on me, darlin. i’ve gotcha.”
You’re so tired, physically, mentally, and emotionally. It would be so much easier to just give in. To switch off. To let whatever happens, happen.
I can’t do that. I won’t. Grillby deserves…I deserve better.
“I’m not a toy.” You finally find the words, forcing them out. They feel slow and thick and unwieldy, like trying to force treacle through a sieve. “Don’t…no touching. Without asking.” You take a wobbly step back, your gaze still locked with Mutts. He droops, hands falling to his sides, shoulders stooping, as he slouches in on himself.
Why does it feel like I just kicked a puppy?
He takes a step back, hands returning to his jacket pockets once more. Somehow, his shoulders slump even further.
He’s doing that thing again…is he…trying to look smaller? Why?
“no touchin’.” Mutt repeats, dipping his head in acquisition. “got it.”
Brow furrowing, you glance away. Gaze landing on Sans, you pause, taken aback. You had forgotten he was even here. You look between the two of them, taking in the calm deference of Mutt to your demands, the straight line of Sans’s mouth.
He’s…letting Mutt take the lead?
You haven’t seen Mutt take charge around the shorter skeleton before, and yet, Sans appears to be letting him.
Am I still high? Is that what this is?
“Good. Good.” You take a shaky breath. “What did I say about forcing your dynamics on other people? You can’t just go around calling people toys. It’s rude and not good play etiquette. Leave other people out of your scenes without
explicit
prior consent, puppy. That goes for your too, short stuff.” Fumbling with your bag, you seek out your phone once more.
I want Grillby. It’s too late to walk, and he’s either still working or getting through his closing routine. Maybe I’ve got enough in my account for one last Uber?
Flicking through your apps, you bite your lip, waiting for your banking app to open. Please, please...fuck. There goes that plan. You glance up; They’re both watching you; one clearly confused, one frowning.
“You Want To Be Owned Just As Much As Mutt Does. It Is Practically Written On Your Soul.” Sans states, no hint of hesitation nor question in his eyes.
You watch, as the familiar plum-coloured glow of his magic lights up once more, encircling your limbs and holding you in place. Your phone falls from your immobile fingers, landing with a crack on the floor.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Please, don’t be broken.
You try to keep your thoughts on your potentially damaged phone, rather than risk thinking of the growing panic in your chest.
“m’lord, don’t-” Mutt straightens, towering over both of you once more. He reaches out a hand, yet remains in place. There's no return glow of amber magic to counter Sans's purple.
San continues on, as though he hasn’t heard him. You couldn’t turn your gaze away from his purple glowing eye lights, even if you wanted to. “You Don’t Really Want To Leave. You’re Just Too Much Of A Coward To Admit It. To Admit That You Want To Be Owned. To Belong. To Have The Safety And Prestige Of Ownership.”
You can feel yourself being moved closer by his magic, your feet skimming across the floor as he pulls you weightlessly towards him. You’ve never felt anything like it. In any other situation, with any other monster, the sheer potential… yet here and now, with Sans, you don’t feel any spark of desire or curiosity; you feel only frustration and fear.
“You Think Yourself Too Worthless. You Are Afraid Of Being Discarded. Again, Perhaps?”
Screwing your eyes shut, you refuse to meet his gaze any longer.
How does he know? He can’t possibly know that.
All at once, you feel heavy. His magic leaves you, dropping you heavily on the ground between the two of them. You fall to your knees at the unexpected change. You aren’t sure who you hate more: Sans, for his callous words. Mutt, for his failure to intervene. Or yourself.
Is anything he is saying wrong? I am worthless…
“I Do Not Associate With Cowards. Come, Mutt; It Would Seem That Even The Most Loyal Dog Fetches Worthless Garbage On Occasion.” Sans snaps his fingers, and Mutt moves instantly to his side. You can hear the faint murmurs of apology, the clinking of metal on metal as Mutt’s leash is pulled, before the door opens and closes.
He’s right. I am worthless. Why would anyone want to be with me?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
He’s right. I am worthless. Why would anyone want to be with me?
You wipe roughly at your eyes, angry at the traces of tears that still linger. It hurts. It hurts, and you don’t even know why it is affecting you so much. You haven’t wanted to belong to anyone in such a long time. You had thought that part of you, those memories, weren’t really yours.
Just another thing he tried to force on me.
Yet some part of you aches for what Sans described. Safety in belonging. No need for words; just a deep-seated understanding of another person, one that you can trust so deeply, that words pale in comparison.
Stop it. Just stop. This isn’t…these thoughts aren’t mine. I’m spiralling again. I need to pull myself together.
Slowly, you bring yourself up from your knees to a crouch. You find your discarded jumper and bag. No longer caring how soaked it is, you pull it back on. It will do for now.
Step one: get out of this fucking room.
You walk on shakey legs to the closed door. Part of you is worried about what you will find; will it be locked? Will Mutt be standing guard on the other side? You force yourself to push past the need to stop, to think, to take note.
Just do it.
The door opens with ease, revealing the empty corridors behind. The steady, low, rhythmic thumping of the bass is audible now. You glance down at your phone; it’s almost one now.
Shit. I was out of it for so long…
The club should be starting to wind down soon, but not too soon. You glance left, then right.
I could go and find someone to play with. They could help me to forget. To move on. To feel something other than fear and sadness for a few hours.
It’s tempting. In many ways, this has been your safety net for years. It’s been the one avenue you can always turn to for comfort. You don’t want the actions of one man to ruin that for you. And yet…
I could call Grillby. He’s probably still working, but… he would drop everything to come and get me…
You know that would be bad for business. How long before his regulars start to resent the squishy, sad, silly little human, who is always disturbing their good times? How long before Grillby starts resenting how heavily you lean on him?
I don’t know what to do.
“You’re still here?” You turn, relief spreading through you as you recognise a familiar face coming down the corridor.
“Teddy!” You smile. He looks at you, ears lowering and brow furrowed with concern. You see his glance between your obviously tear-stained face and your vomit-soaked jumper. Shame burns your cheeks. “Hey, Teddy. I thought you were finishing early today?”
Slowly, he nods. “I was just about to head out. Didn’t your shift end a while ago?” He tries to peer around you, eyes scanning the room carefully for any signs of danger.
“Yup! It did! It’s been kind of a wild day. Do you…” You trail off, suddenly unsure.
Teddy’s a colleague. That’s not really a friend, is it? Maybe a work friend at best. But work friends aren’t real friends. He doesn’t need me bothering him…
“Do you want to get a drink after work?” Teddy asks. You peer up at him, trying to judge his sincerity.
Is that a blush underneath all that fur?
“If…you’re sure it wouldn’t be a bother…” You ask hesitantly. You don’t want to take up even more of his time. From what you had managed to gather, he spent hours after his shift, standing guard while the healer attended to your wounds in the aftermath of That Night.
“You’re never a bother. Meet me by the staff entrance in ten? I need to do a quick handover with Coco.” Teddy smiles, ears perking up once more, and the tip of his tongue poking out. It takes everything in you not to watch as he walks away.
Oh my gosh, his tail is wagging. That’s too freaking cute.
Slowly, you make your way through the staff corridors to wait for him by the rear entrance. You avoid peeking out into the club as you go, least temptation proves to be too much. Wavering as you reach the staffroom door, you weigh up your options: let your newfound wariness of what should have been another safe space develop into something deeper, or push ahead, and see if you can find something to eat before you head out.
Your stomach gives a loud rumble. “Fuck it.” You take a steadying breath, before heading in. It takes some rummaging, but you manage to find a forgotten granola bar hidden behind some ancient packets of ramen. You grab two fresh bottles of water from the fridge, quickly downing one before you realise your mistake.
You rush for the sink, making it just in time before both the water and granola bar make a reappearance. “Fuck.” Eating and drinking too fast on an empty stomach, not to mention after your earlier vomiting bout, proves to be a bad choice.
Rinsing your mouth out, you start taking slower, more tentative sips from the second bottle. You Make your way across to your locker, checking to see if you do have any spare clothes left.
Well, it’s better than nothing.
You grab the crumpled, dusty t-shirt from the depths of your cubby, quickly pulling it on and stuffing your still wet jumper in your bag.
With minutes to spare, you make it to the back door. Teddy joins you not long after.
“Do you have anywhere in particular in mind?” He asks as the cool, early morning air hits you both. You try to take a moment to savour the cool breeze, but the distinct scent of overflowing dumpsters makes your stomach churn once more.
You shake your head, sending what you hope is an encouraging smile, as you try your best not to hurl.
“That’s ok. I know this great place nearby! Er, assuming you’re ok with magic-infused food?” Teddy asks as he starts to lead the way. You nod, smiling. “Great! You’re gonna love Muffet's. She makes these amazing cookies.”
“Oh! I love Muffet's. I’ve only been a couple of times, but she seemed really nice.” You try not to shudder, as you remember the dozens upon dozens of tiny helper spiders, scuttling to and fro, as they cleaned tables and straightened chairs. “Is she really open at this time?”
“She’s trying to do this 24-hour diner thing she heard about. Apparently, it’s a human thing? She thought it would work out well for her cafe, but I’m not sure how many monsters actually visit so late in the day, and humans…well, the spiders seem to put them off. No offence.” He rubs the back of his fluffy head, ears lowered, as though waiting to be told off.
Oh my gosh, I just want to pet him. Bad me, bad! Don’t touch people without their express permission. Especially not someone’s hair. How would I feel if someone did that to me?
Your thoughts wander for a moment, remembering how a certain flame elemental felt as he ran his fingers through your hair.
Ok. Bad example.
“None taken. Honestly, I was kind of…a bit apprehensive at first? Gosh, I feel awful even saying that. I don’t…” You let out a laugh, cheeks glowing a faint pink hue. “There’s no way to say this without sounding speciesest. Which I’m not! I just…I’ve always found spiders to be a bit scary?”
“It’s all the legs, isn’t it?” Teddy asks knowingly. You nod.
“Kinda? And the not knowing when one is gonna drop-down, and bam! Land on your face, or arm, or in your mouth.” You shudder. “You know humans think we swallow an average of 20 spiders in our sleep over the course of our lifetimes? Some even think they could swallow eight in a single year!”
“What? No way!” Teddy looks at you incredulously. Smiling, you shake your head.
“I know, right? It’s totally an urban myth, but it says a lot about our fear of arachnids as a species. But…I know Muffet is a person. And her spiders seemed to understand what was going on around them? So…I want to do my best not to offend any of them, or to seem scared. They must have a hard enough time with humans being like we are; I don’t want to add to that if I can help it.”
As you continue to walk together, you realise Teddy is watching you with a soft smile on his face. “Never change.”
The two of you finally arrive at Muffet's, noses pink and cheeks red from the cold. You watch as Teddy shakes out his fur, trying to get rid of the early morning dew. While you aren’t quite the only customers, it’s a close thing. A couple sit together in the window — two Temmies, sharing a plate of cookies and a large, steaming pot of tea. A Snowdrake sits towards one side, slumped down in his seat with a tall, icy drink on the table in front of him.
“Faaancy seeing you here, dearie.” You smile, spotting Muffet’s familiar form behind the counter. “And without Grillby.” Your smile wavers, as Muffet and Teddy lock eyes.
Should I have…not come here, without Grillby?
“Hey Muffet. It’s lovely to see you again. Um, this is my friend, Teddy. We work together at this club not too far from here…” You trail off, as both monsters turn to look at you; one appraising, one disappointed.
“Ah, I see. Your colleague. How…charming. Tea, wassssn’t it, dearie? I’ll bring that right over. Give Teddy and I a chanssse to catch up.” You turn to look at Teddy quizzically.
Maybe they’re friends, and they just haven’t seen each other in a while?
As Teddy nods, you wander off to find the perfect table. You end up back on the familiar little couch near the far wall, facing out the window onto the side street beyond. I’m
not sure how much people watching we can do at this time, but at least it’s a nice view.
The gentle rattling of a teapot approaches. You turn, surprised to see no one there. Before you can turn back, you catch sight of them out of the corner of your eye: at least two dozen tiny spiders, each supporting their part of a tea tray laden down with a beautiful little lilac teapot, cup and saucer. A little cupcake sits on the tray this time, with something sticking out of the frosting.
Oh no. Please tell me that isn’t a spider leg?
“Oh! Thank you so much. Here, can I lift that for you? It looks awfully heavy. You must all be so strong to carry things like this all day and night!” You grab the tray from them, smiling as they scuttle away. One pauses to wave a leg at you, giving a little dip before scuttling away with their brethren.
Still fucking creepy. But also…kinda cute? In a weird way?
“I didn’t realise you knew Grillby.” Turning to face Teddy, you pick up your steaming cup of tea. It smells just as good as you remember.
I should treat myself to a box of Muffet’s special blend if I ever have money to spare.
“Ah, yes.” You can feel a faint flush creeping up your cheeks. “We met a while ago at my other job. Well, technically at the club, but I kind of didn’t remember him? He’s…” You trail off, trying to find the right words.
“I thought you didn’t break your one-night stand only rule.” Teddy settles in the chair opposite you, his back to the window. He places his own drink down — something tall and frothy.
Hot chocolate, maybe?
You look at Teddy with wide eyes. “Ah. No, we haven't, I mean…It’s not like that, I…” Stumbling over your words, you aren’t quite sure how to explain.
Teddy sighs, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. “Figures. I thought this was more of a friend-date than a real-date. It’s good to know. Seeing you with all of those different guys…I don’t like seeing you get hurt. Not in a vanilla, judgy way!” He is quick to clarify, paws raising in defence, as though that is the weirdest part of what he is saying. “I mean in an emotional way? You haven’t seemed as happy as you used to following your one-off sessions, even before…” He waves a paw. You both know exactly what he is alluding to. “I’m glad that you’ve found someone you think can make you happy. Grillby’s got…a bit of a reputation, but he’s good people. He’ll look after you.”
Clutching your teacup in both hands, you look down into the dark liquid.
Is that really what I want? Someone to look after me? I’ve spent so long struggling to make it on my own…if I give in now and let someone else take charge as more than a one-off, isn’t that just…proving him right all along? I don’t know if I could…
“But…what if that isn’t what I want?” Your words are quiet, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t…you don’t understand what I’ve been through, Teddy. I can’t just go back to an M/s dynamic.”
“Explain it to me, then. Why can’t you?” You glance up, as he tilts his head to one side. One ear flops down, folding in on itself, the other hanging at a jaunty angle. It makes you smile. “I’ve seen how bright your soul shines and how wide your smile grows when you have a good session, when someone takes you down just right. Why can’t you have that with someone on a more regular basis? No-one is saying to have to accept a collar from the guy.”
You flinch at the mere thought.
I won’t be collared. Not again.
Teddy’s eyes narrow. He keeps his words careful and measured. “Did…something bad happen to you, before the human?” He shifts in his seat, eyes glancing behind you towards the front door, before returning to meet your gaze. You fidget, taking a long sip of your drink, clearly stalling for time.
Do I want to talk about that? With Teddy?
You let the thought linger, considering it from all angles.
I haven’t really talked about it with anyone, have I? And talking about what happened at the club with Grillby…it helped. Maybe this could help, too.
You take a deep, steadying breath. “It did. I…haven’t really talked about it before. I never had anyone to talk with about it. For the longest time afterwards, it was just me on my own. I thought…I thought leaving the past in the past was for the best…”
A warm paw lands on your knee. “Sometimes, burying things is good. Sometimes, it allows things to fester. Do you think you have buried a good thing, or a bad thing?”
“...bad.” You admit. It’s hard to say out loud, but you can feel something in you shifting.
Maybe it is time.
“I…”
“It’s ok. There’s no rush. I’m here to listen if you want to talk about it. Or if there’s someone else you would rather share with, that’s ok too. I won’t be offended.” He shifts, sitting back in his seat. There’s whipped cream sitting on the end of his nose. You watch, transfixed, as he tries to get it with his tongue.
How is this my life?
“You really are a good friend, Teddy. Thank you.” You send him a watery smile. Curling your legs up beside you, you get more comfortable. Tea balanced on your lap, you allow your eyes to slip closed for just a moment.
Where to begin…
“When I was younger, I was in this relationship. I thought it was true love. That we would be together forever.” You laugh softly. “I was a typical teenager. I knew best. He said I was special. That I was so mature for my age…” You trail off, caught up in the memories once again. It’s been so long since you have sat down and thought about him like this.
“How old were you?” Teddy asks, voice quiet but firm. Reaching forward, you pat his knee in what you hope is a comforting manner.
“I was legal.”
He shakes his head. “That isn’t what I asked.”
Your lips twist down, unable to hold your smile in place. “I was sixteen when he first told me I was beautiful. Seventeen when he started telling me how mature I was, how I wasn’t like the other girls my age. How I was even better than the girls his age. It was my eighteenth birthday, when he first called me his and wore his collar.” You can’t bear to look at Teddy, as that last admission leaves your lips.
I was eighteen and in love, and oh so stupid. I wish I could go back and slap some sense into myself.
You hear the clink of a mug being settled down. Somewhere behind you, there’s creaking of a seat as someone sits down. “You know that wasn’t your fault. He groomed-”
You cut him off, refusing to let the words be spoken out loud. “You know what the actual worst part of it was? It was how amazing it all felt. It was perfection. Having a Master. Belonging to someone. Having the freedom to give up control, to trust someone so implicitly, that I never once considered using my safeword. Those first few years were the best in my life.”
Something sharp settles in your stomach as the words finally claw their way free. “Nothing has topped them.”
Well, almost nothing. One thing did come close…
“Sometimes, I’m scared nothing will top them.”
What if that was my one shot, and I blew it?
“I belonged to someone, and I was happy.”
“Until you weren’t.” It’s a statement, not a question. It draws you out of yourself, stopping the what-ifs in their tracks. You nod.
“Until I wasn’t. He decided I wasn’t enough. He wanted to bring in someone else new.” You look down at your cup, running a finger gently around the delicate rim. “I get it. I was young. I was still so new to everything. There must have been things I…couldn’t fulfil for him, but…he didn’t even ask. He just brought her home one day. Here: this is my new slave. Isn’t she beautiful? Look at how well behaved she is. Look! You don’t need limits when you’re truly in love. Don’t you want to be good like her? You have so much to learn from her. Why don’t you just sit there quietly and watch until you can do better.”
It hurt, every time he would go to her and not you. It hurt, when his attention would always shift to her, no matter what you were doing. It hurt, when even during what should have been
your time,
she would find a way to interrupt. To make it about her.
“She didn’t like me very much in the beginning. I don’t think she realised he already had a full-time, live-in slave. By the end…she really didn’t like me. She wanted them to be a couple, just the two of them. There wasn’t room for a third wheel.” You can picture it still, the day that she won. The day that he asked for your collar back.
You take a steadying breath, forcing a smile onto your face. “It wasn’t long before I ended up de-collared and homeless. I didn’t have any work experience — nothing I could put on my resume at least. My parents wouldn’t have me back.” Those first few months, you couldn’t even couch surf. You had no one, other than the nameless, faceless sting of dominants you found at various clubs. “I found out a lot of dominants on the scene aren’t as single as they say they are. I ran into a lot of angry girlfriends and wives.” You wipe the corner of your eyes, shame burning deep in your stomach. “I always checked for rings, but they seemed to find a way to get past me.” It seems important, for some reason, that Teddy understands that you didn’t set out to be a homewrecker. “I wouldn’t have done that to them, if I had known. I wouldn’t have cheated with their partners.”
Teddy nods slowly, his button black eyes shining beneath the cold fluorescent lights. He remains a silent but comforting presence, as though he knows one wrong word could have you clamming up once more.
“Eventually, I realised it was a lot less painful to stop hoping. To stop trying to find someone who would call me theirs. I thought if I made sure to keep things casual, to stick to one-offs…then it’s not my fault.”
“It was never your fault. You weren’t the one cheating on your partner. That was on them, not you.” Teddy’s voice is firm, brooking no argument. You shake your head; you wish you could believe that. “You know you can’t keep doing this, right? It works for some people. There is nothing wrong with casual play dynamics, but it’s clearly hurting you.”
You look away, shame burning in the pit of your stomach.
Can everyone see it? I must seem so pathetic.
“Have you considered maybe…trying something more with Grillby? I don’t know him personally from the Underground, but word gets around. It’s a pretty small place, making for a tight-knit community. He’s got a good reputation. Plays safe, casual but consistent. I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard of him taking someone on more permanently.” You peek up at Teddy through the loose strands of your hair. He seems to be distracted as he talks, focusing on something behind you. “He’s casual, but not in a cheating way. Just…not often exclusive. The other two though…” He shakes his head. “Mutt and Sans…they’ve got quite the reputation, too. Usually…”
“You would tell me to stay away?” You ask with a wry grin. It falters, as Teddy shakes his head.
“I wouldn’t have to. They don’t play with the same toy twice.” You wince.
That word again.
“But I’ve seen him hanging around, trying to catch your attention. It would seem to me that he’s pretty serious, if he’s coming back for another round.”
You laugh. “The pipsqueak made it pretty clear I wasn’t up to his standard. And Mutt? Fuck him. Don’t even get me started on that tall, roofie’ing fucker.”
“What?” Teddy barks.
“He did WHAT?”
You freeze, as the words sound from behind you.
Oh shit. It can’t be…
“Grillbae?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“He did what?”
Twisting in your seat, you look behind you with wide eyes. It feels like the bottom has dropped out of your stomach. How long has he been there? How much has he heard?
There he stands, in the most dapper pea coat you have ever seen.
Stars, how does he keep improving on perfection?
His hands are sizzling, smoke rising in worryingly large plumes. A shattered mug of coffee falls from between his fingers, scattering on the floor in a shower of broken china and scalding hot liquid.
“Oh my gosh, your hands!” Placing your cup on the edge of the low coffee table, you rush to his side. You grab the hem of your t-shirt, dabbing at his steaming palms.
His hands curl around yours, stilling them. You look up at him, questions dying on your lips.
“What happened?” He asks softly, brow furrowed in worry. “Are you alright, my dear? Your messages earlier… I should have known you would never send me something with such atrocious grammar. I can only apologise for not trying to seek you out sooner. If it was not for Teddy…” He reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair away from your upturned face.
Teddy called Grillby? “It was nothing, really. They just…” You wince, as a flash of something crosses Grillby’s face. That was the wrong thing to say. “I’m sure it was a misunderstanding?” You try. He raises an eyebrow.
I mean…it could have been, right? Nobody would purposefully be that shitty, would they?
“Let us sit down while you explain exactly what happened.” He suggests as a swarm of clicking, hissing spiders begin cleaning around your feet. You agree, moving carefully so as not to risk harming any of the tiny creatures.
“Um. Thank you! And sorry for the mess.” You apologise to the nearest one in passing.
Settling back in your seat, Grillby makes a beeline for you. Sitting next to you as he slips his coat off, he rests a reassuring hand on your knee. You can’t help but think:
This is gonna suck.
As you explain, you feel that familiar, squirming discomfort taking hold. What if they think it’s your fault? What if they don’t believe you? What if this is the last straw for either of them?
The more you reveal, the worse you feel. Both Grillby and Teddy look less and less pleased. Teddy’s ears lower, teeth starting to bare in a hint of a snarl. Grillby’s flames look like they are starting to get out of control once more, darkening until you can barely see their purple hue.
You end up twisting your hands together in your lap, nails resting on each opposite wrist. You want nothing more than to dig them in and reopen old wounds, but without long sleeves, you worry about what they might say. You know it isn’t a normal way of trying to cope, of trying to regain a sense of control. But it’s your way. Sometimes, it’s the only way you have.
“Can you tell me his exact words.” Grillby asks, as you come to a final, stumbling halt.
“Um…well, he said I was worthless? Or…that I think I’m worthless? And a coward. And…something about being trash…” You shake your head, trying to remember his exact words. You can’t. Everything feels like a blur.
“I think something there may have been lost in translation. Regardless. I shall deal with the problem, my dear. You need not worry about crossing paths with them again.” Beneath his mild-mannered exterior, there’s something ominous about the way that he says it. You exchange a nervous glance with Teddy, unsure of what to say.
“I’m not any happier about this than you, but are you sure they knew what kind of effect echoflower cigarettes would have on a human?” Teddy asks. “I’ve never seen one smoking one before.”
“Then they should have thought about that before they were so careless.” Grillby smiles blandly, as he reaches out to pour you a fresh cup of tea. He hands it to you carefully, before resting his hand back on top of your knee. He rubs at the delicate skin around your wrist, massaging where your nails had pushed just moments earlier. You can feel your cheeks beginning to heat with embarrassment. The heat feels so soothing against your skin.
“I’ve seen dangerous dynamics from idiots who think that they’re all that — monsters and humans alike. But do you think they were being malicious? Or did things just get away from them, and they were too proud to admit it?” Clearly trying to play devil’s advocate, you can’t bring yourself to look at Teddy.
Why is he…defending them like that? Is he…does he think it’s my fault? Or that I’m just overreacting to a little mistake?
Grillby speaks up, his voice colder than you have ever heard before. “Neither pride nor lack of common sense is an excuse for what they have done.”
Shrugging, Teddy downs the last of his drink. You smile, as a small, pink tongue darts out to lick the chocolate from his fur. “On that note, I’m gonna head home. It’s getting late. Well, early. I’ll see you at work soon?”
“I’m in again tomorrow.” You confirm. “And — I’m really sorry, Teddy. I know you thought this was gonna be…”
A date.
“...more than it was.” You finish with a wince.
He lets out a short, wuffing laugh. “That’s ok. I think I knew that we would work out better as friends. I’m more of a switch, a service top at a push. I don’t think that would have worked for you. Not to mention, dog monsters are pretty loyal. We’re more of a one master kind of species. We’re loyal for life if you treat us right; but I think you’re looking for something a bit different from what I can offer.”
You look away, blushing. A small, bitter part of you thinks:
That’s a lot of nice words to say that I’m too high maintenance.
“Though I will say this: any monster looking to spend time with you — whether that’s for casual play, or something more — better treat you right. Or they’ll find out that my bite is much worse than my bark.” He bares his teeth, for a moment looking nothing like the kind, fluffy Shiba Inu monster you know and love.
“Thank you again for letting me know, Teddy. I appreciate you looking out for her best interests.” Grillby stands, offering his hand to Teddy. They shake, maintaining eye contact for several long moments.
You both watch, as Teddy leaves. Before the door can close, another cluster of spiders brings Grillby a replacement drink and a new bill. He sighs, placing several gold coins down on their tray. When the spiders still linger, he picks the receipt up, readjusting his glasses as he peers down at the paper. Tutting, you see his flames momentarily flare, before he rummages in his pocket. He puts down twice as many coins this time.
“Do tell Muffet that she overpaid for that mug.” He calls after them, as they scuttle back towards the counter. “So.” He turns back to you, giving you his full attention. “I would like you to know that, while I have known them both for years, I have never been so disappointed in Mutt as I am right now. What he did today was inexcusable.”
Your hands fall to your lap, twisting in the hem of your t-shirt. Try to hold them still to no avail. “I didn’t…” You stop, biting your lip. You feel the warmth radiating beside you, soothing you.
“I know. None of it was your fault. I apologise if I gave you the impression that I was angry at
you.
I am merely worried. And angry on your behalf. You deserve better. I am…sorry for what happened, and for not being there..” Before he has finished speaking, you turn to fully face him. You throw yourself forward into his arms, burrowing against his chest. Tentatively, his arms come up to hold you. You press closer.
“That’s silly. You can’t always be on hand, waiting to see if something in my life goes wrong. Stars; you’d never get anything done.” You laugh wetly, as you try to hold back tears.
I’m safe. Grillby is here. I’m safe.
“I was so scared.” Voice barely above a whisper, if it weren’t for the tensing beneath your cheek, you would have thought you had spoken too quietly for him to hear you. “When I woke up in that room. I just kept thinking…he promised he would let you know where I was. I kept thinking…it’s scary now, but it’s gonna be ok. Because I thought you’d be there soon. I’m sorry.”
“What on earth do you think you have to apologise for? To me, that sounds like the greatest compliment one could receive. I am just sorry I-”
You shake your head, refusing to let him finish that thought. “I’m being too clingy. You didn’t sign up for an emotional wreck to attach herself to you. Fuck, you haven’t got
anything
out of this weird dynamic we have going. And then I go and try and lean on you even more…I’m the one who should be saying sorry.”
Warm hands settle over you, cradling the back of your head gently against his chest. It would be so easy to just let yourself go, to sink into that happy, floating space. But that wouldn’t be fair on either of you. There’s still too much left unsaid. Too much left undiscussed.
“I can’t seem to find the in-between.” You reach up with one hand to toy with the buttons on his waistcoat. He’s wearing pinstripes today. You want to trace every line, to feel him through the fabric. “I’m too distant or too clingy. I can’t get things right.”
“Who said there has to be a right and a wrong?” Tilting your head back, you look up at him from where you sit, firmly in his lap, your legs draped over the side of his. “That’s the beauty of non-traditional dynamics. We get to decide what does and does not work for us.”
You nod tentatively. While your single long-term relationship had started as monogamous, the introduction of not-quite-your-choice polyamory had made you nervous of anything more than a casual fling.
But…wouldn’t it be worth it to try for something more with Grillby?
“What…could that mean? For us?” You ask.
“It could mean whatever we would like it to mean. You are hesitant about too much commitment, too soon. I am reluctant to have no level of commitment. What is it you enjoy about your casual encounters with others?”
You squirm, unsure of if you can even articulate what it is that appeals to you. “They’re…safe. I know they’re not…safe-safe.” You wave a hand. “But they’re…”
“Emotionally safe?” He asks gently. You nod. “If you approach without the possibility of attachment, you cannot be hurt or…abandoned?”
Gaze firmly planted on your lap, you nod in shame.
“But is there anything else that you enjoy about it? Do you like the variety, perhaps? The thrill? Is it the public play spaces, the chance to intimately know so many humans and monsters in such an indescribable way?” Grillby pushes, gently but firmly. “What would you want, in an ideal world? No thinking about the plausibility or hurt feelings; when you picture happiness and contentment, what does it look like for you?”
“I haven’t really thought about it like that before…” You trail off. “I…like the variety, but it’s not why I enjoy playing casually. I like…I like a bit of everything, really. I’ve got limits, but I’m open to trying most things. But…” You bite your lip, thinking back to that wonderful, floating feeling Grillby evoked through just his words and presence. A reassuring hand cards through your hair, gently stroking the loose strands. You take a steadying breath. “I really like how safe you make me feel. I lov-liked…when you called me good. And looked after me. And…and just held me.” Your cheeks burn. “But I know that isn’t really-”
“It is a valid dynamic. You enjoy gentle domination, from a service top. That is just as valid as whips and chains, paddles and predicament bondage.” Grillby’s tone leaves no room for argument.
“...but I also like…” Your hands fold together in your lap, fingers intertwining; it takes everything in you not to dig your nails in deep. “Sometimes I like to be told what to do and ordered around. Sometimes, I like to just be used for someone else’s pleasure. Sometimes I want to be edged until I can’t remember my own name, or made to come so many times I can’t even move. Sometimes…” You glance up at Grillby, trying to judge his expression. “...I like to think about what it would feel like, if you used your flames. Is that…wrong?”
As the words leave your mouth, you watch as his flames flicker from indigo to plum to fig. “Certainly not.” His voice wavers slightly before he clears his throat. “While I always like to ensure my partner is cared for, and aftercare is non-negotiable, I do on occasion enjoy other types of play and different dynamics. I am also amenable for my partners to have other partners, whether those are for one-off sessions or for more regular play. I merely ask that we discuss such relations first, so as to avoid hurt feelings or misunderstandings.”
You look up at him, searching his face for any hint of upset or deceit. “Would you…also be playing with others? Would I know about them beforehand?”
Would I want to know?
“It is unlikely. I am not a fan of casual dalliances. I must feel a deeper level of attraction first, and ideally, trust. I have in the past been involved with more than one partner at once, but that is usually as part of a polycule, not as a series of separate relationships.”
“But-” You cut yourself off, half-afraid to ask. He tilts his head, urging you on. “But why me? You can’t possibly feel…” You trail off, part unable, part unwilling, to give words to the thoughts that have been circling around and around for so long now. How could someone like this possibly want you?
“Hm?”
You can’t bring yourself to look at him, as you finally force the words out. “You can’t possibly feel a deeper level of attraction for me.”
“Why ever not?” Low and smooth, he sounds genuinely confused. You can feel something in your chest snap.
“I have nothing to offer you. I’m a mess. I’ve fucked up…so many times, and we’re not even officially anything yet. Why would you be attracted to me? I can barely stand myself!” You wince, as that little revelation sneaks out.
What I wouldn’t give for affordable therapy and a modicum of self-esteem.
