#≫╰ (VISAGE) the devil's favorite

[iovetecchou]

Circumstances ⧸ Aki Hayakawa.𖥔 ݁ ˖

summary:  Trapped inside the hotel that has been taken over by the eternity devil, your superior: Hayakawa Aki, is the only comfort you've found. As the days go by, you find yourself seeking more than just comfort from your usually stoic leader.

༞ Contains...! smut, porn with a slight plot, and a sprinkle of fluff, only one bed trope, virgin!aki, inexperienced!aki, touch starved!aki, consent, dry humping, handjob, pussyjob, no penetrative sex, pillow talk, confessions, overall very soft and clumsy, the reader lovingly teases aki throughout the entirety of this fic

༞ AFAB Reader.

༞ 3,064 words.

kinktober masterlist!

It had been days.

Days; since you first stepped foot inside this forsaken hotel with your unit. Your Captain, Aki, was the only individual keeping your crew from losing their minds. Although, Kobeni was way beyond saving at this point.

You tried to stay optimistic, putting your trust in your Captain. You had no reason to doubt him, anyway. You admired Aki. If he asked you to follow him blindly, you would.

Aki always made you feel safe; it would be a lie if you said you had not fallen for him.

You admired every version of Aki, but your favorite side of him was the one only you got to see. The Aki who helped you get stronger, never giving up on you even when you stumbled and screwed up. The Aki who would go out after a harsh mission and eat almond tofu with you. The Aki that allowed himself to smile when he was in your presence, letting himself forget about his trepidations. Even if it was briefly before you witnessed the sorrow creep back into his cerulean eyes.

You could not help but feel as though Aki might have a soft spot for you. He always requested to be stationed with you on assignments and spoke highly of you to Miss Makima when you did exemplary work.

So when you got paired up to share a room with the captain himself, you could hardly contain your excitement.

Arai and Kobeni were in shambles, so Power locked them in a room together. She laughed menacingly on the outside from the sounds of them wailing and shrieking. Power and Denji took the next room, unintentionally pairing themselves up. You could hear them bickering through the thin walls before it got quiet. Ultimately, assuming that Denji must have fallen asleep.

And then there was Aki and yourself.

You would be lying if you said the prospect of sleeping in the same bed as your crush didn’t excite you, just a little bit. You knew it was wrong, considering the situation was less than ideal. You secretly wished your first time sharing a bed with Aki would be under better circumstances, but there’s no time like the present.

You could’ve sworn you saw Aki's cheeks flush when he noticed there was only one bed before he blurted out,

“I’ll take the floor. You take the bed.“

A frown etched its way into your visage, coming up with a solution to change his mind on the spot.

“But, Mister Hayakawa, I think it would be safest if we stuck together and stayed as close as possible. Who knows what the eternity devil might do next? It might try to separate us, so we must have eyes on one another at all times. That’s why we all paired up in the first place, right?”

You watched as he lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply and holding it in his lungs for a few beats before ultimately exhaling with a sigh. You could tell he was thinking over your proposition from the way his eyebrows knit together.

“Alright, you have a point. But only if you are comfortable with that.”

Your eyes lit up as he agreed to your proposal. You turned on your heel, making your way toward the messily made bed. Trying to conceal your grin from Aki.

“Of course I’m comfortable! You always make me feel safe, Mister Hayakawa.”

Aki's cheeks dusted a pretty pink from your words. With your back still turned, you kicked your shoes off. Shrugging off your blazer before rolling up the sleeves of your white button-down. He took another drag of his cigarette, making slow strides toward the bed. Aki propped his sword against the nightstand before unbuttoning his suit jacket. Trying his hardest not to overthink resting beside you.

“I will only need a few hours until I am back on patrol, but I want you to get as much rest as possible. I will try my best not to wake you when I leave.”

All you could do was nod in agreement as you lifted the covers, making yourself as cozy as you could; regarding the circumstances.

You turned on your side from beneath the sheets, observing Aki as he put his cigarette out. He slipped his shoes off, lifting his side of the duvet before crawling underneath. He was as stiff as a board as he rested flat against the bed. You could tell he was nervous, and you were not sure if it was because of the proximity or because of the devil, which was still at large.

“Mister Hayakawa, are you okay? You look a bit tense.”

Aki let out a deep sigh. He turned his head slightly so that he could glance at you before he spoke softly.

“It’s just… I want to make sure we all get out of here alive without having to sacrifice anyone. Defeating this devil, getting the gun devil chunk, and making sure you get out of here unharmed, are my top priorities.”

You felt your cheeks heat up from his words. To learn that Aki prioritized your well-being in such a way made your heart flutter.

“Don’t worry mister Hayakawa! With you being our captain, I have no doubts that we will succeed in all of those departments. Also, don’t feel like you need to bear the burden on your own. You can lean on me, I promise.”

Your words forced Aki’s chest to tighten. You put so much faith into him, and knowing that you believed in him to such an extent eased his mind. For the time being.

Aki took in a deep breath before sitting up swiftly. He reached over toward the lamp resting atop the night table, tugging on the copper string. Enveloping you both in complete darkness.

“Thank you… Now get some rest. I’m sure we have a long day ahead of us,”

Aki whispered, turning on his side to face you. A tight-lipped smile pulled at his lips before he finished his thought.

“And one more thing, you don’t need to call me Mister Hayakawa while we’re on the job. You can always call me Aki. You know that, right?”

You watched as he tucked a hand under his pillow for support, adjusting slightly to let himself slump further into the bed. A small giggle slipped past your lips from his words before you retorted,

“Of course, I know that! I just figured you liked it when I addressed you as Mister Hayakawa. I mean, considering how your ears turn a pretty shade of pink when I do.”

You teased. Inching yourself closer to your superior from where you lay atop the mattress. Practically sharing the same air at this point.

“Hey, cut that out.”

Was all Aki could blurt out before he turned his back toward you. He silently thanked the darkness for shrouding the room, concealing the rosiness that painted his face.

That didn’t stop you from shifting impossibly closer. You pressed your chest against the expanse of Aki's back, closing the distance between you two before letting your arm sling around his hip.

“I’m sorry, Mister Hayakawa… I didn’t mean to tease.”

Your voice laced with faux innocence. But Aki could hardly focus on the words you spoke only moments ago. The feeling of your arm wrapped around his midsection and your chest pressing into him had his brain short-circuiting.

Physical affection was not something Aki was used to by any means, and the fact that you were the one touching him made his head spin even further. Aki felt comfortable with you. He cherished the time you spent together, more than he let on.

“Yes, you did. Do you take me for one of those idiots over in the next room?”

Aki huffed, trying his hardest not to twitch when your fingertips trailed over his clothed abdomen. You scooted up the bed slightly; so you could rest your head atop Aki’s shoulder. Lips ghosting over the shell of his rosy ear before you whispered out,

“Of course not, Mister Hayakawa. You are clever, way better than the others. In every aspect.”

Your hand trailed lower, fumbling with the clasp of his belt. You heard Aki’s breath hitch as you pulled the leather out of the buckle.

“What are you—“

“Like I said earlier, you seem a bit tense. Let me help you, Mister Hayakawa.”

His heart was pounding against his sternum. Aki could feel his hands shaking as he remained silent. You could tell he was way beyond nervous.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop if you are uncomfortable.”

You whispered, slowly retracting your hands from around his waist. What you didn’t expect was for Aki to turn in his place, coming face to face with you once more.

“No it’s not that… i-it’s just…”

You could barely make out his expression in the darkness, but you could feel his hand trembling beside you. Your hand crept down to grasp his arm, placing his large palm atop your waist.

“Why are you shaking so much, Mister Hayakawa? It’s just us.”

The way that nickname rolled off your tongue made his head fuzzy. He could feel the warmth of your skin seeping through your shirt.

“Is this what you want?”

Aki took a shaky breath, trying to collect his thoughts.

“I…”

His voice was quivering as you two shared the same air. Another moment passed before you whispered,

“Do you want me to stop, Aki?”

His breath hitched. You said his name, finally. Aki’s heart was beating a mile a minute as you slowly started to pull away.

“N-No… don’t stop.”

That was all the conformation you needed. You could hardly contain your excitement as you pressed your chest flush against his in one swift motion. You hoisted your leg around his waist, pulling a low grunt from Aki.

Now you understood the reason behind Aki’s trembling; he was hard. You could feel his erection pressing up against your clothed core from the new position.

“Ah… I’m sorry—“

Before Aki could finish his sentence, your lips were on his. His cerulean eyes were blown wide at the sudden kiss, but he wasn’t complaining.

Aki thought about this moment countless times your lips colliding with his. But never in a million years did Aki think your first kiss together would be under these circumstances.

You deepened the kiss further, swiping your tongue across his bottom lip. At first, Aki didn’t get the hint, but when your pelvis ground down against his aching cock, he couldn’t help but let out a whine.

The moment his lips parted against yours, you slipped your tongue past. Tangling with his appendage slowly, letting him get used to the newfound intimacy. Aki was still shaking, you noted, as your hand came up to unbuckle his belt; for good this time.

Aki only pulled away from your lips when he felt you unzip his pants, tugging on the waistband of his boxers.

“W-Wait… I’ve never…”

Aki could feel the perspiration trickling down the side of his neck as he swallowed the lump in his throat, adams apple bobbing in the process.

“I know, and it’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it, Aki. I want to make you feel good, and I promise I’ll go slow.”

You muttered against his lips, slipping your hand through the hole in his boxers. Aki gasped against your lips as you seized his needy cock. Gently pulling his length through the cut-out of his underwear.

“Is this okay?”

You asked, halting in your movements. You placed a small kiss on Aki's nose as you awaited his response, being as patient as ever with him. Aki nodded fervently before whispering,

“Yes… more— please…”

Aki’s plea sent heat rushing to your core. He was too precious, and who were you to deny him?”

Your hand slowly began rubbing his leaky cock. There was so much pre-cum coating the head of his dick; making it even easier to glide your palm along his twitching length.

“Does this feel good?”

You picked up the pace ever so slightly, letting your thumb circle around his ruddy tip.

“Fuck— yes, so… so good…”

Aki’s head fell forward, now resting his forehead against yours as you continued to stroke his cock.

“Better than when you do this to yourself?”

You asked earnestly, reveling in the little whines and whimpers that slipped past his lips.

“Mhm…”

That was all Aki could muster out. He was too drunk off the pleasure you granted him. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good. Your hands worked him so carefully— so tenderly. For the first time in a long time; Aki allowed himself to forget his worries. He allowed himself to succumb to you entirely.

You could feel him throbbing in your hand. You knew he was nearing his end. Aki’s perspired forehead stuck to your own, his breath was warm against your lips. You couldn’t help but clench around nothing at his silent pleas of,

“Please, don’t stop… feels s-so— good…”

Quickly, you removed your hand from around his length. Your leg unhooked from around his waist for a brief moment as you fumbled with your belt. Swiftly pushing your pants and panties down your legs before kicking them off from underneath the covers.

“What are you—“

“Shh… don’t worry, I’m not stopping. I want to try something different, just trust me on this… okay?”

Your hand came back up to Aki’s waist. Slowly, you pushed his trousers and boxers down his thighs, letting his cock spring free. His length slapped against his tummy. Aki hissed at the friction, harshly swallowing once more as your leg came back up to wrap around his waist.

“O-Okay... I trust you, Y/N.”

With that, your chest came flush against his once more. Only this time, your slick pussy grazed along the underside of his throbbing length.

“S-Shit…”

Aki cursed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed; at the feeling of your essence coating his cock. You were so warm and wet. He could hardly contain his moans as you began grinding against him. You moved your hips slowly at first, rubbing the most sensitive parts of his length with your drooling slit.

“Does this feel good?”

You huffed. You began to feel dizzy from the intimacy Aki and yourself shared. You whined as your clit rubbed against him so perfectly. Your slick allowing you to glide against him with ease.

“T-Too good!”

Aki cried out. His hand around your waist tightened as he began aiding you in your movements. Thrusting you impossibly closer to him. Adding even more pressure against your puffy bud. You both moaned in unison. Grinding against each other with more intensity than before.

“I think… I’m…”

Aki could hardly finish his train of thought. Too wound up in the heat of the moment. You soothed your hand over the small of his back, continuing to hump into Aki before you whispered,

"I know, baby, let it all out."

Your tender words sent Aki spiraling. His release crashed down on him faster than he could process. Before you knew it, Aki was the one kissing you. He whimpered against your lips as his first ropes of cum shot out past his slit.

The feeling of his cock twitching and throbbing against your clit was enough for the coil within your tummy to snap. You gasped against his lips as you came. Your movements staggered, still trying to work Aki and yourself through your orgasms.

A few moments passed before Aki finally pulled away from your lips. He took in a deep breath as his hand clenched and unclenched around your waist. You assumed it was a form of self-soothing for Aki.

"Are you okay?"

You asked softly. You trailed your hand up Aki's frame, slotting to cup his face instead.

"Mhm… are you? Did you… enjoy that?"

Aki's words were hesitant. You could tell he was immensely unsure of what this now meant for the both of you.

"Of course I enjoyed it, Aki. I've been dreaming of a moment like this with you for ages now. I just… I'm sorry, I wanted to properly do things with you. But our lives are so complicated,"

You paused, caressing his cheek with your thumb softly before letting out a deep sigh.

"Aki… I truly adore you, I always have. So, now you know. I figured since there's a high possibility of us dying here, I might as well lay it all out on the table. I mean, we did just hump each other like a couple of dogs—"

"Ah, stop right there."

Aki's eyebrows scrunched up at your crude words. He felt embarrassed all over again.

You could not help the giggle that slipped past your lips. Aki was too adorable for his own good. He was such a gentleman, another thing to tack onto the list of 'things you love about Aki'.

"Sorry, sorry! I wish it wasn't so dark in here, I bet the look on your face was priceless."

You teased, bringing your hand back down to encompass Aki's waist before nestling your face into his chest. Your leg was still wrapped around his hips, pulling a small grunt from Aki when you closed the distance between you both for the last time tonight.

"Hey, at least let me get you a towel so I can clean you up. It's a… mess, down there— because of me."