Warm hands cup your cheeks, wiping away your angry tears. Hissing fills the air momentarily, as Grillby’s flames flicker and retreat, before returning as strong as ever. “Who said attraction has to happen with your head, instead of your heart? Attraction does not have to be logical. How can you say you are attracted to any celebrity, beyond merely the physical? You do not truly know them, their personalities, or their lives, beyond what is printed. Yet you can know you are attracted to them, can you not?”
“I guess?” You say.
Grillby smiles. “Why should it be any different for those we meet, feel attracted to, and believe there is potential for more?”
Settling back on the sofa, hands dropping from your cheeks, he reaches for his own drink. “I first saw this person across a bar. It was sticky and crowded. She looked plain and dishevelled. She didn’t notice I was trying to get a replacement drink for nearly twenty minutes. It was awful service, quite frankly. I was frustrated and annoyed. It was one of my few nights off, and there she was, ruining it.”
You feel something heavy settle in your stomach.
That...kind of sounds familiar. But it can’t be. I would have remembered him.
“And then I saw. It wasn’t a textbook, poorly hidden beneath the countertop, that was distracting her. She was watching a nervous young cat monster in a corner booth. Luna, a monster I’ve known her whole life. At first, I thought it may be discrimination. Stars know, I had been waiting longer than could be considered reasonable for service. Perhaps she was one of
those
kinds of humans.”
I wonder how many of those he has had to deal with, in the years since monster kind returned to the surface?
“My anger grew. And then I realised: She was not calling security to have Luna removed. She was not ignoring just me; there were plenty of other irate patrons trying to catch her attention. She was making sure an inexperienced person, who looked to be on a first date or meeting someone for the first time in a bar, was going to be safe. She was willing to miss out on tips, to get in trouble with her employer, to anger regulars and new patrons alike, to ensure a monster she did not know was safe. It…intrigued me. We do not see many humans like that, no matter how much the news likes to preach integration and acceptance.”
If you were to trust the news, anti-monster rallies had been in decline for years, and speciest sentiment is at an all-time low. But you know from just skimming the surface on social media and forums, from the half-whispered comments you have heard around campus, from the looks that monsters still get in certain parts of town, that that isn’t the case. You feel angry on Grillby’s behalf, that such a small thing - what should have been a thoughtless common courtesy - was somehow enough to warrant his attention.
“I did not even talk to her then; I had the chance, but truthfully? I was ashamed of how poorly I had thought of her, of what I had assumed. And yet, a bigger part of me did not want to believe that a human would be looking out for one of my own, when I myself had not realised Luna may be in need of help.
“And so I returned. Again and again, when my schedule allowed. Sometimes she was there; sometimes she was not. You must understand, I was not…I did not mean my behaviour to be in any way untoward.. I merely wanted to ensure that I had a better understanding. And then, I ran into her again in the most unexpected of places. We had our first real conversation. She was quite possibly the most awkward person I have ever spoken to, human or monster. She made a terrible joke about the taste of monsters.”
Oh my fucking stars n o. Just kill me now.
“And I realised she was funny. And wonderful. And a mess. And I would give anything to have her make me laugh like that every day. To see what she looks like when she laughs. To call her my mess, if she were willing to give this old elemental a chance.”
You force yourself to meet Grillby’s gaze. His flames have taken on a pinkish hue that you didn't know was even possible. You’re sure that your own skin must be glowing a similar shade from pure embarrassment.
Is it possible to die from embarrassment?
Grillby’s voice is low and warm, crackling invitingly as he carefully explains. “I am not asking for exclusivity. But I would be honoured to be more than friends. To ensure that you are safe and cared for, before and after sessions with myself or others. To ensure that you are looking after yourself and not working yourself into an early grave. I…”
“You would want me to… be yours?” The yearning in your voice is almost painful to hear. He nods, wordlessly. Gently, you reach up to cup his face in your hands. Searching his eyes, a small, nervous smile breaks across your lips. “I can’t promise I’ll be… any good at any of this. You already know what a mess I am. But I want that. What you described. Please. I want to be yours.”
“There is nothing I would like more.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
I really should get checked out.
It’s a thought that has been weighing on your mind for some time, a niggling what-if that keeps circling back around, now that the initial levels of terror and apathy have settled into something more manageable.
You know that there was a chance that he didn’t use protection. And, judging from how things played out, you doubt it was the first time he had pulled something like that with someone.
Just to be safe.
Your fingers twitch towards the cracked screen of your phone, as you reluctantly search for the details of the nearest free STI clinic. There’s a free drop-in clinic just a few blocks from campus.
I could go after class one day.
The thought of going makes something squirm uncomfortably in your chest. It’s not the first time you have been to a clinic. It’s only common sense to get checked regularly, with how many casual partners you have had over the years. Mistakes happen, things slip through. But nothing quite as big or worrying has prompted you to make a visit like this before.
Maybe I could ask Grillby?
Your eyes seek out the tall, purple-flamed elemental. Your not-boyfriend(?)-but-more-than-play-partner is looking as dapper as ever, as he serves a bunny monster slumped over the wooden countertop at the opposite end of the bar. Resting your head against your hand, you allow your gaze to drift lower.
Those trousers make his ass look so good. I wonder what it feels like.
You’re meant to be studying. You have been, on and off, since before the bar opened. With no luck getting back into your study group —
Yet
, you think optimistically — you decided to take the opportunity to cram in some last-minute revision while spending a little time with Grillby. Between your own hectic schedule and the pressures of running his own business, finding time where you are both free has proved to be challenging.
It’s worth it, though.
“Studying hard, I see.” Grillby’s knowing tone makes you blush, as he makes his way back to your end of the counter. No matter how busy the bar seems to get, he always seems to be able to make time to check in with you and make sure everything is ok. “Is there anything I can assist with?”
You glance down at your scattered, open textbooks and the blank page in front of you. With how long you’ve been here already, you really should have made some notes by now. You shake your head.
If I ever want to get back to studying, I might as well get this over with.
“ Nah, I’m good. Just keep getting lost in thought. Though, in my defence, it’s not my fault; the view in here is so
smokin
’.” You wink, inwardly cringing at your own terrible puns. “Is it always so
hot
in here, or is it just you?”
You hear what sounds like choking from the opposite end of the bar. Glancing over, you see several wide sets of eyes looking between the two of you, the room suddenly silent, save for Grillby’s low, crackling chuckles.
Carefully, he places a bottle of icy cold water in front of you. “It sounds like someone is
thirsty
. Perhaps you need to
cool down
a little.”
That’s definitely choking. What is up with those guys?
You glance back at the other wide-eyed patrons. Most of Grillby’s regulars, while not exactly welcoming of the lone human who had taken to dropping in at odd hours, have at least stopped sending hostile looks your way since Grillby introduced you.
Well, if you count making you stand in front of the crowded bar one afternoon and declaring that I’m his counts. Stars, that totally counts, doesn’t it? Now that I think about it…a lot of the regulars have been kinda actively avoiding me since then…at least I don’t seem to be outright bothering anyone.
“Thanks, Grillbae. You always know how to get me to
simmer
down.”
Ok, that one wasn’t even a good pun. Urg.
You smile at him, as you take a grateful sip of your water. So far, you haven’t managed to convince Grillby to let you pay your shiny, new, growing tab. In retaliation, you have been sticking to cheaper if not downright free options. Though he hadn’t let you go as far as ordering tap water, preferring to serve you sealed, easily tracked bottles. A small part of you can’t help but feel undeniably safer, knowing that there is virtually no chance of someone slipping something in your drinks, between the sealed drinks and watchful presence of your not-boyfriend(?).
He’s perfect. No one can convince me otherwise.
“I, um…I actually wanted to ask you something.” Fiddling with the cap on your drink, you run a finger through the condensation, before picking at the label on the bottle.
Just ask him. Stop being a little bitch about it. What’s the worst he’s gonna do, say no?
“Oh?” Putting the cloth down, he pauses in his cleaning and tidying. The bar always looks immaculate, yet Grillby seems to rarely pause in his cleaning routine. “How can I be of assistance?”
“Iwasthinkingofgoingtotheclinicpleasegowithme?” The words tumble out in one big jumbled, garbled mess. You can feel a blush creeping up your neck and cheeks, as Grillby tilts his head to one side, clearly trying to translate what you said back into English. “Um. I mean. There’s this free clinic…I thought I should go? And get checked out?” Your voice creeps higher and higher, as each new word comes out as more of a question than a statement.
I must look like a fucking tomato. Jeeze. Why’d I haveta spell it out, Grillbae?
“Of course. How could I forget; humans require much more frequent visits to maintain their health, do they not? You would like me to accompany you, to your next visit?” He smiles at you. You can feel yourself melting.
What did I do to deserve someone like him?
“Please. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble? It’s not a, um, regular visit.” You try to dance around the subject, without spelling it out.
Oh gosh. What if he’s expecting a regular doctor’s appointment, and then I take him to a sexual health clinic? Fuck. Is there even a monster equivalent of a gyne chair? Oooh wait a minute…do NOT think about Hotbae and a gyne chair. C’mon, me! Don’t go making kinky associations with freaking doctor's visits.
“It’s for…you know… to get checked?”
Come on, Grillbae. Don’t make me spell it out any clearer.
“Oh?” He looks at you blankly. “There are…different types of check-ups for humans? Monster healers tend to take a quick look at everything, on the rare occasion we need to visit them. Is it not the same for humans?”
You shake your head, resisting the urge to groan.
Fuck me, I am gonna have to spell this out.
“Well, I guess it is for some people? Like, if you have really great insurance, or can afford a full check-up? But generally, we just get specialist appointments for different issues, or for what we think might be wrong. Or what a general doctor thinks might be wrong, so they refer you to a specialist.”
“That sounds…highly inefficient.” Grillby frowns, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. You watch the bulge of muscles shifting beneath his pristine white shirt, straining faintly against the perfectly tailored fabric.
“Could you not try a monster healer, perhaps? I am sure they could take a closer look at your stats to see if there is anything you may need assistance with. I know a few trustworthy healers who owe me a favour or two.” He offers, as he reaches beneath the bar. He slides a fresh bowl of mini pretzels towards you, as has become his habit.
I swear, he’s secretly a feeder, isn’t he?
You reach out for one instinctively, partially out of politeness, partially from hunger.
Ok, so maybe I forgot to eat breakfast again. Damnit; I’m gonna have to start keeping track of my own tab, aren’t I?
“I think this is more of a…human thing. Can monsters even-” You cut yourself off.
Is that even an appropriate question to ask?
Grillby’s flames dance for a moment, giving the impression of a raised eyebrow. You feel yourself flush once more. “Fuck. Um. Can monster get…you know…” Hands moving together, you have to stop yourself from making a crude gesture. You press your palms against the smooth wooden bartop, as you clear your throat. “STIs?”
Grillby’s expression remains unchanged.
Oh, fuck me. You’re actually gonna make me spell it out, aren’t you? I take everything back. I must have been terrible in a past life to deserve this.
“Sexually transmitted infections, Grillby. Can monsters catch anything from having sex, or are condoms just an aesthetic choice for you?” You hiss, as you press your face into your hands.
This is not happening. It’s not.
“Sexually transmitted-” For a moment, Grillby’s violet flames take on more of a magenta tone. A voice in the back of your head can’t help but think that he looks like a troll doll. “Humans can pass on diseases from intercourse?!” He sounds absolutely horrified.
“I take it monsters can’t?” You hide your face in your hands, barely daring to peek out. Your muffled question causes him to shake his head vigorously.
“Certainly not! Many of us choose to use protection merely to make any magical output less…troublesome to clean up. Or to decrease the likelihood of staining things. There is no other need. Magical conception is fully about intent and desire; without both parties being fully ready, willing, and filled with at least some basic level of determination, it is impossible to procreate. You mean to tell me that humans…” He sounds a little faint.
“We need protection for everything. To stop unwanted pregnancies is the most common, and for, ah…”
Why am I even explaining this?
“...anal sex. But there are plenty of things humans can pass along through…ah…fluids…inside and outside of sexual contact. It’s why…” You lower your hands, folding your arms on the bartop to rest your cheek against them. You peer up at Grillby. “It’s a good idea to get checked out, even if you haven’t had any accidents with protection. If you’re with more than one person, or if either of you isn’t into monogamy…it’s just safer to know, y’know?”
And…now I know what green-tinged purple flames look like. Great. Wonderful. This is fine.
“And are these… diseases? Infections? Are they… serious?”
You shrug. “Some of them more than others. You can get treatments for just about anything nowadays, but…symptoms of some things can take years to show up. By the time that they do, you could have become infertile, sustained serious physical damage, or even shortened your lifespan. Some things you can manage and live a normal life, but there’s still a risk of passing them on if you aren’t careful. Other things you can fix with medicine and get rid of completely. That’s why it’s good to get checked out, even if it’s uncomfortable and embarrassing.”
“All of that, humans can…just from sex?” He sounds faint.
“Are you feeling ok? Do you need me to get you something?” You ask him, concerned. “Here - why don’t you sit down for a sec? Do you need water? Or, er, bad choice - that probably won’t help right now. Um…alcohol burns, right? Would something alcoholic help?”
“I am fine. I…had no idea. Of course, I will accompany you.” Grillby nods firmly, seemly to pull himself together. “Have you been experiencing any symptoms? Is that why…”
“No, no. I just… thought it would be the responsible thing to do, y’know? For my own good, and any future play partners. As I don’t know if he used…”
“He may not have used protection.” Grillby’s voice is flat. His flames roar. The sudden woosh of fire makes you lean back in your seat, trying to gain some distance from the burst of sweltering heat. His flames darken from purple to plum to mulberry, before settling on a deep, rich wine. He’s almost black in places, as his flames darken and twist.
You reach out hesitantly for one of his hands, unsure of the safety of trying to hold his hand right now. Instantly, you see Grillby taking a deep, steadying breath. Flames retreating to more normal levels, his colour slowly starts to change. It’s like watching a slow-moving mood ring, a small part of your mind supplies.
“I don’t know for sure. There was a condom on the floor, but… I didn’t see if he used it or not. Maybe he did, and was just careless with getting rid of it.”
Or maybe he didn’t, and it tore, or he changed his mind, or-
Before you can get lost in what-ifs, Grillby’s voice pulls you back to the present. “I apologise for frightening you.”
“You never frighten me. I was worried that something was wrong, that you were angry or upset, but… I’ve never been frightened of you, Grillbae. I know you wouldn’t hurt me. Well, unless I asked you to in the right context.” You try to lighten the mood with a wink. It falls flat.
“Humans are…” He shakes his head, clearly frustrated. “Present company excluded, your species is quite despicable. Sometimes, I believe…well, that is neither here nor there. I shall accompany you to this clinic. You can leave your things in the back while I grab my coat.”
“What? But, it’s the middle of the day. The bar-” You protest.
“The bar shall be fine. My regulars know better than to try anything.” You hear a faint eep from one of the booths. “And they also know to keep out any unseemly patrons. Things shall be fine running by themselves for an hour or two.”
“Um…with walk-in clinics, sometimes you get lucky and it’s only an hour? Sometimes it can take a while.” You explain nervously. Part of you really, really doesn’t want to go. But you know the longer you put it off, the more it will fester.
“That is perfectly fine. I shall be accompanying you, no matter how long the wait.”
“Now?”
“Of course now. There is no time like the present.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Don’t make eye contact.
Within the hour, you are sat on one of the most uncomfortable plastic chairs you have ever had the misfortune of sitting on. Clipboard in hand, you are one of a dozen people filling out forms whilst studiously avoiding everyone else’s gaze. The two of you have been getting more than a few looks (some curious, some hostile), as Grillby is the only monster in the room.
Urg. I hate this.
The rest of your fellow waiting room occupants vary in age, ethnicity, and gender, yet you all share one thing in common; a clear level of discomfort.
I swear, if one more person tries to ‘accidentally’ brush against Grillbae to see what he feels like, I’m gonna throw my chair at them.
A warm, comforting hand lands on your knee. A smile spreads across your lips, nerves beginning to wane, as you lean your head against his shoulder. You know that you are one of the lucky ones. There aren’t many there with a friend, partner, or family member to offer support. Your eyes linger on one young girl - she can’t be any older than fifteen, sitting alone off to one side of the room, a tissue clutched in her hands. Part of you wants to go over, ask what’s wrong, and see if there’s anything you can do to help (even if it’s just offering to listen). A bigger part of you says you would hate that if you were in her position. You stay where you are.You turn your attention back to your forms, scanning over your answers again. Name. Date of birth. Address. Occupation. Relevant medical history. Sexual history. Any history of substance use. How many units of alcohol do you drink a week? Urg. What are they gonna ask for next, a blood sample? Wait…oh yeah. You laugh at the ridiculousness of your own thoughts. Grillby squeezes your knee again, silently offering support. Setting the pen down, you tilt the clipboard so he can get a better look. “That certainly is a lot of questions. Human doctors really need this much information, in order to ascertain what may be wrong?” You nod. “How…primitive.”You shrug. “It’s what they need to know. If I had insurance and, like, a regular doctor, they would know most of this stuff. They keep it all on file. But at a free clinic, you don’t even have to give your real name if you don’t want to. Plus, they won’t tell your regular doctor about any of this without explicit permission. It just…feels safer this way, I guess?” Biting your lip, you tilt your head to look up at him. “There really is no monster equivalent, huh?”He shakes his head, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the awkward silence too much. “There is not. While we may sustain injuries that require multiple sessions with a healer, the diagnostic side of things is a quick affair, over in moments. This is quite different from anything I have seen before.”“Wow. I can see how this must feel really slow and basic in comparison. I mean, some test results only take a couple of minutes, but other blood tests can take a few days or even weeks to hear back, if there’s a backlog. Huh. I wonder if anyone’s working on a magic-medicine hybrid, to help speed things up.” That would save sooooo much time, stress, and anxiety. I would 100% sign up for that. Well, if it was affordable. Who am I kidding? That shit would probably come with an ultra-premium price tag. “Weeks. It could take weeks for you to know…” You feel a flash of heat, as Grillby blankly repeats what you said.“There’s this one test.” Placing the clipboard fully down, you reach over to hold Grillby’s hand in both of yours. You can feel the growing heat beginning to wane, as you gently trace each finger. It’s strange to describe how he feels. Both solid and not. Like there is something there beneath the flames, and yet, if you were to push, there might not be something there after all. “For a specific virus you can get from unprotected sex, or sharing needles, or accidentally getting someone else’s fluids like blood in you when they already have it. They say you should get tested within the first four weeks, then again after three and six months, just to make sure you really don’t have it.”“Months. But how…is it truly that serious?” You can feel Grillby freeze in place, not even his flames moving. “And what on earth would possess anyone to share needles? It is already such a barbaric medical instrument.” Oh geez. How do you even explain this to someone? You think, as you try to find the right words.“It can be super serious. Without medication, it damages your immune system and makes you really weak to all kinds of regular infections and diseases. If you take the right medicine, it stops things from getting worse, but…that’s it for life. You have to take it every day, or things could get worse again. And usually, you have to take several different medicines, in case things stop working and the virus becomes immune.” Eyes scanning the waiting room, your gaze catches on the rows upon rows of flyers and booklets adorning the far wall. So many risks. Is it…was it really worth it? Or have I been an idiot to sleep with so many people, so casually, for all of this time? You take a deep breath, eyes lingering on the second row of booklets. Please, please don’t let me have it. “Things have come a long way. For humans, some STI’s used to be death sentences. Infertility, tumours, blindness, paralysis, mental health problems…but none of that is likely, if you get things checked out and treated. It’s why it’s so important to keep on top of these things.”“Humans are aware of this. Of these…dangers. And yet, some choose not to use protection. Knowing that death could be the outcome.” You’ve never heard this particular tone from him before. Is that disbelief? Judgement? Incredulity? Derision? You can’t tell, but it makes something in you squirm uncomfortably. You’ve never chosen to forgo condoms, per say. But you have had more than one incident in the past that you aren’t proud of.
There’s always that one guy who says they’re too tight, or it doesn’t feel as good. I wish…I wish past-me had the confidence to tell them to fuck off.
“Well…I mean, yes? For some people, it’s not really a choice. A few - and like, I mean a really small amount, like one percent of people, are allergic to the stuff most condoms are made out of. But some people are…well, they’re inconsiderate jerks? There are latex-free versions out there. Some people say they feel uncomfortable, or too tight, or that it ruins the sensation for them…”“You mean to say that some people would rather forgo safety, for a heightened sense of pleasure?” You wince, as Grillby’s voice grows in volume. That’s definitely anger. “I mean, when you put it that way, it sounds silly. But…yeah, basically. Some people in committed relationships use other things, like spermicide — that’s this gel or spray, that means seamen can’t get you pregnant anymore — or, like there are pills you can take that stop you from getting pregnant, but they mess with your hormones something awful. Or an implant…” Why am I still trying to explain all of this, when it’s clearly just making things worse? Why IS he getting so mad about all of this? You watch as Grillby shakes his head, flames flickering low and a shade darker than usual. “Humans would rather have surgery and medical interventions, than use a condom .”Laughing nervously, you sit straight. Shifting in your seat, you lean ever so slightly away from Grillby. “Hey. I never said we were smart as a race. Plus, for many people who can get pregnant, it’s just a safer choice to go with an implant or pills as well as condoms, just to prevent any unwanted little accidents, cause let me tell you, we do not need desire and intent to make a little bundle of joy like y’all do. Condoms are still the safest way to prevent most things, even if they aren’t one hundred percent safe all of the time - just ninety-eight percent of the time. They’re even free if you go to a clinic like this. But…yeah…humans aren’t the brightest bulbs in the box.”Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Grillby turning towards you. Before he can speak, a polite cough draws both of your attention. A nurse stands a few feet away, nervously looking between the two of you. “Miss? If you could come with me.” As you stand, Grillby quickly follows suit. “Ah, this part of the exam needs to be alone with the patient. If you could wait here?” She asks, firmly but politely. You smile at her.“No problem. Ah, I’ll be back out in a few, if you wouldn’t mind waiting?” Grillby frowns, clearly wanting to protest. “As soon as they say I can have someone with me, I’ll come and get you, ok?” Fifteen long, uncomfortable minutes later, you wave at Grillby as you make your way through the waiting area to the attached facilities. You can feel his eyes on you as you return shortly after, scurrying back through to the nurses' station to drop off your sample pot.“Hey. Um, I just need to wait here for the next part.” Taking your seat once more, you explain with an awkward smile. Jeeze. I hope he didn’t put two and two together. Ick. It’s so embarrassing. “I see.” Grillby is clearly mulling over something. Several long, uncomfortable minutes later, he asks: “Why did they…”“It’s not because you’re a monster.” You blurt out. “They ask everyone who comes in with someone to talk with them alone for a bit. It’s to make sure that person is…safe.”Voice low, Grillby sounds equal parts hurt and confused. “They think I hurt you?”You shake your head. “They want to make sure no one is getting hurt by anyone. It’s in case anyone is in an abusive relationship, is being trafficked, or is here against their will. The safest way is to give them a few minutes alone, so they can ask and make sure everyone knows they have options, that they can get help if they need it. They ask everyone. It’s not because we’re here together.” Tentatively, you hold your hand out, palm us, across the armrests between your chairs. Something in your loosens when he takes hold of you, tracing patterns against your skin. “They asked me some basic questions, made sure I was safe, then drew some blood, got a saliva sample, and had me give a urine sample. The, um, the next part is the bit I’m not really looking forward to. If…if you wouldn’t mind coming in with me?” In any other situation, stirrups plus Hotbae would equal a fucking amazing night out. Or in. But stirrups plus doctor just sounds…ew. Wait a minute. Do I really want this to be the first time Grillbae sees me semi-naked? … f u c k… “What else could they possibly need?”“To…ah, look…” You blush, looking away. “And take some swabs…” You glance down, waving a hand awkwardly at your lap. You can see the moment it clicks for Grillby, as his cheeks flush hot pink. “Stars. Is all of this really necessary?”“You don’t have to come in.” Please, please come in. I don’t wanna do this by myself. “Of course I am coming in.” Grillby says, matter of fact. “I am merely saying that I wish that there was an easier way for you to be assured that you are well.”“Believe me, I’m gonna do everything I can to avoid needing to do this again in the future.” You send him a wry smile. You spot something in his lap. Is that… “Erm. Grillbae…why do you…”“I thought it would be prudent to do some light reading.” Letting go of your hand momentarily, he shows you his stack, before slipping them into the inside pocket in his waistcoat. There have to be at least thirty different leaflets and booklets stacked neatly together. You can feel your cheeks burning as you look around to see if anyone else is watching. “Did you pick up one of every leaflet they have?” “I did not. They were out of something called The basics of lymphogranuloma venereum (LGV) . The receptionist assured me that I could obtain a copy from their website.” You can feel your jaw drop. “But why ?” You ask again faintly.“Now that we have agreed to try exploring things together, learning more about you is only prudent. Just knowing what you do and do not like is not enough. It is my responsibility to ensure your safety when we are together. If there is something potentially so…devastating to your health, that I am unaware of…what type of dominant would not do their best to ensure their partner’s safety? To show that they care, and are willing to prepare as much as possible?” You can feel Grillby’s eyes locked onto you, as you keep your gaze firmly lowered. “None of your previous partners have shown such a level of care.” It’s more of a statement than a question, but you find yourself nodding all the same. You can’t think of anyone who would have even thought to have gone to such levels, much less actually have gone through with it. It makes you feel uncomfortably warm. You aren’t sure whether to feel pleased that Grillby is so thoughtful, or disappointed that your past partners were even worse in many respects than you had realised.“This was not your fault.” Grillby’s gentle words bring you back to the present. You can’t quite bring yourself to believe him. I made so many stupid mistakes leading up to that moment. How could I see it any other way? “I know. On some level, I know. But…it also kind of is? My fault? I know the risks, when I pick someone up in a club. I know it’s a risk, and I make the choice to take that risk. And that’s a risk I’ve always been willing to take.” Thinking back to that past-you, who would stay late after work to seek out a quick fix between the sheets, you can’t help but feel disappointed and angry. Why do I always try and fix things like that? I know it’s not good for me. Voice barely above a murmur, you dare to admit something that you have been reluctant to acknowledge. “But maybe…maybe I don’t want to be the kind of person who finds someone new every week anymore.”You can feel the comforting warmth of Grillby enveloping you, as he squeezes your hand once more. “I will still be here. Whether you want to find someone new each week, you would like several regular partners, or just one. You do not need to change for me.”You shake your head. Too good for me by far. Fuck. I’m never letting you go. “It’s not for you. I think…I think I want to change for me.”“Then that is something I can whole-heartedly support.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Well, this feels like deja vu.
“What the fuck do you wear on a date-date?”
I have nothing to wear. Literally nothing. Why didn’t past-me fix this problem last time?
Looking through your wardrobe, you are once again reminded of the two extremes you own: loungewear (mainly oversized jumpers you can barely get away with wearing to class), and fetishwear (that probably shouldn’t leave the light of day, unless you
want
to risk being arrested for indecent exposure).
Why didn’t I think about this
before
I asked Grillbae out on a date?
It had taken more courage than you would ever admit, but you decided to take the plunge and ask Grillby out on your long, awkward walk back from the clinic to his bar. Thankfully, everything had seemed none the worse for wear, despite leaving Grillby’s essentially unattended.
How many green flags does a girl need, before she grabs onto someone and refuses to let go?
You snort at the thought. Grillby really had looked quite fetching when you had asked him out.
His flames turn such a pretty colour when he’s blushing…or excited…or embarrassed…or angry. Huh. Maybe I just have a thing for fire?
With your limited budget, you had been struggling to come up with an idea for The Perfect (Affordable) Date
™
.
Who doesn’t love a home-cooked meal?
In the end, you had decided to plan a more classical date: home cooking, snuggling up with a movie, and (hopefully) letting things heat up as the night wears on.
Still unwilling to let anybody see where you live, you had asked Grillby to let you cook while he technically hosts on one of the rare evenings the bar is closed. It was then, and only then, that it occurred to you:
I’ve just planned to cook for someone who COOKS FOR A LIVING. For a DATE-DATE. What the hell was I thinking?!
Spending the best part of your weekly budget (and half of the following week’s) on just the right ingredients, you finally have everything ready and waiting at Grillby’s apartment. As long as you can find something in the trash heap that is your closet, that you won’t feel embarrassed to wear.
“That’s it. This. This is why I need normal, non-work, non-uni related friends. How have I got this far without a normal-looking date dress? Fuck. Why didn’t I think of this earlier?” Reaching up, you pull at your hair in frustration. You groan, as you realise you’re going to have to do your hair again, now that you’ve messed it up.
Think. Think. What can I do to save this?
You’ve barely got space to pace in your cramped room, yet you feel like you need to do something to release all of your nervous energy. Dropping to the floor, you peer under your bed in hopes of finding a discarded dress or at least a pair of jeans without too many rips in them.
There’s a fine line between chic, hobo-chic, and slutty. And I fall on the wrong side of that line.
As you peer into the depths beneath your bed, all you can see is an empty, half-crumpled can of monster, and a spider's web with a far-too-large spider in situ.
That…is a regular spider, right?
You wave hesitantly, just in case. “Um…hello? Are you a friend of Muffet’s?” The spider doesn’t move.
I’m gonna assume that’s a normal ass spider.
Just to be on the safe side, you decide not to disturb it.
You stand, declaring the not-so-tiny interloper a future-you problem. Glancing at the clock, you run through your options.
This is fine. I still have some time. Let’s run through my options. Borrowing something is out; I don’t know anyone from my course who I’m close enough with to even ask that. And asking someone at work would just be weird, plus I’d still end up with the not-enough-coverage problem I’ve got going on.
Biting your lip, you grab your bag from where you dropped it the night before. Digging deep, you pull out the roll of bills hidden within. From your last bartending shift, so far, you have only managed half a shift on the club floor in the weeks since your encounter with the human. You were lucky to make the megre tips you did - a combination of regulars happy to see you back, and pity at your newfound jumpiness. You flick through the crumpled stack, double then triple checking how much you have left.
I guess I could spend a little bit to get something from Goodwill. It’s only a couple of blocks in the wrong direction. I could totally make it there, get a super cheap dress, and then still make it to Grillby’s in time.
You can feel your stomach squirming. You’ve already spent more on this date than you meant to, but you really, really want to impress Grillby.
Just suck it up. If I pick up an extra shift, and stop getting so distracted, I can make it back before I’ll need it.
Carefully, you take a ten from your stash, slipping it into your pocket.
Tonight needs to be perfect.
By the time you finally round the last corner, your hair is plastered to your face. Hoodie soaked through and jeans clinging to you like a second skin, you curse not bringing an umbrella with you. Everything had looked fine when you had set out from your apartment. A little cloudy, sure, but not like there was any real danger. And yet, two blocks into your five block detour, the skies had opened up.
Urg. It’s so warm and sticky, too. This is the worst.
Wet and sticky, your hair and makeup are now both ruined.
Just keep going. I’m almost there.
As you finally make it to Goodwill, you squeeze past the handful of people huddled outside beneath the awning, trying to shelter from the sudden downpour.
“Excuse me. Sorry, sorry. Thanks.” You mumble, as you make your way past. You let out a sigh of relief as you get inside. The harsh fluorescent lights make you squint, momentarily blinding you. Stepping to one side to get out of the way of the door, you catch sight of yourself in a full-length mirror just behind the nearest row of racks.
Great. I look like such a mess.
Everything is soaked through, your hair a tangled mess, black streaks staining your cheeks.
I guess I’m gonna have to head home to get changed after all.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” Cursing under your breath, you pull your phone out to send Grillby a quick message.
Me [15:13]: Hey! I think I’m gonna be running a few minutes late. I’m really sorry. I should be over by, like, 5 at the latest. I hope that’s still ok?
Clicking out of your chat, you keep your phone in your hand as you make your way down the rows upon rows of racks. It’s been a while since you last came to the store. Usually, you do your best to make do with what you have, but when you do have some spare cash, Goodwill has always been your go-to. The nearest (and cheapest) option, you’ve been pleasantly surprised at some of the finds you’ve come across in the past.
Dresses, dresses, where have they moved the dresses. Ooooh, what is thiiiiiis?
You find yourself making a beeline for the shoe section.
Those are some nice boots!
Coming to a hault, you hone in on the most beautiful pair of books you have ever seen.
Holy shit, are those New Rocks?
Stuffing your phone in your pocket, you eagerly pull the pair of boots from the shelf.
The black leather feels so soft beneath your fingers. Tracing your fingers across the purple, metallic flames, you flip them over, looking for any signs of wear or damage. They look brand new. Even the steel heels still look shiny and untouched. Rapping your knuckles on the toe, you hear a faint clunk.
Hidden steel toe caps. Sexy and easy self-defence. Fuck, these would be perfect for work.