You smiled against his chest before a yawn passed over you. You slipped your hand under his shirt, smoothing over the small of his back before you whispered,

"Aki, relax! It's okay… let's get a little bit of rest before it's back to patrolling. I wanna hold you like this, just a little while longer… Please?"

His heart ached at your words. Aki would give anything to stay in this moment with you forever. His hand tightened around your waist, keeping you snug against him before ultimately letting out a sigh.

It only took you a few moments to knock out. Aki smiled to himself as your little snores filled the room. He tried not to mind the sticky sensation coming from below as he placed a kiss atop your head. Finally, he allowed his droopy eyelids to close before whispering,

"You could be such a brat at times… you know that, right? But, that's just another thing I… love about you."

[yandereunsolved]

" you're my lover, my protector, my favorite sin. " — Yandere Endverse Castiel w/ an angel darling

cw(s): yandere themes, light nsfw (sexual innuendos & non-descript intimacy), dubious consent

ʚɞ

🪽 It's no secret that the both of you share a sacred bond. Over many millennia, your brothers and sisters have whispered such things. No one has seen God since creation, an unspoken truth that can lead to losing an etheral being's life. Yet, you have heard others say that God destined that the both of you would fall in love. An action that is more forbidden than Eve and Adam taking a bite of the apple.

You were never fond of your 'siblings'. That word felt so human. It disgusted you. You were not related to them in any way but God, as all other creatures were. You held no loyalties to those who you served above in station and those you helped below.

The only being that stayed constant throughout creation was Castiel. Your Castiel.

When the seals began breaking, you stood by and allowed it to happen, as was fated. You fought with those in your garrison to protect heaven from the demonic onslaught. Somewhere within it all, you lost your Castiel.

He was assigned to save a soul from hell. Thousands of angels went with him; less than a hundred returned with their grace intact. You searched and finally rejoiced when he returned, albeit different than before. He avoided you as if you were one of the same creatures that he had to kill. You knew he was reprimanded and sent back to Earth.

That's the last you saw of him. You were told by your superiors that he was stripped of his wings and then killed. You nearly contemplated becoming one of them. Never had you felt such human emotions.

🪽 The apocalypse. Michael was supposed to possess the human Castiel saved. Only that human refused to do the one job he was made for! Then Lucifer came and slaughtered the ethereal beings in heaven, from lowly Cherubs to the mighty Seraphim. A handful survived.

You should have felt something. You were subjected to serve under Lucifer. A holy, loyal angel would have fought until their death. You just realized Lucifer had a point. All of this was so meaningless. There is no beauty to humanity, only hatred and sin.

Castiel, one of the last times you saw him, told you how precious God's favorite creations were. How foolish of you to believe him. If it weren't for his weakness, then he'd still be here. You both could have had something.

🪽 Instead, you're Lucifer's right hand. It is quite the job. You have to tolerate his quirks. Like when he makes flirtatious comments and tries, yet horribly fails, at making you pliant. You hold great respect for him. You just wonder how long he will harass you. You prefer his true visage and not the meatsuit he constantly dons.

When you aren't simply an angelic being to be admired, you work. You come to settlements bearing false gifts and then spread the Croatoan virus until all the humans croak. No one suspects a lone angel in a vessel to be their doom. On the off chance you come across a hunter—that can get a bit messy. Still nothing but more ashes in the wind to you.

You would rather do that than be subjected to Lucifer's lackeys. They are, for lack of a better word, buffoons. You would think demons were knowledgeable on the most efficient torture methods. Whoever was in charge of hell pre-Lucifer was failing, or just as much of an idiot, or both. You never really paid attention to the demonic hierarchy until now. You just follow orders.

🪽 So when Lucifer gives you another job, you think nothing more of it. Camp Chitaqua. Your boss, as funny as he is, left out the fact they had enochian warding sigils all over the camp. That coupled with devil warding and pretty much as many sigils that any one place could have. This people, or at least their leader, is no amateur.

You would have to gain explicit permission to enter the camp. That is, if they don't figure out you are an angel, work for Lucifer, and want to slaughter them all first.

You know all the happenings around the camp, outside of the warding. You find a stray, clearly intoxicated human. Jimmy Novak—no. Jimmy Novak's soul is not in this body. It can't be. C. Cas. Castiel?

"What's cookin', sweetheart? You new 'round these parts?"

Everything about him is not, was not, him. His dialog, body language, and most importantly, how human his energy is. He's smoking a blunt for angel's sake! 

So now you have an easy way to gain permission and access to Camp Chitaqua.

You are conflicted on what to do.

Lucifer. That bastard.

🪽 Cas knows it's you. It's his baby. His love. Old Castiel was never brave enough to just spit out that he'd like to take you right then and there. Get your wings all ruffled up. Your graces intertwined and all that good stuff. Now he can. Well, not the grace part because he is no longer an angel, but he's sure he could still feel your grace. You could let him feel you in all the ways one could imagine.

He wants to know where you have been, but he kind of already knows. Even his stoned brain can put two and two together. The incredibly sexy dangerous beast that works for Lucifer and wants to kill them all, as informed to him by Dean, is obviously you. He knew you had a disliking for humans, but he didn't think you'd ever go this far. It's oddly attractive. Like, yeah, you can take him out anytime you'd like.

Angel, please, don't tease him like this.

He still yearns to hear the truth from those pretty lips of yours. He wants to tease the knowledge out of you. He wants to seduce you and show you what you've been missing out on. There's all these pent-up emotions when it comes to you. He just wants to let them all out. He'd prefer if all of them were let out inside you.

🪽 Cas shows you around the place. He is hanging off you the entire time. A few jealous looks are cast your way. At least what you felt was jealousy and arousal emanating from those campgoers. You nearly vomited from how strong it was. How tight does Castiel have these people wrapped around his finger? Very tight.

It kills him inside as he acts as if he hasn't the faintest idea of who you are. You're simply a lost traveler who he let in because you were just so lost... and hot... and he didn't want to miss his self-appointed orgey session with his favorites. He invited you to join them. It broke him when he saw your response. It was so much harsher than he thought. Yeouch.

He's gonna go self-medicate while Dean harshly interrogates you. You could have gotten out of the interrogation if you joined him. Just sayin'. You wouldn't even have to participate. Cas is fine with you just watching.

🪽 After one horribly long conversation with their leader and the failure of a vessel, you are suspiciously confirmed as a new resident in their camp. The wardings still dampen your power greatly, but you're able to fly out of there and back swiftly, just not in the blink of an eye.

You report back to Lucifer while everyone is resting. The damned devil knew exactly what he was doing, sending you in there. He makes piss poor excuses and decides to cut you a deal. Camp Chitaqua? It can stay for now. Even after Lucifer wipes it off the proverbial map, that fallen angel of yours can stay alive. You just have to... do a few things for him. Everything, in fact. No more of this informal loyalty business.

He is demanding a grace pact. The both of you intertwine your angelic nature to make a deal that neither side can break, lest their grace be snuffed out.

You obey his every order.

Castiel stays safe, and Camp Chitaqua also has temporary amnesty.

You loved your Castiel. That much is true. It's just—this new one isn't your Castiel. You have to get him back somehow.

🪽 Cas doesn't want to go back to how he was. He does want you. And you, you try so hard to 'fix' him. He doesn't need to be fixed.

You go as far as to reveal your true identity, but not your workings with the devil himself.

He simply takes a hit of his bong and buries his true feelings. He can't tell you how much he has needed you... for so many years... so many. The first time he ever came to was the thought of you. So many of his 'firsts' were thinking, wishing, yearning, and praying that it was you.

You can't love that pathetic, emotionless winged dick. He isn't a winged dick anymore. He's just the second part, and boy is he good at it.

He'll play your little games if it means you'll stay by his side longer. He's petrified that you'll abandon him once you realize this is him. He is no longer a dignified Angel of the Lord. He's this.

Why can't you just love the true him?

You play this never-ending back and forth. It's the same game, altered rules.

🪽 It takes him a while to learn about your pact with the devil. When he does, he gets pissed. His love cave is messier than usual. He pulled out all his old knowledge and is flipping through the few magical books they've been able to preserve. He cancels all of his fun times. He shuts everyone out.

His sole focus is figuring out how to undo this.

How fucking dare he. He may just be a mortal... a weak body of flesh and bone that can be killed by just a cut, but that doesn't change the fact that Lucifer has you by the tips of your wings.

Who knows what that, as his older brother said, big bag of dicks is doing!?

It makes you swoon. You see your Cas-tiel again.

Lucifer is able to feel that. What happens because of that? Only you know. And some of those things will stay deeply buried in your memories for an eternity to come.

🪽 Castiel takes more risks outside of base camp because he knows you'll save him. You're his own personal guardian angel. He uses that to his advantage. He locates information and finds ways to hide certain things from you. He isn't sure if he's doing a good job, but he has to try, just one more time. After all, the apocalypse has already happened.

"I'm going to make a really bad decision."

Lucifer himself knows what that means for you.

"Please, no."

Every time you say no to his idiocy, he takes that as a yes. You don't exactly mind it. You haven't seen this side of Cas before. Well—this... everything, you haven't seen before.

🪽 He relaxes back to his endverse self after a handful of months. He's made some good progress with his research. So he decided to grow bolder. Orgies! His favorite hobby.

Except this time he outs you as a divine being. He just tweaks the details a little bit. You're a sex goddess, hiding from the big bad Lucifer that wants to hurt you. He tells Dean this, and he believes it. Hey, Dean trusts Cas, and it makes a lot of sense. You're skittish and hella fuckable. Perhaps Cas can hook him up one night—if he ever gets a break from making sure everyone keeps their bits and bobs in place.

No wonder Cas's condom use has gone up quadruplefold since you appeared.

He holds elaborate sex rituals in your name and your name alone. All other gods are dead. It's time to make you a new one.

The coy fucker acts like this wasn't his plan. He just stumbled into it. He's just a silly little stoner. Your silly little stoner.

"Baby, I can feel your grace. Don't be mad—I'm just teaching others to worship you as I do." He worships you the best.

🪽 As one does, he sacrifices those he doesn't like. In secret. He takes out those infected with Croatoan virus, or so everyone thinks. He isn't sure if Dean has caught on yet. If Dean has, then he hasn't confronted Cas on it.

It stems from jealously. You are starting to help others in camp. You have never helped humans like this before. It's strange. It should be him! Only him! It's selfish, okay? He gets it. But he has known you for far longer than anyone. Only he knows how to take care of you. He is the only one who has earned your blessings.

So—someone else gets your aid? Oh, no, no, no, no, no! You are his provocative savior.

And also just a teensy eensie weensie blood ritual that could set you free from Lucifer and tie you to him. It requires a lot of blood. And unfortunately, willing or unwilling participants aren't easy to come by.

🪽 All of these human needs in him. He needs you corrupted. He's sure Lucifer has been trying this entire time. Lucifer doesn't have what you have with him.

He doesn't want you to fall, not that there really is a heaven anymore to punish you. He just needs you to be so utterly fucked out, so entirely his.

So little old you is struggling where your loyalties lie. He knows this. He can still read you, somewhat. He knows you'll choose him in the end, after the end.

You always do.

[nerdydaydreamer]

Morpheus is Pouting Again

MASTERLIST

It had been an unusually quiet afternoon in the Dreaming. Almost too quiet. You, an assistant to Lucienne and a close friend to Morpheus, found yourself tidying a shelf of particularly esoteric tomes when you sensed his presence. A slight shift in the air, a faint scent of ozone and old parchment. You turned, expecting the usual stoic, often brooding visage of your lord.

And he was stoic, certainly. But… something was off.

Morpheus stood by a towering window, his back mostly to you, gazing out at the swirling nebulae of his domain. His customary raven, Matthew, perched on a nearby bust, head cocked, observing his master with an almost unnerving stillness.

"Morpheus?" you ventured, your voice barely a whisper in the vast library.

He didn't turn immediately. Instead, there was a subtle slump to his shoulders, so minor you might have missed it if you hadn't spent centuries observing him. And then, he let out a barely audible sigh. It wasn't the deep, resonant sigh of cosmic weariness you were accustomed to. This was… softer. More put-upon.

Finally, he turned. His eyes, usually pools of night, seemed just a shade… narrower. And his lips, typically set in a firm, unyielding line, were pressed together in a way that pulled at the corners, just so. It was a minuscule shift, a flicker of an expression, but your mind, trained to observe the nuances of the Endless and deeply familiar with your friend, immediately recognized it.

He was pouting.

A jolt, like static electricity, went through you, followed by a wave of pure, unadulterated fondness. Morpheus. The King of Dreams. Your friend, who had faced down gods and devils, who commanded the very fabric of imagination. He was pouting like a child denied a sweet.

He caught your gaze, and for a split second, a flicker of something akin to alarm crossed his features. His expression immediately smoothed over, becoming even more rigid than usual. He straightened his already impeccable posture, his gaze sweeping over the library as if to dismiss your observation.

"Is there something you require, y/n?" he asked, his voice its usual deep rumble, completely devoid of any tell-tale signs of his momentary lapse.

You, however, couldn't quite contain the tiny, involuntary smile that touched your lips. He was trying so hard to hide it, and it was absolutely precious. His chin was held a fraction higher, his eyes fixed on a point just beyond you. It was like watching a magnificent, ancient cat trying to pretend it hadn't just tripped over its own paws.

"No, Morpheus," you managed, your voice remarkably steady despite the delightful revelation. You paused, just for a moment, letting your gaze linger on his face. "Though… I do hope whatever troubles you resolves itself soon. You look like you've misplaced your favorite nightmare."

His eyes narrowed further, just a fraction, and for a split second, you thought you saw the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth – perhaps the start of a rare, amused smile quickly stifled, or maybe just a tightening in his effort to maintain his composure.

"My nightmares are precisely where they belong, y/n," he stated, his voice a low rumble, though you detected the faintest hint of… something. Annoyance? Mild exasperation? Or perhaps, just perhaps, a fleeting amusement. "Unlike certain librarians who seem to have misplaced their sense of propriety."