You know that you could never afford a pair of these brand new.
Do not try them on. I’ll only get attached.
You peek inside the top, trying to catch sight of a price tag. You stop and stare.
Ok, either that’s a misprice, or someone has no idea what these are worth.
Your hands tighten around them instinctively. It’s been a long time since you have found yourself wanting something so much. Before you know it, you’re sat down, pulling your soggy, hole-riddled trainers off and sliding the boots on. They fit perfectly.
“They’re so pretty!” You coo, as you stand and look in the nearest mirror. Turning this way and that, it’s love at first sight. Searching your pockets, you pull out the crumpled notes. Even if you don’t buy a dress, you still won’t have enough. You grab your bag, flipping it open to search through the depths for any missed notes or coins. You manage to scrounge up another five, but it’s still half of what you need.
Your lip wobbles.
Don’t you fucking dare.
Mentally, you tell yourself off.
They’re only boots. I don’t need them. My trainers only have a couple of holes in them, and it’s almost spring. They’ll last until at least late autumn.
You let out a long, ragged sigh.
Just let it go.
“It’s not meant to be.” You tell yourself, quietly but firmly, as you bend to pull them off. Your fingers linger on the buckles, as you gently begin to remove them.
Let’s put you back and find that dress.
As you stand and turn to move away from the mirror, you catch something out of the corner of your eye. You freeze in place. Your eyes meet the familiar, amber glow of Mutt’s eye lights.
Spinning around, boots clutched to your chest, you turn to face him. He’s halfway across the store, slouching in that familiar black leather, fur-lined hoodie of his. You watch as he slips a lit echoflower cigarette from between his teeth, pinching the glowing end out firmly between his fingerbones.
You can feel your heart racing. You don’t want to look away from him, but at the same time, you need to see if he’s alone. You glance away quickly, eyes returning to him as you scan the nearby rows. You can’t see any sign of Sans, but you’re not sure if you evey would see him over the taller racks at this distance.
Mutt’s eyes flick from your face, to the boots clutched against your chest. Dipping his head, he turns away without stopping, heading further back into the store. Heart racing, you shove the boots back on the shelf. Barely remembering to grab your bag, you make a beeline for the door.
Fuck it. There’s a Salvation Army another four blocks away. That’ll have to do.
Me [16:38] Hey Grillbae; had to make another detour. I’m almost there! Should I come around the back, or go through the front?
It took longer than expected to make it to the other store. Despite the rain, you made your second detour, checking behind you at regular intervals just in case.
That can’t have been a coincidence, right? What are the odds of us both just happening to shop there at the same time, on the same day, in the same Goodwill?
By the time you made it to the store, your hair and makeup truly were a lost cause. You could feel water soaking through your jeans to your underwear beneath.
I guess I’m going commando after all.
Checking each mirror and around every corner, you didn’t spot any sign of either of them. It had taken a while, but you had finally found an outfit that met your criteria.
Dress: check. Not too short: check. No holes, leather, mesh, or corsetry: check-a-roo. No boobs or butt out (gotta make him wait for that at least until the movie starts): check.
You’re over an hour later than planned as you finally reach Grillby’s. Out of breath, you take a moment to lean against the wall, panting.
Ok. I need to do more cardio. Dang.
You had spent the last of your money at a coffee shop down the block, buying the cheapest item on their menu so you could use their facilities to get changed. Face freshly washed, hair as good as you can get it without another shower and time to style it, your wet outfit stuffed firmly into your bag, you are ready at last.
Glancing at your phone, you frown.
Huh. Seen, but no response.
You try not to let your thoughts get away from you.
What if he’s changed his mind? What if he’s so mad that I’m late, he doesn’t want to go ahead? Oh stars. What if he’s disappointed in me for being late? That’s so much worse than being mad…
Just as you begin to lose your tentative grasp on your thoughts, the front door to Grillby’s bar opens. Beneath the awning, familiar purple flames pop out of the door.
“Grillby!” Grinning, you rush forward to greet him. Without a thought, you throw your arms around him in an eager greeting. You can feel the low, deep rumbling of his laugh against your cheek, as he wraps his arms carefully around you, doing his best to avoid touching your still damp hair.
“Good evening my dear. You are looking particularly beautiful today.” You flush, as Grillby takes a step back, holding the door open for you.
“Thank you. You look hot. I mean great. Good! You look good!” You stammer, as you move past him into the bar. As usual, he is dressed dapperly, with a more casual hint than is typical. Cuffs undone, his pristine white sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. While his waistcoat is still buttoned up, his bowtie and top three buttons are undone, giving you a tantalising glimpse at what lies below.
“Why thank you. May I?” A hand hovers, outstretched between the two of you. Unsure of what he is asking, you nod; you trust him implicitly. His flames flicker for a second, clearly pleased, as he moves closer. Hovering just above your head, you can feel a momentary woosh of heat flash over you. “Oh my. Ah…I do apologise. It would seem…”
There’s something about Grillby’s tone that makes your stomach flip. Rushing to the mirror behind the bar, you peer through the bottles.
Oh no oh no oh no oh no. What if he burned all my hair off? That’s not actually something he could do, is it?
Peeking past the bottles and cups, you catch sight of yourself. Your hair, previously hanging in wet, lank clumps around your face and shoulders, is now only what you can describe as a frizzy mess. Poofed up to more than twice its usual volume, it looks a little bit like you have stuck your finger in a socket.
“What the fuck? Heh!” You have to laugh, or else you’ll cry. “So much for making sure everything goes perfectly tonight.”
You feel a warm hand settle on your shoulder. “Perfection is boring. Clinical. Forced. I much prefer authenticity. Would you not agree?” You can feel yourself melting, a matching smile curling on your lips as you nod. “And who is to say that one or two little mishaps must lead to another? The night is still young.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
How did I not think of this sooner?
Stood in Grillby’s cluttered but immaculate kitchen, it has somehow only just struck you.
“You’re a monster.”
Bemused, purple flames flicker as Grillby chuckles. “I am indeed. Is this… a new observation?”
Cheeks burning, you shake your head. “Can you… eat human food? I didn’t think to ask.”
I’m so stupid. How has this not come up before?
“I, um… I’ve never tried making magical food before.” Brushing back a lock of your once again wet hair —
Thank the stars for Grillby’s frankly sexual bathroom —
you smile up at him sheepishly. Despite causing yet further delay to the start of your date, Grillby had insisted on giving you time to freshen up before moving into the kitchen. It was in part, you think, to apologise for how much he laughed when his heat made your hair poof up.
“I can indeed. Though it is more of an acquired taste for monsters, for pleasure rather than sustenance. We need magically-infused or created food to sustain our energy levels.” Grillby explains, as you follow him through into the kitchen. This it by far one of your favourite rooms in his apartment. It’s cosy and somehow feels cramped despite its generous size, with stacks of pots and pans filling the shelves. Towering, mismatched rows and stacks of cookery books in a number of languages you don’t even recognise fill every spare inch of space.
“I would be more than happy to show you some monster recipes sometime, if that would be of interest to you? Though, you could not fully complete any of them without help.” Grillby offers, as he pulls your unopened bag of ingredients from his refrigerator. You had dropped them off the day before, unwilling to risk forgetting something or being unable to purchase everything if you were to leave everything until the last minute.
“That sounds like fun! Maybe for our next date night?” You suggest, side-eyeing him to judge his reaction.
I’m pretty sure that’s a blush.
Lining up the ingredients, you take stock of everything one last time before you begin.
Ok, I’ve got this. Everything for baked camembert with honey and walnuts? Check. Cheat’s pre-made chocolate ganache? Double-check. And everything for steak with a side salad and twice-baked potato? Nice. Calm, happy thoughts. I can do this.
“How may I be of assistance?” You jump; you hadn’t realised Grillby was so close behind you. You can feel him brush up against you, the hairs raising on your arms and the back of your neck. His familiar, comforting scent of burning wood, just a hint of pine, and —
That’s new. Is that sandalwood? Is he…wearing cologne? —
is comforting. You can feel yourself relaxing. There’s nowhere on earth you would rather be right now.
“Sit, sit! I’ve got this. Let me cook for you for a change. You’re always looking after me.” You steer him towards one of the barstools beside the island counter, waving off any protests before he can truly begin. “Er, if you could just point me towards the right cupboards for an oven dish…and a frying pan…and maybe a salad bowl?” You eye the nearest precariously-balanced shelf. You’re pretty sure you can see what you need towards the bottom of the stack, but you’re pretty sure you will cause an avalanche if you even try to move things.
“If you are sure? This really isn’t necessary. I enjoy cooking, truly. I love it even more so when it is for someone that I care about.” Grillby says, as he stands once more to retrieve the necessary pots, pans, and utensils for you.
“I’d really like to cook for you this time. You’re always making me such tasty things when I come over to study or drop in for a visit. Let me treat you for a change.” You smile, as you wash your hands and get ready to begin. “Though, ah… just to check…” You can feel the first, tingly tendrils of heat beginning to creep up your cheeks.
Why didn’t I ask him before?
“You don’t, um, mind eating human food, do you?”
Grillby laughs softly, as he settles more comfortably on the stool beside the central kitchen island. “I do not mind at all. Truth be told… it is what some would call an acquired taste. I typically prefer to infuse it with magic during or after the cooking process, but I am always delighted to try new things.”
How have I already fucked this up?
You groan to yourself, unable to stop the sinking feeling of disappointment. “I really should have asked that before I started planning, huh?”
“I am sure I will love whatever you prepare. I apologise; I did not mean to be rude, merely honest. Human food is to monsters, and monster food is to humans. Do you not enjoy the odd monster candy, dessert, or even full meal?” You nod, tentatively. “As a human, monster food heals you. It makes you feel energised. Some humans say it can even act as an aphrodisiac. Yet it does not provide you with any of the key nutrients that your body actually needs to sustain itself. No matter how much you enjoy it, or you feel satiated by it, it is not enough. Human food is the same for monsters. We may enjoy the flavour. It can provide some unique side-effects, or even give some monsters a temporary feeling of increased stamina and HP. But it cannot actually restore us, and too much can create a false sense of satiation.”
“Huh.” You’ve never really thought about the differences between monster and human food before.
It’s strange. It’s been several years since monsters came to the surface, and yet there’s still so much we don’t know about each other. I wonder what else there is that should be common knowledge, that we just don’t even know that the other species doesn’t know about us?
A comfortable silence falls between the two of you as you slide the potatoes into the oven. You pause, searching for any signs of dials or timers. “Er…how do I…?” You smile sheepishly, as Grillby comes up beside you. Warm hands gently move you out of the way, as he reaches out to touch the oven. You feel a flash of heat, the previously dull brass seeming to shine and glow as though freshly polished.
“My apologies. Most of my appliances require magic, rather than electricity. I have never had human guests over before. I will have to get these fixed.”
Warmth spreads through you, as Grillby’s words sink in. Clearly, he’s planning for you to be over more often in the future. Knowing that he’s already considering making changes to his home, just so it would be more accessible for you, feels nice.
Huh. So this is what a healthy relationship feels like.
The soft notes of music - something low and smooth - filter through from the living room, as you finish prepping the salad. Grillby takes his seat at the counter once more. “Could someone… forget to eat the right food? What would happen?”
“I have heard of it happening in the past. Humans wasting away, caught up in the buzz of magical food and drink, forgetting to eat anything else. I believe it takes some weeks for things to just shut down. For monsters… things are affected by a great many factors. But when a monster does not keep up their magical reserves, when their stamina falls dangerously low and it begins to affect their HP…well. It is only a matter of time until they…” You watch as Grillby runs a finger along the countertop, looking thoughtfully at the almost invisible layer of dust left behind.
“Oh!” Your hands still, eyes wide. “I had no idea…”
“Why would you? It is not common knowledge. I must apologise; this is not the tone I wished to set for our date. Such things are hardly the topic of conversation for polite company. May I get you something to drink?”
You nod, allowing the topic of conversation to change as Grillby stands and crosses the room in his search for glasses. “Anything is fine. Um, non-alcoholic if possible?”
I’m already so nervous and I really don’t wanna fuck this up. Stars, seeing Mutt must have thrown me more than I realised. I’d better avoid making things any worse by having a bit too much to drink.
“How does a virgin strawberry daiquiri sound?” You start, momentarily lost in thought, as Grillby reappears with the most perfect-looking drink in his hand.
Focus! I should be enjoying every second with Grillbae, not thinking about other things.
“That sounds perfect. Thank you. Did… did you want to help me cook, after all? You could infuse things with magic as we go.” You offer, unable to meet his gaze. You really should have asked about dietary requirements beforehand.
I’m just lucky he’s not a vegetarian. Now that would have been embarrassing.
“I would love to. Perhaps next time? I am looking forward to trying your food. It would be a shame to change your culinary vision when you have already gone to so much work.” You can feel his warm presence behind you, as you fall still. Two impossibly warm arms wrap around you from behind, as he rests his chin on top of your head. You can feel yourself heating up - both from his proximity, and your own growing blush. “It has been quite some time since I last tried human food. I am looking forward to experiencing new flavours.” You can feel a soft, gentle brush against your hair.
Did…did Grillby just kiss my head? I think I’m gonna explode.
Trying to calm yourself, you roll your eyes as Grillby returns to his seat, a pilfered walnut in hand. As you watch, he flexed his hand around the sealed, hard brown shell. You can feel your mouth going dry, as it pops open with little effort. As his hand opens, the shell seems to crumble, leaving the nut within perfectly intact.
You can crack me like a walnut any day. Fuck me. I bet he’s amazing at giving massages.
You force yourself to turn away, as your thoughts turn to more pleasurable things Grillby could do with his hands and impressive strength.
I bet he could hold me down with one hand without even breaking a sweat.
Your hands still once again, preparation momentarily forgotten. Is that something you still want, after everything that has happened? You allow yourself to picture it: Grillby, asking you to kneel while he relaxes after work, a book in one hand, the other gently petting your hair as you wait patiently for him, naked and content. Grillby, pinning you down from behind, as he whispers praise into your ear, telling you how good you are for him. Grillby, slipping padded leather cuffs over each wrist, kissing the delicate skin beneath before they buckle into place. Grillby, leaving you tied up begging for him, as he slowly, finally, takes off that waistcoat and shirt. Grillby’s firm yet gentle hands, running over your skin, demanding your full attention, leaving you hot and bothered in more ways than one. Those same hands drawing you to his side, onto his lap, to rest against his chest, as he soothes away any marks and makes sure you come back from that floaty, happy place, feeling warm and cared for and loved.
Loved?
Something wet splashes against the back of your hand. Reaching up, you wipe hastily at your cheeks. When did you start crying?
Don’t get ahead of yourself. This is basically a first date-date, if you don’t count those coffee dates. Wait. Do those still count? Is this our third date? Could that mean… am I gonna get lucky tonight?
Before you realise it, dinner is ready and it is time to plate up. “I’m so sorry.” You murmur, as Grillby stands next to you, helping you to plate up the shared starter and main.
“Hm?”
“I didn’t mean to leave you hanging while I was cooking.”
I could have at least tried to start a conversation, but noooo. I had to think about Grillby’s frigging muscles and soft hands and-and, suit porn!
“I take it as a compliment.” You watch, as Grillby carries all three plates and the small breadbasket through the archway towards his living-come-dining room. “You feel comfortable enough in my presence to allow yourself the joy of becoming lost in cooking. Part of you feels comfortable enough to be together without the need for words. I am honoured that you feel safe enough to do so, in not only my presence, but my home.” He pulls out one of the two mismatched mahogany dining chairs for you. Despite their differing carvings, both look well cared for and polished to perfection.
Probably antiques
, a voice in your mind pipes up, as you sit carefully on the soft, sage upholstered seat.
Probably worth more than the entirety of my studio apartment combined.
Clearly, Grillby has been busy while you were cooking. You hadn’t even heard him slip away to get things prepared. A crisp white tablecloth covers the small mahogany table, a candelabra - bronze, well kept, and polished to perfection - holds five merrily dancing ivory candles, each tipped with a purple flame. Gleaming silverware is laid out at each place setting, alongside three drinks - a fresh virgin daiquiri for you sat side by side with a small glass of water, along with what appears to be another daiquiri, though this one must be alcoholic judging by the dancing purple-tinged flames, for Grillby.
It must be very alcoholic. How is it still on fire?!
“I know that there are still, and will be many more, cultural differences that can become lost in translation when it comes to human-monster relations. But I would like you to know that inviting you into my home…into my sanctuary… is a sign of trust, and of intent, that I do not give lightly. I know we have not known each other very long, but I have come to anticipate our time together. I look forward to getting to know more about you, to seeing how things might develop between the two of us, now that we appear to be on the same page.” Grillby lifts his drink to you, waiting for you to do the same in return, before taking his first sip.
“But why?” The questions slips out. It’s been plaguing your mind. “Why me? What do you even get from this? I’m nothing special. And you’re-” You gesture to all of him, “-just look at you! You could have your pick of anyone. Why would you want a broken mess like me?”
Grillby places his drink down, as he holds your gaze. “You are not broken. A little cracked in places, perhaps scuffed around the edges. A part of me likes to think that we are attracted to those who need us the most, who would most benefit from our care and attention. But truthfully, have we not been through this before? Why does anyone feel attraction for another? It is something just a feeling that you cannot explain.
“You make me laugh. Just thinking about spending time with you makes me smile. I have been told my several regulars it is quite unnerving at times.” Reaching across the table, he takes your hands into his own.
“Relationships…are give and take. They are not one hundred percent equal all of the time. It is ok for you to lean on me when you need to, or when you want to. That is just a small part of the foundations of a healthy relationship: feeling able to rely on your partner. Let me ask you in return: Why me? You are young. Beautiful. Intelligent. Driven. You work every spare hour of the day, to improve yourself, to pay your way, to push yourself forward.” His eyes flicker down, as though focusing on something on - no, in - your chest. “Rarely have I seen a soul as persevering as yours. You could pursue anyone, and have the suitors to prove it. Why say yes to me, when I represent so little of what you are looking for?”
“Were.” You can see his confusion, as you correct him. “You’re everything I…wasn’t looking for. I would make a joke about you being hot stuff…” You laugh weakly, shaking your head. “But you know that isn’t it. You’re…kind. Compassionate. You care, not just about me, but about your regulars. About other people at the club. You’re a true gentleman, Grillby. And I’ve never really known one of those before. I thought I knew what I wanted. But I think…I think I was just too scared to look at what I
really
wanted, to admit it to myself, and to be left disappointed when I couldn't have it. I’m still not quite sure how you can be real. You’re the kind of person I used to read about in fairytales as a little kid.”
You’re the kind of person I never dreamed of really meeting in real life, much less capturing all for myself.
“The big, bad monster come to take away the princess?” He asks wryly. You shake your head, as you squeeze his hands, drawing his gaze back to yours.
“The brave, fearless knight come to defend my honour. Only with manners that could put prince charming to shame, quick wit, and…” You blush, pushing on. “The ability to trigger a suit-related fetish I did not know I had. I know there’s still so much more I don’t know about you. And…I want to get to know you. All of you. Not just…not just the kinky bits. Fuck. I don’t think I’ve said that in a long time. Is that…is that ok?”
You can feel butterflies beginning to churn in your stomach, as Grillby’s fingers go slack within your grip. “You are interested in something beyond bdsm dynamics?” He asks, his tone cautious.
You take a deep, steadying breath. “If it’s with you…I think I am, yes. Is that ok?”
“With everything that has happened, I would not be upset or angry if you were not interested in less…vanilla elements, until you feel more comfortable in yourself and have had time to come to terms with what happened.”
“You said once that there were things in your past that you would not wish away, but that you also would not have wanted to happen to others…did you ever come to terms with them, fully?”
He shakes his head. “In some ways, perhaps? Yet…”
“Some things change you. I don’t want him to take this from me. I want to still enjoy the spicier side of things, inside and outside of the bedroom. I can’t…I can’t promise it’s going to be easy. I don’t know if I’ll have any flashbacks, or, or if there will be things I can’t do anymore, or that I’ll need to wait to try. But…I would very much like to try those things with you.”
You feel his hands clench, wrapping around yours, cradling them with care and strength and warmth. “I would be honoured. I look forward to seeing where our journey takes us together.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Hey! I didn’t know you had a shift tonight.”
Your hands shoot behind your back, as you spin around to face the newcomer in the staffroom. Your fingers clench around the still unopened envelope you’ve been thinking about all day. You had found it waiting for you when you had gone in from a late study session the night before, but you hadn’t had the energy (physically or emotionally) to face opening it.
“Oh, hey Coco. How’ve you been? It’s been a while.” You smile at the towering, floppy-eared dog monster. It really has been a while since you last shared a shift with Coco. “I’m actually just finishing up. Still, ah, not back to bartending quite yet.” You admit with a wince.
You’ve been planning to ask for your old shifts back for several days now, but each time, you’ve found yourself backing off before you can even knock on bosslady’s door.
I really need to get over it. Things are gonna start falling behind if I don’t start making some serious cash soon.
Realistically, you know that relying on double and triple shifts over your two week easter break isn’t going to cut it anymore. If you don't spend some serious time catching up with your classes, you may risk failing more than one class. It’s not something you want to try, but you’ve been considering asking if there is an emergency fund students can tap into, just to help tide you over a little bit longer.
“I’m glad you’re taking things easy. We’ve been worried about you. Sometimes, it’s good to take a break.” You watch as Coco makes her way across to one of the two ancient coffee pots standing side by side. It might not look like much, but at least bosslady springs for the good stuff — for both magical and human employees. “I haven’t seen you around the club much after hours.”
“I’m, uh. I’m kind of…seeing someone?” It still feels so weird to say, but the words bring a smile to your face. You can feel excitement fluttering in your stomach just thinking about him.
Coco sends you a genuine smile, as she cradles a coffee cup between her paws. It looks comically small between her big, chocolate brown, fluffy paws, despite being one of the largest mugs in the tiny staffroom. “Congrats! Is it anyone I’d know?”
Rubbing the back of your head, you shrug. “Uh, maybe? He comes to the club every now and then. His name’s Grillby. He’s just the best.”
You watch as Coco frowns, clearly searching back. “Grillby, Grillby…about yay tall, always wears a bowtie, fire elemental?” You nod, as Coco shakes her head. “I don’t know him personally, but I’ve heard a bit here and there. Mostly good things.”
“Coco. You say that about everyone! Is there anyone who rates better than a mostly-good on the Coco scale?” You laugh.
“A few do. Present company included.” You can feel yourself beginning to blush. Grabbing your stuff out of your locker, you keep your letter in hand.
I can’t put this off forever.
“If he ever tries anything that makes you uncomfortable, you let me know.”
“Thanks, Coco. You’re way too sweet. But he’s a total softie. He’s… he’s the best guy I’ve ever dated. Heh. By a long shot.” You admit quietly, a soft smile curling on your lips. “Plus, you should see him when he gets all flustered! He does this super cute thing, where his flames go from purple to this almost hot pink shade-”
“Purple?” You pause at Coco’s sharp tone. “Not orange. Purple.”
You nod slowly. “Yup. I think I’d have noticed if the guy I was dating was orange and not purple. That would be kinda hard to miss. Maybe you’re thinking of another fire elemental?”
Small, beady black eyes study your face, searching for a trace of something. “Fire elementals are a pretty rare kind of monster. Never mind; I must be thinking of someone else. Maybe I’ll catch you on your next shift?”
You nod again. “Of course. I’ll try and pop in to say hi sometime this week, if it looks like we don’t have any overlapping shifts scheduled. Oh! I’ll ask Grillby when he’s next off work too, so he can pop in and meet everyone properly.”
“That sounds like a great idea. Give us a little chance to have The Talk with him.”
You groan. “Noooo. Don’t scare him off! It’s already a miracle he hasn’t gone running for the hills yet. I don’t need any more bad luck following me.”
Coco lets out a surprisingly high-pitched, yipping laugh. “He’s lucky to have you. We just want to remind him of that. After everything you’ve been through…”
You try to hold back your wince.
I’m never gonna get used to hearing that.
“I’ll catch you later, Coco. Say hi to Teddy for me.” You say, slipping out before Coco can say anything else.
The walk through the back corridors of the club is quick and easy. It’s barely mid-afternoon, which means it will be hours before the doors open to the public, and even longer before things pick up for the day. You force yourself to make the familiar trek to bosslady’s office.
I’m gonna do it this time. I’m gonna ask for my shifts.
Slipping your letter back into your bag, you find yourself pausing once again. Fist raised ready to knock, you can’t help the clawing feeling of doubt in the pit of your stomach. You can feel beads of sweat, uncomfortably warm and sticky, making their way down the back of your neck.
Just fucking knock. You need this.
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
You jump, as a familiar voice comes from behind you.
What is it with people fucking sneaking up on me today?
“Stars, don’t scare me like that.” You laugh awkwardly, as you step to one side to allow bosslady past you and into her own office.
“I’ll do my best.” She laughs, as she unlocks the door and waves you in behind her. “How’ve you been? If there is anything I can help with, let me know.”
Slipping in behind her, you leave the door open behind you in hopes of making this quick. “I’m good. I’ve been good. Hopefully, you’ve been… good?” She nods, a bemused smile playing on her lips. “That’s… good.” You wince.
What is wrong with me?
“Now that we know that everything is good…?” She prompts, offering you the glass jar of sweets sitting on her desk. You’ve always thought it’s a little bit strange; it almost reminds you of visiting the headteacher at school, or making a trip to the nurses' office. You grab a little wrapped sherbert lemon to avoid seeming rude.
“I was wondering if I could, maybe, pick up some of my old shifts again? Alongside finishing off the stocktake? The main stocktake is basically done now. It’s just figuring out what upgrades we might want for the back rooms, and what equipment needs replacing or updating.”
Shifting in her seat, bosslady leans back, her gaze thoughtful and contemplative. “That’s still a lot of work. It usually takes me a few weeks to do it, and that’s on longer shifts than you usually have scheduled.”
“I know it’s still gonna be a lot of work, but I, ah… I could really do with getting back a little more normality, y’know? Plus, I’m gonna be off for two weeks. I can put in longer days before the next term starts.”
Not to mention the money. I could really, really do with the money.
“If… my shifts are still available?”
Fuck. What if she’s hired someone else?
“Sure. If you think you’re ready; I’ve been holding off on hiring anyone new, ready for if you wanted ‘em back. How about starting back on Saturday? Let’s say, midday to two am? That’ll give you a few hours on stocktake, before jumping right back into the deep end. It shouldn’t be quite as busy as Friday night, but still, more than enough regulars for you to get back in the swing of things.”
You smile gratefully at her, as you nod eagerly. You try to ignore the first flutterings of butterflies in your stomach. “That sounds perfect. Thank you.”
Before you can turn to leave, she unlocks the top drawer on her desk, reaching in for something pushed deep towards the back. “Before I forget; here’s a little something to say thank you for all of your hard work. I know doing the stocktake alone is no fun, and you haven’t complained once. I really appreciate it. If there’s anything else you need - changes in shifts, anyone giving you trouble, a bit extra to tide you over until the end of the month, or just someone to talk with - my door is always open.”
You stare at the envelope, unmoving, as she slides it across the scuffed surface of her desk. Slowly, you shake your head. “I can’t. You’ve already done so much for me. I’m here to work, not to take advantage of anyone.”
She laughs, loud and bright and clear. It makes you jump. “Honey, if all of my employees work like you’ve been working, I could afford to retire early. Who am I kidding? I’m never gonna retire. I could afford to open up a second location. You’ve earned this. I won’t hear any more about it.”
Tentatively, you pick up the envelope. Glancing back at your boss, you can see her attention has returned to the ever-present stacks of paperwork balanced precariously around her desk. “Ah… thank you.” Voice barely above a whisper, you glance back at her once more, before heading for the door. Carefully, you make sure to close the door quietly on your way out.
You shove your newly acquired envelope deep into your bag, pressing the two side by side. You don’t want to open either of them, but you know you shouldn’t delay things for much longer.
As you slip out of the side door and make your way down the alleyway beside the club, you glance back towards the entrance. It’s still too early for there to be much of a queue; the doors are only just opening for the public. You spot a couple of familiar faces, both human and monster, but don’t stop to talk. For one brief moment, you catch sight of a familiar purple glow of magic out of the corner of your eye. By the time you have turned to face it, whatever it was, is gone.
Huh. Must just be my imagination.
Even as you try to convince yourself, you aren’t so sure about that. While you haven’t seen Mutt since your little near run-in at the thrift store, you still can’t help but check over your shoulder.
The guy can teleport. Who’s to say he’s not been around, and I’ve just not been quick enough to see him? Maybe it’s time to talk to Grillbae.
You’re reluctant to bring it up with him. In a way, it feels awkward. You didn’t say anything after your run-in at Goodwill; wouldn’t that make things weird to explain?
I got so caught up in nerves about cooking, that I didn’t even think to mention it to him. What if he thinks I’m deliberately hiding it from him? That… doesn’t sound great. No, no. Grillby’s a great guy. He’s not gonna assume the worst. I need to just talk to him. To trust him. That’s what this relationship thing is all about, right? Trust.
The two of you haven’t managed to squeeze in another proper date since having dinner together. By the time you had finished dessert, Grillby had declared it too late for a movie with your classes the next day. Disappointed, you had tried to protest to no avail.
I didn’t even get to third base. Stupid responsible Hotbae, making me get to bed at a decent time.
Though to be fair, you had managed to make it to second base. You can feel a goofy smile spreading across your face just thinking about it.
Now I know what he feels like under that shirt. Hotbae is RIPPED. Man, I just want to take that shirt off and lick every inch of him.
He hadn’t let either of you lose any articles of clothing, but he had allowed a little heavy petting and a lot more kissing. Kissing Grillby was completely indescribable. His magic against your tongue felt like the tingling of pins and needles starting to awaken - teetering on the edge between painful and numbing. The closest you could come to describing it would be to say it was like feeling pop rocks tingling and cracking across your skin, inside and out. You can’t wait to repeat the experience.
I wonder if it’s a Grillby thing, or…
You try not to let your mind go there, but you can’t help it. You can picture that glowing apricot tongue swiping across a familiar gold tooth. Your skin prickles at the memory of how it felt against the nape of your neck, teasing its way between your lips, before working its way lower to another set of lips. It buzzed and fizzed and tingled in a way not too dissimilar to how Grillby felt against your lips.
Maybe it’s a magic thing?
It’s strange, when you stop to think about it, just how much you have enjoyed your time together with Grillby without things turning overtly sexual. You can’t remember the last time someone was this genuinely interested in you.
If ever.
You think to yourself with a twist to your lips. Part of you wishes things had gone further with Grillby on your not-perfect-yet-completely-perfect date night. Yet a small, persistent voice in the back of your head has been screaming: Don’t risk ruining a good thing.
Having sex with Grillby doesn’t necessarily mean I’m gonna fuck things up. I can have a healthy, kink-imbued relationship, without things going tits up. I can. Just because I don’t have a history of that being true…
You aren’t ready to go home, yet you don’t want to make the long trek back to campus again, either. You spot a familiar sign further down the street. Without thinking, you make your way inside the familiar little coffee shop, smiling as the scent of freshly baked pastries greets you. It may be out of your usual price range, but Muffet’s has become one of your favourite places to visit.
An unfamiliar face in manning the counter today; a human dressed in an old-fashioned looking dress with poofy sleeves and a pristine, ruffled white apron around the waste.
Heh. Is the uniform fairytale-themed? Cause she totally looks like the little girl from Little Miss Muffet.
Soon, you are seated at your usual table, the cheapest drink on the menu in hand. You wave in greeting at the little spiders who scuttle around you, wiping down your table clean of stray crumbs left behind by the previous guests. “Thank you so much! And thank you for the tea. I’m sure it will be as delicious as always.”
You can feel your cheeks starting to burn at the strange look the cashier sends you from behind the till.
Is it not normal to be polite? Just because they can’t talk, doesn’t mean they can’t understand me.
Part of you can’t bear the thought that customers might be rude to the tiny, albeit creepy-looking spider monsters. It’s not their fault that so many humans have a touch of arachnophobia.
I’ll just have to make sure to be extra nice to make up for it.
Finally settled in your seat, you reach down into your bag, fingers brushing over two familiar envelopes. You place them on your lap, one on your right thigh, the other on your left.
Choices, choices.
You reach for the one to your right first, the familiar scrawl of your boss feeling like the lesser of two evils. The envelope feels thicker than expected. Part of you had expected a cheque with a small token of thanks. No matter how much you had insistent on the contrary, bosslady still seems to feel like the club - and like she herself, in turn - hold some of the blame.