You chuckled softly, a sound that rarely echoed through the hushed halls of the library when Morpheus was present. "Oh, my apologies, Morpheus. I merely meant that you seem… preoccupied. Perhaps even a tad… deflated?" You watched him carefully, a playful glint in your eye. "Did someone steal your last cup of cosmic coffee?"

A deeper shadow seemed to cross his features, but it was fleeting. "The affairs of the Endless are rarely so trivial, y/n." He turned fully back to the window, his shoulders still held in that slightly slouched, almost dejected posture.

"Of course not," you agreed, stepping a little closer. "It's just… a rare sight to see you looking quite so… put out." You leaned in a fraction, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "Come now, you can tell your humble librarian. Did one of your siblings vex you? Did Death try to make you dance again?"

At the mention of his sister, you swore you saw the corner of his lip twitch downward even more. He let out another soft sigh, almost imperceptible. "It is… merely the inherent lack of understanding in the current mortal dreams," he mumbled, his voice a low thrum. "They are… unsubstantial. Lacking in true imaginative depth."

You blinked, suppressing another giggle. "Ah, the plight of the modern dreamer," you mused. "So, their bland dreams are making the King of Dreams pout?" You emphasized the last word, your eyes twinkling.

He turned back to you, his gaze intense, but the severity was undermined by the subtle downturn of his lips. "I do not 'pout', y/n," he stated, his voice firm, yet with an underlying strain. "I merely… express disappointment."

You hummed, nodding sagely. "Of course, Lord Morpheus. Utter disappointment. Very discerning. But perhaps," you said, stepping forward and gently taking his hand, a gesture you knew few others dared, "a particularly vivid new nightmare, or perhaps even a remarkably poignant dream of happiness, could lift your spirits? I hear the dreaming of a well-baked cake can be quite uplifting."

He looked down at your hand in his, then back to your face. The slight pout was still there, utterly adorable, even as he tried to maintain his majestic facade. He didn't pull his hand away. "Your suggestions are… noted," he murmured, and for a fleeting instant, you thought you saw the barest hint of a smile try to break through.

The King of Dreams, pouty and trying desperately to hide it, was a secret you'd treasure, a quiet, delightful understanding that made the weight of his power seem just a little bit lighter, and him, in that moment, utterly, undeniably adorable.

[dollwrites]

Good morning to you too!!! Omg yes I couldn’t decide but I would love to see #1 with Mammon. It’d be so weird to not request him as I named -mammon anon 🤣

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, rough backshots, spit as lube, anal play ( a finger ), spanking, suggested breeding kink, suggested anal sex, light praise, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗿𝗯𝘀 ∣ prompt # one // mirror sex

you were watching him through the mirror, not yourself. you couldn’t help it, when the devil king mounted you from behind. you had to see him— to watch how his massive pectorals rose and fell with heavy snorting through his nose, how his dark brows furrowed from behind slick tendrils that hangs in his face.

though, it definitely wasn’t easy to keep your concentration on the man fucking you. the mirror quakes, along with most everything else within the room, causing the visage of your lover to blur when his herculean hips buck home, and it takes all of your power to stay firmly planted on the bed, lest you be thrown into the floor ( it wouldn’t have been the first time, but Mammon was also not above following you down there, and sticking his foot in the back of your head to hold you in place while he finished ).

“Harder,” you pant, the sound barely audible over his bestial snarling, “harder!” with anyone else, it would’ve been a demand barked to startle them into submission— but with King Mammon, it was a plea. a whimper. a desperate yip for him to truly wreck you.

his honeyed gaze was focused downward instead of into the glass to meet your own. you knew that he couldn’t help it; entranced by the ripples your ass makes when he slaps it. he does so again for good measure, and your back arches tight, pushing his favorite section of your body back into him. hunkering closer to the bed, your breasts rubbing against the mattress, you wince from the sting. “Your Majesty…”

“Begging for me to beat your pussy up again?” there’s a thick layer of arrogance in his voice as he uses both hands to grope your ass cheeks, massaging the sting away, and spreading them. his parted lips quirk into a smirk when you clench hard, and your tight ring puckers for him, just like you know he likes. “Hmph. Spoiled little breeding bitch.” but he doesn’t complain. instead, he obliges— using the grip on your ass to anchor you, his rutting turning brutal enough for you to claw at the black satin sheets under your sweaty body. your eyes, as much as you try to keep them on the heaving, rocking figure, flutter closed under the rush of pleasure.

“Yes, yes, yes!!” you yelp in tandem with every thrust; your insides churning as he spears into them. your elastic walls thrummed in a frenzy, milking his thick cock.

“Hell, you’re tight…” Mammon grunts in appreciation, and you can feel a dribble of fluid sliding between your spread cheeks. you knew it must be spit— without looking, you can imagine the familiar sight. Mammon’s long, thick tongue hanging out, saliva dripping from it in translucent globs down on to the hole he’s dying to get inside of. “Look at me, breeder.” you open your eyes, feeling the rough pad of his calloused thumb sweeping over your asshole, smearing the spit around it, and you realize he’s also raised his gaze from your perfect ass, and his golden eyes are glaring at you from the reflection. locked in such a disjointed stare, your lips part to speak, but he beats you to it. “Is this pussy mine?” he asks, and you almost wonder if he’s joking. balls deep in your hole, stretching it out, his pounding making you see double, and he’s asking if it’s his?

“Mhm!” you answer, one hand pushing itself down the length of your belly. your svelte fingertips find your swollen clit and rub it furiously. “‘S yours!”

“And this tight ass?” he asks again. this time, his thumb pushes on your pucker, worming its way inside the spasming canal. luckily, it was slick and gave way for the large digit. you mewl in response to another hole being violated, smiling breathlessly as he uses it as a hook. the rest of his powerful hand spread against your lower back. “Do I own it?”

“Yes, yes, Your Majesty! You own my ass!” as you cry this out, you attempt to look over your left shoulder to look into his eyes and show him how earnest you are, but he doesn’t allow that.

Mammon grins, his fangs dragging across his lower lip as he does so, and his free hand palms the back of your head, and forces it straight again, a growl rumbling deep in his throat. “That’s a good girl. Are you ready to watch me fuck it?”

[love-minor-poltergeist]

Can I please request the Devil from Cuphead with a Lilith s/o? Where they were an early version of Eve that knew Devil before his fall and also fell with him. They too went through a transformation, one that made them insecure as Devil is with his own transformation.

A/N: This was an interesting request! The story of Lilith has always fascinated me. Not to mention that, like the Devil, the numerous pieces of art that were inspired by her tale are absolutely gorgeous! If you haven’t seen it, I’d recommend giving John Collier’s Lilith a look-see!!

I believe I accidentally misread some of the initial request, so the reader falls/transforms before the Devil does. This batch is a little bit heftier than my usual work, so if you’re unhappy with the results, feel free to shoot me a dm so I can make any adjustments where needed!!

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

The Devil with Lilith!S/O:

The Devil’s earliest memories of you traced back to when you were nothing more than a whispered name. Long ago, when he still held a place in his father’s heart, the Devil had watched your conception. 

Even now, the Devil could recall his father’s mumbling under his breath,  enraptured in a conversation of one. The few times the Devil (well, he was Lucifer back then) passed by his office, he could faintly make out his father’s muffled muttering through the door. Most of which were near unintelligible. Save for two names: Adam and Lilith.

After his older brothers’ incessant pestering, the Devil snuck into his father���s office. Crumpled paper balls, broken sticks of charcoal, and empty ink wells littered the floor; the Holy One’s once pristine office left neglected in its master’s fitful working.  

A few steps in, his foot suddenly slid forward. Paper ripped beneath his dress shoe with a loud shriek, startling the angel. Cursing, he lifted his foot up. Beneath him laid two torn halves of a sketch page. A man– broad, curly-haired, and with eyes like a dairy cow– stared up at him; the imprint of the Devil’s shoe marring his otherwise perfect face. 

On the other half was another figure. Sharp, piercing eyes and long hair that flowed  like a waterfall. Ah, so you must be Lilith. It was fascination at first sight. Gingerly, he had picked up the half that housed your striking visage. Without another word, the Devil pocketed it. 

He didn’t know what possessed him to take it. Instinct? Possessiveness? Even now, long after he fell from Heaven, he’s unsure. All the Devil knew was that he wanted to stare and marvel at you for hours on end.

God found out about his son’s trespassing not long after the incident. However, he couldn’t find it within him to be angry towards his favorite son. Instead, he had nurtured the young man’s curiosity. Not that Lucifer ever retained any of his father’s impassioned ramblings. He was much more interested in you. 

“They are to be Adam’s wife,” his father explained, a smile present on his ancient face. A pang ripped through the Devil’s chest. Though he couldn’t quite place why.

By the time his father finally began to sculpt you and your husband to be, the Devil thought whatever torch he carried would fizzle out.  

It did not. 

From the moment you opened your eyes, he had been ensnared. Shyness shook his normally so confident core. And to think that all it took was a gentle tilt of your head and a wry smile. A mirthful glint shone in your eyes as the Devil fought to hide the blush steadily overtaking his face. 

The Devil avoided you like the plague after your birth. He threw himself into his work– hoping that having you out of sight would put an end to this nonsense. Little did he know that absence only made the heart grow fonder. 

He was forced to sit back and observe the object of his obsession from afar– lest he’d make a blithering fool of himself. You were different from most of his father’s pet projects. Disinterested. Both in the role you were given and your husband. 

You always seemed to stare off into the distance. Towards the horizon. Paying the lush paradise and your husband no mind. Hell, you’d even looked annoyed when the only other human around spoke to you. 

The Devil didn’t recognize it then, but you, too, hungered for more; more than what you have, for beyond the garden grounds. Most of all, neither of you wished to be subservient to anyone. 

No matter how much he had tried, you never were able to bond or love Adam like God wanted to. What started out as courteous neutrality steadily gave way into contempt. Resentment bubbled beneath your stony exterior like magma within the earth. You were a ticking time bomb rigged to explode, and the Devil watched on with bated breath.

One day, you snapped. Neither you or the Devil could remember what started the argument. Only that it was enough for you to lash out and claw at your husband’s cheek– your eyes wide and teeth bared like a feral hellcat. Adam was quick to crumple to the ground, hissing in pain. You darted off into the underbrush, the rustles of disturbed foliage and the snaps of breaking twigs following in your wake.

By the time God had found out of your transgressions, you were long gone. No one could find where you ran off to. And though the Devil and his brothers were told to leave the incident behind, one look at his father’s face was enough to say it all: the deity was absolutely livid.

Hours turn into days, days into weeks. Time becomes a blur. Adam gains a new wife, and all is well in the garden once more. The bond between father and son weakens with each passing day; all the while your feral visage burned itself into the Devil’s mind. 

Then that fateful rebellion happened. A sword– burning like the rage within his former brother’s eyes– is pressed to the Devil’s neck; a clear victor had been declared. 

Shortly after, he fell. Screaming and burning until he was only a vague resemblance of his former self.

Life after falling wasn’t easy. He was alone, stripped of any power or influence,  and the phantom pains had haunted him constantly. His wings were broken and useless, forcing him to wander the hellscape by foot, and his appearance— oh, how he had changed. 

Truly, the Devil had hit rock bottom. 

And then, you came back into his life. 

In the centuries– eons– of his existence,  the Devil finds himself at a loss of words around you. You’d regarded him with a level of distrust at first– especially since he had accidentally let it slip that he’s known of your existence before you rebelled. 

It also didn’t help that, in spite of the fall scarring you– having charred the flesh of your arms and legs to a blackened and cracked state; feathers, dark and oil-slick like a raven, grew in uneven patches around your eyes, arms and thighs; and legs twisted and bent until they resembled the hind legs of a goat, complete with hooves – he thought you were absolutely gorgeous. 

It takes a long time for you to trust him. Especially since the last thing you had wanted was to bow down to Heaven’s disgraced golden child.  The two of you shared an acquaintanceship for a while– your interactions kept brief. However, you couldn’t deny that you were a little curious about the man. 

Soon enough, a working business relationship blooms between the two of you. The Devil comes to you in search of information– be it the whereabouts of potential contracts or certain souls on his list. In return, you gain a favor from the soon-to-be King of Hell; you saw how quickly he’s amassing power, you’d be a fool to pass up having someone as influential as him underneath your thumb. 

Not to mention that you may or may not have begun to enjoy spending time with him. What was once small shared rants on how much Heaven sucked ended up developing into something more. 

Once the Devil finally establishes his casino in Inkwell Hell, you find yourself treated as a guest of honor. You’ll be treated better than royalty within velvet-lined walls, an entourage of imps tending to your every whim, and drinks and food are given to you free of charge. Not to mention you have free reign to enter his office or balcony seat whenever you please. 

Acquaintanceship blossoms into an easy, flirtatious.. Whatever you two are. The Devil isn’t sure what to name the relationship he has with you at this point. You both share the same dry, sardonic sense of humor and are content to co-exist in comfortable silence – a part of him rather not muddy one of the few good things he has because he decided to think with his other head, so to speak. 

Then again, there are certain moments where he wonders..

You’d light the end of your thin cigarette against the plump tip of his cigar, eyes hooded and lips pursed as you hummed a low thanks; occasionally glancing at him from the corner of your eye. Chuckling to yourself every time he flushes and grumbles to himself. 

Every now and then you’ll indulge in drinks within his personal office. Occasionally you’d partake of his own cup, gently pressing your lips where his own rested not too long ago. Taking care to slowly lick at your lower lip each time you catch him staring. 

The way you’d pause whenever the larger demon would casually brush  a stray head feather back into place, gently dragging a claw against the vane in his own version of grooming. A shy flush overtaking your cheeks, turning away and covering your mouth as you grumble out to warn you next time.. 

How your gaze softens and body melts when either one of you recall the fall from grace; lamenting former glories and how your transformation left its scars, offering a saddened smile whenever he scoffs at the very idea that your were any less beautiful. 

For as long as both of you existed, for as much as both of you constantly blur the lines of platonic comradery and something the Devil dare not name in fear of getting his hopes up– the two of you are painfully oblivious.