Breaking the seal, you peer inside, before quickly slamming it back closed again. You press it against your lap, glancing around to see if anyone else had seen. No one is paying you any attention. Cautiously, you peer inside again. You hadn’t been mistaken. A thick stack of notes sits within. You peek inside, lifting the corners of the bills just enough to flick through and get a rough idea of how much is in there.
Welp. I guess I don’t have to worry about this month’s rent after all.
A small bubble of laughter escapes. There’s more cash in there than you would earn in a month’s worth of bartending shifts, even if the tips were generous and free-flowing.
I can’t accept this. It’s too much.
You push the envelope back into the depths of your bag, mind already made up. No matter how helpful it would be, you can’t accept such a generous gift. Just the thought of it makes you feel uneasy.
I’m not a charity case. I can earn my own keep. I can pay my own way. I don’t wanna start owing people now. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am.
Reaching for the delicate china tea cup, you sit back, cradling it between your hands. You take several long, silent minutes, to just sit there and enjoy the heat, the delicate aroma of earl grey soothing your frazzled nerves.
If I kept the money, I could treat myself and get a box of Muffet’s special blend
. Even as the thought crosses your mind, you dismiss it. You know you wouldn't do that.
Finally, your hands come to rest on the other envelope. Your name and address are typed in neat letters. Stamped in the top left corner is the logo and address of the clinic you visited with Grillby.
Has it been two weeks already?
Part of you doesn’t want to open it. It would be so easy to just throw it away, to pretend that everything is fine and to get on with your life. But that small, nagging part that has only been growing ever since Grillby started checking in on you and making sure you are taking care of yourself, demands that you open it.
Just get it over with. It’s like ripping off a bandaid; the quicker you do it, the faster the pain fades.
You take an unsteady, deep breath. Opening the envelope, your fingers curl around the single folded sheet of paper within.
That’s a good sign, right? There would be more if it was something to worry about, wouldn’t there?
Unfolding it, your eyes scan the paper, not really taking in any of the words. You read it a second time, then a third.
All clear.
Relief washes through you, as you read those two little words again and again. Sure, you will have to get tested twice more just to be on the safe side, but for now, you are clear. He hasn’t taken this from you. He hasn’t tainted you in yet another way. You can feel tears falling down your cheeks, even as you smile. Hastily wiping them away, one thought comes to mind:
I’ve gotta tell Grillby.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“I wasn’t expecting you.”
It wouldn’t feel like the warmest of greetings if it weren’t for the smile he sends you, as he catches sight of you slipping into your regular seat at the bar.
When did this become my seat?
You smile in return, as Grillby makes his way towards you.
“Are you quite alright, my dear?” Setting down the glass that he had been cleaning, Grillby peers down at your blotchy face. You know, from the glimpse you had caught of yourself in the mirror behind the rows of bottles behind the bar, that it’s clear you had been crying recently. Yet the small, sincere smile on your face is clearly at odds with that. “Is someone bothering you?”
You can hear the general level of chatter and background noise dip, as Grillby slowly scans the room, brow furrowed. You still can’t quite figure out why Grillby’s serious face seems to inspire such fear amongst the regular patrons. Reaching out, you gently lay one hand on top of Grillbys, as you send him a reassuring smile.
“No one has been bothering me, Grillbae. I happened to get some good news, so I thought I’d pop on over and visit my favourite elemental.” Fiddling with the taped-up strap on your battered bag, you debate handing over the letter now or waiting until later.
It’s still super early, and things are only gonna get busier for the night. Maybe I should wait until closing?
“I would hope I was the only elemental you know.” You raise an eyebrow, as the words muttered under his breath register with you.
Are fire elementals really such a rarity amongst monsters? Or perhaps they are all territorial.
A smile, barely there, lifts the corner of your lips. The thought of Grillby getting territorial over you makes something squirm pleasantly in the depths of your stomach.
Mmm, a territorial Hotbae. Now
there’s
something I’d pay to see.
“It can wait until later. I’ll tell you all about it when things get quieter a bit later.” You offer, glancing around the bar once more. Things really are surprisingly busy for so early in the evening, especially for a weeknight.
Maybe it’s happy hour or something?
Grillby shakes his head. “There is nothing more important than making sure you are ok.” Grabbing a fresh bottle of water from beneath the bar, Grillby places it in front of you before turning to mix another drink. You watch, bemused, as he makes you a fresh mocktail, careful to allow you to see his every move. It may seem silly, but there is something reassuring about how careful he is with his every move. It’s as though he wants to ensure you feel safe and protected at every stage, not just when things have the potential to heat up.
“You’re too sweet. Thank you.” You accept the second drink with a smile, eagerly leaning in to take your first sip from the frankly ridiculous crazy straw he had placed within the tall glass.
How do you even get those things clean? Or are they all single-use?
You wonder, eyeing the series of loops and turns in the purple plastic. You hope it’s reusable.
You can see a bunny monster at the opposite end of the counter trying to flag Grillby down with a wave and a hop. “Go on. We can talk more in a minute.” You watch, as Grillby stalks away, posture tense. He’s clearly not happy about the interruption, but ever the professional, he seems willing to deal with it.
I wonder if this means we can try something more?
You think to yourself, as your mind wanders back to the letter.
I really, really want to see what Grillby looks like under that suit. And how he feels. Mm, and tastes…assuming it’s safe for either of us to, like, lick magical fire/be licked? I need to find some monster anatomy books.
Just as you can feel your eyes beginning to glaze over as you become lost in daydreams about Grillby finally removing his waistcoat, a large, red basket of fries topped with a generous portion of oozing cheese and bacon lands in front of you. You can feel your mouth beginning to water already. “Y’know, I really am gonna have to insist on paying my tab, if you’re gonna keep on feeding me every time I come over to visit.”
“Did you remember to eat anything today?” He asks dryly. You wince, ready to protest, when he cuts you off. “And a granola bar or cup of tea does not count.”
Pouting, you shake your head. “You know me too well.” Reaching out, you nibble on one of the longer fries. You can see the steam rising from it in curling, swirling clouds. As to be expected from Grillby, they are perfect. Crisp and fluffy, with just enough salt to compliment the natural flavour of the potatoes. And the cheese sauce… “I wanna marry your cooking.” Your words are muffled, as you stuff another fry into your mouth. Momentarily distracted by the burning sensation on your tongue as you try to eat too fast, you almost miss the light pink flush that crosses Grillby’s cheeks.
He clears his throat, glancing down the bar to check for any more needy customers, before returning his gaze to you. “I believe you were telling me something about good news?”
Reaching into your bag, you pull out the letter. You silently slide it across to him, watching for his reaction. You can’t quite bring yourself to say it out loud - the embarrassment would surely make you combust. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to look away, as he eyes the envelope. You see recognition pass through his eyes, as he catches sight of the stamped logo.
“Is this…” You nod, glancing away. “May I?”
Nodding again, you reach out to stuff another handful of fries into your mouth.
I can’t put my foot in my mouth if it’s already full.
You sit silently, the rustle of paper and the noise of the bar fading into the distance, as Grillby reads the letter slowly, as though weighing each word carefully before moving on to the next. You see him peering over the top of his spectacles at you, then back down to the paper, before looking back at you again.
“If I am understanding this correctly, it means that you are in the clear? For now, at least?” You nod again, your own mouth stretching into a watery grin that is only surpassed by Grillby’s own beaming smile. Within seconds, he has come out from behind the bar, warm hands lifting you up as he pulls you from your stool to hold you close. You laugh, as he spins you around; it feels like your feet have left the floor altogether.
Stars. How strong is he?
You’re feeling dizzy by the time he sets you down, laughing and smiling and leaning into his touch. As you try to steady yourself, you catch sight of several regulars - another bunny monster, two dog monsters, and a -
is that a reverse-merman?! -
gawping at you. Embarrassment claws at your stomach; you duck your head, turning away from their stares.
“Pay them no mind. They are a nosy lot,” Grillby says, as he brushes back a stray lock of hair from your face. He raises his voice, clearly addressing the rest of the room, “But they know better than to ask questions, if they do not want to get cut off.”
Soon, the itching feeling of eyes on your back fades, as the rest of the bar’s patrons take heed of Grillby’s warning. Tilting your head back, you smile up at Grillby once more. This close, you really can see the individually dancing flames that mimic hair. There’s something mesmerising about them; you could get lost in watching them for hours. You find yourself reaching out to touch. Somehow, they’re both soft and yet it’s like they aren’t fully there. It’s like pushing your fingers through tingling, warm jello. You pull your hand back, cheeks flushing.
“Now,” You clear your throat; you can feel your cheeks beginning to heat up further, “that we know, um, for sure, that I’m probably…clean…” You wince at the term, voice lowering to a whisper as you say it. “Do you think we could maybe…perhaps we could…I mean, it could just be like that one time before, it doesn’t have to be anything more…” You stumble over your words, too embarrassed to ask outright, yet still desperate to let him know that you want something - anything - with him, that he would be comfortable with.
“Oh.” You look down, braced for rejection. Hands cup your cheeks, gently encouraging you to look up once more. “Oh my dear. I was waiting for you to say that you were ready.” He smiles at you, as his thumb strokes across your skin, lingering on the swell of your lips. You want to let your tongue dart out, to see what he tastes like, yet you are acutely aware of the audience you both have.
“Is there something particular you had in mind, or would you rather leave the details up to my discretion?” He asks softly. The low, rasping rumble of his voice makes you shudder and lean in towards his warmth.
“You decide. Please?” You can barely get the words out. It feels like you have been waiting for this for an eternity.
“Of course. Your wish is my command.” His lips twist into a smirk; you swear his hands feel hotter for a brief moment against your skin, before returning to their usual, warm temperature. You let out a soft, needy whine, as he steps back and away from you, hands finally falling from your lips and cheeks. “I should be able to take a break in around thirty minutes of so. If you would be so kind as to go upstairs and wait for me. That should be ample enough time to shower, finish your drinks, and settle in your— in the guest room.” Your heart skips a beat, as Grillby corrects himself.
“Oh, but, I thought…” You glance around the clearly heaving bar. A not-so-small part of you is disappointed at the thought of trying to fit everything into Grillby’s short break time. In all the time that you have known him, he’s never been away from a shift for longer than ten, fifteen minutes at most.
Well, except for that time he came with me to the clinic.
You had hoped to have a longer, more private and intimate session, just the two of you, with no possible interruptions.
“I will not keep you waiting. What I have in mind can start before closing time. I promise, you should find it most satisfactory.”
Hesitantly, you nod, a weak smile settling on your lips.
“Go on now. Take a nice, hot, relaxing shower, get dressed again, and wait for me. I will be up before you know it.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
This is nice.
It’s not how you thought you would be spending your evening, but getting to enjoy twenty-five long, indulgent, uninterrupted minutes of hot water in the mother of all showers certainly was a relaxing turn of events.
I didn’t even know showers had pulsating modes like that. I feel like a happy, limp, wet noodle.
You laugh to yourself, as you chase the last remaining droplets of water from your hair. With how patchy the water heater is in your apartment, you can’t remember the last time you’ve managed a shower that didn’t leave you shivering and questioning your life choices.
A girl could get used to this.
Even Grillby’s guest towels feel luxurious, like the kind you only see in movies or expect from five-star hotels. Plush, fluffy, and oh so soft against your skin, you want to just wrap yourself up in one and forego all other kinds of clothing.
It even smells like Grillbae.
You take a slow, deep sniff, as you press the fabric against your face. You can feel yourself relaxing even further, at the familiar pine and smoke scent. Some small part of you can’t help but think: this is what home smells like. You try to force the thought back down. Things are still too fresh, too new, to be having such thoughts.
Slow down. Nobody likes a clingy kind of girlfriend.
As you pad barefoot back through his apartment, you hold the towel tightly closed with one hand, the other rubbing a smaller towel against your dripping hair. You do your best not to leave behind any stray splashes. You still aren’t quite sure, but you think water seems to hurt Grillby.
Why on earth does he have a shower? And how does he manage to keep everything so clean in the bar without being able to touch water?
You bite your lip as you push open the door, getting lost in entirely the wrong kind of thoughts.
That’s it. Next date night, I’m asking Grillbae to show me which freaking books I need to read up on about monster biology, sociology, psychology, history, society - the works. I want this to work. I don’t wanna fuck things up because I don’t know enough about him.
The door closes behind you with a quiet snick. Allowing your towel to fall, you take a moment to stretch, enjoying the feeling of being naked yet warm.
I’ve missed living somewhere where it’s not always freezing or boiling. I’m gonna start to feel spoiled if Grillbae lets me stay over too often.
Picking up your towel, you are quick to hang it up to dry. You eye your discarded clothes. Grillbae had said to put them back on, but wouldn’t that be counter-intuitive? You did just take a shower.
Rummaging around in your bag, you search for any backup clean clothes just in case.
Well, I guess it’s better than nothing.
You let out a huff, as you find a clean pair of stockings and panties half-scrunched, half-folded neatly in the depths of your bag.
I really need to start keeping a spare set of clothes on me, just in case. Or…
Your hands still, panties part way up your thighs, as the thought crosses your mind.
No. It’s way too soon to even think about keeping a few spare things here, let alone asking about having a draw. Way, way too soon. How embarrassing would it be if he said no?!
You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts.
If no is the worst thing he could say, would it really be so bad to ask?
Black lace panties and black fishnet stockings in place, you finally start pulling on the rest of your outfit. It’s nothing special: a close-enough-to-almost-match black bra, a simple pleated skirt, and a slouchy-necked, fuzzy moth-eaten jumper with a little knitted pot noodle on the front.
I really, really need to work on my wardrobe.
You wince, as you slip the jumper over your head, pushing your thumbs through matching little holes in each sleeve to just allow your fingers to poke out. You had dressed for comfort, not seduction.
Maybe I’ll get lucky, and he’ll just want me to get back down to my lingerie?
You fiddle with the hemline of your skirt, debating rolling the entire thing up another inch or two at your waist.
Maybe a glimpse of the top of my stockings would do it.
As you bend to fix your stockings, shimmying them up your legs from ankle to thigh, you don’t hear the door opening behind you.
“Excellent. I see you followed my instructions.”
You have to catch yourself on the bed, as you half-twist, half-jump at the unexpected interruption.
“My apologies. I did not mean to startle you. I should have knocked; that was terribly rude of me.” Warm hands help you to stand on unsteady feet.
You shake your head, smiling wryly. “No, no - it’s my fault. I left the door open. I should have been paying more attention. Plus, it’s your home! You shouldn’t need to knock.” You try not to shiver, as those deliciously warm hands skirt up and down your arms soothingly. Grillby shakes his head.
“Knocking on an occupied bedroom is a common courtesy. I want you to feel safe here. I always want you to feel safe with me.” Hands moving from your arms, one falls to your waist, gently cupping the swell of your hip. The other raises to your cheek, brushing away a stray lock of hair. “Just as I want you to know that you can say no to me, to anything, at any time. Be it a request, an action, an intention. No will always be enough.”
You can feel your lips parting, head tilted back to meet the taller monster’s gaze. You search his eyes behind his glasses. You can’t see a hint of deception. The words leave your lips before you realise, “But, what if-”
He shakes his head. “No is a complete sentence. No needs no further reason or justification. It is your right to give or withdraw consent at any point, as it is mine. No is enough. Do you understand?”
You wonder what you must look like to Grillby; the smile stretched on your lips is making your cheeks ache, while an all too familiar dampness gathers at your eyes.
He really means it.
A warmth settles deep within you. “I do.”
Perhaps this is what it feels like… to be safe. To feel comforted. To feel loved.
“But,” You press on, despite the frown that mars his face. You can feel an unnatural stillness about him. “But what if we want to push further? What if we want to try things, where maybe… maybe no, doesn’t actually mean no?”
He searches your face, clearly weighing his words carefully. “Perhaps one day. But I do not think we are yet at a stage where I would feel comfortable in doing so. I wish to better know you, in body and in mind, before I can trust myself to know your intent more clearly than your words or actions.”
You nod slowly, biting your lip. “We could use the traffic light system?”
“That is my preferred system as well. Though I would still wish to keep no and stop as having the same power as red for now. I do hope that does not mar the experience for you.” You find yourself leaning towards his touch, desperate for more, even as he takes a step back. He says nothing, unmoving and out of reach, as he waits for your decision.
“I…yes. Of course. That sounds reasonable. I didn’t mean to…” Gaze drifting down, frustration uncoils in your stomach. Slowly, your fingers curl, nails biting into the palms of your hand.
I’m already fucking this up. Too demanding. Too needy. Always pushing. I should know the rules! I can’t fuck this up with Grillbae. I can’t. He’s the best thing that could ever possibly happen to me. I can’t ruin this.
Warmth tug at your hands, gently coaxing you to unfurl your fingers. You can feel tears welling, as eight little beads of blood well on each palm. A flash of heat soon has them sizzling then gone, evaporating before your eyes. “You do that often.” It’s a statement, not a question. You nod in acknowledgement. “We shall work on that together.”
“I don’t mean to be so demanding or needy.” You say quietly. Fingers tug at your chin, tilting your head back to meet Grillby’s eyes. You watch, as he bends, lifting your palms up. Gently, he kisses one palm, then the other. You can feel his lips press against each mark, soothing it with his natural warmth.
“You are neither.” He says it with such surety, you want to believe him. “If anything, I wish you would be just a tad selfish. For a human, you are quite the conundrum.”
You smile uncertainly, unsure of what to say. You can feel your fingers beginning to curl, ready to fall back on your long since formed habit. A single raised eyebrow from Grillby has you uncurling them with a blush.
He nods once. “Good girl. Now, I am afraid we are on a slight time limit this evening. If you wouldn’t mind laying down for me; I would like for us to begin.”
You nod shakily, as you make your way back to the bed.
Why am I so nervous all of a sudden? It’s just Grillbae. He’s nothing like anyone I have known before. I’m safe here. I’m safe with him.
Glancing back, you sit yourself on the edge of the foot of the bed towards the centre. Wiggling back until your feet no longer touch the floor, once you feel like you are safely seated in place, you find your gaze locked onto the floor.
You can feel your breath hitch.
Keep quiet.
You can hear footsteps moving away, draws opening, cupboards closing.
Stay still.
You want to move your hands, but you are frozen in place. You daren’t do anything, lest you attract unwanted attention.
Be safe.
Footsteps draw near once more. Your breathing is coming in sharp, short pants. It’s making you feel light-headed. You can’t bring yourself to move your gaze. A pair of black, perfectly polished oxfords come into view. You can feel the loop in your mind, your calm-still-safe mantra faltering. The shiny black leather looks so familiar yet out of place. It’s not the kind of footwear many would wear to the club.
Your eyes dart up. Slim, perfectly tailored pinstripe trousers. A familiar matching waistcoat. A crisp white shirt. A deep, plum bow tie. Concerned eyes behind small, rectangular spectacles. Purple flames.
I am safe.
“My dear girl. Can you give me a colour?” His familiar baritone warms something deep and cold within your chest. This is real. You aren’t back there. You are here, with Grillby. With Grillby, you will always be safe.
“Green.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Green.”
You find yourself enthralled at the smile that breaks out across Grillby’s face. He looks so pleased with your response, and so proud of you. Any thoughts of That Place wither beneath the warm, purple glow of safety and care that oozes from his every pore.
“Good girl. Lay down for me.”
You find your body obeying before your mind can catch up. You worry, for a moment, that the thoughts will return now that you can no longer see him. Within moments, he is between your legs, impossibly gentle, warm hands running from your hips, smoothing gently across your thighs, before curling around your knees. You feel your breath catch, as he hoists you up, shifting you back another handful of inches up the bed.
“Beautiful. You look like a fallen angel, spread out like this. Waiting to be worshipped.” His voice is low and smooth. As his words register, you shudder, denial on your lips. You’re a mess, not an angel. He can’t possibly mean what he is saying. And yet… “Do not try and deny it. Have I ever lied to you? If I say you are an angel, a beautiful temptress sent to test me, then who are you to deny it?”
The gentle, light but sure touches to your thighs never pause. The intensity of his gaze is too much; you can’t hold it, you have to look away. He chuckles. “You will come to see things my way. You will learn to accept and understand your own beauty.”
Your gaze snaps back to him, as hands leave your thighs. You can hear rustling. You watch, enwrapped, as he unbuttons first one cuff, then the other. Rolling up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, you trace every inch of exposed flesh, eager to see more. A breathy whimper escapes. You want his touch back, yet you would give anything to see him finally bare more.
“Please.”
“You are being so good for me. You ask so nicely. Of course you may have more.” Inhumanly hot hands tease at the hem of your skirt, gently toying with the fabric. It takes every ounce of will you possess not to just press into those hands — or to remove the skirt yourself. You watch, enrapt, as inch after inch of skin is revealed. You shift uncomfortably, as more and more blemishes come into sight.
“None of that, now.” His deep, rumbling voice forces you back into the present before you can get caught up in thoughts of the past.
The scars really don’t matter to him, do they?
You watch in wonder, as he runs his hands over every exposed inch of flesh, taking his time to gently caress your skin — marks and all. You can feel your breaths coming in deeper, ragged pants already, as you shift in place. Unwittingly, you press your thighs together. You can already feel a familiar slickness settling between your legs, your panties beyond soaked. You want nothing more than to hide from him, to close your legs, to hide your embarrassment and shame. You want nothing more than to open wide, to beg him to take a firmer hand, to delve below the thin layers of fabric keeping you apart.
“You are going to be good for me.” His words are so sure, so confident, you find yourself nodding mindlessly. In this moment, you don’t care what he will ask of you: you will gladly do it. He chuckles, as a whimper escapes from between your lips. You force your thighs to fall apart once more, no longer trying to hide from him. You want so badly to be good for him, to make him proud.
Eyes flicking up, you can feel your cheeks heating as you catch sight of his face. He’s staring down at you with so much intent. It’s strange, to be the focus of such intensity.
I want him to look at me like that every night.
Your breath catches, as a single, purple-flamed digit gently brushes over the damp, black fabric of your panties. Part of you expects to see some sign of pain — on his part or your own. But all you can see is satisfaction, as he feels the proof of your excitement.
Thighs trembling, it takes all of your focus not to move. You bite your lip in an attempt to hold in your whimpers. You’re already so close to begging.
How am I gonna make it through this, if I’m already so close to the edge?
Letting your eyes slip closed for a moment, you take several deep, steadying breaths.
Calm. Calm. You can do this. Don’t embarrass yourself now.
“You’re doing so well.”
You laugh breathlessly. It feels like you haven’t done anything yet, and yet, it’s taking everything you have not to beg him to just get on with it.
I can’t stand it anymore. I need… I need…
You can’t even put into words what you need. But you know only Grillby can help you with it.
“I thought we could start off with a few, simple toys this evening. You may touch them if you wish. And of course, any objections can be made at any time.” It takes several long, slow moments for you to register his words. It takes even longer to realise Grillby is no longer touching you, waiting for consent or any sign of hesitation. Forcing your eyes open, you turn to look at the aforementioned toys as he lays them carefully on the bed beside you.
A set of slim but progressively larger anal beads - the smallest the size of your pinky nail, the largest no more than an inch, inch and a half at most. A beautiful, smoky indigo colour, something about it screams Grillby to you. You find yourself reaching out to touch it. It’s colder than expected.
Glass, maybe?
You wonder, as you run a finger carefully across the pristine, cold surface. You glance back at Grillby, as though checking for permission. He smiles and nods, wordlessly urging you on.
You can’t remember the last time you tried anal play. It’s never been top of your kinks list, but it’s not made it to your soft limits, either.
Too many doms wanna just shove things in without prep.
You grumble internally. Eyes darting across the deep maroon sheets, you feel something ease in your chest as you catch sight of the big, easy pump bottle of lube just waiting to be used. It’s not that you doubt Grillby’s experience and expertise; you’ve just experienced one too many casual partners whose idea of prep is spit and pray.
Next, you see a flared dildo. Reaching without hesitation, you stroke the smooth, clear surface. Another glass toy, the colour matches the anal beats. Whereas the total length of the beads had to be nearing seven inches all in all, this one can’t be longer than five if you’re being generous. But unlike the slim glass beads, the thickness of the dildo has your mouth watering just from looking at it.
That’s gotta be three fingers wide at least.
You run a finger from the tip to flared base, thighs brushing together once more. Now this is something you can get excited about. It’s smaller than most toys you typically play with, but it looks like the girth should more than make up for the length.
The final toy takes a moment for you to decipher. A simple, smooth, lilac egg. You can’t see any hint of wires from it. You reach out to touch; just as cool as the first two toys, it’s perfectly smooth. It reminds you of your much-used egg vibrator, yet you can’t see or feel any buttons along the seamless surface.
Maybe it’s like a jiggle egg? But how would we use it at the same time as the dildo…
Before you can get further lost in thought, you feel Grillby shifting between your legs. The fabric of his rolled shift sleeves strains against his forearms, as he leans across you to pick up his first toy of choice. As he touches the dildo, tiny, dancing flames spark from between his fingers and the smooth glass surface, making the indigo-tinted toy glow and fizz. Fingers curling, you itch to reach out and touch it. You force yourself to remain still.
His lips quirk into a bemused, knowing smile. The dildo looks like an opaque version of his flames. Eyes locked onto the toy, you watch with bated breath as he brings it closer and closer to you. Biting down, you can’t hold back the whimper as he passes your panties, moving lower. The cool touch of glass against the back of your spread thighs makes you jump, as he rubs it gently against your exposed flesh. You watch as those purple sparks move between his fingers and the toys, and gasp; you would think it was your imagination, if not for the sharp, careful glint in Grillby’s eyes. You can feel the surface beginning to heat, going from cold to cool, to tepid to warm. Soon, the heat reminds you of the near-unbearable warmth of a coffee mug, filled to the brim and steaming on a cold autumn morning. You want to pull away just as much as you want to push closer.
“Oh!” You grab his wrist, as he moves to lay the toy down. Despite your pout, you feel confused; are you not being good enough? Is this some kind of test?
“All in good time.” His deep, rumbling baritone reassures you, as his fingers rub soothing circles across your exposed thighs. Distracted as he finally returns to touching you, you almost miss as his other hand wanders further up, brushing the soaked fabric of your panties. As he tugs the fabric down, the unexpected chill forces a gasp from your lips. Your hands automatically move to cover your exposed pussy. It’s nothing compared to the scenes you usually have, yet there’s something more visceral, something that feels more real about those knowing, familiar eyes watching you from behind his spectacles. seeing you exposed for the first time, laid bare for his judgement and pleasure.
The familiar pop of the lubricant cap opening brings your focus back firmly to Grillby, as he squirts a generous amount of the clear, tacky fluid across his fingers. You could watch his hands all day. Slender, long, yet perfectly thick fingers carefully coat the pointer and middle finger of one hand. You feel his other returning to your knee, wordlessly urging you to spread your legs wider. He quirks his brow, pointedly looking at where you are attempting to hide yourself from him. Slowly, you lower your hands, legs shifting to allow him a clear view of your exposed, bare pussy.
“Such a good girl.” As the familiar, all-important words sink in, it’s like the edges of the room begin to grow fuzzy. You can feel yourself beginning to let go, even as the excitement stays tightly coiled within your throbbing core.
This is Grillby. Grillby is safe. I am Grillby’s good girl. As long as I’m with him, I’m safe.
A single finger brushes against your bare lips, smearing your juices from clit to slit. You can’t tell what is wetter: your pussy, or the lube. His feather-light touch makes you sigh, as he trails further and further back. Warm, dry fingers gently pry your cheeks apart, exposing your puckered hole. You can feel his breath, hot and damp and far too near and not close enough, tickling your exposed skin. You want to push forward, to finally feel him against you. You want to lay here, a boneless puddle, trusting him to know what is best. To know what you both need the most.
His first touch is warm. Wet. Welcome. It eases in gently, almost sneaking past your defences as he oh so carefully circles your hole until it flutters, begging him for more. You can feel another pressure, as warm lips trail open-mouthed kisses against your thigh. Your skin tingles, as he nips playfully at the sensitive flesh behind your knee. You laugh breathlessly, shifting between his ministrations, before a low, satisfied groan breaks from your lips. You can feel him inside of you; just a single finger, only one knuckle deep. He twists and turns, slowly circling from within, coaxing your muscles to relax and let him in deeper. Soon the gentle twists become shallow thrusts, inching out painfully slowly. You find yourself holding your breath, as each millimetre by millimetre drags out. If you had known anal could feel like this, you would have spent longer exploring by yourself in the comfort and privacy of your own room.
“That’s it. Perfect. You’re being so good for me.” You latch onto his words, trying to ignore the overwhelming sensations between your legs. It’s too much and not enough and just right. “Sssh. It’s alright. Can you give me a colour, my dear?” Fingers brush against your cheeks, wiping something away. “I need a colour.”
Am I crying?
You try to focus through the jumbled mess of sensations.
Why did he stop moving?
You can feel him pressed to the hilt now, his pointer finger curled deep within the depths of your ass, palm maddingly still against your clenched cheeks,
When did that happen?
His other hand curls against your thigh, heating the delicate flesh below. A spark of pain lights against your skin, like static shock, there and gone again in a moment. “A colour, my dear.” He insists.
It feels like your mouth is filled with cotton buds. You struggle to remember how to use words, as you fight against the fuzzy comfort that dampens your senses. “Green? Green. Greeny green green green.” Once you get started, you find it hard to stop.
You feel his rumbling chuckle more than you hear it. “Thank you.” Before you can focus, you gasp, lost in the sensations sparking behind your navel. You swear for one brief moment, you can see stars, as he pulls out to the tip before thrusting back in one smooth, deep motion. Just as his palm presses against the curve of your ass, a thumb swipes against the soaked, engorged tip of your clit. It’s barely more than a graze. You clench down, unconsciously pushing back, taking his finger in deeper.
“Moremoremoremoremoremoreplease.” The words don’t even register, as you beg for him to do it again. You sob, as his thumb retreats, a second finger gently working its way in beside the first. The stretch should burn, yet you don’t feel any discomfort. You can feel yourself trembling, a litany of pleas falling from your lips, as you realise he intends to repeat the same maddeningly slow, careful pace. You try to push back, to force him in deeper, to make him increase his pace. Perhaps if you just show him how ready you are, he won’t make you wait for it.
An unforgiving hand presses your hips against the bed, forcing you to lay still and take what he has to give you. “I will not be rushed.” By the time both of his fingers are pressed into you, curling against your inner walls, your litany of pleas have fallen into wordless sobbing and moaning. You can’t find the words to make him show you mercy. You don’t know if you would want to speak them, even if you could.
A hand presses against the swell of your mound, gently but firmly holding you still. You whimper, at the sudden emptiness as his fingers retreat. “Soon.” He promises.
He keeps his word. Something presses against your fluttering hole. It’s too small and cold and is nothing like his fingers. You can feel every inch of the hard, cold glass beads, as they slide into your silken, pre-stretched depths. Every ridge and bump brings a new whimper from your lips, and tears to your eyes. You try to focus on anything else but the sensation of beads filling your ass. Three, four, five. How many were there?
“Just two more. You are doing so well. My beautiful, good girl.” You latch onto his words, as you feel the press of the sixth bead against your hold. This one he teases and twists,, shallow thrusts preparing your eager sphincter for the larger intrusion. It’s not quite as thick as his two fingers, but the unforgiving, hard surface makes it seem much bigger. You whimper. You want to feel the uncomfortable burn, the familiar stretch blurring the lines between pain and pleasure.
“Pleasepleaseplease?” You can’t find the right words, hoping that your pleas will be enough to convey what you need. You press your cheek against the sheets, eyes closing. Instead of a familiar, burning push, you feel the cold dribble of lube dripping between your cheeks, coating the final two beads. Doused in lube and your own precome, the feeling of fullness is perfect. Too perfect. You sob, as that last bead slides into place, a thumb brushing against your hard, throbbing clit. Thighs trembling, mouth open, everything turns white. Wave upon wave of pleasure crashes over you. Clenching over and over, you can feel the beads pressing in deep, filling you, rubbing against your inner walls.
You wish something was filling your pussy. You wish you had thought to ask permission before falling over the edge. You wish you had something sharp to hold onto, an edge to help pull you back from the abyss. You reach out blindly for Grillby, trembling and sobbing, unknown words falling from your lips.
“Yessss. So beautiful. I knew you would be a sight to behold. My good, perfect, beautiful girl.” Slowly, you can feel yourself honing in on the familiar words, forcing your way past the fuzziness and the pleasure. “The things I wish to do with you.” Hot fingers trail between your legs. You whimper loudly, thighs twitching. You want to pull away, but can’t. You feel boneless. “Sssh. I have got you. We have only just begun.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Sssh. I have got you. We have only just begun.”
You can feel something deep within you jolt. It tingles and pops and fizzes, lighting nerves that you didn’t even know that you have on fire. Faintly, you register Grillby’s movements, as he presses the heel of his palm against your ass. Stuffed to the brim, you take a deep, gulping breath, as he circles the taunt skin, palming your stretched, full hole.
You clench, feeling your muscles spasming as he traces patterns into your trembling skin. Something deep within you sparks. Not quite vibrations, yet not quite the familiar sensation of electro play, you can feel it thrumming deep within your core. Shakily, you reach down. Hands hovering uncertainly, you watch as Grillby takes hold of one of your hands, guiding it between your legs.
“Feel that?” He hums, as he presses one of your fingers against your stretched hole. You can feel the bead bulging just beneath the surface. The hard, unforgiving bead feels so strange, with just a thin layer of flesh and lube between it and your fingers. “Have you ever played with magically infused toys?”
You shake your head.
Is that a thing?
Before you can dwell on the idea of magic toys, you feel a familiar tug on the loop of your anal beads. Keening, you grind back, trying to press them in deeper. “Oh, you are wonderfully sensitive, aren’t you? The fun we will have.” Hand wrapping around yours once more, you feel him tugging at your pointer finger. Something slick coats it, quickly and seamlessly, before guiding it between your spread legs. “Here. Feel.”
A strangled noise escapes from your throat, as he guides your finger into your already full ass. It’s a tight fit; you don’t think it’s going to make it past the tip of your finger, the largest of the beads only just sitting inside of you. Yet he persists, teasing and tugging and pushing, until you can feel your finger brushing against the outermost two beads. You can feel it more clearly now; heat is swirling, moving within the beads in lazy patterns. It makes the hot, silken skin inside of your ass tingle and buzz.
You give an experimental rub, pressing the beads more firmly against your inner walls. You let out a long, low groan.
I need one of these.
Before you can repeat the action, Grillby’s fingers are back, wrapping around your wrist. All too soon, he guides your finger out, gently shushing your whimpers of protest.
“Please?” You can barely see him through the dampness gathering on your lashes. You don’t even know what you want anymore, just that you need more. Now.
“You’re doing so well for me.” He gathers your wrists together with one hand, pinning them above your head, as he settles more comfortably between your spread thighs once more. Nudging them further open with his knees, he takes a moment to look down at you in satisfaction. You feel wrecked, yet all you have done is lay there while Grillby tries the first of his toys on you. It’s been practically vanilla, and yet, you can’t remember the last time you felt this desperate. “Colour?”
You shake your head in frustration, trying to grind down against his knee. If you can just get some —
any
— pressure against your hot, needy cunt, you know that you will come again.
“None of that now. Manners. I need a colour.” You can feel his other hand pinning your hips in place, denying you release once more. Beneath his grasp, you so much as wriggle in place, much less rub against him. A fresh thrill of desire shoots through you, leaving behind a trail of lightning across your spine.
He’s so strong.
“Greeeen. Please, Grillbae. I need. I need.” You sob, straining and writhing in place. You’re putting all of your strength into it, desperate for release, and yet, it doesn’t so much as make him budge.
How strong
is
he?
“Good girl. I know what you need.”
“Oh!”
You feel something brush against your lips, hot and tingling and fizzing against your skin. Eyes flying open, you can’t stop the moan that escapes from your lips, as Grillby nips at your mouth, licking at the delicate flesh, running his tongue over the swell of your lower lip. It feels less like a kiss, more like he’s trying to trace the outline with the tip of his tongue. You feel your lips instinctively parting. You can feel his deep, rumbling groan, as his tongue dips just inside of you, fucking your mouth open with his tongue.
A fresh gush of excitement coats your thighs, as you clench and undulate against him. Each movement brings the fullness of your ass back into focus, reminding you of just how empty your throbbing, needy pussy is. He presses your wrists against the bed once more, commanding you wordlessly to keep them where they are, before he begins trailing back down your body with his fingertips.
You watch, enwrapped, as he skims across your skin. This close, you can see how his flames dance and swirl, reaching out for you, caressing you. You let out a high-pitched keen, as he kneels up between your legs, hands just out of view.
Something cold and thick and smooth glides across your soaked lips; it’s so cold that it feels like burning, sharp and unexpected amongst the growing heat of your encounter. It makes you shudder and groan. “Please.” The word has barely left your lips, when you feel the unrelenting push against your pussy as the cold, hard toy sinks into you relentlessly. It burns, both from the cold, and the stretch. Where Grillby had spent so long stretching every inch of your ass in preparation for the beads, your greedy pussy had received no such care or attention. The thickness of the toy slows its entry slightly, but not by much. The smooth, rounded tip glides through your juices easily, as Grillby pushes it in to the hilt in one sure, steady motion.
A hand presses against your chest. Have you been crying? Screaming? You can’t tell. Your chest feels tight, your throat hoarse. The dildo isn’t anywhere near as deep as you would like - five inches feels good - overwhelming - but it’s not the deep, satisfying fullness you crave. The thickness, though - now that you can’t see it, it feels as though it is wider than it is long. Could you even close your legs normally, with something this thick holding you open? Will it leave you gaping, when Grillby finally removes it? You can’t wait to find out.
A hand soothingly rubs against your trembling thighs, petting the sweat-damp flesh. Even through the litany of praise and nonsensical words, you can feel Grillby pressing the toy firmly into you, twisting it slowly but surely, making sure you can feel every smooth, relentless inch.
“Oooh.” You try to catch your breath, as he drills the toy into you.
Ok, I need more think toys in my life.
“More. Need you. Please, Grillby?” You whine and beg, previous commands forgotten, as you reach up to tug and pull at the fire elemental. You’ve had enough of his toys. You want to feel him, want to be filled with him. “Fuck me. Need to feel you. Please?”
He chuckles, low and deep. “I am afraid that we do not have time for that right now. I still have work to do. And you, my dear, still have coursework.” He bends down, lips brushing against yours, leaving the sensation of popping candy fizzing against your sensitive skin.
It takes a moment for you to register his words. By the time that you do, you feel him tugging your panties back into place. Firm hands smooth out the soaked black fabric, brushing against the throbbing flesh below. You can feel the beads deep inside, the dildo stretching your cunt uncomfortably wide, all now hidden beneath the simple fabric of your panties. You turn wide, uncertain eyes back to him. He can’t possibly mean to leave you like this, can he?
Slim, purple fingers hold up the third and final toy. You look at the egg without comprehension, as he holds it up, before reaching back between your legs. Carefully, he parts your lips, rubbing at the dampness there, before running back up your eager, throbbing clit. You jolt, a fresh shockwave of pleasure shooting through you, as he presses the egg firmly against your glistening clit, before tugging your panties, then skirt back into place.
“Are you ready to be my very good girl?” You tilt your head. You aren’t quite sure what he’s asking. “You have a choice. You may study up here if you would prefer. I can check on you regularly when time allows. But you are not allowed to touch yourself, nor to come. Or…”
He studies you carefully, eyes searching your face for something. “Or you can accompany me back to the bar, where I will ensure that you have a private booth where I can keep an eye on you. I will make sure that no one bothers you. You will study. And perhaps, when we have both completed our duties, you may be permitted to find release.”
The abrupt change in direction had already left you feeling dazed and confused. You try to focus, to figure out what he wants - what you want. Neither option guarantees release. Yet clearly, Grillby wouldn’t have suggested moving things to the bar, if he didn’t have somewhat of an exhibitionist streak.
But this is a bar, not a club. People consent to public play spaces in the club.
You bite your lip. The throbbing fullness between your legs isn’t helping you to focus.
But they might not even know, if I just keep quiet and don’t do anything embarrassing. Plus, Grillby said I could use a private booth.
Warm fingers card through your hair, gently rubbing at your scalp. You can feel yourself melting beneath his hands. “There is no right or wrong answer. I will not be disappointed in you, no matter which you choose.”
You feel a flood of warmth and affection rush through you once more. You send him a small, tentative smile.
I don’t want to be alone for the next few hours. I wanna stay near Grillbae.
“I…I’ll come down. Please.”
You can tell from the smile that breaks across his face that you have made the right choice. “You can tap out at any time. You need only catch my attention, and I will ensure that you can leave quickly and safely for the apartment.”
“I trust you.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
I don’t know how I’m gonna make it.
Clothes neatly back in place, you can feel Grillby’s hand resting on your lower back, as he guides you back downstairs. Already having left for a few minutes to ensure everything is ready for you (as well as to give you a little time to compose yourself and let any second-thoughts surface), you still feel an uncertain mixture of anticipation and nerves warring in your stomach.
I definitely don’t wanna be alone right now.
While you may not feel sure about continuing your play in a more public setting, letting Grillby out of your sight had caused the low thrum of anxiety to grow into something more unsettling. Don’t be a baby. He’s literally right here, touching me. The only way he could be any closer would be if he was inside me. Calm the fuck down. As you make your way back down the staircase between Grillby’s apartment and bar, you can feel each of the three toys shifting inside and against you. Doing your best to keep your steps careful and even, it provides a welcome distraction from your nerves. Why am I being such a mess about this? I’ve done things like this before. It’s not new-new. It’s not even that kinky compared to public dungeon play. Nobody’s gonna know. I can’t be dropping already, can I? Fingers curling, you lightly press your nails into your palms in an effort to ground yourself. The heat of Grillby behind you is a warm, welcoming presence. I’m not alone. Grillbae’s here. He’s got me. This is a safe place. You can’t help the traitorous thought that reminds you: the club was meant to be a safe place, too. Just stop it. I’m gonna ruin everything if I don’t calm the fuck down. As you descend the last few steps, you swear you can feel each individual bead shifting deep within your ass. A fizzing, tingling jolt like electricity passes between them, heating then cooling one bead then the next, then the next. Is it my imagination, or is that the magic equivalent of a remote control toy? As you reach the bottom of the stairs, you press your thighs together, taking a moment to try and calm yourself. Despite the thickness of the plug buried deep within your core, you can feel the tell-tale slickness seeping out to coat your lips. Despite the uncertainty in your mind, your body is more than ready and willing. “You can change your mind,” You start, looking up at Grillby as his hand moves from your lower back to your chin, gently tilting your face towards his. “At any time. Or if you would prefer, you can just use the staff door, and I will collect your things and be with you within moments.” You smile at him weakly; his frown deepens. Before he can say anything else, you reach up, gently brushing your own fingers against his furrowed brow. “Green.” It’s soft, and wobblier than you would have hoped, but it is enough. He smiles at you, before turning to lead the way.Ducking through the door, you murmur your thanks. Ever the gentleman. Your smile widens as Grillby holds it open for you. Pausing, you wait for him to make the first move. The familiar rush of sound washes over you: patrons talking, laughing, drinking, shouting. The soft but steady underlying thrum of music. Glasses settling on wood, pool cues hitting balls. You can’t bring yourself to lift your eyes from the floor, as you follow two paces behind him, unwilling to risk making eye contact with anyone, lest they somehow know your secret.
Eyes down. Head down. Be quiet.
It feels like an impossibly long walk, between the side staff only door and the booth he has chosen for you. Yet as you risk glancing up, you know you haven’t come that far. It’s the most secluded booth by far, with a clear view of the bar and no other tables too nearby. The lighting throughout Grillby’s isn’t exactly bright, but it feels even more muted here — more of a comforting, low glow, than the usual harsh, fluorescent lights you typically see in such establishments. The table has clearly been wiped down recently, your bag and a neat stack of books already waiting on the polished oak surface. A small, brass reserved sign sits at the end of the surface. Is that new? I’ve never seen one of these out when I’ve visited before. Eyes flicking up momentarily, you send Grillby a hesitant smile in thanks, before sliding onto the green, leather padded bench. A low hiss of surprise leaves your lips, eyes widening, as the dildo plugging your pussy is pushed firmly in, deep and firm, through your careless movement.A familiar low, smokey chuckles brings a pout to your lips, as Grillby reaches out to pet your head. As you hone in on him, you could swear that the noise level dips in the bar.“Careful. We wouldn’t want you to damage anything.” Brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face, his fingers linger on your cheek momentarily, as though marvelling at the softness. “I will be back in a moment. Please, begin.”You can’t tear your eyes away, as Grillby turns to leave. Gaze flicking down to take in the delicious tightness of his pinstripe trousers over his ass, your eyes quickly move back up, hoping for a glimpse of his face as he reaches the bar and returns to his duties. The further he walks, the heavier your stomach feels. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. You try to force the thought away, but it takes root. From this angle, the counter looks clear, the usual barstools on this side having been moved away. Yet that still doesn’t stop Grillby from moving in and out of your view, as he retrieves things and motions for patiently (and not so patiently) waiting regulars and newcomers alike to await their turns. Come on. I can do this. It’s just a bit of studying, while I’ve got a couple of toys in me. Theoretically, that sounds like a damn motivating study session. And I can still see Grillby. This is fine. Good even. Great. This is…great. Slowly, you pull your things from your bag, trying to muddle through your thoughts to focus. Everything still feels slow and hazy, like you are trying to fight your way through molasses. The hot-cold sensation in your ass is still a low, yet persistent buzz, sending waves of ice and fire in rippling succession. It’s almost soothing, until you shift in place, accidentally rocking the thick dildo against the creaking leather seat. You keen, soft and low, at the unexpected pressure. Without the depth you typically prefer from your toys, you cannot feel a constant pressure against that all important bundle of nerves deep inside. But the distinct, delicious stretch at your entrance is more than enough to make the edges of your vision go hazy in renewed interest. As another low groan escapes from your lips, you freeze in place. You hadn’t realised your fidgeting had taken on a more distinctive pattern, your hips automatically circling, grinding down on the toy, allowing your slick to pool inside your panties and coat the smooth, flawless surface of the lilac egg still pressed against your proud, desperate clit. Stars. I can’t do that here. Biting your lip, you allow your eyes to slide closed as you try to collect yourself. So much for nerves. A bubble of laughter escapes from between your lips. You can’t believe how quickly you had forgotten where you are. By the time you open your eyes once more, eager to watch Grillby, to be reassured that he is still here, you realise you are no longer alone at your booth.“Here.” You jolt, heart racing. It takes a moment to realise it is just Grillby. Two sealed bottles of water, an assortment of snacks, and… “I do believe this is your preferred flavour of monster.” His lips are most definitely twisted into a smirk, as he settles the unopened energy drink in front of you. You can feel the heat flaring across your cheeks, mind momentarily blue screening, as you try to think of something to say. He’s never going to let me live that down, is he? Before you can find any words, you feel the gentle brush of his lips against your forehead. “No finishing without me. I know you can be good for me, can’t you? My precious, good girl. I will be watching. Wave if there is anything you need.”Something about being called his good girl makes the last of the tension within you melt. You feel an almost floaty, familiar haze, as you nod and smile, doing your best to get started on your studying. Good girl. Good. Good girls do what they’re told. I’m good. Need to study. Not try to get off. Be good. Good good good. As your notes grow from one page, to two, to three, you regularly find your eyes seeking out his. Checking on him through lowered lashes, making sure he hasn’t gone too far from your view. The low thrum of nerves seems a distant memory, each time he sends you a reassuring smile, every time he glances at you while serving yet another customer. More than once, you find yourself having to still your hips, your body automatically rocking against the seat, the shallow stretch of the toy combined with Grillby’s gentle glances proving to be beyond teasing. Fingers brushing the edge of your skirt, you clench them around the fabric. It wouldn’t take much. Just a little dip between your legs, just a few gentle, purposeful touches. You can feel a fresh wave of wetness seeping between your thighs. Surely by now it’s coating the leather seat. As you fidget in place, you can feel yourself slipping, gliding across the seat. You bite your lip, the sharp, unexpected tang of blood making you stop.
I can do this. I can be good. I can be a good girl. For Grillbae.
It’s a busy evening for sure, but as time slowly edges on, it’s clear that Grillby is checking in on you just as regularly as you are watching him. Finding reasons to clear the side of the bar with the best and clearest view of your booth, dropping by with fresh drinks and snacks. Even urging patrons to move to another seat, when they linger too long, blocking his view of you. You’ve never felt this cared for inside of a proper scene, let alone whatever this is. It is a scene though…isn’t it? There are rules. And safety. And safe words. And expectations. It’s nothing like you have experienced before. You are starting to realise that might be a good thing.As you meet Grillby’s eyes across the bar yet again, temptation rises. Cheeks burning, you can’t help but toy with the idea: I could spread my legs. If I turned just a little, Grillby would have a clear view. Nobody else would need to see. Maybe…maybe then, he’ll let me come? If he can see how ready I am, how much I need him… Pressing your thighs together, you glance around. You can’t see anyone else too nearby. It’s tempting. But what if someone sees? Or if it’s not what Grillby wants? What if that’s needy, slutty, bad-girl behaviour? You look away, unease dampening the happy, warm fuzzy edges. You can feel your nerves threatening to bring you out of the happy, blissful safety of not-quite-but-almost subspace. Just do as you’re told. Be a good girl. It’s not up to you when you get to come. Only bad girls try to tempt Ma…Sir? Your thoughts come to a stuttering halt. What…should I call Grillbae when we’re in a scene? As you ponder your options, you stretch, finally reaching for the can of energy drink. The pleasant buzz of the edges of subspace are starting to mix with general feelings of drowsiness. Yet the bar still sounds like things are in full swing. If you want to make it through to closing, you’re going to need an extra helping hand in the form of caffeine. The pop and fizz of the cap opening is followed by a familiar, sickly sweat smell. It’s like medicine mixed with fruits and sugar; not the most pleasant scent to be sure, but as far as energy drinks go, it’s passable. Gotta stay awake and alert for Grillbae. “Colour?” You choke, spluttering on the fizz as your eyes shoot open. Damn. He moves fast! Where the heck did he come from? It feels like Grillby appeared out of nowhere. I really must be more tired than I thought. Wiping the sticky fluid from your lips and cheeks, you send Grillby a playful glare.“Green, mister sneaky pants. I swear, I’m gonna put a bell on your or something.” You grumble. Would it be rude to ask when closing time is? You think, as you accept a soft handkerchief from Grillby to mop up the last of your mess. Ever the gentleman. “Perhaps you just need to improve on your focus.” He smiles at you mildly. “Please, continue. I shall endeavour not to interrupt so unexpectedly next time.”You can’t help the pout that forms on your lips as he walks away again. The familiar, floating feelings of subspace may be both comforting and enjoyable, but the lack of time with Grillby’s entire focus on you - in body and mind -is starting to make you feel more and more frayed at the edges.You try to refocus on the page in front of you. Shifting in your seat, you can feel faint, trembling in your thighs. No, it takes you a moment to realise, not in my thighs. Heat blooms across your cheeks as you gasp, eyes shooting to the bar, to Grillby. He’s nowhere in sight. The staccato of hot and cold beads has taken up once more in your trembling hole, the shift in temperatures creating a stuttering yet distinct pattern that you know for certain is not in your mind. Yet it’s not that sensation that has you struggling not to quiver in your seat. It’s the pulsing, throbbing, waves of heat from the dildo. Eyes searching behind the bar, you bite your lip. Do you go and look for him? Are the toys supposed to be doing this? Or is this some kind of a test? He told me to be good. Good girls stay where they’re told. I can be good. I can. You try to reason with yourself, to figure out what it is he wants. Your breath hitches. You swallow hard. It feels like the toy stretching your cunt, already three fingers wide but barely two knuckles deep, is growing. You lean forward in your seat, trying to ease the pressure. It shifts, your lips stretching to accommodate the expanding girth. It burns, both in temperature, and as it forces your hole to stretch wider. Your hips jerk, a strangled noise barely escaping your lips, as you lean back, inadvertently sitting on it with all of your weight.There’s an edge of pain to things now that was missing earlier. It’s the perfect balance of too good and just enough aching, stretching pain, that you know it won’t take much to push you over the edge. You can feel your skin prickling in anticipation, cold beads of sweat trickling down the back of your neck. It’s taking more willpower than you would like to admit to not just reach down, and…
No. I’m good. I can be good.
A soft whimper escapes as you shift, barely moving. You can feel the unforgiving pressure deeper, aching, overfilling you, despite the abundance of slick coating your thighs, skirt, and seat. Desperately, you search the bar for a sign of Grillby. He’s back, watching you closely. Focused entirely on you, for what feels like the first time in hours. Instinctively, you clench around the toys, heat building in your core. Your face must give something away, as Grillby’s violet flames flare almost white. I can…I can be good? You want to feel Grillby’s hands on you so, so badly. It doesn’t have to be much; just a gentle stroke of your hair, a soft brush against your arm, anything to let you know that he is pleased with you, that you are doing what he wants. …good girls can beg sometimes, can’t they? Glancing back up, you see Grillby is talking to one of the regulars once more. His tone is sharp. Stern. Unfamiliar. You can feel your breath starting to come in shorter, sharper pants. What if he’s mad at you? What if someone saw how needy you were being, writhing around on his toys like a bitch in heat? You can feel tears beginning to well, as the sensations, the worries, begin mounting up. One, traitorous word keeps hovering in your mind. Amber. Part of you wants to say it, to see if Grillby will still call you a good girl even when you fail. A larger part of you wants to scream at the mere thought. Don’t fucking blow this. Stay calm. You’re fine. You’re safe. You’re just horny. Fumbling for your bag, you try to find your phone. Surely it must nearly be closing time? Then, you can have Grillby all to yourself. Then you can ask exactly how Grillby wants you to be his good girl. Warm fingers card through your hair, gently massaging your scalp. You lean into them, instantly recognising his touch. Is it just you, or does it finally sound like things are starting to quieten down? “You have been so good for me. Do you know how tempting you are, every time I look across from the bar? Knowing just how good you are being for me. How obedient. Part of me wants every monster in here to know that you are mine, to see your perfection, to know that they cannot have you. Yet part of me wants to dust anyone who dares to get too close to you while you are like this.” You can barely hear his words, your world tunnelling down into the sensations of his hands on your hair, the hot-cold beads filling your ass, and the pulsing plug stretching your pussy wide open. “I’ve…been good?” The words are so quiet, you’re surprised Grillby even hears them. You look up at him with wide, pleading eyes. You feel desperate. Maybe it’s ok to be needy this one time? “Can I…please? If…”Tilting your chin up, he meets your gaze, searching for something “Anything. What do you need?” “Please. I need to…it feels… please. Please, can I come?” Frustration wells. You can’t find the right words to say just how he is making you feel, to help him understand how much you need to feel him. It’s as though you’ve been on edge for hours. You can’t think straight. All you can think about is finally, finally finding relief. “All you had to do was ask. And you did ask so beautifully.” As he speaks, you watch his hand retreat into his pocket. The loss has you ready to beg. Why has he stopped touching? Was begging wrong after all? “Please; come for me.” Before he’s even finished saying the words, you feel something new. Your eyes roll. Leaning towards Grillby, it feels like you’re resting your entire weight against him, as the smooth, warmed lilac egg pressed so innocuous against your clit, begins to vibrate.Gasp catching in your throat, it feels like shockwaves spreading from your clit, overwhelming and all-encompassing. The sudden vibrations make you clench instinctively, forcing the beads in deeper, your stretched cunt struggling to squeeze the plug, trying to swallow it whole. A hand, firm but gentle, presses at the back of your head, forcing your face against his hip. Any noise you could make is instantly muffled, the familiar woodsy-smoke scent of Grillby filling your senses. The world turns white, as you slump against Grillby. You can feel his laughter long before you hear it. “Oh, you are so precious. We are in for a very long night if this is how obedient you can be. I cannot wait to see what else you can take for me.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Spring break at last! You smile to yourself, as the late morning rays of sunlight filter through your shoddy blinds. It’s been a while since you last woke up without the help of your alarm clock - or a certain fire elemental nudging you awake after a late-night study session at the bar. When was the last time I got a lie-in? You cast your mind back. Definitely not over winter break…or summer holidays. Stars, it can’t have been that long ago, can it? You can’t remember. I really should do this more often. Sleep-heavy hands fumble beneath your pillows, searching for your phone. Squinting at the harsh light, you let out a low whistle as you catch sight of the time. It’s almost midday. Well, shit. So much for making the most of my two weeks off. The end of spring term had felt brutal. Looming deadlines, countless papers due, and exams. So many exams. Between the increase in your coursework, your hours at the club and store, and trying to fit in time with Grillby where you could, it has felt like you have been running on empty for weeks. Now, with two whole university-free weeks ahead of you, part of you wants nothing more than to sleep. The more pragmatic voice at the back of your head has been nagging you to take every shift under the sun and moon, to help rebuild your much-needed emergency fund. You never know when a big expense is gonna crop up and mess things up. Whereas the recently reawakened horny part of you has been oh-so-helpfully reminding you of Grillby’s bedroom voice. The unearthly glow of his flames against his sheets and your skin. The flickering, undulating, yet never stifling heat coming off of him in waves. Not to mention how he looks without his ever-present, crisp white shirt.
Nooo! I cannot spend two whole weeks just being horny. I need to make the most of this free time while I still can.
Blankets wrapped loosely around your shoulders, you make your way into the bathroom. Leaving your phone balanced precariously on the side of the sink, you get into the shower without a second thought, flicking the temperature to hot.“Fucking stars !” You jolt back, as a wall of fridged water sends you reeling. Barely managing to grab onto the sink to keep yourself from falling, you can feel your teeth already beginning to chatter. Right. Broken water heater. Again. “Fuck.” You let out a long, slow breath. Right. Extra shifts. Lots of them. Grabbing your soggy nest of discarded blankets, you open your phone, ready to send off a few quick messages. Hopefully, someone wants to drop a couple of shifts. You think to yourself, or if you’re lucky, either of your bosses could use another pair of hands outside of your regular shifts. Normal people go away and do fun things over break, right? There should be plenty of shifts to go around. One unsatisfying sink wash, a string of texts, and a cold off-brand pop tart later, and you’ve got more graveyard shifts and overtime crammed in than you are strictly comfortable with. At least I’ll still have more free time than usual to catch up with Grillbae in the bar during the day if I get creative with my sleep schedule. Plus, it’s not like I’m working doubles and triples every night. Opening your messages, you flick through your group chats, taking a moment to try and recentre yourself. It’s not even been a day yet, and you’re already feeling the edges of panic beginning to set in. So much for two weeks of rest and relaxation. You bite your lip, trying to hold back tears of frustration. You know if you allow yourself to start crying or, stars forbid spiralling with what-ifs, stopping will be a problem. Calm down. It’s gonna be fine. Today is going to be a quiet day. I can go and visit Grillbae… You pause, before shaking your head. Saturdays are always rammed at Grillby’s. Sure, he says you aren’t a distraction, but you know that you are. And between the drinks he never lets you pay for, the free food that always makes it to your booth or barstool (despite never placing an order or even letting him know how much you love his food), and the bubble of empty seats that seems to surround you at one of if not the only human patron most of the time, you know that you cost him time and money. But, isn’t that normal when people are kinda-dating? You shove the thought down, still not fully comfortable with labelling this thing between the two of you. I can find another way to kill a few hours before my night shift. No problem. You try to convince yourself. Much like with lie-ins, you can’t remember the last time you met up with friends outside of study groups, spending time at the library, or the occasional pre/post-work hangout with colleagues at the club. I really, really need to get out more. These are meant to be the best years of my life and all that jazz. Exiting your group messages, you pull open your email out of habit. Huh. I haven’t logged onto Fetlife in a while. You pause. You haven’t exactly had the exclusive chat with Grillby yet. Casual dating is one - terrifying, monumental, huge - thing. Not that you’ve had the time to even think about looking for other play, much less actually tried hooking up with anyone. Do I even want to do that anymore? A familiar sense of unease unfurls in the pit of your stomach. It’s both frustrating and nauseating. Am I letting Him win if I change? You know it’s a silly thought as soon as it crosses your mind, but you can’t help but let it linger. Without thinking, you tap on your phone, quickly pulling up the familiar website. The unease doesn’t abate. Over fifty new messages. Jeeze. “This was a bad idea.” Your words sound uncomfortably loud in your cramped studio. Yet it helps break you out of your spiralling thoughts. I’m being silly. Who cares if this thing between me and Grillby is just fun, or something else? The point is, we haven’t talked about it yet. Going out for a casual fuck would be rude. And if I want a mind-melting orgasm, I know where to go. Mind made up, you scan your phone one last time, ready to click out of your browser. A new instant message pops up, dragging your attention back.You have 3 new messages.Cinnabunni: Hey!Cinnabunni: How’ve you been? It’s been, like, forever. Cinnabunni: I’m heading to a munch over at The Tavern. Wanna catch up? Huh. That…sounds like it could be fun. I haven’t caught up with Cindi in forever. You bite your lip, as you mull over your options. You haven’t had time to just catch up with casual kink friends and enjoy time outside of actively working in or using playspaces in so long. It would be a nice change to just hang out and catch up. No pressure. No play. Just…chatting. Plus, I won’t take up Grillbae’s time while he’s super busy. You push down the low, familiar thrum of unease that still makes itself known every time you think of meeting new people in a kink setting. I’ve gotta get over it at some point. Might as well make that point now. “Hey, you made it!” You smile, small and genuine, as a familiar brown bunny monster pulls you in for an enthusiastic hug. Barely coming up to your shoulders, you let out a little laugh as Cindi gives a little hop before moving back. You find yourself tugged deeper into the pub, past the midday vanilla earlybirds beginning to fill the main room. Sending a small wave at the semi-familiar staff - a mixture of humans and monsters - behind the bar, you allow yourself to be pulled towards the back staircase and down into the basement bar. The noise makes you stop in your tracks as it washes over you. It never fails to surprise you just how loud your local community can be. Groups of varying sizes are scattered around the brightly lit room. Laughter and chatter fill the space, drowning out the low, steady thrum from the speakers behind a second, smaller bar area off to one side of the room. There can’t be more than forty people there, yet the noise levels rival even the busiest night at the club.“It’s, like, been forever since I last saw you. Though, to be fair, I missed, like, the last three of these. How’ve you been? You just missed Jen and Shyren. Though, like, you kinda lucked out - Shyren wanted to pull out the karaoke machine, but Jen managed to convince her they should go to an actual karaoke place with booths and stuff. Can I get you a drink? Let me get you a drink. Hot? Cold? Alcoholic? Eh, it’s a bit early - I’ll just get us a pitcher of virgin mojitos to get started. Be right back!”You let her high-pitched valley-girl voice wash over you with a bemused smile, as Cindi manoeuvres you into one of the tables off to the quieter side of the room. She doesn’t once pause to give you a chance to respond. Gentle but firm paws push you towards one of the seats, as she makes her way back across to the bar, half-hopping, half-powerwalking in her excitement. She hasn’t changed a bit. You think, as you settle into your seat. You had been so anxious the first time you had come to a new munch in a new city all by yourself. If it hadn’t been for Cindi’s enthusiastic welcome, you probably wouldn’t have made it past the door. I should make time to catch up with her more often. She’s…a good friend. Taking in the crowd, you scan the room, keeping an eye out for familiar faces. You spot quite a few, both from past munches and more than a few regulars from the club. You can feel the initial tension in your body beginning to wane, as a sense of familiarity washes over you. This is fine. I’m safe. I’m here with a friend. You let out a long, slow breath. This is good. Really. Why don’t I come to these more often? Oh yeah. They’re usually getting started just before my weekend shifts. Lost in thought, you jolt as Cindi seemingly appears back next to you out of nowhere, a pitcher and two glasses in hand. Accepting one, you settle back into your seat and allow her words to wash over you. I’m not taking half of this in. Stars, I’m such a bad friend. Fuck. If I can’t even keep it together long enough to be a good friend, what hope have I got of being something more to someone? Purple flames and a deep, raspy chuckle flash across your mind. This is why I should just stick to fuckbuddies. I’m such a mess. “Hey. Is everything ok?” You blink, as a fluffy brown paw waves in front of your face. You can feel your cheeks heating with embarrassment. “Sorry. Just lost in thought for a moment there. What were we talking about?” Reaching for the jug, you refil both of your glasses. Your smile feels uncomfortable and unnatural. Shifting in your seat, you take a deep gulp from your glass to try and hide your nerves.“ I was just rabbiting on. As usual.” Cindi laughs at her own awful pun. You send her a weak smile. This one feels genuine at least. “But enough about me. What’s got you looking so gloomy? I thought I’d heard some good news drifting around, but I’m guessing Jen must have been talking about someone else.”Your breath catches in your throat. People have been talking? About you? I thought Bosslady said no one outside of the club would know. Fuck. Who else knows? How much do they know? Do they…do they blame me for what happened? Wait. Did she say good news? “I should have guessed. Grillby’s never been one for serious relationships. Well, serious dynamic relationships sure. But, with a human? Hah! No way. No offence. I’m not, like, being anti-human or anything. It’s just. Grillby, y’know? Boss Monsters don’t just play around with humans.” Cindi shakes her head, taking a deep swig from her glass. “So, what have you been up to since I last saw you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking this…” She trails off, eyeing you with a frown.You shift in your seat self-consciously, fingers fiddling with the hem of your oversized jumper. You hadn’t taken time to get dressed up, just pulling on an oversized jumper and figure-huggling jeans that were probably overdue joining your growing pile of laundry.