┕━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┙

[dumbgoondog]

Choso Kamo Thoughts(Part 2)

Cw/Tw - Kidnapping mention, blood, lots of talk of death/dead things

Okay maybe Choso and Uraume fight for my favorite spot sometimes- SFW no smut this time.

(Also this divider eh? Pretty great huh?)

Choso who’s super into fanfics and tropes.

Choso who is SO into scary monster x freak

Choso who is sucker for beauty and the beast types of tropes

Choso who loves enemies/rivals to lovers

Choso who dissociates and imagines himself in these scenarios with someone/you

Choso who realizes he could just kidnap someone/you, but this is reality and maybe that wouldn’t go over like the stories do…

Choso who definitely has OCs, he feels like an eldritch horror oc type, old France style. High gothic

(Should I make a thang for his ocs and his stories for them?)

Choso who likes disturbing media. Not media that’s illegal or supports illegal things but things like the game Pathologic, I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream, Clinical Trials, Bad Parenting, Fear and Hunger, Visage, Oxide Room 104… he’s not trying to be edgy he’s just fascinated by these things.

Pull up an image of Kenjaku, I’ll wait, just real quick for me. You see his dumb little smile? Them stitches? Good. Now, did you know Autism can be hereditary? Choso and Yuji both. Choso is sensitive to stimuli, Yuji is Hyposensitive to stimuli. I could see Yuji havin ADHD with or by itself but honestly looking at his character in depth he displays way more autistic traits than ADHD, I think he’s just excitable which makes me want to say ADHD but that’s diminishing. Unlearning ableism one step at a time. Anywayyyy

(I’ll totally go in depth about why I think Kenjaku, Choso, and Yuji are autistic if y’all wan)

Choso got into Pokémon because of Uraume. His team is —

Yamask, his buddy Pokémon/mascot. Not galarian. Yamask’s name is Eko.

Banette, found a shuppet thought it was cute learned the lore. Name, Maru.

Golisopod, ace in the sleeve. This tall white and purple Pokémon that’s considered creepy and powerful? He loves it.

✨Sobble✨. Sniping… piercing blood… its name is Simo, after Simo Hayha.

Dracovish, it reminds him of Kechizu! Name, Haratsu.

Male Frillish, for Eso! Of course there were better Pokémon to represent Eso but he loves the Royal floaty ghostly jellyfish, also king wing. Name, Fumihito.

He’s a big water and ghost type fan.

Choso is a BIG fan of aquariums. There’s something so special about them, something that makes him feel contemplative and at ease. He wishes he could just swim with them, that blue glow… queue “If I Am With You.”

Choso feels very lonely. His room is filled with the other death paintings and after he collected Eso and Kechizu’s bodies he cremated them and has their urns too. He feels so bad

Choso’s “space” theme is to represent the “soul”. Space is often used to represent the soul in media but also he can feel the souls of his brothers, while they’re alive, while they’re cursed objects, he feels the souls of them in him and his own soul. Another reason he and Mahito are friends.

Choso sometimes sleeps with his eyes open. It’s not good for him and very creepy.

Choso loves dark gothic musicals. Phantom of the Opera, Count of Monte Cristo, Jekyll and Hyde, The Devil’s Carnival, The Hunchback of Notredame, Beauty and The Beast, Elisabeth, Dracula… yeah you get it.

Choso has a special interest in cultural practices for the dead. Be it religious or just a group of peoples practices. Superstition even. He loves taxidermy, and skeletons. He certainly goes to graveyards and cleans the graves there.

Claymore, Beserk, Castlevania, Seraph of the End, Dororo, Black Butler, Wolf’s Rain, Elfen Lied, Perfect Blue, Vampire Hunter D, Revolutionary Girl Utena, Chaika The Coffin Princess - A list of Anime and Manga Choso wants to watch and or read.

Choso is 6’3-4”(194cm), I am making this up, this is NOT official, I’m basing it off of Choso being a bit taller than Geto/Kenjaku.

[jessamine-rose]

ʚ✿⚘ Forbidden Fruit ⚘✿ɞ

Welp I was very busy this Kinktober thanks to WHB. More headcanons, anyone?? (*-`ω´- )

Characters:: Bathin, Marbas, Barbatos, Naberius, Satan, Zagan, Astaroth

Note:: Nsfw, pls take note of each character’s paraphilia before reading, MINORS DNI

♡ Bathin usually travels alone, but he is always open to your company. He will prioritize scenic routes and hidden gems, anything to make your journey more exciting. Once the moon rises, the two of you can take evening strolls, compare the night sky to Niflheim’s, and savor each other’s presence in an otherwise unfamiliar place. Not to mention the hours spent in your hotel room—there is a reason why you always share a bed.

♡ Technically, Marbas can undo his restraints during meals, but that hasn’t stopped you from offering your help. Hand-feeding him takes less time, after all, especially with candy or fruit. And it means you can tease him by sitting on his lap, tracing his lips for stray crumbs, getting your fingers sticky with his favorite strawberry caramel. Neither can he stop you when you pull him into a sweet kiss, slipping an aphrodisiac into his mouth~

♡ Barbatos likes to see you at different times of the day. Noon, illuminated in radiant sunshine. Sunset, colored in light and shadow. Night, when your visage is painted in the soft shades of borrowed sunlight. In return for indulging his kink, he will be the one to provide sunscreen and thoroughly apply it to your skin. Now he just needs to coax you into sunbathing with him; the both of you would look beautiful against the roses.

♡ Naberius is weak to pet play. There are many ways to rile him up, from soft headpats to harsh commands to a personalized collar engraved with your initials. And what is the best form of control if not Pavlovian conditioning? All it takes is the sound of his name spoken in your voice, in a stern tone used only during sex, for his animalistic urges to take over. “Hey, Naberius, have you forgotten who your owner is? …Oh? That’s my good boy~”

♡ The easiest way to end an argument with Satan is through makeup sex. Depending on the seriousness of the issue, he can’t help but feel turned on by your wrath—directed at him, no less. He hasn’t even apologized before you’re already at his throat, a slap to his face followed by a passionate kiss. To which he smiles and kisses you back, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You truly are an interesting human~

♡ Zagan is attentive to your physical mannerisms, which makes it easy for him to gauge your emotions. Every shudder, every flicker of discomfort, spurs him to stop moving and ask if you’re okay, if you need a breather, if he has failed as your lover. Do reassure him, won’t you? His skill is also useful during workouts! He will examine your form, manually adjust your body, and, in a shy voice, propose a final exercise in his bedroom.

♡ Astaroth’s favorite pastime is to read a book while you cockwarm him. The experience can only be described as your personal hell—fleeting touches, the spikes of his leg harness, his velvety voice narrating a tale of dark romance. How long will your patience last? Has corruption ever tasted this sweet? Don’t worry, he promises to reward you once the story is over. A beautiful rose is not without thorns, just like the flowers tainted by original sin.

♡

Still hornii?? Read my other WHB fics <3

Cheers to Marbas and Astaroth getting more headcanons after Dance with the Devil. Can y’all tell how thirsty I was when I wrote their parts?? Huhuhu _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):

Special thanks to @diodellet for beta-reading this and rejuvenating me with your reaction to Naberius. And to my beloved readers, do rot in the tags/ comments and tell me which devil was your favorite. I cherish your feedback <3

Tag a WHB enjoyer!! @sparkbeast20 @2af-afterdark @dreamii-yume @yanmaresu @pinkaditty @h2o2-and-baking-soda @paradivis @gr0tesquerom4ntica @dobaekki @obeythisass @beelsjuicytitties @binar-es @ushitoshii @sulumuns-dootah @devilmen-collector @jazeswhbvault

[fractempyreal]

❝ He loves you , you know . ❞ It comes as a whisper of sound , the soft approach of the silver woman carrying a porcelain cup akin to that of a spectre . A visage that could dissipate from your grasp should you exhale too sharply . Smile paints across the sweep of her lips , gaze downturned towards the drink before they turn towards the blue devil . Hands lift , offering the cup to him ( darjeeling , a mentioned favorite ) in hopes that it would prove sufficient enough as a notion of peace between them . ❝ I can't remember a time he didn't speak highly of you . Even after you – ❞

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 ,   the way that she moves ,   the murmur of her heart   (  too soft ,   too weak ,   to be beating within a living humans chest ) ,   the scent of DEATH that clings to her skin & very being .   The Devil knows she's there before she speaks ,   head barely turning aside to glance at her ,   before lowering gaze to the cup held within her hands   (  scarred ,   obscenely so ,   yet hers are the hands that string together delicate arts .   A master of her craft  ) .   Her voice ,   the promise of spring's bloom after the cold winter nights ,   a balm that smooths over the ravaged parts of a soul .   It's mesmerizing ,   the effects she has on the world around her ,   yet memory reminds them of Grimmjow's words ,   of the smile that never dissipates  &  the kindness that is given to a world that turned its back on her .   How curious ,   that there had been no attempt to turn against it all ,   to forsake humanity with the knowledge that there would be little to no opposition   (  or so the Devil would believe  ) .   The time that trods between them feels too long as the cup remains within her hold ,   &  he can tell that there is that moment's deliberation of whether or not she had made the right call to approach him when lost in thoughts .   The building tension soon enough dispelled as gloved hands lift to take the cup ,   fingers gently grazing over her own   (  skin as cold  &  lifeless as bitter stone ,   though their seeming frailty akin to that of fragile porcelain  ) ,   an acknowledgement of what it was that she sought ,   though keenly aware of the needlessness of it when faced with the growing familiarity between them .

Colorless gaze lifts to hers ,   searching ,   allowing a soft exhale from lungs in the form of a gentle SCOFF .   Silence ensues in the seconds after ,   drawing the cup closer  &  lifting rim to lips .   Darjeeling .   Curious that she would have known to bring him this blend without prior knowledge of those few teas that were highly sought after .   Though ,   is it so strange ?   As they listen to her continue ,   it dawns on them that the knowledge would have had to have been imparted on her by someone that knew the Devil's particular tastes   (  as close as Dante claimed to be to the elder ,   the particulars of loose leaf seemed to often elude him  ) .  

                          Grimmjow .

Single sip taken before it begins its descent ,   though it pauses momentarily in its trajectory as he glances back over towards Ebony .   Jaw setting at the hesitation of the word's subject that surrounds them day in  &  day out .   A quiet prompt to give voice to the weight she fears bringing to their conversation as bottom of cup CLINKS against saucer .     

                    ❛    ────   Died .    ❜        No reason was there to shy away from the truth they both were well aware of .   The black STAIN that had smeared a large majority of their life ,   the hollow knight that followed the orders of none other than the being that had carved out the humanity that had resided ,   molding it by hand into something more PALLETABLE  &  OBEDIENT .   Remnants of a soul remained regardless ,   with the looming threat of being consumed ,   eradicated ,   forgotten .   The only mercy ,   was the destruction of the walking prison  &  near destruction of their soul .   A final HEARTBEAT drowned out by echoing screams  &  the strike of metal against the cold stone ground  (  a brother left without half their being ,   without having known the grave sin until it was too late  ) .   In one place ,   events led to another ,   in juxtaposition ?   Two souls had continued to bond even in the face of ABSENCE .  

He looks to her then ,   carefully scanning her features as she glances to him  (  shock ?   Astonishment ,   perhaps ?   at the brazen admittance of their brief departure from this life  ) .   Low hum exudes from them ,   shifting gaze towards the cup in their hand  &  allowing finger to uncoil from the handle ,   thumb  &  forefinger gently rubbing together pensively .   That Grimmjow continued to hold the Devil in high regard is what struck him at most ,   ODD ,   if only due to the nature of disappearance ,   to have effectively been left ABANDONED by the Devil  (  through no intentional means ,   especially not for so long  ) .   

                    ❛    I believe he may underestimate how sentimental he can actually become .   Counterintuitive to the claim that he has no heart .    ❜        Harshness is immensely dulled ,   left only with the soft ember of warmth that tone oft finds itself bereft of .   Softness had never been familiar to them ,   a foreign behavior that was all too often attributed with WEAKNESS ,   yet here they stand as living proof of where true weakness had lay   (  a contusioned heart being the last thing to contribute to those baseless accusations  ) .   Form gradually SHIFTS from the woman ,   though not without the brief hesitation that stutters movement .   He deliberates on whether or not there should be words of COMFORT exchanged in the prompted topic ,   that perhaps she sought confirmation from the Devil himself on the state of their feelings towards the arrancar .        ❛    To be speaking of me even in absence ,   it's difficult to imagine .    ❜        Voice lowering to a near murmur ,   fingers gently running over the ridged design adorning the side of the teacup in hand .   There had been those mentions ,   where loneliness had set in  &  company sought in the form of a particular tender-hearted woman .   In a past not too long ago ,   there would have been the harsh judgement of such a FOOLISH desire ,   in seeking companionship in another rather than finding the capability to stride forth  &  dispense of a memory that no longer maintained its tangibility .   Now ?   Vergil finds no fault in the the decision   (  had come to mistakenly accept the passage of time  &  the growth of another  ) ,   though now it continuously seems to shift  &  change as days are spent in company of two souls rather than one .   An unprecedented development ,   but one that he did not find himself opposed to the more he came to learn of the melancholic woman .

Eyes drift back towards her ,   as hands lightly fold before her in meeting the Devil's gaze .   Where he would have expected her to look away ,   she instead maintains eye contact even as her posture ever so slightly changes under the weight of the Devil's piercing eyes   (  as if they saw right through ,   yet this time they're met with those that understood souls  ) .   This time ,   it is the Devil that lowers their gaze ,   releasing a quiet exhale .

                    ❛    What I have done ,   should have drawn his ire .   That he still found it within himself to ──    ❜        A pause ,   looking back at the pale woman with slanted brows .        ❛    ──   You should realize that he has learned to love you ,   as well .   Do not doubt that .    ❜

@aevyternal

[halfmoth-halfman]

la douleur exquise

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x GN!Spider!Reader Word Count: 2.6k Warnings: canon-typical violence, fluff, whump, slight body horror

It isn’t easy being one of Miguel’s best agents. He’s a hard man to impress and even harder to get close to, but somehow you’ve managed to do both.

You take pride in your friendship with Miguel; it’s not something easily accomplished and more often, a feat people are too afraid to try for. You get it, he can be intimidating, but you’ve gotten a glimpse beneath that rough exterior. He isn’t some terrifying monster waiting to attack at any given moment.

If he was a monster, he wouldn’t take time out of his day to make sure you eat three meals a day.

He wouldn’t ask for your advice on handling anomalies, much less listen as intently as he does.

He wouldn’t let you literally hang around his office and annoy him to no end during your downtime.

You know Miguel’s a good man. Is he a little too stern with the others? Yes. Does he take his job too seriously sometimes? Also yes. But you couldn’t imagine you’d be any other way if you were in his position.

He’s a good boss and a good friend—quite possibly your best friend—someone you trust with your life, and you’re about ninety-eight percent sure he feels the same about you. At least, you hope so. It’s that, or you’ve suddenly become really bad at reading people.

“Widow, come in.”

Speak of the Devil.

“If it isn’t my favorite boss,” you smile, looking down at your watch just in time to see Miguel roll his eyes.

“I’m your only boss.”

“Still my favorite,” you laugh. “What’s up?”

“I need you to meet up with Jess. Lyla—”

“Oh, wait, let me guess! Lyla detected another anomaly, and you need your best spider-person to get the job?”

Miguel doesn’t even look at you, too busy with whatever’s on his monitors, as he lazily shrugs, “Yes, actually—”

“Wait, really?”

“—But he’s stuck on Earth-13122, so you’ll have to do.”

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” you sigh, smile still playing at your lips. You catch the quirk of his lips, the tight swallow as he fights down a laugh.

It’s a shame; he has such a nice smile.

“Jess will fill you in on the details,” Miguel continues, back to business as usual.

“No problem, boss.“ Giving a mock salute, Miguel disappears, and you’re left gazing longingly after his visage. A small sigh escapes you, heart aching at his absence.

So, maybe Miguel isn’t just your best friend. Perhaps you’d like him to be something more, but you’ve been holding on to that hope for years with no indication that his feelings for you run deeper than platonic. It hurts having to deal with that fond pinch of your heart every time you see him, but you’ve resigned to dealing with it.

“You done pining yet, or do you need another minute?”

You damn near jump out of your skin at Jess’s voice, whirling around to come face-to-face with her.

“Oh hey, Jess! I didn’t see you there.” You try to laugh it off, looking everywhere but the woman smirking at you.

“Sure,” she teases. “You were too busy making eyes at—“

“Miguel said something about an anomaly?” you cut her off quickly. She gives you one last look that says you’ll definitely be talking about this later before shifting into business mode.

“We got a report about an unusually strong anomaly,” Jess explains, tapping away on her watch. “Due to the conditions of the universe he’s stuck in, Miguel thought you’d be the best for the job.”

A swirl of inter-dimensional orange mixes with the lush tropics of your universe’s floating islands behind her.

“He…did?” you ask with a tilt of your head.

“His exact words were, and I quote, There’s no one better suited for the job. He asked me to come along to help you.”

“No, he didn’t,” you scoff. It isn’t unusual for you to be one of the first ones called to deal with anomalies, but it’s certainly not normal for you to take point.

“You can ask Lyla,” Jess shrugs as the portal blinks opens.

“Why? What’s up with this universe that I’m needed, specifically?”

Jess’s mouth quirks into a knowing grin, waving you over with one foot in the portal.

“You’ll see.”

“I thought you said it was one anomaly!” you scream at Jess, tucking and rolling down another massive sand dune to dodge an incoming swing from the amalgamation of muscles, tendons, and cybernetics that make up the anomalous Lizard.

“There was!” Jess shouts back, kicking off the undead Electro, who looks a little too much like an oversized Frankenstein’s Monster for you to take him seriously.

“Obviously not!” you huff. The unforgiving sun bears down on the four of you, the golden light of this universe’s eternal sunset reflecting off the molten sand. The grains scratch at your suit, visible heat waves rolling over the endless desert.

You duck from another swing of The Cyber-Lizard’s tail, sliding across the sand as he gives chase. You can see the heated sand pulling the moisture from his skin every time he touches it, the coarse epidermis cracking and splitting open.

Miguel was right about one thing, you think. The burning sunset colors of your suit shift with the sands, your skin absorbing every heatwave that rolls by to energize you. There really was no one better suited for the job.

The next time Cyper-Lizard leaps for you, you turn and run, trying to get closer to Jess and the Zombie-Electro. She holds her own well enough—you’d expect nothing less—despite having to abandon her bike to the difficult terrain of this universe.

“Jess, get down!” you shout, sliding down a sand dune toward her. She crouches down, and you launch yourself off the dune, soaring over her.

Zombie-Electro takes the opportunity to attack, one arm extending with a horrendous groan. The jagged bolts of electricity keeping him hovering in the air spark and stretch up his stitched-together body, preparing to launch from his hand.

You beat him to the punch, shooting a web that blocks his hand as you collide with him mid-air. He groans and swats at you, but you’re too quick, attaching to webbing on his hand and crawling around the length of his body.

You’re a chaotic blur of sticky silk, oranges, and reds, webs shooting from every direction as you wrap Zombie-Electro into a massive cocoon, trailing webs around him and shooting off the sticky fibers to tether him to the sandy ground.

Using his head as a springboard, you launch off of him, landing gracefully next to Jess.

“Not bad,” she laughs, staring up at your makeshift monument to watch your webs solidify.

“All in a day’s—“

“Move!”

The blunt force hits you first, the searing pain of heated metal sinking in a second later as Cyber-Lizard’s tail slams into your torso and launches you into the air.

You hear Jess shouting, and your watch beeps. The sand sparkles, a flash of orange across the ocean of molten gold beneath you, and something pulls you out of the air.

You land at the base of your Zombie-Electro tower, or rather Miguel lands with you held firmly in his arms.

“Oh hey, boss,” you say airily. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Though you can’t see his face, he groans, and you know he’s rolling his eyes. Miguel sets you on your feet, waiting an extra second to make sure you can stand on your own.

Pain blossoms across your torso, but your suit works fast to absorb the heat from Cyber-Lizard’s tail and use it to relax your muscles.

“I’m good, promise,” you wheeze, leaning against one of your web pillars. “Go help Jess.”

“Stay here,” Miguel commands before taking off.

“Yeah, no problem,” you nod, waiting until he’s joined the fight to slide to the ground and collapse against your webbing. “I’ll just hang here with my new friend.”

Zombie-Electro groans, a slight shock of electricity traveling down your webs to zap your shoulder.

Your peace doesn’t last long, a massive roar—more the sound of metal screeching against shredded vocal cords—echoing across the dunes. You barely have time to react, getting to your feet—ribs screaming at you in protest—just as Miguel and Jess come flying toward you.

Jess recovers easily, bracing herself and sliding across the sand to stop on your left, while Miguel collides with the harsh structure of your webs on your right.

“Welcome back,” you laugh, holding a hand out to Miguel. He takes it with a huff, using your body as an anchor to jump to his feet. “Think we should call for back—“

“No,” Miguel snaps, and you exchange a look with Jess.

“Miguel—“ You step forward, reaching out to him, but pain shoots up your ribs, knees buckling. They’re quick to catch you, Miguel wrapping an arm around you to keep you upright, and Jess keeping your head from hitting the web-scaffolding.

“We should—“

The familiar shiver crawls up your spine, settling into your brain, the chittering hiss echoing in your mind.

You react a split second before Jess can, the surge of adrenaline giving you the added strength to shove Jess and Miguel away from you as Cyber-Lizard’s claws tear into your back.

You react on pure instinct and survival.

Both hands braced against your web scaffolding, your suit expels all its collected heat in a massive blast. Cyber-Lizard roars as the heat hits the alloy of his cybernetics, the metal already beginning to melt.

He stumbles, but the base of your webs liquify under your touch, and you use the tacky silk to pull him into you just as the entire scaffolding collapses.

Everything feels…heavy.

Distant.

A constant ebb and flow of consciousness like you’re trapped underwater, waves crashing over you whenever you break the surface.

You’re awake, but you aren’t; still present in your body, aware of your surroundings, but unable to move or react.

You hear people talking around you, sometimes quietly, sometimes urgent. There’s beeping and whirring and occasionally the phantom pain of something pinching into your arm.

It all settles into quiet, and you’re left with your scattered thoughts and a gentle pressure in the palm of your right hand.

Thirst is the first thing to hit you when you wake up.

Your throat’s too dry to make noise, but your eyes peel open and instantly move to take note of your surroundings.

You’re back at HQ, lying in the infirmary without your mask.

Guess the anomalies were taken care of.

You feel the dull ache across your body, and you’re sure you have a collection of bruises and bumps to take care of. You can already feel the heat of your suit encasing your skin and working to help you heal. You wiggle your toes, roll your shoulders, then flex your hands. Everything’s working fine, except…

You flex your right hand again, feeling that same solid pressure in your palm. You squeeze, putting as much strength as you can muster into it.

What is—

“Stop it.”

Your head snaps to the right, ignoring the pain that shoots down your neck. Miguel sits in a chair beside your bed, eyes shut with one arm crossed over his chest and the other…

You turn your hand, fingers lacing through his as you squeeze again, far more gently this time.

He opens his eyes, peering down at you with his best stern look. It’s hard to take him seriously when he looks so tired, with deep bags under his bloodshot and swollen eyes, and stress lines more prominent.

“You look like shit.” You rasp out a laugh. Miguel raises an unamused brow, giving you a blatant once over as if to say have you seen yourself. You roll your eyes, carefully turning your head back to look at the ceiling.

“Did you catch—”

“Yes.”

“Is Jess oka—”

“Yes.”

“You’re mad at me.”

“Furious.”

You nod, eyes sliding shut as you wait for the inevitable lecture. You wait a few seconds, then ten, then thirty. When Miguel doesn’t speak after a minute, you chance another glance at him to find him staring down at your linked hands with a look of blatant worry on his face.

“I’m okay,” you say softly, thumb running hesitantly across the back of his hand.

This is uncharted territory for you. Of course, he’s been worried about you before, but nothing more than asking if you were hurt after a mission.

He says it so quietly you almost don’t hear him.

“You flat-lined.”

Oh.

“I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing you can think to say. Miguel scoffs out a laugh, turning to look at you with a shocked expression.

“You’re apologizing? For almost dying?” he asks in pure disbelief. You shrug, eyes focused on the ceiling. He shakes his head, muttering something to himself that you don’t catch.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” you mumble. Miguel sighs, hand sliding out of your grip—you already miss the warmth—as he leans back from you. A hurricane of emotions swirls inside you: shame, embarrassment, anger, heartache.

You could accept him being mad, but the least he could do was thank you for saving his life.

Your bed dips, and suddenly Miguel is hovering over you, large hands cradling your face and claws gently scratching against your temples.

Your mind goes blank, unable to look away from the intensity of his earthy brown gaze.

“You’re supposed to say, I’ll be more careful next time, Miguel,” he says, stern and low.

“I’ll be more careful next time, Miguel,” you repeat, blinking up at him.

He leans closer, voice soft, “I won’t put myself in harm’s way again, Miguel.”

“I won’t put myself in harm’s way again, Miguel.”

He leans closer again, inches away from your face.

“I promise to never leave you, Miguel.”

Your breath hitches, and you bring your hands up to lightly caress his. You know what he's gone through, the things that he's lost, the distance he's put between himself and any sort of real connection. It had been one of your main reasons for keeping your feelings to yourself, content to treasure your friendship.

You never imagined that he pictured you as anything more.

“Miguel—” he stills at the sound of your voice, “—I promise to never leave you.”

You barely get the words out before his mouth is on yours, years' worth of swallowed feelings and tension pouring out.

If this is a dream, you never want to wake up.

Miguel pulls away first, pressing his forehead to yours with a long exhale. “You know you’re not going on any missions for a while, right?”

“I could use a vacation,” you laugh, leaning up for another peck on his lips. “Spend some time with my favorite boss.”

He shakes his head, looking down at you with nothing but unfiltered affection. He kisses you again, quick and chaste, before leaning up to kiss your head, lips murmuring against your skin, “Get some rest.”

You nod, and he pulls away, standing from the bed. You expect him to leave, to head back to his office, but instead, he takes the seat next to the bed and leans back.

He works from his watch while you nod in and out of sleep. Exhaustion finally catches up with you, and the last thing you see is Lyla appearing on his shoulder with a wide, teasing grin, laughing, “About time.”

some spider facts!

✧ reader is based on the noble false widow spider, more specifically, the genus Steatoda Nobilis!

“Oh hey, Jess! I didn’t see you there.” You try to laugh it off, looking everywhere but the woman smirking at you.

✧ false widow spiders are known to have poor eyesight!

A swirl of inter-dimensional orange mixes with the lush tropics of your universe’s floating islands behind her.

✧ false widows were originally found in warm, tropic areas before spreading across the united kingdom and the us! they are also known to be ambush hunters, often going after flying prey from high up!

Miguel was right about one thing, you think. The burning sunset colors of your suit shift with the sands, your skin absorbing every heatwave that rolls by to energize you. There really was no one better suited for the job.

✧ false widows are often a combination of burnt red and orange colors, and can survive and thrive in extremely dry and hot areas without water!

You’re a chaotic blur of sticky silk, oranges, and reds, webs shooting from every direction as you wrap Zombie-Electro into a massive cocoon, trailing webs around him and shooting off the sticky fibers to tether him to the sandy ground.

✧ false widows often use the "attack wrap" against prey where their silk is quickly wrapped tightly around their victim

“Not bad,” she laughs, staring up at your makeshift monument to watch your webs solidify. *

✧ false widow cobwebs are similar to sticky fibers, while their scaffold silk is exceptionally strong! i embellished here a little to make reader's webs able to transfer between the two as they need it!