Boss Monster? What’s that? And Grillby is… seeing someone? I didn’t realise we were at the stage where we were telling people. Well, I guess I did tell Coco…
Shaking your head, you try to stay present in the moment. “Ah, well. You know.” You send her a half-smile. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you place it on the table beside your glass. “Busy with work, classes, more work, coursework, exams. The usual.” You glance down as the screen lights up, a notification reminding you that you have three new unread messages. “Speaking of which - lemme just check that isn’t work.” “Ick. See, this is why I work at my Aunt’s store. She never bugs me for last-minute shifts.” Yeah, well. We can’t all live off of family money. You wince as the thought crosses your mind. That’s not fair. I’m sure Cindi puts in her hours at the store. There’s no need to be bitchy just because I’m having a bad day. Pulling up your messages, a small, real smile fixes on your lips. Alongside Grillby’s typical good morning texts, he had sent you a rather dapper selfie. I wonder if we’re getting to the point where he’d be open to trying sexting? I really, really hope I didn’t fuck things up too much last time. Typing out a quick reply, you place your phone back on the table and turn your attention back to Cindi. You feel yourself flush again, at the knowing look she sends you.“Oooh. Maybe you have met someone! Oh, oh! Did you find someone worth a round two? Or are you still working your way through new dominants faster than a spider monster going through doughnuts?” She laughs loudly, as you shift uncomfortably in your seat.
I don’t remember Cindi being this… mean? Blunt? Maybe there’s a reason why I stopped coming to these things, other than my schedule, after all.
“You know me.” You really, really don’t. “There’s been a few…people, recently. Some good, some not so good. Some…” Mind-blowing? Amazing? Making me re-evaluate what the heck I’m doing with my life? “...different. You know how it is. There’s always a risk when you’re keeping things casual, y’know?” Your eyes slide back to your phone. No new messages flash up to save you this time.“Hey.” Your eyes slide back to Cindi. All traces of her previous loud, boisterous laughter have gone. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m here if there’s anything you wanna talk about. Or, like, I can leave you to it, if you’d rather catch up with some of the others?” Her paw hovers uncertainly, as though she wants to reach out and hold you hand but isn’t sure she would be welcome.“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your afternoon by being all gloomy and shit.” Draining your glass, you reach for your coat. This was a bad idea. I’m just fucking this up like always. What is wrong with me? “You’re not ruining anything.” Wide brown eyes look up at you, as she shakes her head. “Like, don’t leave just cause you’re having a tough day. These things aren’t just for fun and rainbows and roses, y’know? That’s not what the community is about. I’m here if there’s anything you wanna talk about. Or, like, if you just wanna listen while I bitch about this new switch I’ve been seeing? She’s such a freaking pillow princess, but she can do this cherry-knotting thing with, like, her tongue? Or we can just talk shit about, like, the latest Mettaton series. There’s no pressure.”Reaching up, you roughly wipe at the corner of your eyes. You take a moment to settle back in your seat, allowing silence to fall between you, as you weigh up your options. I don’t…really have anyone I can talk to about these things. Heck, outside of work and uni, the only person I really talk to regularly now is Grillby. That’s…kind of sad. Would it really hurt to open up, just a little bit? “Thanks, Cindi. I…” You struggle to find the right words. Where do you even begin with everything that has been happening? What’s even the right level of sharing with someone like Cindi? Is she a friend-friend, or a kinda-friend? This is why I have no real friends. Why are people so freaking hard? “How about I get us a pot of tea, and we try this again? You wanna head out somewhere else?” She offers. You shake your head, ready to offer to buy the next round, when something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye. You freeze, breath catching in your throat, as for one long, horrible moment, you think you see familiar blue eyes and a smug, cruel smirk. Your stomach swoops, the pounding of your own heartbeat drowning out everything else, as you hone in on those sharp blue eyes. The moment is gone as quickly as it arrived. The man - too tall, too broad in the shoulders - isn’t him. But it’s enough to set you on edge. “Hey, are you-” Before Cindi can finish, you’re up. Phone and coat in one hand, you reach for her arm with the other.“Can we go somewhere else after all? Please?” Your voice is tight, strained. She nods, wordlessly following your lead back up the staircase, out through the bar, and into the surprisingly chill spring air outside.You can’t bring yourself to speak as you start walking. It takes nearly two blocks to register Cindi keeping pace beside you, her own deep hazel eyes scanning for any signs of what may have upset you. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! Get a grip on yourself. I can’t go jumping every time I see a freaking brown-haired, blue-eyed guy under the age of 40. That’s, like, a lot of the population. I need to just get a fucking grip. “Muffet’s is just around the corner. Have you ever been before? Like, the best spider doughnuts you’ve ever had. Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders. But Muffet’s cool. She doesn’t mind humans or other non-spider monsters. As long as you’re polite, or, like, she gets vicious.” Cindi’s rambling feels more soothing, now that you’re not fighting to hear her over the throbbing base and loud, overwhelming chatter. “I like Muffet's.” The words sound small and wobbly, even to your own ears. Yet Cindi immediately falls silent, sending you an encouraging smile. “She makes the best tea.”“Great! Muffet’s it is.” Her words wash over you, as you make your way towards the familiar cafe. By the time that you’re inside, you can’t remember a word that Cindi has said, but you can feel your heart rate calming to a more manageable level.“Why don’t you sit down? It’s my turn to get the drinks.” You wave her away, as you join the surprisingly short queue, noting her order down on your phone so you can’t forget. You wince, as you glance at the menu. You had forgotten how expensive drinks are here. “Iiis everything ok, dearie?” You glance up, as Muffet herself slides behind the till. Hadn’t there been a human cashier there just moments before? You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts, as Muffet’s many eyes glance between you and the table where Cindi is sitting. “Just having one of those days.” You shrug, a wry smile flitting across your lips. “Things can only get better though, right? Can I please have-” “I know both of your usuals. They will be over in a moment. You should come here more often with the walking matchstick. I do so love to show him what real food tastes like, unlike that greasy trash he serves.” You can feel yourself frowning, as her words sink in. Do…Grillby and Muffet not get along? Or is she…trying to warn me to not bring dates here? “Um. Cindi’s a friend? Ah, and Grillby-”“Move along, dearie. You’re causing a queue to build. Your drinks will be along to your table shortly.” Multiple gloved hands shoo you away, as she turns her attention to the next customer. “Oh! I’m so sorry, let me get out of the…way.” It’s not until you are halfway back to your table that you realise you haven’t paid. As you turn back around to join the queue, you can see Muffet waving at you dismissively.
I guess…I can go back up to pay later?
You make your way to Cindi’s chosen table in the far back corner. It’s as far away from the glass-covered front of the store as possible, tucked away in a little nook you honestly hadn’t noticed on your previous visits. Cindi is playing on her phone as you slide into your seat. You fidget, the ugly, overstuffed armchair feeling surprisingly comfortable. Laying your hands on your lap, you try not to dig your nails into the soft flesh of your palms. You try and think of what to say. Do you need to explain why you wanted to leave the pub? Does it even matter, or does Cindi already think you’re weird? Does it even matter to you what she thinks? I’m getting too stuck in my own head again, aren’t I? “I. Um…I’ve had a shitty couple of months.” The words come out unsteady and halting. From the moment you begin, Cindi lowers her phone, giving you her full attention. Eyes glancing over her, you can’t see any hints of pity or judgement. You look away. “You know how it is.” You try to brush it off, to give yourself an out. Do I even want to talk about…that? I don’t think so. Not…not now, anyway. “But. I also met someone? Who’s really… really hot.” You laugh at your own terrible pun. “We’re not dating-dating. Or…maybe we are? I really need to clear things up with him.” “Does he treat you right?” Cindi meets your gaze, clearly searching for something. “Because if you’re, like, not in a safe place right now. Or like, he’s pressuring you to do things you don’t like, like or something. You can stay with me. Or my Aunt has a spare room about the store, and like, a dozen kids and nieces and nephews always running around the place. No one would be able to get to you.”“No! I mean, yes. I mean-” You stumble over your words, as you try to reassure her. Something warm blossoms in your chest. No one has ever offered me a safe place before. “He’s amazing. Really. The best. He helped me pick up the pieces after, like, some really shitty experiences. And he’s just the perfect gentleman.”“Rebounds aren’t always as shiny and nice as they seem. Especially, like, when you’re comparing them to trash encounters.” Cindi says cautiously, eyes searching your face for a hint of something. “Is it someone in the community? Like, I know you normally manage to avoid the drama but, like, you totally know we would all have your back. We would for anyone. That’s half the point in munches, right? Getting to know people. Sharing stories about who’s safe and who isn’t. Like, learning and shit from each other.”“I know. He really is a great guy. Plus, I don’t know… there were these other two guys…” You trail off, your mind flashing back to Mutt and Sans. Maybe I’ve just never seen them at a munch before, because I’ve missed so many. Or what if they aren’t that into the local community? Or what if… “Girl. If there were multiple bad guys, you might need a break before you jump back into things. There’s no shame in that. Practising unsafe kink doesn’t make someone a bad person. But, like, broken trust? That, like, totally takes time to rebuild. It can leave you really shaken when someone pushes too hard, or doesn’t know when to stop.” Cindi’s frowning now, her usual valley-girl accent dropping in and out.“What if… there wasn’t much trust there to begin with?” The words hang between you, quiet and uncertain. You hadn’t meant to say that. “Please. If you’re playing with someone in any kinky setting, you’re putting some level of trust into them. Whether you wanna acknowledge that or not, you’re trusting yourself to someone else for a set amount of time. Maybe that’s a few minutes or hours or longer. But, like, that’s the whole point of powerplay dynamics. You’re giving yourself to someone, right? But you’re also setting boundaries. Even if they’re, like, super basic. You’re setting some kinds of boundaries.” I did go over the basics with Mutt. But… we never actually discussed other people, did we? I made it clear I didn’t do exclusive. I listed what I didn't like. I didn’t clarify what he was into. I didn’t actually mention other people. But that’s got to be obvious, right? A flicker of doubt wavers in your chest. Maybe Mutt isn’t the only one who needs to work on his communication skills after all. “You can’t ever assume what you consider to be safe, sane play lines up with what someone else is gonna like unless, like, you’ve been playing with someone for years. That’s the kind of shit that will get you, like, in a super bad place.” Cindi’s words force you back to the present, washing over you like an all too familiar ice-cold shower. Well, shit. When you put it like that… It’s almost like I’ve been overlooking the basics, haven’t I? Biting your lip, you flex your fingers against your jean-clad thighs, as you weigh up your next words. “Hey, Cindi? Can I… ask you something? As… from a monster perspective?”“Go for it.”You take a steadying breath. I know I should research these things myself, but asking can’t hurt, can it? And if I’m being really out of line, Cindi would let me know. “Do… in the monster kink scene, are things…”She smiles at you kindly. “Things aren’t so different. Well, not now anyway. I wasn’t really part of the kink scene before, like, surface integration. I was still in stripes when we came above ground. But I’ve heard things. Not everyone had the same access to, like, safe kink reading materials. It wasn’t always a thing down there, from what I’ve heard at least. That could be total bullshit. Just old timers trying to scare us into practising risk-aware consensual kink, ya know? But…between you and me? I think there are still plenty of people in and around the scene, that could just do with going to a workshop or two. Or at least checking out a munch or something. It’s safer for everyone that way.” Hazel eyes flicker away from yours, as Cindi leans back. You glance behind you just in time to see a trail of scuttling spiders balancing a pot of tea, an empty cup, and a tall creamy monstrosity of a drink on a tray. As you both thank them, you can’t help but mull over Cindi’s words. Huh. I’d…never thought about that. Maybe I should ask Grillby more about what the kink community was like back when he lived underground? It might help me get a better insight into the whole Mutt thing. Plus… it really would be nice to know more about him. I think…I think, I really want whatever it is we have, to work out. For both of us.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Warm. Soft. Cosy. So comfy.
You wake up slowly. You can’t remember the last time you didn’t wake up to the annoying, mechanical beeping of your phone, the bright early morning sunlight creeping through your shitty curtains, or to the uncomfortable early morning chill seeping through your apartment’s single-glazed windows. These sheets feel amazing. Sooooo soft. And is that…is the heating actually working? Why is it so warm? You run your hands over the silky smoothness beneath you, as you finally crack your eyes open. Vaguely familiar, deep purple sheets and a veritable mountain of matching pillows meet your bleary gaze. This is not my bed. Your thoughts feel slow and sluggish, confusion warring with an overwhelming sense of exhaustion and satisfaction. Did I… hook up with someone last night? No, no. I wouldn’t have. I mean… “Good morning.” You can feel the tension you didn’t even realise had been growing in your limbs instantly release, as the bed dips beside you. Instinctively you lean into Grillby’s welcoming warmth, eager to get your hands on your favourite fire elemental now that the last traces of sleep have left. Warm, purple-flamed hands brush the hair back from your forehead, as he leans down to kiss you.“Noooo, morning breath.” You warn. Grillby chuckles, brushing aside your protests as he leans in to press a gentle kiss against your lips. Eyes sliding closed, you can feel a smile curving on your lips, as you lean forward to chase a second, then third kiss. “I think after everything we did last night, a little morning breath should not be a problem.” Frowning, you try to think back to the night before. Everything feels hazy, as you struggle to focus. Had you gone to the bar after all, after leaving Cindi at Muffet's? Did I…get drunk or something? Why is everything such a blur? “How are you feeling this morning? Does anything ache or feel sore?” You can feel the warmth radiating from his hands, as he gently pulls at you, checking inch by inch for any signs of discomfort. You watch, bemused, as he works his way from your fingertips to your shoulders, rotating each joint this way and that. Heat seeps into your already pleasantly warm limbs, chasing away any lingering aches and pains. Would it be rude to ask him what we did? I mean, he seemed pretty focused on the whole fully informed consent thing before. But not asking would be like lying by omission… wouldn’t it? You wince, as you bite down on your lip, accidentally drawing blood. Violet eyes meet yours, as a hand reaches out to hold your chin. Turning you this way and that, he gently runs a thumb across your lower lip, wiping the blood away.“Sorry.” The apology slips out. “I, um… things are kind of… fuzzy? I don’t…” You can feel the blush staining your cheeks, as Grillby brings his thumb up. An inhumanly long, glowing lavender tongue unfurls, brushing past a sharp, pearly white fang before lapping up the smear of blood from his thumb. You can’t help but watch, transfixed, as it wraps around his digit.Hazy memories of that same tongue lapping at you - tracing patterns down your stomach, across your hips, dipping between trembling thighs - begin to surface. You press your thighs together tightly, as a fresh wave of heat passes through you. Damn. What did we do last night?! “Ah. My apologies. I had hoped… But that is neither here nor there.” You feel a flutter of disappointment as Grillby sits back, “It would seem that I made a… miscalculation last night. How much do you remember?” Your skin feels uncomfortably cool and clammy without his touch. You shift, pulling the sheets further up your body, all at once aware of your nakedness next to Grillby’s typical impeccable outfit.“Well, I met up with a friend to go to a munch. We didn’t stick around for long. Then we went for coffee. And…” You trail off with a wince, as Grillby’s frown deepens. “We didn’t do anything! I mean. I don’t think… I wouldn't, though! Cindi’s a friend-friend, not a friends-with-benefits-friend!” You rush to explain. The sheets pool around your lap, leaving you exposed to the now too-cool air of Grillby’s room. I can’t fuck this up. I really like him. I want this, whatever it is, to work. Or to at least give it a try. “Hush. There is no need to panic.” Violet eyes dart down to your exposed chest before returning to your face, as though watching something. With a blush, you pull the sheets back up around your shoulders. Great job, past me. I could have at least gone to bed with a shirt on or something. “This is entirely my fault. I cannot apologise enough. You came to the bar last night to catch up on some reading before I closed up for the night. I…thought I would join you for a drink or two. I did not think…”You watch, as his usual dark, mulberry purple cheeks flash lavender momentarily, his eyes sliding away from your own. He looks so cute when he blushes. “There is a reason why I keep my human and monster-grade spirits separated. I did not think to pre-warn you that you shouldn’t try mine. I left our drinks with you momentarily, while I went to attend to another customer. By the time I realised, you had already drunk more than half of mine.” He shakes his head, wincing. “Monster products are typically harmless for humans. Food, sweets, tea, and household products. But some of our more… recreational items… can be a little too potent.” Hands fluttering, Grillby looks as though he wants to reach out to you. Making the first move, you rest a reassuring hand against his thigh. “I honestly had no idea it would have such an effect on you. If I had known, had realised, then I would have insisted on using the guest room at the very least, or calling a healer. I swear: nothing more would have happened. And now that I know, I can assure you that I will never allow such a thing to happen again if it is within my power. I can only apologise.”Mind racing, you take a moment to allow his words to sink in. He sounds so sincere. I believe him “Oh. Um. Wow. I’m so sorry about that? I really shouldn’t have tried your drink without asking…” I had no idea that monster products could do that. But there again, neither did Grillbae. Maybe it’s… not common knowledge? I mean, monsters have been above ground for a while now. But undertaking studies on magical products' effects on humans has to have to be the least of their worries. Thousands of new citizens, dozens if not hundreds of previously unknown species. Figuring out all of the legalities, the policies, the logistics… You can feel something niggling at the back of your mind. Mutt’s cigarettes… could he, maybe, not have known either? You take a steadying breath. That’s a line of thought for another time. “I’m such a lightweight even with normal drinks. I should have known better than to just take something like that, without even thinking to ask. I’m… really sorry if I messed things up or made you uncomfortable.”A warm hand envelops yours, twining your fingers together. “It sounds like we both could have used better judgement last night. Let us agree: no more experimenting without first discussing things to be safe.”“Heh. Usually, talking boundaries and safety is more of a kink thing, than a food, drink or allergy thing.” You send him a reassuring smile. “That sounds like a good plan to me. I… feel like I keep messing things up. I wish I was more together than this.”“Correct me if I am wrong: You are not ‘messing things up’ on purpose, are you?” Your eyes dart up to meet Grillby’s, as you shake your head. Warm fingers press against your lips, halting your excuses. “Nor do I get the impression that you are deliberately trying to push boundaries to get what you want.” You shake your head again, words muffled. “I wouldn’t-”“Then there is nothing to apologise for. We both made mistakes. I am sure we shall both continue to do so, as we learn more about each other and let things develop between us. And that is ok. I myself am far from perfect. I do not expect perfection from my partners. I would rather we foster a sense of honesty, trust, and openness between us. If you are still amenable, that is.” Shifting, you can tell from the line of his back and the unsteady flickering of his flames that you aren’t the only one equal parts nervous and unsure about this thing between you. He always seems so well put together. Would I even have noticed how nervous he seems under everything, just a few short weeks ago? Biting your lip, you can’t help but focus on one particular part of what Grillby had to say. He really is too good to be true. But… “...partners?” The words come out as barely more than a whisper. You clear your throat, trying again once more. “I know I said I only keep things casual. And I know you prefer more regular play, but… I don’t know if I’m ready to be exclusive-exclusive, but I’m not… are we… I want…”“I am not currently seeing anyone else.” He says slowly, as though considering his words carefully. Your stomach churns with discomfort. “Nor do I plan to in the immediate future. If that changes, I would have a discussion with you before I would seek out any additional partners. I would appreciate the same courtesy, if that would not be too bold of me to ask.” That sounds more than reasonable. So why doesn’t it make me feel any better? “No. I mean yes. I mean - I would like that. I think. I haven’t really…”“You have not tried open relationships or polyamory in the past.” It sounds like more of a statement than a question.You shake your head “I have. But… it didn’t… I don’t…” you can feel your frustration building, as you struggle to find the right words. “Ah. It is monogamy you have more of an issue with?”You shake your head, words catching in your throat. Just tell him. Now’s your chance. Talk to him about it. Explain. It’s not him, it’s you being such a fuck-up. “I don’t… I’m not…” Tears of frustration threaten to fall. In the years since things ended with your ex, throughout your time at university - the string of one-night stands, the awkward first dates, and gentle and not so gentle refusals for a second night - you’ve never once felt the urge to open up and explain. Until now.
Why does this have to be so hard? It’s not that big of a deal. If I can just get the words out, if I can just explain, then maybe… maybe it won’t even matter anymore?
A warm hand reaches out. You blink away hazy tears, as Grillby gently coaxes your fingers away from your bleeding thigh. Eight tiny, perfect crescent moons stare back at you. They sting, you register distantly, as you track the slow creep of blood across your skin.“You do not have to tell me about it now. But I would appreciate knowing more about you. Let’s get that cleaned up, shall we?” He says, as he stands. Pausing at the door, he sends you one last reassuring smile. “I will be here to listen. Whenever you are ready.”You can feel tears beginning to well up again. “Thank you.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“I’ll text you when I get off later. Out! I mean out. Of work. I hope you have a great day.” You can feel your cheeks burning, as Grillby’s low, rumbling chuckles follow you out of the bar and onto the chilly street outside. The early Monday morning sunshine momentarily blinds you, as you try to adjust to the unexpected light.
It’s too dang early to be this bright.
You think to yourself, as you pull your jacket more tightly around you. After spending Sunday night at Grillby’s and most of the weekend out of your place, you’re long overdue a visit back home and a fresh change of clothes before you start your back-to-back shifts for the day.
At least I’ve still got a couple of hours before I need to get to work. Plus, if my stockroom shift at the club stays on schedule, I’ll have plenty of time to relax before my night shifts.
As you begin your long, meandering walk home, you can’t help but let your mind wander.
I should pick up some more groceries. There again, if I’m gonna be at work or dropping in to see Grillby just about every day over half-term, is it really worth restocking everything? Eh. That’s just lazy-me talking. It’s still better to get things in and to try meal prepping…or at least to stock up on breakfast bars and ramen cups, so I don’t have to waste money buying food while I’m at work.
You try not to groan. You hate grocery shopping at the best of times. When your funds are tight? It’s even less fun. As you wait at the lights to cross the street, your eyes wander, taking in the little row of mismatched stores.
Fancy coffee? Too expensive. Oooh, is that a monster candy store? I’ll have to come back after payday. And…
Your eyes linger on a tiny, cramped consignment store on the corner. Racks of second-hand clothing, handbags, and boots spill out onto the pavement, while an assortment of phones, rings, and knickknacks fill case upon case in the window.
Huh.
It’s been a while since you last thought about him.
It’s been a while since I last ran into Mutt. Maybe I was overthinking things after all.
Eyes lingering, you force yourself to keep walking, as the familiar flashing light starts and you rush to keep up with the small early morning crowd before the crossing timer is us.
I guess it was pretty self-centred of me to think someone like Mutt would take time out of his day to try and what, stalk me or something? Stars. What was I thinking? It was, like, one session. Anyone would be crazy to think that would lead to anything I should worry about.
You push down the little voice at the back of your head that tries to remind you that one session is more than enough to have a big impact.
It was all just a misunderstanding. Things happen. Heck, look at my drinking fuck-up with Grillbae. I’m sure it was all just one, big miscommunication. Though…I really should, like, find a book on monster-human cultural differences, etiquette, history, or something.
“I really don’t wanna keep embarrassing myself.” You murmur under your breath.
Pulling out your phone, you take a few minutes to pull up your university library portal to search for any promising monster-related books. You hadn’t expected a plethora of options, but you had been hoping for at least a few books to choose from.
Damnit. Nothing. Really? I’m disappointed in you guys. And here I thought you were pushing for diversity and equality. Fuck. Ok. Maybe I’ll have better luck at a used bookstore?
As you come to a stop at yet another crossing, you glance up from your phone. You’ve been moving on autopilot for several blocks. Pausing to get your bearings, you eye your phone thoughtfully.
Welp. There’s no time like the present and all that.
With a few clicks, you pull up google maps and start making your way to the nearest used bookstore. It’s not too far out of your way; you should have plenty of time to browse, speedwalk home for a change of clothes, and make it to the club in time.
You slowly come to a stop.
Huh. It really is closer than I thought. How didn’t I realise this was here sooner?
If you hadn’t been closely following the directions on your phone, you would have walked straight past it. The entryway - a single, dark green door - would be easy to miss. Crammed between a rundown-looking drycleaners and what has to be one of the dodgiest-looking pizza places you have ever seen, if it wasn’t for the little brass plaque beside the doorknob.
“Loox o’ Books.” You eye the nameplate. “I…feel like I’m missing something here.” Shaking your head, you pocket your phone as you gently push the door. You have some time to spare, but not that much.
A bell jingles above you, as you make your way inside. From the looks of the exterior, you had been expecting something dark, cramped and dingy.
Well, one out of three ain’t bad.
You crane your neck to look around the cramped, bright space. Soft yet well-worn orange carpets cover what you can see of the tightly packed room. Bookshelves upon bookshelves line the walls, some tilting precariously under the weight of their loads stacked as high as the ceiling in countless places. Shelves sag in the middle, you note, as you take a tentative step forward. The books seem to be arranged by colour, rather than title, subject, or author.
“What the…” A short laugh escapes, breaking the unnatural silence and stillness of the room. Despite the clearly worn nature of the store, you can’t see a speck of dust anywhere — nor any other customers. “Well. It’s certainly different.”
You glance around once more, keeping an eye out for any sign of other customers or staff. “Hello?” Making your way further into the narrow store, you’re surprised to find just how far back things seem to go.
How deep is this store?
Making your way through the winding bookcases, you pass through room after room. It feels like you should have hit the back wall by now for sure.
This is just getting silly. I should start looking before I really do run out of time.
You eye the next doorway.
I guess I may as well start here, and work my way back towards the front.
You think to yourself. Picking the nearest bookcase - this one crammed with all different shades of red, from garnet to cherry, cardinal to poppy - you begin running your fingers along the spines, checking each and every volume for a potential lead.
1001 Fruit Pies Through the Ages. The Red Book. Little Red. Puddin. Dracula. A Christmas Carol.
You shake your head at the sheer randomness of the order. Had someone really thought colour-coding was the best way to organise a bookstore?
You’ve got to give them credit for their variety of titles. It looks like they’ve got something for everyone.
You bite your lip, as you come across a copy of
Anonymous Sex
sitting beside a very battered copy of
Animal Farm.
You sigh. “This could take a while.”
“Have you got your eye out for something specific?”
Flinching, you take a step back. The bookcase behind you wobbles precariously, as you bump into it. Whirling around, your brow furrows, as you search for the source of the interruption. A polite cough draws your gaze downwards. It takes everything in you not to stare.
A giant eyeball with arms and legs stares back at you with a wide, toothy grin. The bright, orange glow of the overhead lights glints off of two curved horns that adorn his head, the tips of which can’t reach higher than your waist.
“Or did you just come here to look around?”
Embarrassment settles heavily in your stomach. You hadn’t meant to stare, but in all honesty, it’s still a rarity to come across monsters that are quite so monstrous-looking. Monsters that look like bunnies, spiders, cats, froggits, and dogs - while not exactly commonplace compared to their human counterparts, are at least more likely to be found mingling with most crowds. This is your first time seeing anything quite like
Him? It? Them?
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-” You gesture vaguely, before rubbing at the back of your head. The wide, toothy grin stretches just a little bit wider, showing off row upon row of sharp, pointed teeth. You feel the urge to run. “I was hoping to find a book?”
Oh for the love of…
It takes more willpower than you are willing to admit to remain in place, as the stupidity of your own words sinks in.
“Then you’re in the right place. Though I’d appreciate it if you would quit staring at me.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-” You cut yourself off, eyes locked firmly on the bookcase behind and to one side of the short, horned monster. “That was rude of me. I’m terribly sorry.”
“Huh. A human with manners. Maybe miracles really do happen.”
Your eyes dart between him and the bookcase. He’s already turning, ready to leave.
You knew that anti-monster sentiment was still a thing amongst a small but significant minority of humans. Yet somehow, it hadn’t occurred to you that a similar prejudice may be present amongst monsters.
Though, is it really the same kind of thing? Humans did lock monsters away for centuries. It can’t have been easy, living underground for generation after generation.
“I was hoping to find a book — ah, on a specific topic?” You try again. “I couldn’t find anything at my Uni’s library…”
And I really, really can’t afford to splurge money on something new. Plus, shopping locally over Amazon is way better for the environment and all.
“Well? I haven’t got all day.” You watch as his single, large pupil seems to contract, as though he’s narrowing his eye at you, foot tapping impatiently.
“I’m sorry.” You feel like a broken record. “I was hoping you might have something on monster history? Or etiquette, maybe?” Your voice grows smaller, as the short monster turns his attention fully on you. Teeth stretching wide, the sharp edge to his smile - if you could call it that - seems to widen further.
“And why would someone like
you
want something like
that
?” He takes a step forward. You take a step back. “We don’t get many of
your
kind in here. Much less asking for such unusual reading materials.”
“I. Um. I just…” You stumble over your words. Cheeks burning with embarrassment, you can feel a cold trickle of sweat making its way down the back of your neck. It feels like you’ve crossed some invisible boundary, broken some unspoken rule, without even realising it. You’re starting to feel like you should have tried Amazon after all.
Calm, deep breaths. It’s just a misunderstanding. Pause. Think before you speak. Try again.
He’s barely an arm’s length away from you now, his gaze unwavering. You can feel your knees threatening to buckle.
“...I keep messing things up?” Your high-pitched statement comes out as more of a question. You wince. “Kinda like I’m doing right now?” Fingers curling against your palms, you press each nail delicately against the soft skin beneath.
Calm. Focus.
“I thought learning more might help. Me. Um, mess up less. With customers…and friends…and my-”
Boyfriend? Dominant? Sexy fuck buddy?
“-partner? If you would be able to point me in the right direction…”
“Partner?”
You nod hesitantly. “I mean, I’m not sure if we’ve actually decided on, like, an official term for what we have…and I am 100% oversharing right now…” Eyes sliding closed, you count to three.
Screw it. I’ll ask Reddit; someone always has a free ebook copy they’re willing to share.
“I’m sorry for bothering you. I’ll just go now.”
“You look kind of familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”
You shake your head slowly. You would have remembered meeting him. “Um. Have you ever been to Sweet Release? I work behind the bar there. Or maybe the Uni?” He scoffs, shaking his whole body from side to side. “I don’t really hang out many other places, other than the store…or I guess studying at Grillby’s…”
“You’re allowed into Grillby’s?” He asks, a hint of disbelief marking his voice. “Which one?”
Brow furrowing, you ask, “There’s more than one? Is it, like, a franchise or something? I didn’t realise…” He taps his foot impatiently. “Oh! The…main one? Where Grillby…works?”
I work in customer service! How am I this bad at talking to new people?
“Er, it’s about…six blocks from here? Over by-”
“No shit?” You fall silent at his incredulous tone. “Grillby really lets a human hang around. While he’s working.” You nod again, as he shakes his head.
“Would it…be better if I came back another time? With Grillby?” Your question seems to bring him back from whatever train of thought he had been getting lost with. His hands - each with only three long, clawed digits, you note - come up nervously in front of him, wringing together.
“No! No, n-no. There’s no need for that. We wouldn’t want to bother Grillby over a little misunderstanding. You said you were after a book? Allow me.” He scurries further into the store before you can say a word. The faint sound of books rustling, a thump of something hitting the floor, and low, hurried muttering floats back to you.
Was it something I said?
Before you can finish debating following after him, he reappears with a single, thick book clutched between his claws. You squint at the battered cover, struggling to read the rust-coloured script:
From Ancient Origins to Modern Mayhem: A Comprehensive History of Monsterkind.
He thrusts the book at you. It’s heavier than expected. Older, too, if the cover is anything to go by.
There’s no way I can afford this.
“Um.”
“This is the best that I’ve got right now. Take it or leave it.” He calls behind him, as he begins making his way back to the front of the store. You hurry to keep up.
“Do you have anything newer? I’m not sure if my budget…” It hurts to admit it, but your budget really is tight. You had been hoping to find a battered copy of a mass-produced paperback, not something that looked like it should be kept locked up safely in a museum.
“That’s the latest edition!” He snaps. You watch as his eye widens, as though instantly regretting his response. “It’s infused with magic to keep up with any updates or amendments the authors may make. I wouldn’t expect a human…” His grumbles fall too low for you to make out the words, as he shuffles behind a tiny counter you had completely overlooked near the front of the store.
“I didn’t mean any offence. I was hoping to find something, ah, a little less…” You struggle to find the right words, watching as his scowl begins to deepen once more “...grand?”
His teeth twitch in what could pass for a faint semblance of a smile. “We only stock the finest here.” You have to hold back a snort, as a ripped paperback copy of
Fifty Shades of Grey
the shelf behind him catches your eye. “It’s good to see that at least some humans appreciate fine craftsmanship.”
“Thank…you?”
I think.
“About the price…”
You watch as he hops up on a tall, rickety stool behind the counter. Pulling out a thick notebook, he starts scanning through page after page of tiny, spindly handwriting, clearly searching for something. “I’m getting there. I take it paying in G won’t be a problem?”
“Er…” You’re pretty sure you’ve got a twenty in your wallet along with your debit card, but you’ve never had any need to keep G on hand. So few stores advertise prices in the currency considering the high exchange rate, it’s just not worth it for many humans to try and get their hands on it.
“No G? No book.” He snaps, holding out a clawed hand impatiently.
Disappointment settles in. Of
course
things couldn’t be that easy. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.” You apologise, running your fingers over the spine of the book one last time before holding it out for him to take. You had been so close.
“...I could be persuaded to make an exception. For a friend of Grillby’s. You are a friend of his? He lets you into his bar?” His eye searches you, seeking out any hint of deception.
“I wouldn’t exactly say we’re…friends.” You say slowly. A clawed hand begins to tug on the book, ready to pull it away. Your own hand clamps down. “We’re, um…he and I are…”
He and I need to have a full, open conversation about exactly what labels we’re using.
You can feel a blush creeping across your cheeks.
“No.”
You stumble back, as the counter-pull on the book disappears completely. As you look up to meet his eye, there’s something else there now. What is it? You can’t tell.
“It’s yours. No charge. In exchange for one favour — to be named at a later date.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly-”
It has to be super expensive. A rare, magic book, with actual magical updates, that’s only available with G? I’d be taking advantage to say yes in exchange for a simple favour.
“I insist. Do we have a deal?”
You eye the clawed hand, before carefully reaching out to shake it. You can feel a sharp scratch, as one of the sharpened tips drags down your palm, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake. Wincing, you pull away with a jerk.
“Thank you for your patronage. I look forward to seeing you again in the future.”
Dipping your head, you quickly make your way back to the door and the safety of the bright, cold mid-morning street.
Why do I get the feeling I missed something important?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“I could sleep for a week.” You groan, as you finally flop into one of the empty seats in the staffroom at Sweet Release. It’s long since past lunchtime, but you hadn’t thought to take a break, instead pushing past your body’s grumbles of discontent to try and get finished as soon as possible. Working fully behind the scenes is a lot more labour-intensive than you had expected, with none of the front-of-house benefits in the form of tips and friendly banter with your coworkers. At least it’s decent pay per shift, and if I finish early, I still get paid for the full amount of hours. I can’t really ask for more than that. You allow your head to fall onto the cool surface of the cheap, battered table. Strands of sweat-slicked hair stick to your forehead. You’re already dreading the cold shower that awaits you at the end of the night, after long hours shifting boxes, making lists, and trying to track down missing inventory. Maybe I can take a quick shower in the changing rooms, before heading to the store? It sounds like a promising idea, you think to yourself, as you fumble for your bag on the floor beside you. Seeking out the meagre granola bar you have with you for your late lunch, your fingers curl around something far larger and harder. Pulling, a familiar copy of From Ancient Origins to Modern Mayhem: A Comprehensive History of Monsterkind comes into view. How did I forget about you? Carefully placing the leatherbound book on the table, you run your fingers gently across the cover. Tracing rust-coloured cursive with the tip of your finger, you can feel a familiar eagerness take hold, anticipation building at the thought of getting to dive into an entirely new topic. Reaching for your bag once again, you pull out a battered notebook and pen. You just know you’re going to need to take notes.
I’ve got two hours until I need to be at the store. That means I can spend an hour reading. Better make that 45 minutes, if I want to try for that shower before I head out.
Timeframe firmly in mind, you set a series of alarms on your phone just in case you get lost in the rabbit hole of research. Again. Back in your first year at university, you had lost your first job at another corner store closer to campus, thanks to one too many late starts. You had long since learned your lesson to never start reading - or working on coursework - without having several alarms set.Careful fingers open the cover, as you take a moment to appreciate the pages. It doesn’t feel anything like the mass-produced paperbacks you are used to. It feels almost wrong to be touching something with so much history, without a protective layer of gloves separating you from the pages. Skipping past the dedications and foreword, you find the content page. Let’s see. Ancient origins...The Great Mage War… Founding New Home…A CORE history…The fallen…An introduction to stripes and other protective clothing…Knowing your districts… “There sure is a lot in here.” You say to yourself, unsure of where to begin. I can’t see anything that stands out as the best place to get started…Maybe I should ask Grillby if he’s got any suggestions? Flicking through the pages, you can feel pressure beginning to build behind your eyes. Soon, it begins to feel like the words are moving on the page, their meaning dancing just out of reach. Fell…horror…swap… The words alone don’t mean anything to you, and yet, they seem to jump off of the page. Swapfell…fellswap…underfell… The longer you try to look at the page, the more the pain seems to grow. Rubbing at your temples, you squint down at the looping cursive, determined to make sense of the words. I won’t fall at the first hurdle. I just need to have some water and something to eat, and then I can… You jolt, as the familiar beep-beep-beep of your timer goes off. Did I forget to cancel another alarm? It can’t have been 45 minutes already. I’ve barely looked at the content page. Picking up your phone, your eyes widen. Either your first two alarms didn’t go off, or you were more distracted than you realised. If you set off now without any breaks for a shower or refreshments, and jog most of the way, you should just about make it in time. What the fuck? Scrambling to gather your things, you push the book deep into the recesses of your bag, all signs and thoughts of your growing migraine gone without a trace.“Are you sure it’s not a problem?”“No, no, of course not! I’ll see you tomorrow.” You wave, as you close the door to the shop behind you. Now that you are out of sight, you allow your smile to become strained. You had been expecting to be on a double tonight. With Mondays being one of the slowest shifts of the week, it should have been an easy night, with plenty of time to relax, and easy (but much-needed) money. At least, it would have been if Ken hadn’t accidentally messed up the rota for who was meant to be on for the night. This is fine. One less shift isn’t going to bankrupt me. At least I still got to work for a few hours tonight. I’ll just…pick up anything extra that pops up over the next week or two. You try to convince yourself, as you huddle towards the edge of the safe glow of the storefront. It’s just after midnight. You could head home for a cold shower and an early night. Or I could see if Grillby’s is still open. What time do they close up on Mondays? Clicking through to google, you let out a frustrated huff at the lack of opening hours listed. How the heck do they stay open, without a proper website or any social media presence? I mean, the food is good, don’t get me wrong. But it’s not exactly the easiest place to find, if you aren’t already looking for it. You eye your messages, weighing up the pros and cons of potentially bothering Grillby if he’s busy or, in the case of a rare early night, asleep. We’ve been through this. I need to stop overthinking things. Message him. You tell yourself sternly, before clicking through to the right message thread.. Me [00:03] Hey Grillbae. Me [00:04] Up to much tonight?Shifting from one foot to the other, you find yourself regretting your decision not to bring a warmer coat with you. You watch your breath come out in little puffs in the frigid late-night air. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I should just head home. You glance at your messages once more as the minutes slowly tick by. Still nothing.Me [00:14] Sorry about that! You must be having a busy one. I’ll leave you to it.Me [00:16] Unexpected night off. I’m gonna head home.Me [00:17] Catch you tomorrow!Before you can lock your phone and pop it back in your pocket, the screen lights up with an incoming call. “Hello? Oh! Grillbae.” A smile curls on your lips, as your stomach does a familiar backflip at the sound of his voice. I hope this feeling never goes away. “Sorry for interrupting. My shift ended earlier than expected, and I was thinking of maybe coming over? If you’re still open? And not tired of seeing me.” You laugh, trying to play it off as a joke, while that small, uncertain part of you pipes up that you’ve spent an awful lot of time together recently; it’s only natural to want, no, need, time apart. “Oh really? If you’re sure I wouldn’t be a bother…OK. I’ll just - erm…I was planning on walking? I always walk…There really is no need…no, no — absolutely not. I couldn’t ask you to…I mean, yes, I’m…If you’re sure? But just this once - I mean it!” I didn’t realise Grillby was so protective. There really is no need to get me a taxi. They are so expensive. You know that, if not for the fire elemental’s insistence, you never would have considered ordering a taxi, no matter what the time of night. I guess just this one time won’t hurt. You try to convince yourself, as feelings of guilt begin to creep in. It’s not really that big of a deal to be walking alone at this time of night. Soon, you find yourself thawing out in the back of a taxi. As you pull up outside of the bar, you can see a familiar purple form waiting beneath the awning off to one side. The bright lights over the bar itself are switched off for the night, with no signs of light or movement behind the frosted windowpanes. “Keep the change.” Grillby holds out several folded bills through the window towards the driver, before he steps around to hold your door open for you. Pink dusts your cheeks, as he takes your hand, wordlessly slinging your workbag over his shoulder before helping you out. “This is an unexpected but welcome surprise. My apologies for the delay in responding; I was trying to convince the last of the night’s stragglers to leave.”Following behind him, you make your way to the side entrance, bypassing the bar to make your way upstairs to Grillby’s apartment. “No apologies necessary! I’m the one who messaged out of the blue. There’s never any hurry to respond or anything, especially if you’re busy.” “Nonsense. One should never keep a beautiful lady waiting.” Feeling flushed, you smile up at Grillby as he holds the door open for you yet again. As it closes silently behind you both, you lean up on tiptoes, unable to resist any longer, as you press a kiss against his cheek.“Sorry.” You apologise, taking a step back. “You just…say the sweetest things sometimes. I couldn’t help myself.”Warn flames cup your chin, tilting your head up to face him. “You never have to apologise for something like that. In fact, I encourage it.” A warm, tingling pressure dances across your bottom lip, as Grillby’s tongue flicks out, coaxing your lips apart. The sharp yet gentle brush of a single fang against your delicate skin prompts you closer, as you eagerly let him in.As you press against him, hands automatically coming up to clutch at his immaculate, lightly pinstriped waistcoat, you can’t help but wince at the uncomfortable shift within your own clothes. Cold, still barely slick sweat sticks the fabric of your work shirt to your skin, tugging uncomfortably at the dust and grime-covered flesh. Ew. This is why I should have made time for a shower earlier. You think to yourself with a flush of embarrassment, taking half a step back. “I, um, didn’t have time to shower between shifts.” Brushing down the fabric of his waistcoat, a small part of you notes that at least you didn’t seem to leave behind any sticky marks. Wouldn’t that have been mortifying… “Would you like to have a shower now, while I find something for us to eat?” He offers, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “I thought you would still be working at this time.”“That would be amazing. If you wouldn’t mind?” You say gratefully. A hot, steamy shower, food that Grillbae’s made, and time together? Today. Is. Awesome! “My last shift was accidentally double-booked, so they needed to send one of us home.”Trailing behind Grillby, you smile as he exchanges your bag for a fresh towel and robe. You keep meaning to get around to leaving some spare clothes behind for emergencies, but a small part of you is worried that would be too presumptuous. Open, honest dialogue. I need to start practising what I preach. Before you can get the words out, you notice Grillby’s frown.“That does not sound fair. It was their mistake. Will they at least pay you for your time?”You shift uncomfortably, your smile becoming strained. “I mean, the time I was there. It’s no big deal. I’ve got plenty of hours scheduled this week.” “Hmm.”You watch, as Grillby makes his way back towards the kitchen, leaving you to shower. I know it’s not fair. But I need the money. And there are only so many jobs that can work around my classes and the hours I already do at the club. It’s not like there’s a host of barely above minimum wage jobs within a commutable distance, just waiting for the right broke student. Leaving your clothes in a pile by the door, you are quick to dive beneath the inviting, steamy spray. A sign of pure pleasure leaves you, as the heat of the shower begins sinking into your chilly limbs, chasing away hours' worth of sweat, aches, and dirt. I want to marry this shower. Does Grillbae even need it? That’s it; we’re eloping. Shower: you shall be mine. Lost in your own world, you don’t hear Grillby’s approaching footsteps until a voice sounds just feet away. “I could always do with another pair of hands.”You jump, barely catching yourself before you can slip and fall. You watch as Grillby’s flames flicker for a moment, taking on a lighter hue. He’s totally laughing at me. “What was that? Oh! You don’t have to do that.” You say as you spot the bundle of dirty clothes in his arms. “I can totally get those washed at home.”“If you would prefer another place of employment to the store. I could always do with another pair of hands during the week. I have been told that our lack of…diversity…on the staff roster may be offputting for some of our newer customers. And I have seen how dedicated you are to your work and customers at the club.” Give up my job at the store? I couldn’t possibly… Thoughts racing, you can think of a dozen reasons why it is an awful idea. What if we break up? What if dating the boss makes things awkward with other staff? Or with Grillby? What happens when I mess things up and get fired? Or get dumped AND fired - I couldn’t work for Grillbae if we weren’t dating, that would be too weird. What if… “It was just a thought. There is no pressure either way. It is good to know that you have options. And I can assure you that I pay all of my employees more than fairly.” Grillby’s soft tone makes your stomach settle, the edge of panic starting to wane. Before you can gather your thoughts, the bathroom door clicks shut behind him, and you are left to your own devices once more.
Well…that’s one more thing to think slash worry about. Shit. I better get out of the shower before I use up all of the hot water.
Bare feet pad across dark wooden floorboards and well-worn rugs, as you make your way through the apartment. Towelling your hair try with one hand, the other tugs at the belt on your robe, pulling the deep plum satin tightly closed. You can feel the faint chill of the air fading, as you draw closer to the kitchen and the delicious smells permeating from within. “Whatcha cookin', good lookin'?” You ask, as you make your way inside. Pausing, your eyes scan the room; instead of standing by the stove as you had expected, Grillbae is by the table. Your bag sits on the immaculately clean yet well-worn surface, a familiar book no longer within its recesses. “Where did you get this?” Your own question dies on your lips, as Grillby’s soft words sink in. There’s something about his tone that doesn’t quite sit right with you. Why…was he going through my bag? Did I leave it open? Eyes darting between your bag, the book, and Grillby’s face, you can feel his gaze locked on you. “I picked it up at a secondhand bookstore this morning. There’s this really cool place a few blocks over. I thought…” It feels silly now, to say it out loud. Why did I wait so long to learn more about monster culture, history, and customs? I’m so bad at this. Looking down, your embarrassment prickles at you. What if he’s insulted you waited this long to try and learn more? You should already know some of the basics, shouldn’t you? Or what if he’s insulted I didn’t ask him, instead of looking through books? “You thought?” He pushes. I may as well get this over with. What’s done is done. “I thought that, maybe, if I read up about monster culture and customs, I might stop fucking up so much.” You can feel tears beginning to rise. You’re angry at yourself for waiting so long, for not just asking Grillby or Cindi or Teddy or Coco or any of the dozens of monster friends and acquaintances you have. You’re angry at Grillby for making what was turning out to be a nice night into something far less pleasant, for going through your personal belongings. “I thought if I knew more about monsters, I wouldn’t keep messing things up. I really, really like you, Grillby. I don’t want to feel like I’m walking on eggshells all of the time, not knowing when I’m gonna say or do something that might be really offensive to you or any of my monster friends, and not even realise it. I’m sorry if I should have just asked. But…” You shake your head, forcing yourself to look up and meet his searching gaze once again. “Why would you go through my stuff like that?”Silence falls between you for several painfully long moments. As the seconds stretch on, you can see Grillby searching your face for something. Whatever it is, he doesn’t seem to find it. You frown, as his posture relaxes, settling into something far more familiar. “I apologise. I did not mean to go through your things. I dropped your bag, and this fell out.” You glance down; now that you look closer, you can see an empty granola wrapper on the floor, and what looks like the corner of your notebook peeking out from behind a table leg. “It was, it never would be, my intention to search through your private things. Nor did I realise how uncomfortable you felt about your knowledge — or rather, lack thereof — of monster culture. It is easy to forget that humankind has forgotten much of what they once knew of us. And we have learned, over the centuries, not to give up that knowledge too freely. I had not considered how it must feel, to know so little about one that you are…interested in.”You flush, as Grillby chooses his words carefully. Of course he wouldn’t search through my things. He’s such a gentleman. What was I thinking? Self-doubt settles in, as Grillby carefully lays the book on the table between you. “Such books are a rarity, even amongst my kind. I did not mean to come across so…”You cut him off with a wave and a hesitant smile. “Let’s just call it one big misunderstanding, shall we?” He frowns, slowly shaking his head. You push on. “How about this. I actually ask next time there’s something I’m not sure about, or when I come across something in that book that I don’t understand. And you promise to not get too offended or laugh at me if I ask, like, a really dumb question?”“The pursuit of knowledge rarely results in dumb questions. Just queries that you do not yet know how to properly form.” Grillby’s gaze lingers on the book. “Where did you say you found this?”“Oh! Ah, there was this small place - Loox o’ Books? It’s just a few blocks from here. I thought they might have some cheap paperbacks or something, not…” You flush, gesturing at the clearly old and expensive book. “Loox. Of course.” You watch, as royal purple flames darken to a rich byzantium before flickering back to their usual shade. “How much G did he charge?”You hesitate.“He has a nasty habit of overcharging humans. And monsters that let him get away with it.” “Oh. He didn’t…I mean…” You twist the towel between your fingers, trying to think of the best way to explain that you couldn’t afford any price in G, much less what Loox had been asking. “He just said I would owe him…a favour? To be decided at a later…date…” You trail off, eyes wide. Grillby’s usually steady flames flare, growing almost twice in size. Instinctively, you take a step back. “He did what?” Grillby’s eyes flick back to you, taking in your unnatural stillness, as you stay frozen in place. “I…that is to say…” He takes a deep, steadying breath, flames retreating to a more normal level. “I shall deal with it. Owing someone a favour — an unspecified one at that, without clearly defined limits, boundaries, expectations…” He shakes his head. “Any monster should — no, would — would know better. He should not have asked that of you. Of any human. I will ensure it does not happen again.” Shrinking into yourself, you nod hesitantly. Did I…really mess up that badly? “You could not have known. It never occurred to me…” He shakes his head. “It would seem that we both need to work on our communication. I would be unable to forgive myself if something were to happen to you because I did not have the forethought to share our customs.”“We could…call it a learning experience all around, and go ahead with that plan of cuddling with snacks?” You suggest softly. He smiles at you, inclining his head. “If that is what you would prefer. Though please; promise me you will not hesitate to ask any questions, big or small.” “Sure.” You agree readily. Shuffling over towards the table, you gather your scattered things, pushing them back into your bag, as Grillby makes his way towards the stove. As your eyes land once more on the book that started it all, you can’t help but think back to your strange afternoon, trying to read its contents. “Hey, um…can I ask something…that I started reading in the book?”“Of course.”“I didn’t get very far. I must have gotten distracted. I had this killer migraine…” You wince at the memory, almost missing the sharp look Grillby sends your way. “I think it mentioned something about different districts? I thought the Underground was just one big place. Were things that different down there, like, were districts like different counties, or more like different countries? Which one were you from? What was it like?” The words seem to tumble out of you, excitement building, now that the initial dam holding back your questions is broken.A low chuckle meets your deluge of questions. “We had both different districts and areas within. The Underground is a truly vast place. We do not speak of it much with outsiders, mainly for the protection of those who have chosen to remain below. Not all see the surface as a place of safety and second chances.” You watch, as Grillby seems to get lost in his thoughts. You had never thought of what had happened to the Underground since monsters had begun emerging. There are still some living down there? Even after all this time? Your mind flashes to the news. So many headlines featuring anti-monster rhetoric, and so many politicians still debating the necessity of basic human rights for all sentient creatures, not just humankind. So many protests still. Would I really feel welcome, if things were in reverse, and monsters treated humans like so many of us still treat them? “What was it like where you were from? Do you miss it? Was it…nice?” Besides the whole, y’know, being trapped thing. But maybe it wasn’t all bad? Grillby remains silent, as he begins splitting food between two plates. “Most monsters will not volunteer which district they are from. It is often instinctual, one could say. No monster needs to explain where they are from; we just know. To ask such a thing would be considered highly impolite. One should always wait for such information to be explicitly shared, or heavily implied, by the individual themselves.”Trailing behind Grillby, you make your way towards the overstuffed couch. You smile hesitantly, as he hands you one of the plates. You hadn’t thought such a simple question would be a potential minefield. “I myself am from one of the districts that are considered to be somewhat…contentious. It was far from the worst of the districts I could have chosen to reside within. But it has its own unique challenges and is still considered by many to be one of the…harsher areas to have lived in. I prefer not to speak of it.” A warm hand reaches out to lightly stroke your own, fingers twining together against the soft satin covering your lap. “Not many humans are interested in or aware of our history. And those who are…you can understand, why we are hesitant to share. It may be best not to reveal your interest unless others bring things up first.” You nod hesitantly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked…”“No. I want you to feel you are always able to come to me with a question, with any question, that you may have. Please understand that I will not always feel comfortable answering those questions. But that does not mean that they should not be asked.” I…think that makes sense? You murmur your agreement, mind racing. If Grillby is from one of the rougher areas, with his dapper looks and over-the-top charm, how can you tell who is from which area? And which are even considered ‘good’ or ‘bad’? Does it even matter? That thought brings you up short. I…wouldn’t care if I found out one of my classmates was from a poor area, or somewhere known for crime. Why should I focus so much on where monsters are from? How is it really going to help me to learn more about our cultural differences, if I get bogged down in those kinds of details? “Thank you for understanding.” Glancing up, you look across at Grillby. A faraway expression is fixed on his face, brow drawn. “And for not pushing. Some things…” You lean forward, struggling to hear the soft, low words. “Some things are best left in the past. Are best left unsaid. I would not go back and change anything. Each choice I made…each and every decision led me to become who I am, to where I am today. But I would rather dust than go back to that place.”Something cold and heavy settles in your stomach. You can’t help but wonder: Just how bad was it down there?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
I wish I could wake up feeling like this every morning.
Everything feels warm and soft and safe. As you slowly begin waking up, awareness starts to return. You can’t help but snuggle down deeper within the cocoon of plush sheets, burrowing your face into the overstuffed pillows that line the head of Grillby’s bed. Stretching, your body feels boneless. A deep sense of satisfaction radiates out from every pore of your being.
Well. Almost every morning.
You push down that traitorous thought with a frown. You would never complain about your time with Grillby.
Has anyone ever made me cum so many times in one night? My clit is still freaking numb.
But you can’t help but feel a faint pang of disappointment, each time you wake up with no marks to show for your nighttime escapades, and no long-lasting ache to see you through the days to come.
Don’t be greedy. Not everyone is that into painplay or leaving marks. Grillbae is, frankly, the best thing that has ever happened to me. And I shouldn’t be so…
So what? You shouldn’t miss the deep-seated ache of a good spanking, leaving your ass mottled purple and blue from curve to crease? You shouldn’t long for the sting of barely-there rope burns beneath your clothes, each brush of fabric reminding you of hours of fun, of torment, of teasing, of the final, sweet, earned release.
…so needy.
It feels like both a lifetime ago and only yesterday since everything that happened at the club. Yet, some small part of you can’t help but worry that you won’t be able to move on, to prove to yourself that you can still enjoy all of the kinks you have spent years exploring, if you don’t get back on the horse and experience something a little…edgier, than Grillby seems to be comfortable with.
I wonder if he’s holding back. Maybe he thinks I’m too delicate, ever since…
You shake your head, trying to banish the thought. Grillby has never looked at you with pity, and has always treated you with respect. Why would that change now?
“Good morning.”
Edging your way up the bed, you beam as the door pushes open to reveal your favourite fire elemental carrying a tray laden down with breakfast dishes. The smell alone is enough to make your stomach rumble. Grillby settles the tray beside you, leaning across to press a searing kiss against your swollen lips.
While he may be gentle compared to your typical choice of play partners, that doesn’t mean no marks at all were left behind. Still numb from overstimulation against your clit, you can feel the faint, barely-there ghost of kisses and bites littering your thighs and breasts. Your wrists give the faintest tingle — more like the itch of an almost-healed sunburn — as you reach for a steaming cup of tea and freshly made eggs.
“How are you feeling this morning? I wasn’t too rough last night, I hope?” Gentle fingers reach out to massage the faint pink marks encircling your wrists. His flames had momentarily grown too hot against the handcuffs you had worn the night before, making the body-warm metal turn uncomfortably hot. Grillby had noticed long before any accidental damage could be done. Yet, part of you still wants to know what that would feel like to have that overwhelming heat pressed directly against your skin.
A small laugh escapes before you realise, drawing his attention. “No, no. You’re never too rough.” Smiling at him reassuringly, a comfortable silence falls between you. Maybe I should just…ask him? Instead of worrying like I always do? That would be the mature thing, right? You take a steadying breath. “I’m…do you ever…”
He tilts his head quizzically, turning his attention away from the morning paper to fully focus on you.
“You’re not…being careful with me, because of what happened. Are you?”
He looks at you quizzically for several long seconds. Realisation seems to slowly dawn on his face. He shakes his head. “I am not. Did I…is there something that I did that displeased you? Or is there something missing that I can be of assistance with?”
Something in your chest loosens, at the confirmation that he hasn’t been holding back because of that. You don’t know what you would have done had that been the case. “No, no. Stars, I love everything you do.” You push at his arm playfully, as a slow, smug smirk unfurls on his face. “I can honestly say I’ve never had a partner like you, playwise or otherwise…”
“But?” The gentle prompting doesn’t sound defensive.
That’s a good start. Should I really say it?
You take another deep breath. “I miss feeling where my edges are.” You wince at your own choice of words. Grillby nods for you to continue. “Stars, it sounds fucked up when I say it out loud.” A hand reaches for yours, squeezing gently. You squeeze back. “I miss…hurting sometimes. Not like — not like
he
made me hurt,” you stumble at the mere thought of putting that experience in the same category as what you are trying to explain.
“Sometimes, you like a different kind of ache than the one that I give you?” The warm touch of his hand on yours flares momentarily, heating against your skin, as Grillby’s gentle words coax you back from the edge of panic. You nod gratefully.
“It’s cathartic. Getting to say how much I want to feel, and what kind of feelings. It’s…like a release. It helps me feel where my body ends and the rest of the world begins. I love what we do — I really, honestly, truly do. You make the world shrink until I can’t see or feel or remember anything outside of where you’re touching me. Until I can’t hear anything but your voice, waiting for you to tell me when to wait, when to release, where to focus.”
Fingers gently pry your fingers open, as you instinctively try to dig your nails into the soft flesh of your hands. It’s a habit years in the making that you haven’t been able to break. “But too much pleasure, and I feel…lost. It’s too much, but…not…in an entirely good way?” It comes out as more of a question than a statement. “I really like when you lose control and accidentally burn me. Is that…something we could try and do on purpose?”
“I am sorry for losing control like that.” He says softly. You can feel your stomach sinking, as he shakes his head slowly. “I…need time to consider, if I would trust myself to do such a thing with you, purposefully.”
That makes sense.
“Of course. I wouldn’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, Grillbae. I wouldn’t ever want you to feel pressured to do something you didn’t want to. These things go both ways.” You remind him, as you lean in to rest your head against his shoulder. Reaching for your still steaming cup of tea, you can feel your panic beginning to settle.
I should have known I could trust Grillbae.
All too soon, the silence is broken. “That…does not mean that you should forgo the type of play that you need.”
His words feel like an icy bucket against your spine. Eyes widening, you lean back, heart beating in your throat. “No! I don’t need-” You choke on the words, panic returning in full force. The thought of losing Grillby over such a thing hadn’t even occurred to you.
You wish you could take the words back. You can feel your vision beginning to narrow.
“Calm, my love. Can you hear me? That’s it. Listen to my voice. Breathe for me. Deeply. Can you follow my voice? Inhale for five. One. Two. Three…”
Everything feels fuzzy around the edges, as you struggle to focus on Grillby’s familliar warmth.
I’m going to loose him because of how fucked up I am. I only just found him, and I’m going to lose him. This is why I don’t date. Why I don’t look for more. It’s not worth it. It’s never worth it. It hurts too much.
“I need you to calm down. That’s it. Exhale for seven. One. Two. Three…”
Too warm hands rest against your bare thighs. A familiar tingle-itch emanates from the pinkish-red skin. You aren’t the only one struggling to stay calm.
“I did not mean to cause this. I only meant to suggest that we discuss boundaries around other play partners.”
“Other?” You can barely get the word out, as it sticks in your throat.
“Yes. As well as, not instead. I would never wish to hold you back if you are not getting everything you need from our dynamic.”
“You weren’t….I’m not…I’m still…” Thoughts racing, you try to find the best way to explain your fear. “...I’m…enough?”
“Oh. Oh, my love.” You struggle momentarily, all too aware of the tears streaming down your face, causing his flames to faintly pop and hiss as he draws you in close against his chest. “Not all dynamics are about if one person is enough for the other. We are not all made for a single person.”
You can feel your tears continuing to flow, as his words sink in.
I’m not enough.
“I fear it is I who is not enough for you.”
You shake your head. Grillby is more than enough. He’s more than you have ever allowed yourself to wish for.
How could he think that?
“I-I would never-”
Lips press gently against your forehead. You fall silent.
“I know. I trust you. You are enough. But that does not mean that we - that
you
- cannot still play with others. If that would give you something that I…may not be able to.”
You focus on the hands tracing soothing patterns against your skin, as you let his words sink in. The last — and only — serious relationship you had been in, had had quite the different attitude to polyamory. “I wouldn’t want to make you-”
“No,” he cuts you off, “You would not make me do anything. I merely wished to present the option, so we could discuss boundaries and comfort levels. I in no way intended to imply otherwise.”
“Is it…something that you want? Other partners?” You watch, as he considers his words carefully.
“I have, in the past, enjoyed the company of more than one partner at once. Play, romantic, and somewhere in between. It is not something that I currently feel the need for. It takes some time for me to feel a…connection, beyond play. And as I have said, I do not like to play without a connection. It can be quite the conundrum to find suitable partners. I am content with what I have now. I would like more, in fact. I had not realised you thought our…relations…could so easily be ended. But that is a conversation for another time.”
“So then, what…” You trail off.
What exactly are you offering? I don’t understand.
“I would like to be your safe call, if you were to seek out other casual partners. If you were to find something more, I would prefer to meet them. To discuss things beforehand. To gain a better understanding of what type of dynamic you might share with another. But that would be negotiable. I would not want to make either of you uncomfortable. I want you to be happy and safe. Knowing that you could find that happiness with both myself and another…would not diminish my own happiness in any way.”
Tilting your head back, you search his face for any signs of deception. Purple flames flicker rhythmically, their colour and patterns unchanged. Quietly, you admit the one thing weighing heaviest on your mind. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t. Not over something like this. I am so glad that you felt comfortable enough speaking to me about what you need. Thank you.”
You laugh. “I don’t think anyone’s ever thanked someone for giving out a free pass before.”
“It’s not a free pass. You do recognise that?”
Wincing, you nod. “Sorry. That was…a poor joke on my part. Of course it’s not. I know that. I just can’t believe…”
That I can have you, and still look for anything else I may need. Isn’t that just…greedy? Wrong?
“That is ok. We have all the time in the world to discuss such things, and to find what works for us.”
He really means that, doesn’t he?
“I can’t believe how lucky I am to have found you.”
“I believe it is I that is the lucky one.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Am I really going to do this?
Staring at yourself in the mirror, you weigh up your options. It’s finally Thursday, one of your only work-free evenings of the week. Having managed to squeeze a rare double morning shift in at the store, you’re looking at one of your only completely free evenings over your university break.
I could spend the evening at Grillby’s. Maybe I could help out as a kind of free trial shift slash thanks for all the free food, I swear I’m not a freeloader, combi kind of deal.
Nervous, you reach down to brush your against the flared fabric dress, straightening the loose folds of soft fabric that drape around your thighs. Your fingers linger, checking fishnet stockings for any signs of unwanted tears or snags. Despite your uncertainty, you had made sure to pick out an outfit that is both comfortable yet gives you an edge of confidence. I look damn good. I’ve got this. Hopefully, it should leave you feeling like you fit in without standing out too much from the crowd, whether you head to Grillby’s or the club. Glancing at yourself one last time in the mirror, you take a moment to pull the lacing in your corset just half an inch tighter. You can feel the tightness inside your chest lessening as the boning constricts, providing a welcome, unmissable squeeze. It’s grounding in a way that has become all to unfamiliar in recent weeks. It’s a reminder of the myriad of small, half-forgotten things that you have been denying yourself for too long. Maybe Grillby was right. I really shouldn’t hold back, just because of what might happen. You bite your lip uncertainly before cursing, the smudge of seldom-worn lipstick staining your teeth unmistakably. As you take time to wipe your lips clean and start over again, you can’t help but ask yourself, Why am I even considering this again? Oh yes. Because I’m apparently a massive masochist. In more ways than one. It’s been days, but you haven’t been able to get your conversation with Grillby out of your head. Could things really be so simple? Could you really have it all, and not risk losing him?