[ritunn]

Trans in Golarion: A Sample of Pathfinder's Trans Representation

Golarion, like any world, is home to people of many walks of life, but one thing it does very well is trans representation. There isn't a Lost Omens lore book without at least one trans character, in fact there's typically multiple! So, with pride month here, I wanted to highlight some of my favorites that don't get much press. Shardra, the shaman iconic, and Mios, the thaumaturge iconic (both pictures above) are one trans woman and enby you're probably familiar with already, but let's get you acquainted with some more! If you aren't of course acquainted with them, I recommend reading the Meet the Iconic stories for them.

Meet Shardra Geltl!

Meet Mios!

Iltara Clavela

Lost Omens Grand Bazaar, Pg. 48

The owner of Material Changes in Absalom, a fashion boutique, day spa, and a place where not only can your clothing be changed, bur your entire body, Iltara was born in Irrisen to the far north. Born to two parents who made a bargain with a winter fey to have a son that could wield fey magic of frost and winter so that he could lead their army in a wretched second Winter War, this wouldn't be the case. For the fey realized that he had not a male spirit, but a female one instead and that he would never lead anyone in war. The child begged her parents to let her abdicate her name and find the magic to align body with spirit, but they refused. So, when enlisted, she fled and found the fey to ask for the body she desired, but the fey could do no thing. Coming up with a second plan, the child asked if it could help her escape and to that it agreed, only for her name. A simple bargain, one that was happily made as the child renamed herself Iltara.

From then on, she would use her skills to take on odd jobs, but never used her magic for fear of revealing herself as a winter witch. Eventually, she helped fixed the clothes of some entertainers who invited her on as their seamstress and when she had grown close enough to them, she revealed her magic and she was asked to perform herself as a magician. Iltara agreed, only if they helped her find the magic she sought. The group toiled and the entertainers were confused by her obsession until she emerged with an enhanced visage. Illtara had finally achieved what she always dreamed of and now helps make the process for others like her much easier.

Ahran Benimaya

Lost Omens Grand Bazaar Pg. 36

Another merchant within the Grand Bazaar, Ahran is the tattooist at Kraken's Ink Tattoos, working there with his boyfriend, the azarketi, Brine. Growing up in the devil worshipping capital of Cheliax, Ahran's family were Shelynites, devotees of the goddess of art, Shelyn (who is quite queer herself may I add). However, with the state religion focused firmly on Asmodeus who isn't exactly a fan of the more chaotic free loving goddess, Ahran's family had to be careful. However, Ahran himself grew to be a talented artist to the joy of his parents, a skill he'd make use of upon moving to Absalom once one of their neighbors warned them they'd been accused of heresy and had to flee.

There, Ahran saw a shop selling a serum of sex shift for sixty gold pieces and thought it'd be the best way to align his body to his true identity. However, making that much money would be no simple task drawing portraits of others at Absalom's docks for copper pieces. So, he went to Kraken's Ink Tattoos and asked to become an apprentice to tattooist and owner at the time, Maelara, a tiefling dwarf of exceptional skill. Maelara found her new apprentice shared that skill, his artistic talents coming in handy, and soon enough he had enough gold to purchase the serum and become who he was always wished to be. A decade later Maelara retired and Ahran has run the shop ever since. If you ever need a magic tattoo (or just some normal ink), he's your man and even features in book one of the Stolen Fate adventure path.

Ishii Bunji

Lost Omens Firebrands Pg. 42

A member of the revolutionary group called the Firebrands, Ishii "The Tyrant Breaker" Bunji is infamous for his jubilant demeanor and towering physique as a former sumo champion. One of the many people who aided in tearing down the tyranny of the Jade Regent in his homeland of Minkai, Ishii helped rebuild afterwards but a question stirred in his heart. "What good is strength if not used to protect the vulnerable?" This led him to joining the Firebrands and eventually becoming one of their most formidable warriors. Able to win fights against champions, spellcasters, war machines, and even battalions himself, he joins small rebellions rather than full revolutions, an equalizing force that nothing can stop. When the rebellion is over, he stays behind to rebuild, cooking his signature hot pot for others in his massive shield that also happens to be a family heirloom, a singing steel cooking pot. A symbol of not only protection, but one of hearty meals and a better tomorrow. These actions have lead him to receiving many love letters and quite a few lovers as well, but he's not quite interested in marriage and thus remains the Firebrands' most eligible bachelor.

Passenger

Lost Omens Firebrands Pg. 45

Passenger was among the many androids who crashed in Numeria, unlike many androids, all of Passenger's companions had died. Every other incubator held incomplete or damaged bodies and the only sign of identity they had was a damaged plaque calling them "Passenger #-". Taking this as their name, they ventured into Numeria and were taken in by a group of scavengers who they soon left when they heard the Black Sovereign Kevoth-Kul, ruler of Numeria, was accepting androids into his court in the capital of Starfall. There they met more of their kind and learned of their android nature, but when a group of Firebrands made their way to the court looking to enter the dangerous Silver Mount for adventure, Passenger was intrigued and tagged along.

This adventure left Passenger wanting more and they declared themselves a first-mark Firebrand and staged even more expeditions into the Silver Mount with their tinkering experience and any who wished to join helping them. One of these people was Tyen-Ra, a human tigerkin, and over the next few months they discovered an annihilator robot which they fixed up and named Scrapheap. Using their newly found scorpion mech, they left Numeria and accumulated more members and a reputation as the Fire's Finest, traveling across Avistan searching for adventure, fine food, and fun wherever they went. Scaring a few along the way with their terrifying mech, only to ease their fears when the Fire's Finest popped out.

Beirivelle Starshine

Lost Omens Knights of Lastwall Pg. 42

The Knights of Lastwall are home to numerous prominent trans women, most notably Anevia, a major NPC in Wrath of the Righteous, and the leader of the organization, Kalabrynne Iomedar. Beirivelle herself is newly knighted but already rising through the ranks with her skills as a bard devoted to Shelyn. Born in Absalom to a noble family, Beirivelle was arranged to marry another high-ranking member of Absalom's noble houses and live an uneventful life. When the lich known as the Whispering Tyrant attacked the city, however, she realized she wanted more from life. Her spouse's tastes thankfully weren't very feminine and she was able to exit it gracefully, but she only was able to flee home after an intense argument with her father.

Ever since becoming a Knight of Lastwall, however, the dainty romantic has been making alliances for the organization, first with the Scarlet Rose after a candlelight dinner with its leader, Filarina Grantsliem. In addition to these duties, she gathers stories as any bard does, adventuring with anyone from the brutal orc skullhunters to the Chelaxian Hellknight Order of the Torrent who hunt down kidnappers, aiding all with her divine magic and bardic knowledge. As well, she finds other "late blooming" girls and those who have yet to bloom at all and helps them find their own path away from harsh families or dire circumstances. For now in her official duties, she uses her diplomatic skills to recruit adventurers and locals, doing her best to protect them. All the while trying to court the anti-Geb factions of Nex who despise the necropolis for the decades long war the country had with it, hoping to get their help with dealing with the undead. That is proving difficult to do as it feels impossible to navigate its byzantine court politics. Thus, she continues her search for allies to aid in that endeavor.

Conclusion

You have any trans characters you love in Pathfinder not mentioned here? I know Il'setsya Wyrmtouched is one I adore and even a character belonging to freelancer, Amber Stewart, who has done work for many TTRPG companies, even getting her own villainous arcanoloth featured in D&D's Planescape book. Perhaps you'd like to share your own trans TTRPG characters whether in Pathfinder, D&D, or another game! If so, I'd love to see them.

[faerunscursed]

Growing up as the child of Duke Ravenguard meant several things, one which including access to an extensive library of books for studies. As such when one of the things Wyll did was retreat to those books, his favorites included that of the tales of the Night song. Tales of heroism that toppled even over his father's accomplishments drew his eyes in. For a lone angel explored all of faerun and beyond, saving the many denizens of it and slaying monsters, undead and demons alike in her path.

As a boy he longed to be like her, just like he had his father. However, many told him that she was only a story, that she wasn't real. If she was real than why would they ever have to worry about the battles in which they found themselves in constantly? This was further made worse by the fact that for the last 100 years the night song seemed to disappear. Almost as if she didn't exist and eventually he too began to believe that. Yet her acts of heroism stuck to him as much of his hatred of his father for the actions he had made that fateful day.

This was why he was so stunned now as his eyes caught the visage of the night song of herself, Dame Aylin. She had been captured by Ketheric Thorm and tucked away by Shar. He sighed with relief knowing that one of the figures he looked up to was real, and in the flesh before him. But what would she think of a man who made a deal with a devil and had become one himself? Would she know of the Blade of Frontiers?

Wyll slowly approached the angel, taking a deep breath as he did so. "So, you're the nightsong? I had hoped you more than just a fairytale." He bowed his head in reverence, though knowing that Mizora would want him to have nothing to do with such a pure being. As it was his was having a hard time containing his own excitement. "I read all about you, as a kid, I wanted to be so much like that you it partially inspired the man I am now."

He held out his hand to shake hers, a formal greeting. "But where are my manners, I am Wyll Ravenguard, son of Duke Ulder Ravenguard." Though the mere mention of his fathers name made his chest ache with the rage he felt towards the man. "Or perhaps you might have heard of the Blade of Frontiers. Either way, it is a pleasure meeting you, though I had hoped to meet you under less gruesome appearance. I wasn't always this way, you see." @ferinehuntress

[radioiaci]

SHIP VERSE TAG DUMP > verse ;; 🌹 la vie en rose 🌹 - @cannibalxroses verse ;; ⭐ nobody's eyes but mine ⭐ - @voxtekoverlord verse ;; 🔥 the fire in the sin 🔥 - @ducktastic-dad verse ;; 🍎 red means i love you 🍎 - @heliacalxrising verse ;; 🐍 i'm ready now 🐍 - @sirserpentine verse ;; 🦊 your favorite monster 🦊 - @misskittyhart verse ;; 😈 devil's whisper 😈 - @visage-of-hell verse ;; 🩸 bloodstain on the bed 🩸- @kingdomofbellows verse ;; 🤡 fools and kings 🤡 - @infernal-blaze (fizzarolli)

[ashesxofxsin]

Devil's Favorite

Amidst the city's labyrinth of shadows, where the neon lights flicker like distant stars in a murky sky, there stalks a figure feared by many, whispered about in hushed tones, and only dared to be glimpsed in the deepest hours of the night. Daemon DeLaveaux, they call him – a spectral presence, a harbinger of darkness, a wraith haunting the city's veins. A demon who hungers for blood and doesn't care who he hurts.

Tall and imposing, Daemon moves with a predatory grace, his steps silent as the whispers of the wind. His dark hair hangs like a veil, obscuring his face, while his eyes, pools of abyssal blackness, seem to devour the light itself. In his late thirties, he bears the weight of years unseen, etched in the lines of his countenance – a visage twisted by the shadows that birthed him.

Muscles ripple beneath his sleek frame, honed not by vanity but by necessity, lending him a silent strength that speaks volumes of the dangers he has faced and the horrors he has witnessed. Standing at 6'5, he towers over the denizens of the night, a specter of intimidation cloaked in the guise of a man.

Clad entirely in black, Daemon moves through the city's arteries like a ghostly apparition. His presence is a palpable dread, a foreboding omen whispered among those who dare to venture into the heart of darkness. And as the night deepens, as the city sleeps and dreams, Daemon roams – searching for his next meal. He slips silently into a dark, dirty bar that's filled with smoke and barely covers the scent of those who have long given up.

He doesn't know who the next one would be...but he knows they are in this bar.

[ladythornofrivia]

👹 Match Made In Hell 👹 || Aemond x Reader (My Demon AU) (Part Two)

Next Chapter

🍒summary: reader, who has now made pact with the devil, must face the difficulties by the likes of her surroundings, and Aemond, who took pleasure on tormenting her, even divulge his dirty thoughts.

🍒 warning: enemies to lovers, Dark!Aemond, violence, blood, misogyny, mentions of cheating, Aemond is a demon in a fic, he’s a d*ckhead, but charming, reader is a b*tch, spoiled brat, smut, action sequences, oral sex, rough sex, public sex, hotel sex, hate sex, contract, blood kink, religion themes, knife play, sexual tension, oral m receiving, oral f receiving, degradation, Aemond in a red suit, money kink, p in v sex, breeding kink, sex in the club, sex in a hospital bed, toxic relationship, fake relationship, possessive Aemond, obsession, jealousy, stalking, blackmail, dom/sub relationship, wet dream, cunnilingus, fingering, squiriting, reader is a virgin, aemond is experienced, moaning, reader and aemond being horny, 69, lotus, sex on the wall, praise kink, creampie, daddy kink. Demon!Aemond has powers, but needs reader to fuel and restore his power. The story from the show will be different in fanfic. Inspired by K-Drama “My Demon”.

a/n: this series is inspired by k-drama, and it’ll deviates from the canon, but still had the same atmosphere as the netflix version.

Chapter Two: Just the Two of Us—On Hellish Earth!

"We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell."

- Oscar Wilde

~~~

“That’s a good girl,” Aemond purred, his breath tickled the side of your face. “If you keep behaving, I won’t proclaim dirty thoughts aloud. Show me that you’re a good, sweet girl, and I will do as I promise. I will be on my knees, if you want me to.”

In your family, everyone knows you’re a good daughter, a goodly woman. Thus the surname upholds the reputation.

Saint.

Oh yes, the future heiress and family obtained a peculiar surname, but worldwide acknowledgement on the word. Saint—a person with good values and virtue who goes to heaven after death—typically an easy description in a biblical context.

It all started with your great-great-great-great-grandfather, who was a founding member of the aristocratic society and the narcissistic psychopath decided to alter his surname to Saint, and thus, you, inherited the surname—living up to a legacy. Ironically, no one life on earth is perfect. Except for you maybe.

But you’re far from being an angelic girl, apart from your innocence—like visage, a perfect image for the company, a perfect image as an heiress, you’re just a person who loves being showered with special treatment.

A future heiress, who is sitting on the hospital bed on a highest floor, motionless and sulking, being lectured by a scolding loud mother and a quiet father who was leaning on the wall due to a lack of chairs inside the hospital room. Despite a lack volume, the tv has set in motion with similar headlines regarding to your “attempted suicide”, and notions of stock prices or profits and promotions of the Aurora company lower as well as your former fiancés’. Needless to say, your mother didn’t pursue the ideology of a sympathetic role.

Staying in bed, your anger hasn’t subsided; Aemond stayed to another side of the room, studying you and your life with a smug etched on his lips. You wished it was a dream, but it’s no dream, at all. Your virginity has been taken—unclean.

Aemond kept his violet eye on you as your body shivered with heat clamoring and pounding over your back head. It was a nightmare—a real one. To think your maidenhood ended up someone who’s a devil but appears as your favorite character—tall, white-haired, a handsome portrayal blessed with pretty privilege.

Oh how you despised him.

Your hand clenched and ache to jabbed your knuckles on his side portrait until the bones drenched in a warm shed of your blood.

“(Y/n), did you hear what I just said,” your mother demanded.

On a side table, your father brought you your favorite takeout and drink. Drink, however is undeniably sweet, yet fizzled with bubbles. You thanked him for you to replenish appetite; your mother paid for the “junky meal”, as your mother preferred to call.

“Yeah,” you said, annoyed, your hand waved dismissively.

Underneath your hospital sheets, the bed stained with your blood—hymen unsealed and stretched—ripped wide open with his monumental girth. The cherry popped out. In between your aching legs, his unforgiving vigor has set your body bruised not alight with pleasure. You don’t intend to fuck anyone unless if it’s serious. And your V-card has been taken to a toll it’ll never have the same experience as the first. Firsts are supposed to be special—as your traditional side of your family taught you. Like a flower, it can’t be repair once damaged under your claws and crumpled to thousand folds.

And Aemond crumpled the flower for you.

“The press has demanded of your comment to the matter,” she said, scowling. “This will cause our stock prices to go low if you don’t do something about it. This scandal must cease to exist. You won’t repeat this unhinged mistake.”

“You did set me up a date with that jerk, right?”

Your mother deadpanned. “It’s good for the company. And you won’t stay young forever.”

You scoffed. “Not every woman has to be involved with pregnancy and being a mother. That’s not our personality trait. Besides, he’s the one who’s been playing around with his father’s money to go after girls with Kardashian look-alike.”

“You’re different, (y/n),” your mother’s tone darkened. “You aren’t meant to be a free girl like those sluts. They’re beyond from God’s salvation.”

“That’s stupid.”

Your mother sighed. “In any case, eat. You haven’t been eating much since yesterday. You worked too hard.”

You crossed your arms, eyeing on Aemond, still smirking at you.

“There’s no reason to be mad at your butler,” your sullen mother cautioned. “I know he’s way older for you to be as your dad.”

Perplexed, veering at the other side of the room, appearing Aemond; no personal butler was in sight. Until realization hit you. You can see Aemond but not to others—another trick from the one-eyed prince—no, a sadistic devil with a sneering grin.

“Apparently, I was in a brink of death because he didn’t fix the wheels on my car,” you seethed with gritted teeth, glowering at him—Aemond.

Your mother sighed again, standing up. “Just eat your food, (y/n), you have a conference to attend to in the next couple of days or so. But if early, brace yourself. The headlines will soon be another battle.”

As soon as she left without a farewell or a hug, your father came by to your bedside.

“Your mother is only worried for you,” your father said, quiet as a mouse, taking your bruised hand to his.

“Worry she won’t have a grandchild or me leaving alone and cold in the world?”

He tucked the long strand behind your ear. “Go get some sleep,” is all he said and kissed above your hairline. “If you need anything, your butler will serve you.”

Eyeing Aemond again, you answered, “Fine, but I don’t think I need anything right now.”

Patting your hand, your father left with a gentle goodbye and slid the door closed.

“Seeing humans sputter with futile accusations and arguments enlightens me,” he purred, giddied.

“You can stop disguising yourself as my butler, Aemond wanna be,” you snapped, though your tone is implied in low volume.

“Seems you’re hanging by a thread, my lady,” he mocked.

Ignoring him, you munched on your favorite meal. It was In-N-Out, Bolognese pasta with a side of soda—Coca-Cola, but your father secretly purchased non-carbonated drinks, to which you desire at this minute. Grabbing a lychee flavored non-carbonated drink and took a swig after an empty stomach the last evening.

When you try to reach for your sweet snacks, the plastic was nowhere to found, only to be in the hands of a devilish handso—no, the devil got your edible possessions and consumed them in delight curiosity, humming.

“You bitch, give me my snacks back,” you seethed.

Munching the Cheetos, he said, “What snack? You have your own food. I barely had any proper meal since my time as a prince.” Then he wretched a little. “Too much salt. How in the Seven Hells do you survive from this…horrid flavor?”

You looked at him in disbelief. “Bitch.” Resuming back to eating another box of crispy chicken caramelized in honey and spicy sauce, teeth crunched and mouth savored in a sweet and delicate spice tingling on your tongue, already forgetting the pain between your legs, from his unforeseen touches of fingers, mouth and long, veiny cock.

Still, you weren’t sure he made a move on you when he’s not interested in you in the first place.

He was using you as his play toy. Of course he’s using me—he’s the Devil!

Work has always been your priority—first and foremost in your life long journey. But the last duty of setting up a date with another CEO’s son was the last straw, hence you like being set in a bitchy mood, fearless and reckless.

Aemond still kept looking at your direction—at the box of crispy chicken. Sighing, you gave up two chicken to him, to which he gladly took and devoured it with slow pacing. Humming, Aemond slurped and clawed his teeth into the fried layer, tugging it until it melts into his delicious—his damnable mouth and swallowed last content.

“Satisfied,” you asked, not looking at him, setting your empty takeout boxes on the side of the small table beside the bed, thudding back down on the pillows. “My grandmother will be here any minute, so whatever you have to say, say it now.”

Aemond’s composure stilled. “My, we’re getting hasty, are we?”

“Why did you disguise yourself as my butler?”

“Because I assume you have feelings for this man,” he said, laced in sarcasm.

“No, I don’t.”

“But your face says otherwise.”

Groaning, your body rotated away from Aemond. “I’m going to sleep.”

When you opened your eyes again, this time Aemond sat beside you, a little too close where you almost couldn’t breathe. You wished everything is a dream.

“I can’t, not while the mark is on your arm.”

“Why did you put this on me?”

Sneering, he replied, “Simple. Because I wanted someone who goes from being pretentious clean to someone who has a secret side of being a not-so obedient and provocativeness of Aurora’s future heiress.”

You stayed silent, gazing at him with furious and anticipation flowing through.

“Oh, I know everything about you, Saint. You’re a dutiful daughter who does everything for her family’s legacy—good student and a girl with style. But at night, you’re no different from your former fiancé. You love to party, and occasionally drink and gambling, and becoming rebellious by being so provocative with your own girlish, slender body. Masturbated—often going to porn website a lot, using your vibrator and fingers, touching yourself a lot. Sometimes you post pictures, wearing thongs and garter belt as an anonymous user on the internet. Oh, what a thrill would be if your parents find out about—”

Face reddened in wrath, your hand held high in sharp and fast motion. “Hold it right there, prince. First of all, you don’t leak someone’s private and personal life. Second, don’t ever fucking go and snoop around when it comes to me. My life is my own. Go find another girl to fuck with, Aemond.”

His tongue clicked. “The mark on your skin is the only way for me to get you know intimately, my sweet,” he purred, his violet eye glinted. “Besides, I think your life is interesting. And by interesting, I mean the most dullish and ironically not a saint as it lives up to your name.”

“Fuck off, Targaryen wanna be.” As when you pulled the blanket over your head, Aemond yanked it back. “The door is over there. My grandmother will be here.”

“I won’t repeat myself, (y/n). Either you accept that you have a devil on your back, or you’ll die in a most painful death in a slow, aggravating way.”

“Ooh, I’m scared.”

Aemond rolled his eye. “She’s lying—your mother.”

Your brow quirked.

“You’re headed to the church with her first thing in the morning to grant an everlasting peace in your…predicament.” He snorted. “But you’re aware of our contract, my little angel.”

A quiver in your tone hid so well, so well in fact that you remained unshakable from speaking to the evil deity. “Even if it is, I’m still going with my—”

His hand seized your throat, fingertips deepened and blunt nails punctured against your voice box. Your hands held in his grasp, all while maintaining eye contact.

“Don’t,” he said, the mischievous glint in his violet eye had bleaken. “You made a deal with me, dear heart.”

Snorted, you managed to find vigor. “I go to church every Sunday. Tomorrow is Sunday; I can’t miss attending the mass.”

He dug his blunt fingernails tighter. “You’re no Saint. You’re just a slut who disguises herself as one. Now listen, and listen well. On a Sunday morning, you must abide here in this room. Until then, you must behave around me. The moment the contract is sealed onto your skin, you are in no relations with your mother; I can easily kill you with a touch of plague, if have to.”

“Fuck you,” you choked.

Aemond’s teeth glistened. “I already did.”

“Why did you fuck me if you hate me that much?”

“Can’t you see, dear heart? I hated you, so I need to find a way to shut that stupid mouth of yours.”

“That’s not what you reacted not long ago!”

“You fucking cunt,” he snarled, gripping twice as hard to a point you barely couldn’t breathe. “I only use your cunt because I hadn’t got satisfaction since my death.”

“That shit again—”

“Take it however you like, but as long as I’m here, you will never have the life you wanted! So,” he inched his face closer, the grip loosened bit by bit, “are you going to be my good little rebel or not?” When you opened your mouth, he added, “Choose the wrong answer, I’ll have you killed on the spot. Even when your breath reeks with godly prayers and preaches with love and loving your enemies. What do you say, (y/n)?”

Your head felt like it was about to implode. “I’ll do it—I’ll stay here.”

“Good girl,” he hummed, releasing you. “That’s a good girl,” Aemond purred, his breath tickled the side of your face. “If you keep behaving, I won’t proclaim dirty thoughts aloud. Show me that you’re a good, sweet girl, and I will do as I promise. I will be on my knees, if you want me to.”

“On one condition,” you said, “you are going to be my bodyguard.”

Aemond is struck with paleness across his sardonic facet. “You’ll do no such thing!”

“Too bad,” you said, grinning, snickering, “You should’ve chose someone who’s more compliant and oblivious. And whatever I say, or where I go, you must follow. Like a good little dragon—sorry, beast, that you are.”

Aemond held his restraints on attacking you.

“Just the two of us—on this hellish earth. We have a deal?”

Aemond proceeded himself in quietude, knowing it gave you an answer.

By the end, the butler never came, and you’re alone with your thoughts and the princely Devil himself.

~~~

On Sunday morning, you stayed in the room, but had your television programmed to Sunday mass. But it didn’t end there, you needed more prayers—attending the church with your parents, providing cash and coins to donate for the poor. Aemond found this to be foolish, but each time.

By the end, your personal butler came with your grandmother with an ivory domed-shaped birthday cake in her hands, decorated with red and blue roses fondant above after taking it out from the silken fancy box.

Aemond stayed himself invisible—he exited the hospital room, announcing he had other duties to attend to. You didn’t bother to ask, sickly and ghastly as you go.

Your grandmother noticed you haven’t ate your cake—your favorite cake—layered with vanilla and white chocolate smooth frosting, and strawberry flavored fondant red roses and tangy blueberry flavor on the fondant blue roses. You can even spot white roses blended and edible yellow flowers.

“You have missed your chance on celebrating your birthday last night,” your grandmother said.

Sighing, fingers massaged your pounding head. “Sorry, it’s been a real nightmare for me.”

“That silly boy will go straight into jail, for one thing. For ditching you on your date is one thing, but to put his hands on the girl’s body is another.”

“How can it be a date when we already know he doesn’t like me for me and likes for the money? I can’t allow to happen; he’s too greedy and sleazy and greasy like a smelly rat.”

Your grandmother tsked, shutting the tv off. “I know you only do it to save the company and your inheritance. I did the same myself, and I’m still ongoing with coordination, but on my terms, not the old tradition from a previous generation.”

“Mom doesn’t understand; she wants me to have a baby. But I hate babies. Babies will ruin my body, my face, my diet and my plans for the future,” you complained.

Her hand landed atop yours, squeezing your palm. “When it comes to love, there’s all sorts of forms. As love we yearned to have, I’d rather have someone stabbed me in the heart to know how your heart can be alive and cut off short in unison. That’s what love is. To feel alive and be numbed by a single knife.”

Biting your bottom lip, your mouth dried with uneasiness. Too many boys have fooled you, but work life has saved you and your time to consent, adrenaline with rage. Of all things, of all people, why Aemond? Why the devil?

“Don’t be sad, sweet girl,” your grandmother said, stroking your cheek with the back of her index finger. “Today’s the day where we make up your birthday last night. I’ll talk to your mom of the situation. In the meantime, the world is your oyster—so taste the flavors of journey while you still can. Leave everything to me.”