I guess there’s only one way to find out.
“Oh, hey! I didn’t know you were scheduled to work tonight.” You smile at Ami’s warm greeting, leaning over the podium to give the familiar brunette a hug. It feels like a lifetime since you last saw her in person. When was the last time we caught up? Shit. It must have been a while. I really need to start turning up to all of my study groups again, if I don’t want to fall behind after spring break is up. Well, even further behind. “Ah, nope; no work for me tonight.” Leaning back, you start to pull off your coat, ready to check it in. You wave at the security guard standing off to one side - a young, dark-haired man that looks vaguely familiar - before sliding your bag up onto the table, ready for a quick safety check. It was just one of the new safety measures Bosslady had introduced over the past few weeks, but so far, there has been little pushback from regulars or newcomers alike. “Ooooh! I knew you couldn’t stay away for long.” Ami’s teasing lilt sits uncomfortably with you, as she pulls out a box of brightly coloured wristbands. Perfectly manicured hands hold out a familiar green wristband. In all of the years of coming to Sweet Release, it’s been your go-to band of choice: Open and looking for play.“Erm, actually…I’ll just grab one of these.” Avoiding her gaze, you reach into the box to pull out a band you never thought you would need. You slip the purple rubber around your wrist, a clear sign that you are open for negotiations but already part of an existing dynamic. “I’ll catch up with you later.” You gather your things before she can get out another word, scurrying into the main hallway beyond the already busy entryway. It sure is crowded for a Thursday. Plus, it’s still pretty early. You can’t help but think, as you pause in the corridor, giving yourself a moment to gather your thoughts and recentre yourself. Calm, happy thoughts. This is supposed to be a fun thing. There’s absolutely no pressure. If it happens, it happens. If not…that’s ok. Your fingers twitch towards your bag, itching to check your messages. You know you shouldn’t. You really should have checked your phone in at the same time as your coat, but you can’t help yourself. Glancing around to make sure the coast is clear, you pull out your phone. A soft smile crosses your lips, as you skim past your study group chat to pull up the latest messages from Grillby. A single selfie, showing off a tantalising glimpse of purple flames beneath the collar of his tastefully unbuttoned, crisp white shirt. A hint of a familiar dark plum fabric - an untied bowtie, you would bet - lays open, drawing your eye down, making you wish that the photo didn’t cover quite so much up. Grillbae. What are you doing to me? Biting your lip, you shift, thighs lightly pressing together as the first hints of arousal begin making themselves known. You could be sitting in a booth at his bar right now, watching his every move, with any number of wicked little toys filling you up or teasing you mercilessly for hour after hour, until you could have the flame elemental’s attention all to yourself. Another time. That’s not what I need tonight, and I know it. If I don’t push myself now, maybe I never will. You think to yourself, as you type out a quick message to Grillby, before pocketing your phone once more. It’s a comforting, familiar weight against your hip. Though…there’s no harm in taking extra safety precautions. As you walk through the winding corridors, you linger at each doorway, scoping out how busy things are and who is out and about playing tonight. You spot a familiar fluffy head off to one side of your regular bar. Oh crap. I didn’t think Teddy was working tonight. You quickly move to the next room, hoping his keen sense of smell hasn’t picked up on your presence. Passing through open play spaces, past half-filled seats and scattered tables, you keep an eye out for any other familiar faces. The further you venture, the deeper you can feel tendrils of anxiety begin to take hold. Brushing your hands against your stocking-clad thighs, you resist the urge to bite at your nails. Your lips are already beginning to feel sore from absentmindedly worrying them. This is fine. I’m fine. There’s literally no pressure. It will be great if things do work out, but if they don’t, it’s not the end of the world. It’s…this is fine. You repeat to yourself, over and over. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, interrupting your internal mantra. Without thinking, you pull it out, checking your messages with a soft smile.“i thought phones weren’t allowed out here.”You fumble, barely catching your phone before it can hit the ground. “Oh, fuck!” Overbalancing, you catch yourself on your knees before you (or your phone) can fully hit the floor. You can feel your heartbeat racing once more at the near miss. A broken phone is the last thing that you need. “back for another round?”Your eyes lock on a familiar pair of thick, buckle-lined black and silver boots. Slowly, you drag your gaze upwards, taking in the low-slung black jeans and haphazardly fastened belt. You would recognise that fur-lined leather jacket anywhere. “It’s been a while.” You say softly, eyes flicking up to meet his golden-amber eyelights. Surprise flickers across his skull, as he scans you, as though looking for something. I suppose I didn’t leave the best impression the last time we ran into each other. You think back to your run-in at the thrift store with a wince. I…could have handled things better. “How have you been?”Long, slender fingerbones reach up to remove a lit cigarette from between sharp teeth, snuffing out the purple-glowing tip with a faint hiss. Your face scrunches up, as he tilts back his head, flicking the crumpled cigarette into his open mouth. You watch, fascination mixed with horror, as his amber-gold tongue curls around the stub, drawing it back into the pitch-black abyss.
That…is truly disgusting.
“didn’t realise we were at the small talk stage.” He raises a brow bone at you, hands making their way into the depths of his pockets as he slouches back and away from you. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was trying to make himself appear smaller, less intimidating. But why would he do that? “thought we were stuck at the ‘it’s not a monster thing, it’s a you-thing?’” You wince at the reminder. It had felt good to say at the time, but maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea after all. What am I thinking? Of course it was a good idea. He’s a complete dick. Sexy and mysterious don’t make up for a lack of common courtesy. You think back to Grillby’s hushed words, about different etiquette and experiences Underground. I mean…they’ve all had time to learn since getting aboveground. A little voice pipes up at the back of your mind: so have you. It’s been years since the first monsters surfaced, yet you’ve only just started looking into their history, customs and culture. Maybe…BDSM play etiquette wasn’t at the top of their list, what with the life-changing move back above ground, sudden freedom, and fight for equality and all. Lifting your gaze, you meet Mutt’s eyelights once more. Shit. Am I really going to do this? “Well, I thought the wide-eyed running and hiding stage wasn’t working for us, so why not try something new?” As you stand, a hand reaches out to steady you. His bones are warmer than you remember, though nothing like the warmth you are used to feeling from Grillby. He lingers, the texture of his bones - a thousand tiny, unseen knicks, cracks and scratches covering the surface - reminding you of just how it had felt to have those same bones elsewhere on your body, making you feel — making you hurt — just right. Your breath catches as you meet his gaze once more. There’s something about him that, no matter how hard you try, you cannot forget. This is crazy. It was just a one-night stand. There’s no reason for me to be so, so…preoccupied? You refuse to call it an obsession. A small part of you wonders if this is a bad idea. Yet you can’t help but think, at least I know what to expect. At least this is someone I know something about. He takes a step back. The moment is gone, no traces of the heat or tension between you lingering. “a bit late for that.” You frown, confused, before following his gaze. “Ah. That.” You hold up your purple banded wrist with a wry smile. This is fine. I’m safe. I’m at the club. I have Grillbae on speed dial. Plus, Grillbae is happy for me to find someone to play with. I…kind of know Mutt, and at least some of what to expect. I just need to get over my nerves. “I was hoping to find you. I thought maybe, we could pick up our discussions, where we last left things? Well. Not the running away from each other in the thrift store thing. But…” You take a steadying breath. “I’m just gonna be quiet. Do you want a drink? I could really do with a drink.”You make your way towards the bar — not your first choice of the half dozen or so available scattered throughout the club, but not the worst option available — on unsteady legs. You hadn’t expected to feel this nervous. If you were being honest with yourself, you hadn’t expected to find Mutt on your first night out. Flagging the bartender down — a blonde you don’t recognise, but who greets you and takes your order with a smile — you’re surprised when Mutt slides into the seat beside you, ordering his usual hotsauce-based drink without pause.Before the silence between you can become any more stifling, he speaks up. “i thought poly wasn’t your kind of thing.”“It wasn’t. Isn’t?” You shake your head, a frown creasing on your brow. “I’m…open to trying different things right now. Casual is…good?” There’s an uncertain edge to your voice that Mutt picks up on, if the raising browbone is anything to go by. You wince, trying again. “Regular-casual…would be better.” You admit, shrugging at the searching look Mutt now sends your way. You meet his gaze, as he leans against the bartop, amber-gold eyelights scanning you. The thrumming, rhythmic pounding of the bass feels calming. It takes everything in you not to fill the quiet between you with nervous chatter. Finally, your drinks arrive; a michelada for Mutt, and a tall, icy cranberry orange mocktail for you. While a part of you would like something stronger to help settle your nerves, you know that letting your guard down even a little bit is a bad idea. It had taken more than you would like to admit to even make it to the club by yourself, let alone start looking for someone to potentially scratch that persistent itch for you. I just need to keep a clear head. Once I’m back on the horse, I can start trying to find something more… Healthy? Regular? That should actually fill the gap you’ve been feeling in your relationship with Grillby? “last time i said we should talk, you made it clear you weren’t interested.” Mutt’s low drawl draws your attention firmly back to him. “what happened to no second sessions?” Toying with the condensation on the outside of your glass, you take a long sip. You try to find the right words. How do I even begin explaining this? “I…” You can feel the familiar buzz of your phone in your pocket. Without thinking, you pull it out to check your messages, all thoughts of Mutt and your explanation momentarily forgotten. You smile, clicking through to Grillby’s latest message, before sending a quick response of your own. By the time you look back up at Mutt, his browbones have drawn down into a disapproving frown. He sets his drink - now empty - on the bartop with a distinct thud. “heh. i didn’t think you were stupid enough to keep seeing the walking lighter. or is that it?” Amber-gold eyelights look at you more closely now, searching every inch of exposed skin. The slouch disappears as he searches, trying to find any hint of discomfort or discolouring. “you did look pretty rough last time. you hoping my offer still stands? if someone has been pushing you into doin somethin you don’t want… just say the word, and i can make sure someone has a b a d t i m e.”His golden eyelight flickers out momentarily, snuffed out completely. Your breath catches in your throat. Some primal part of you whimpers in terror at the sudden change in his demeanour. Yet you can feel something else flicker in the pit of your stomach. For fucks sake. There is something wrong with me. I shouldn’t feel excited. “That’s. Um. You don’t need to…” Smoothing your hands across your lap, you look down, trying to calm yourself. “That’s very kind of you. But…I’m good now? You caught me at a bad time before. Heh. A really bad time. But recently…things have been looking a lot better. So. Um. There’s no need to do that. Thank you.”“i don’t get you.” Mutt waves a hand at the bartender, gesturing to his empty drink and your barely touched one. You shake your head in refusal. “you seemed pretty clear last time. an nothin has changed for us.”Racing out to cradle your drink once more, you drop your gaze to the bartop. “What’s there to get? I like to discuss hard and loft limits before getting into play. I thought we were doing that last time. Now I know that a pretty important step was missed…well, I should know what to expect this time, shouldn't I? If…you would be…if you might consider…” Your mind flashes back to your last session together. The rhythmic sting of his crop littering the backs of your thighs, steadily covering your ass until it felt hot to the touch and glowed a bright, deep pink, just on the edge of bruising. The tingle of his magic, like pop rocks against your skin, as he pinned your wrists in place. The delicious, perfect mix of pleasure and pain as he slid sharp teeth against the delicate skin at your neck, the tip of his gold fang pressing hard enough to break through, yet with enough control to send the thrill of pain without actually following through. You can’t help but think of that deep, throaty rasp, as he called you a good girl. And the painful, burning stretch, as he worked his way into your ass with just one finger, while forcing you over the edge with his others.“m’lord doesn’t use safewords.”You wince. “That…is non-negotiable for me. Maybe, we could talk things through, to make sure we really know each other’s limits this time? I…” You take a steadying breath. Mutt interrupts before you can continue.“what is it you want?” His tone is blunt, as his second empty glass joins the first with a thump. The bartender hovers, a fresh pair of drinks in her hands.There’s something final about his words, as though he has come to the end of his patience with you.“I…really liked what we did together last time. What you did. If you might be open to trying something similar.” You lace your fingers together, resisting the urge to pick up your phone once more, to find reassurance in Grillby’s messages. I’ve got this. I can do this. “I want…” You shake your head, knowing that doesn’t even come close to encapsulating the growing need you have been feeling. “I need to feel my edges. I need-”The scraping of his barstool interrupts you. Eyes jumping up, you see skeletal hands push deep within the pockets of his fur-lined jacket as he stands, taking a step away from you. You can feel your heart sinking. Well, that’s that, then. You think, eyes lowering.“i know how that feels. let’s take this somewhere quieter. To…talk.” Mouth falling open, your gaze shoots back to his face, honing in on his eyelights. He looks back at your steadily. Excitement and nerves flutter in your stomach. “Really? I mean - yes! That sounds great. Ah, give me, like five minutes to get a room sorted? I get a staff discount. Well, it’s more like so many free sessions each month if I wanna use one of the rooms, because I’ve been here so long. Just - finish up your drink, and meet me by the private room check-in desk?”“no need.” You glance at the bartop. When did he finish his third drink…and mine? “Oh. Sure. Then, let’s go.” Within minutes, you find yourself at the familiar desk, keys in hand. You had been hopeful that things would go well, and had decided to book one of your preferred rooms ahead of time, just in case. This way, at least you knew you wouldn’t accidentally end up with keys to the same room as last time. Not that it looks the same. You think to yourself. The room had since been completely transformed. Still. No point in risking flashbacks or panicking or any of that bullshit. The two of you make your way down the back corridor. You can barely hear the music back here. Your footsteps echo, as you draw closer and closer.You slip the key into the lock. Am I really ready for this? Is this really what I want? You let out a shaky breath. “After you.” You send Mutt a wobbly smile, as you stand to one side. He moves past you without a second thought.“an here i was, thinkin we’d go somewhere a bit more public to talk things through this time. i didn’t realise you were so eager. how about we skip those negotiations, and pick back up where we left off?” Mutt says, head turned back towards you, as he walks into the room, hands automatically reaching to remove his jacket. The familiar glint of his collar catches your eye in the dimly lit room, reminding you of just how well that went last time. Not this time. This time I’m ready for both of you. As you follow behind him, your eyes automatically flick around the room, taking everything in. A giant four-poster, more than big enough to hold six fully grown adults with room for more, stands to your left, heavy wooden beams littered with plenty of points to fix restraints. Raised higher than usual, you can see the soft padded floor of a cage beneath, ready for any misbehaving subs to be temporarily locked away. Toys line the wall in a veritable dark rainbow of black, purple, silver and red. Leather and feathers, steel and plastic and wood; the selection is enough to make your head spin. Eyes skirting past the wall of house toys, you spot a familiar bag resting on a low, plush leather footstool. The last hint of nerves eases in your chest. You know from experience that it is packed to the brim with a more personal selection of toys, just waiting for the right opportunity to be used. You can feel Mutt shift beside you, following your gaze, as he looks to see what has caught your attention. He locks in on the bag with a frown. “when-”Eyes sliding right, you take a step further into the room. You push the door closed behind you, the click of the lock engaging sounding throughout the room. A familiar throne sits on the far side of the room. You can feel your heartbeat speed up once more, this time with excitement, as you catch your first glimpse of his familiar, perfectly polished shoes. A smile curls on your lips, as you take in the familiar figure lounging on the throne. It’s more casual than you are used to seeing him, but you can’t deny the thrill it sends through you, seeing him like this; pristine white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, pressed pinstripe slacks perfectly encasing his long legs, spectacles twinkling in the low light thrown off by his own flames.“what the fuck are you doin here?” Mutt’s low growl breaks the silence, as he takes a step forward. Gone is his slouching posture, as the tall skeleton straightens to his full height, towering over you. Something flickers in your stomach, as he takes a half step in front of you, as though ready to protect you from the unexpected intrusion. “Good evening, Papyrus. It has been a while, has it not? It is almost as if you have been avoiding me. I thought we could have a little chat, about our mutual friend here.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“friend? more like a casual fuck. you know how m’lord feels about his toy-” Before the words can finish leaving his mouth, you see Grillby’s flames flare. You’ve never seen them look quite like this. His edges almost seem to shimmer, crackling and white-hot. The usual purple hue closer to his body looks almost blue, as you feel a wave of heat and the overwhelming scent of ash wash over you.
Is that…really Grillbae?
You can’t help but think. If you hadn’t seen him moments before, you wouldn’t recognise him, as his face twists with fury.
You stumble back, automatically ducking to make yourself smaller. As you hit the wall, you resist the urge to cower. Making yourself stand up straight, you keep your eyes locked on the two monsters before you.
This is Grillbae.
Perfect gentleman, softly spoken, thoughtful beyond compare.
I am safe with him.
You know, no matter how angry he may appear, he would never raise a hand — or flame — against you.
Between one blink and the next, they are both against the opposite wall. One of Grillby’s hands twists against Mutt’s collar, pulling the leather taunt until metal spikes and bone grate together. “Do not. Call her.
That
.” You can barely hear his stilted, hissed demand across the expanse of the room. You take a tentative step forward, unsure of how you can help, but almost certain you will need to intervene.
This was such a bad idea. Why didn’t I just keep my big mouth shut?
It doesn’t seem like a good idea to get any closer to the pair of glowering, glowing monsters. A steady, glowing aura of amber-gold magic hums just above the surface of Mutt’s bones, while the more familiar plum shade of Grillby’s magic pulses against it. “It isn’t pleasant when someone shows up uninvited, is it?”
“i guess you didn’t listen to me when i warned you to stop playin with fire, huh, darlin?” Mutt doesn’t look away from Grillby for a second, as he calls across to you.
“Whoever said anything about playing?” You can see Grillby’s clenched fist tightening around the collar in stark contrast to the calm tone of his voice. “You were lucky I was not present during your previous encounters. I have heard so, so many bad things. I would say that I am disappointed, but I really should not have expected anything more from you. Sans, perhaps. But you…”
“i thought we had an understandin’” Mutt chokes out, as Grillby shifts his weight, one hand remaining at Mutt’s throat, while the other crosses his ribcage, keeping him firmly pinned to the wall. You watch, frozen in place, as Grillby kicks a leg between Mutts, forcing him to spread them wider, lest he lose balance and put even more pressure on the delicate vertebrate of his neck.
Grillbae wouldn’t really hurt him. He’s not like that.
It almost feels like you’re trying to convince yourself. Uncertainty flickers, as you hear the creak of leather and metal and bone once more.
“It would appear that it is past time to revisit the terms of that understanding. Would you not agree? It would seem that we have many new things to discuss.”
You take another hesitant step forward. Something in you squirms, seeing Grillby like this — so different from how you are used to seeing him. To your embarrassment and shame, a small part of you can’t help but question why he can’t treat you so roughly, at least some of the time.
Don’t be stupid. If he used that kind of strength on me, that would leave more than just bruises. This isn’t even BDSM. Painplay should never come from a real place of anger, and clearly, Grillbae is angry with Mutt right now.
Some small noise must escape you, as Grillby twists to face you. Flames momentarily waning to a more typical level, sends you a reassuring smile. “There really is no need to worry, my dear. Please; take a seat. I promised you that I would handle this, did I not? I am sure we shall come to an…amicable arrangement.”
This is Grillbae. I am safe.
Biting your lip, you give a tentative nod. Making sure to keep them both in your line of sight, you make your way towards the bed. Carefully, you sit on the edge. You’re far enough away now that you can no longer feel the stifling heat and unsettling crackle of magic emanating from the two boss monsters.
Everything is going to be fine.
You tell yourself. You hope that you are right.
“what’s this really about? all this, for some human? that doesn’t sound like the grillby i know. you finally gonna show her what you’re really made of?”
“You are one to talk. Drugging her?”
You can’t quite see Mutt’s face as Grillby’s accusation reaches you, but you can see the way that both monsters seem to still. The familiar creak of leather and metal on bone sounds once more - this time, as Grillby’s grip loosens.
“Ah. I see from your face, that that one, at least, was unintentional. Care to explain why you tried to spring Sans on her, mid-scene no less? I thought he, at least, would have had the common sense to research proper human scene etiquette and protocol months ago. What in the name of the stars were you both thinking? What if she had panicked and been hurt in the heat of the moment? What if-”
“me? what do you call this? usin your little human fucktoy to what, lure me here to pay off my tab or somethin?” Mutt snarls. “if you think m’lord will trade a favour for me, you’re-”
Holy shit.
Eyes widening, you watch as Mutt’s words become choked, his feel kicking helplessly in an attempt to break free.
Just how strong is he?
You think, as Grillby holds Mutt up against the wall by his neck.
“I have asked you once already. I will not say it again. You will not refer to her as a fucktoy, nor a toy of any kind. Believe it or not, this is not entirely about you nor that blasted brother of yours. I do not need a favour from him. And when have I
ever
tried to get you to pay your tab?”
“then why are we here?” His words are barely audible. You aren’t sure whether you want to get closer, to put a stop to this once and for all, or whether you should listen to the small part of your brain that is screaming for you to run before either can return their attention back on you.
I can trust Grillbae. He knows what he is doing. I’m safe. Mutt…is probably safe. This is fine.
You choke back a giggle, as the thought crosses your mind.
Ok. This is pretty fucking far from fine, but I’m safe. And nobody has gotten hurt. I can always call security if that changes.
“We are going to have a little chat. If what you have to say for yourself is both reasonable and believable, then I shall allow you to continue your negotiations with my partner.”
“partner?”
Hurt flares in the depths of your stomach.
Is it really that unbelievable that we could be more than casually fucking?
You pout.
To be fair, I wouldn’t have believed it if you asked me not so long ago.
“Yes, my partner. For some reason I cannot completely fathom, she feels you to be a trustworthy candidate to provide a service she is in need of. I am here to ascertain if that may or may not be the case. Shall we?” It’s phrased as a question, but all three of you can tell that Grillby won’t be taking no for an answer. Mutt’s eyelights flick to you, assessing. Slowly, he tilts his head in agreement.
“Excellent.” You can hear the thump of Mutt’s boots meeting the floor, as Grillby finally lowers him. “Now, I believe we have already touched upon this; You were unaware of the effects echo flower products can have on humans?”
Mutt meets your gaze over Grillby’s shoulder. “‘m sorry about that, darlin’. i don’t think i got around to apologisin’ for that last time.” He looks away, tongue flicking out to trace the sharp point of his golden fang, as he weighs up his next words. “they help me to mellow out an’ calm down when i’m on edge. if i’da known…”
“Apology accepted.” You send him a tentative smile. Glancing at Grillby, you allow your displeasure to flicker momentarily across your face. “You aren’t the only one to
not fully know
the effects monster products can have on humans.” You raise your voice pointedly. You haven’t forgotten Grillby and your mistake with monster alcohol. You settle back a little more comfortably, as you see Grillby’s fingers loosen their grip just a tad more.
“Excellent. And now onto the more pressing matter at hand. How have you and Sans been keeping in recent times, Papyrus? Have you been adjusting well to the surface?”
You watch as Mutt’s magic pulses, as though trying to push Grillby off. Neither moves.
“You and I both know that things once commonplace Underground are not the same up here. With who your brother is, with his standing, do you really expect me to believe you would not seek out some form of education, some new resources, to expand upon your knowledge of safe, sane, consensual etiquette with humans?”
You can see Mutt hesitating, as though weighing up his response. “it’s not my place to tell m’lord what to do.”
“Of course. What was I thinking? I must be expecting too much from Sans’s little attack dog.”
Mutt bares his teeth in a wordless snarl. You can feel the answering rush of heat, as Grillby’s flames grow and flare in response.
“None of that, now. Neither of you thought to try a class? Look up instructional videos online? Join a forum or two?” Mutt’s silence speaks volumes. Grillby lets out a long, weary sigh. “Remind me again, my dear, why you are interested in him, of all the monsters and humans you could have? I have a list of others who would be more than capable and happy to help assist with your needs.”
You startle, not expecting the question. During all of your planning, your discussions together, and your preparation to find a potential play partner to scratch that underlying itch for you, you hadn’t thought to explain to Grillby why a certain tall skeleton monster seems to occupy your thoughts.
“I…” You bite your lip, embarrassment and shame swirling in the depths of your stomach. Truth be told, if it wasn’t for your developing fear of finding new casual play partners, you wouldn’t be sitting here, seriously considering another round with Mutt. Yet the thought of trying to find someone entirely unknown and new to you makes you feel sick to your stomach, a myriad of what-ifs swirling around in your head, reminding you of all the ways things can - and have - gone wrong in the past.
Maybe you could give up that other, missing side of BDSM play you have been craving.
But what if it ruins what I have with Grillby? What if I can’t give it up, and I fuck up what we have?
“...better the devil you know…” You say, your words far too quiet for human ears to pick up on.
Grillby’s face falls, understanding clear in his eyes. Wordlessly, he drops Mutt, making his way to your side. You can feel your lip trembling, as he draws you to his chest, holding you tightly. “I did not think. I am so-”
You shake your head, roughly wiping at your eyes before tears can begin gathering there. “Don’t. I’m sorry. It’s so silly, really. Maybe this was a bad idea. Let’s just forget this ever happened, and-” You take a steadying breath, trying to find the right words.
That’s not really the only reason, is it?
“I think…maybe, there have been a few misunderstandings? On all sides? But, that doesn’t mean that anyone really had bad intentions. Maybe just…cultural misunderstandings? Like, when I first started exploring the scene, I had no clue that collars could mean so many different things to different people. Some just like the aesthetic. Some use them to get in a certain headspace. Others treat them like wedding rings. If someone hadn’t taken the time to sit down with me and explain things, I don’t know how many mistakes I would have made.”
So many of your experiences over the years, good and bad, have been affected by those you have met through your local community.
How much worse could things have gone with absolutely no outside guidance? Really, it’s a wonder they haven’t had a more serious issue.
“It feels almost…. irresponsible, not to pay it forward? And…to make sure that, whatever it is they’re looking for, is done in a safe, open, honest way, that’s going to be good for them and their potential partners.” Your gaze flicks from Grillby, to land firmly on Mutt. “Practising unsafe kink doesn’t make you a bad person - not if you didn’t know. But now that you know that some of your…ideas and misconceptions may have…potential issues, it’s your responsibility to learn, and to do better.”
“That’s a very admirable way of looking at things.” Grillby draws your attention away from Mutt. “But you do not have to take on that responsibility-”
“I don’t have to,” You interrupt. Tentatively, you make your way across the room towards the two, before taking one of Grillby’s hands in your own. It’s more for your own comfort than his. “But…maybe it will be good for me, too? To get back to safety basics.”
“If you are sure.” He holds your gaze, searching for something that he must find. “Now that we have cleared up that little misunderstanding, we can move forward. With more open, honest, and clear communication all around. Yes?” He looks pointedly between the two of you. You nod without thinking.
You turn your attention back to Mutt. While you don’t exactly know him that well, you can confidently say that across your combined interactions, you have never seen him look this uncertain. Slowly, he nods, pushing his hands deep into his pockets, as he slouches back against the wall once more.
“Excellent! May I?” You nod again, unsure of what he is asking, but willing to trust him fully. “Now, usually I would leave the two of you to discuss things amongst yourselves. However, I feel that this time, it would be pertinent for me to remain to ensure no further misunderstandings can occur. It has been brought to my attention that my partner is in need of a kind of release I am not currently willing to provide. Due to your past experience together and recent events, it has become clear that she would feel more comfortable having another session with you. If you would be amenable?”
Mutt scoffs, looking at Grillby incredulously. “not able to please one little human, grillbz? how the mighty have fallen.”
“Hey!” You object indignantly. “He’s more than able to please…” You stop yourself, cheeks burning. He’s not…
exactly
wrong. No matter how much you love what you and Grillby do together, it still feels like there’s something missing.
A warm hand brushes back a stray lock of hair from your face. Lingering fingers brush the curve of your cheek, lightly tracing the shape of your jaw. The smile on his face is soft and sharp all at once. “It is always a delight to know that you enjoy our time together.”
“Of course I do. You’re perfect. It’s me who’s…”
Broken.
The word sits heavily in your mind, unspoken yet clear. His grip on your chin tightened, forcing you to leave that train of thought behind.
“None of that, now. There is nothing wrong with embracing your base desires and admitting your needs. It is admirable. Do you know how many monsters and humans alike attempt to deny themselves, out of some sense of morality? Of societal guilt?” He shakes his head. “I will not stand by and see you deny yourself, out of some misplaced notion of what is ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ in a healthy relationship.”
You can feel your cheeks burning, the tight knot in your stomach finally beginning to unwind.
Maybe…this really could work?
“As I was saying. We have discussed things in detail, and have come to the conclusion that, despite your past transgressions, arranging a scene between the two of you may be the most logical choice.”
Mutt scoffs. “yeah? nice to be part of the discussion,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “an what, exactly, do i get outta this? other than a load of lectures on human bull-”
“A final chance.” Grillby turns his attention fully to Mutt. You can feel a pout threatening to take over, as his hand drops. There’s something so soothing about his heat; it’s not enough to be truly uncomfortable — unless something has riled him up — but it’s still distinctly different from what you are used to from humans and even the few other monsters you know. “Unless you are saying that you do not want to try another session together? I am sure that we can find someone else that would be thrilled to follow basic etiquette and manners.”
Someone else? I…don’t know if I’m ready for…
“There is that rather buff fellow you seemed to be on good terms with. Teddy, wasn’t it? Or, perhaps you may be interested in having a discussion with our dear Muffet? I believe she has developed quite a soft spot for you…”
“Muffet?” You squeak, eyes wide. Before you can respond, a long, exasperated groan draws both your and Grillby’s attention.
“fine. there’s no need to bring
her
into this. we can…negotiate. but you won’t be the only ones making demands.”
“They aren’t demands, Papyrus. A negotiation is there to act as a discussion to ascertain what all parties involved would be comfortable with. Of course, there will be some back and forth. Take safewords; what may work perfectly well for one, may be unhelpful at best or triggering at worst for another.”
“safe words?” Mutt asks flatly.
“Yes. These are non-negotiable. As they are in many human play spaces.” Grillby says.
“I, um…” You falter, as two sets of eyes turn their attention on you. “...I like to use the traffic light system? It’s pretty simple, so no one is likely to forget it mid-scene. Green for everything is good, keep going. Amber or yellow for slowing down or switching activities if things are getting a bit intense. And red-”
“yeah, nope. that’s not gonna work for me.” Mutt interrupts. You watch, as he pulls out a familiar purple cigarette. Grillby tenses beside you. Before either of you can say anything, Mutt pauses; it must be more from habit than ill intentions, you realise, as he slides it back into the depths of his leather pants. “the last thing i want is to be thinkin of that asshole while we’re doin
that
.”
Fumbling with his jacket, you watch as he searches the pockets. Letting out a low hum of triumph, he pulls out a small, purple-tinged dogbone.
That’s…not really a dog treat, is it?
You watch, as he tosses the treat into his mouth with a distinct crunch. Grillby sighs, a muttered “Must you?” barely audible. It’s like you can see the tension starting to seep out of Mutt, as whatever it is he has eaten begins to take effect.
“Might I suggest keeping things simple for now? Yes, slow down, and stop should suffice. If things do progress to the point of trust where you no longer wish for no to mean no, we can have another discussion at a later date.” Grillby suggests.
You nod hesitantly. “I can’t promise that I might not slip up and forget, but I’ll do my best.”
“fine.”
Grillby pushes on. “I think it might be best to keep things simple for now. No breaking of her skin. No drawing blood. No asphyxiation play. No blindfolds. Light to medium impact play, with light use of restraints. Penetration and completion are both acceptable. Preferred, I believe.” You nod, as his gaze flicks to you, before fixing back on Mutt. “Everything else we can go through at a later date, if things progress in a manner to all of our likings this time.”
“not askin for much, huh?” Mutt’s face gives little away, as he considers Grillby’s guidelines. “that everythin?” He looks to you. You nod hesitantly. It’s not exactly what you would have asked for, but you are more than willing to trust Grillby to take the lead. Between his more pleasure-focused style of overwhelming you, and your last bad encounter with another dominant, taking things slowly may be in your best interests.
A sharp grin curls on Mutt’s face, revealing a glint of his familiar golden fang. “that would make it our turn.”
Our?
“i said it before; i’ve already had my turn. m’lord lets me…test things out, to see if things are worth his time an attention. he’s the one you’ll have to negotiate with.”
Surely, he can’t mean…
“FOR ONCE, THE MUTT IS CORRECT. GRILLBY. WHAT AN…
UNPLEASANT
…SURPRISE.”