The fretfulness descended into oblivion ad your grandmother sang you “Happy Birthday.” and by the time she left, you feel asleep, unaware that Aemond infiltrated, watching you.

~~~

The night before the press conference has gotten you on edge. At the spacious store, everything is vast with expensive brands as you’re heading to the office styled fashion. You ought to wear something extravagant, but your mother insisted on wearing something that screams “victim”. But with a large shadow towering you, you were unsure.

“A little girl playing as an adult, are we?”

You have almost forgotten that Aemond is with you at this current event. Presenting to the public is as important as a runway show.

Shoving back the attire at the hanged section, you ventured to the next. There were some clothes that are cute but uncomfortable, and there are some ugly attire but wearable in breeze and affluence.

As you picked up royal blue attire, you irked with bothersome and placed it back. When you spotted the white aisle, your smile never left and rushed towards the new section in quiet pace, lifting out the right size for your waist and hips.

“Color white doesn’t suit you, little angel,” he taunted. “Do you know what ivory symbolizes? Innocent, naïveté, and virginity. You should insist on wearing the color pink instead, but pink is for little girls, maybe that color suits you. With color pink, it stands for your innocence and your virginity to be taken away—”

You slapped him. “Shut up, the attendants are here!”

“I can go loud if I want to,” Aemond replied. “Perhaps I shall remind you how you scream on top of your lungs, how you whine beneath me in the hosp—”

“Shut up!” you warned in gritted teeth.

“My, my, you’re blushing like an untainted virgin.”

The attendants suddenly shut their mouths the moment you look back.

“Do you know where the fitting room is? I would like to try this on,” you asked the assistant. The assistant pointed the fitting room nearby, one with velvet curtains. As you thanked the assistant, you stepped inside but gasp in horror when Aemond followed you behind.

“Aemond, what the fuck—get out of here!” Your hand found its way to punch and shoved him back but not to avail, leaving him in his amusements.

“I’m your bodyguard,” he reminded, a playful expression materialized.

Trembled with wrath, you finally shoved him back behind the curtains. “Stay out!”

And hearing Aemond chuckled, the notion of smiting him was in order.

Slut, he called you.

Dealing with conference and the devil was harder than what it appears to be. It will take a while for you to be settled on hellish earth with a demon. And thus, the day of press conference has come to a close. Either it will make a mark on your history, or it will fall.

@ aemondswifffeeeyyy- all rights reserved

Taglist: @daonenonlysandman @toodlesxcuddles @hufflepuff1700 @me753 @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @taintedlovesworld @kukulyarva @namelesslosers @heavenly1927 @snh96 @herathedreamer @fandom-maniac-anime @httpsmenace @velunis @nananeptune @domithebomi @moonseye @valeskafics @moonseye @faesspace @domithebomi @rxixo31 @tm-starr @xinthia19 @popsycles @naiaaramena @aleemendoza2425-blog @letmehavemyfictionalmen @aracelipf @ammo23 @blackswxnn @buccini555 @f1yh1gh @taangie @wolfdressedinlace @qardasngan @justyelena @jolixtreesunn @runekisses @jmii722 @colored-tr-panels @evergreen9083 @foggypeacestarlight @galactict3a

[ausaplenty]

Angels don't dance

Aziraphale Kiara. Crowley LiLi. Ineffable AU.

“I told you, Angel,” Lilian said, languidly reclining on the settee with a glass of wine in her hand.

“I didn’t think they’d take it so far,” the angel muttered as she sat, her own goblet containing the once forbidden brew.

Kiara didn’t know what had eased Heaven’s notion of the intoxicating nectar to where it was considered an acceptable drink. She supposed it had something to do with Jesus Christ transmuting water into it for that one wedding … It was hard to proclaim the sinfulness of something when the Son of God was making it appear with a wave of his hand.

She couldn’t exactly argue, not when some strains of it amplified the flavors of her favorite dishes.

The blonde looked toward the window as the sounds of a scuffle started, quickly ending with a echoing bang.

“Civil War in England. Inconceivable,” she said under her breath before lifting her gaze to Lilian’s face with a slight frown. “Are you quite sure you didn’t stir the pot, just a tad?”

“Humans are truly proactive … I barely have to breathe and a war is breaking out,” her companion drawled before she took a sip of the devil’s drink. A smirk twisted her lips. “Do you think so little of me, Kiara, that you immediately thought I’d go against our arrangement?”

Cover for each other. Don’t make too much work for the other, and occasionally, maybe lend a hand.

“I should have known better,” Kiara said, trying to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

The dark-haired woman sat up, setting her glass on a side table. “Well, that was a little feeble, wouldn’t you say? For such an grievous offense – questioning my honor?”

“You’re a demon, you lie,” the angel scoffed lightly.

“Not to you, Angel.” Lilian’s gaze felt like it pierced her soul, her pupils narrow slits. “Not for centuries.”

Kiara swallowed, forcing a small lump down her throat as she guiltily stared at her drink. “What would you have me do?”

“I want a dance,” the demon purred, a smile tugging at her lips as she watched Kiara’s very pale visage turn a hue that the blonde was sure rivaled a tomato.

“A-angels don’t dance. Out of the question,” Kiara stammered, trying to still her trembling hands enough so she could set her glass aside. “You know that.”

“Ah, but you’re an angel who goes along with Heaven as far as you can,” Lilian pressed. She leaned forward, her hands clasped together and a mischievous gleam in her eye. “You’re dining with a demon, drinking the once-forbidden wine, and you’re worried a tiny dance will do you in?”

The blonde met Lilian’s gaze. “Just a little one?”

“With a song,” the demon pressed amusedly, no doubt enjoying Kiara’s discomfort.

“Fine,” Kiara sighed, rising uncomfortably to her feet. She tugged at her bodice, straightening out a nonexistent seam.

Lilian leaned back, her dark glasses sliding down her nose so her view of Kiara’s torment was unobstructed.

The angel cleared her throat and pushed her hair back from her face.

“I was wrong, I was wrong,” Kiara sang lightly, doing a small parody of something she’d seen in a ballroom. The way her hands and feet moved felt unnatural and foreign as she did a small pirouette. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

She ended with a deep curtsy, spreading her arms as if they were her wings, and lifted her head to meet Lilian’s eyes. “Satisfied?” she asked sardonically while she straightened.

“Immensely,” the demon purred, reaching for her wine. She tried to hide the smile on her face with her glass, but Kiara saw it.

She couldn’t suppress the small titter that escaped her lips.

~*~

Kiara smiled giddily as pedestals and easels moved away from the center of the shop, clearing a wide space.

“You’re up to something, Angel,” LiLi drawled as she watched from the staircase. She strolled over, her hips swaying exaggeratedly.

“I’m merely putting a plan into action, LiLi, as we’ve discussed,” the blonde soothed. “Something sure to make Nina and Maggie fall in love.”

She ignored her friend’s suspicious gaze as she pushed away the chairs and side tables strewn around the shop to clear the center.

“I can’t believe you’re going through with this,” Lilian muttered, looking out the shop window.

“If you’re going to complain, you can at least be useful and go make sure Maggie and Nina are coming. We’ll be starting any minute,” she ordered lightly. Her smile grew when Lilian rolled her eyes and slid her glasses on her nose. As Kiara heard the chime of the bell above the door that signaled the exit, she raised her hands and coaxed the miraculous chandelier down from her rafters, the wrought-iron arms dripping with cystals. She lit the candles and pulled out several freestanding candelabras.

An actual ball, here, in her gallery – Oh, Jane Austen would have been delighted at the scheme, orchestrating the perfect atmosphere for the blossoming beaus to recognize their feelings for each other.

“Ah, Mrs. Sandwich! Welcome to the meeting of the shopkeeper’s association,” Kiara greeted as the first guest stepped through the door. The rather ... abrasive woman looked around, eying the décor warily.

The woman had not noticed the way her outfit had transformed from that leopard-print lounge suit to the sequined-covered clothes she now wore. If Kiara were willing to put just a little bit more strength to her miracle, her guests could have been decked out in full regalia fit for a regency soiree, but she’d have to settle with the language and dancing – no use arousing too much suspicion from Heaven for a miracle she technically was supposed to have already performed.

“I’m a bit confused as to what I’m doing here,” the woman scoffed as the bell’s chime announced another arrival. “We’re about to hit the after work rush and the girls are left alone.”

“I’m sure they’ll manage just fine on their own,” Kiara assured her with a wide smile. “I’ve been meaning to ask, Mrs. Sandwich, what do your girls do?”

“As the government says, they stand on their own two feet,” Mrs. Sandwich explained with a … lecherous smirk.

The angel frowned slightly as woman departed and Mr. Brown slid in to fill her place. “Ms. Scuro, where are the chairs I dropped off this morning?”

“In the back, we won’t be needing them – they’ll only get in the way of the dancing,” the angel answered brightly, brushing past him. “Now excuse me, I have to get the hors d’oeuvres.”

She slipped away, the smile back on her face as more guests filtered in, slowly filling the room. “Jim, come help me, please!” she called out as she went into the backroom.

Gabriel was quickly at her side, buttoning up his powder blue blazer over the ruffled shirt. “What can I do?”

“Help me serve these?” Kiara asked, not waiting for a reply as she set a platter in his hands. “Just offer them to our guests.”

“These … aren’t books?” the amnesiac angel said in confusion, looking down at the tea sandwiches.

“No, no – its food, for our guests to eat,” she explained, arranging the vol-au-vaunts on a silver platter. “Thank you, Jim.”

Gabriel wandered out, still looking befuddled.

She heard the strains of the piano being tuned and she smiled pleasantly. The dancing would be starting soon and she still had guests to welcome.

As she stepped into the main room, she spotted one of her targets looking around the room and she brightened.

“Ah, Nina!” she called, weaving between the groups of conversing shopkeeps, using the tray as a way to clear her path in cases where the guests weren’t as quick to move. “I’m so glad you’re here! The dancing is about begin.”

“Ms. Scuro, what is going on?” Nina asked, her brow furrowed as was customary for her.

“Is Maggie here yet? I heard she never misses one of these meetings,” Kiara deflected as she set down her platter.

“I know I’m really upset, but I don’t feel upset. Why is that?” the coffee shop owner pressed.

“Ah, no long faces tonight,” the angel ordered jovially, the command deceptively light considering she had made that part of her miracle. “I just want to see you young people enjoy yourself.”

“Dancing?” Nina supplied incredulously.

“Well, it wouldn’t be a shopkeepers’ association meeting without dancing, would it?” the angel answered.

“Have you ever been to one of these meetings? Because meetings don’t usually go like this … this is far too much dancing.” The woman wrapped her arms around her midsection, closing in on herself. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but your friend said something dangerous was happening, and I’d be safe here – what did she mean by that? What’s going on?”

Kiara waved her hands dismissively.

“Oh, LiLi is always pessimistic about things like that, but she’s right about one thing. You’re completely safe here,” Kiara assured her. She nodded toward one of the few chairs that had been kept in the gallery – some humans couldn’t stand for long periods of time, she knew, and the night would only be a partial success if her guests didn’t have a good time. “Now, why don’t you sit for a spell? I’m sure Maggie will be here soon.”

She picked up the hors d’oeuvres and bustled away, occasionally stopping to greet a guest or offer a vol-a-vaunt.

Kiara felt practically effervescent as she watched her favorite shopkeep made her way over to Nina, who’d secluded herself as much as she could in the open chamber. She tittered when Maggie offered her hand to the coffee shop owner.

“What are you doing?” Lilian hissed, appearing at her shoulder.

“I told you!” the blonde reminded her, nodding toward the scene. “Jane Austen. We’re having a ball!”

Lilian clenched her teeth. “I’ve got to talk to you. It’s important.”

“I’m afraid I’m hosting a business meeting. I’ll be with you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” she promised before offering the platter to the temptress. “Have a vol-au-vaunt.”

She left the hors d’oeuvres in her friend’s hand, moving between the guests. With a gleeful grin, she gave Mr. Arnold a thumbs up and moved out of the way of the dancers.

Her smile split her face as she saw Maggie and Nina join the first few couples line up for a cotillion. It wasn’t as lively or energetic as the gavotte she’d learned more than a century ago, but she quite preferred the intimacy and intricacies of this one – the way the dancers subtly pushed and pulled at each other, their hands linking them through the notes.

If she was being honest, more than once when she was lost in one of Austen’s tomes, she’d imagined Lilian facing her, the room slowly revolving around them as they circled. Their hands would clasp, accompanied by the pleasant tingle she always felt when she touched her friend. And in her daydreams, her eyes never left Lilian’s, unencumbered by the dark lenses so the sapphire hues were apparent.

“Making it rain is one thing, but a ball -” The demon cut herself off as she realized her voice was raising slightly. She glanced furtively around at the people who were quickly migrating to the dance floor.

Kiara snapped out of her reverie, giddy as a new idea formed in her head.

“Look, something is wrong,” Lilian told her, sounding a little exasperated with the angel. “Very, very wrong.”

“Well, perhaps you can tell me …” The blonde turned to face LiLi, practically reverberating out of her skin, “while we dance?”

She could feel Lilian’s piercing gaze behind her glasses. “We don’t dance. YOU don’t dance,” the dark-haired woman reminded her, with a note of incredulity.

With a nervous giggle, Kiara grabbed her hand and pulled her into the line.

[firestorm09890]

okay I read the Snow White one. I'm pretty sure I watched the movie Snow White one (1) time in my life and it was a very long time ago so my knowledge is basically the original fairy tale and uhh Kingdom Hearts Birth By Sleep so I actually don't know what was changed. nevermind I just read the entire movie script and I'm calling that good enough. The writing quality was about what I expected. Most of it was a Snow White retelling played straight so not nearly as interesting as the Little Mermaid one but it was a similar thing where more depth was added, and it's slightly less silly and a little bit darker, but not the sort of intense grimdark one might expect from a YA novel with the premise "what if... I gave this simple story a tweest"

The dwarves have one personality trait each but like, that's how it was in the original. In practice it feels sort of like the angel and devil on your shoulder but there are 7 of them. actually, no, it's 90% Grumpy, he's basically the de facto leader. A lot less uh... quirks and chicanery since the story isn't really about them. they have to go mining for the queen so they're pretty pissed at her, and so is the rest of the kingdom. instead of staying at the cottage, Snow goes "what the fuck! this sucks! we need to throw a coup" and it's pretty sick.

The chapters alternate between Snow herself and the Evil Queen and most of the queen's chapters are flashbacks. It was a rough backstory but not one that can make you feel sympathetic- she's evil in the way a politician is, and buddy it doesn't matter how bad you had it when you're exploiting people for profit. A lot of it is mostly there for her relationship with her sister, Snow White's mother. there's special significance to the apple too. my favorite part of the book is when Ingrid (that's the name they gave the evil queen) asked her sister, Snow's mother, if babies ever stop crying (about 6-month-old Snow White) and she was like "when babies cry they need to be coddled and told all will be right in the world because they are babies" and Ingrid thought "what the fuck. why does she need to be coddled. this baby's so selfish"

The mother, Katherine, "haunts" both her sister and her daughter, though with Ingrid it's more of a traditional haunting because she was the one who had her killed so Ingrid's constantly seeing her visage but with Snow it's more like every bird she sees she thinks of as a sign from her mom, who loved birds and had an aviary built at the castle. it's ambiguous on whether it's actually her or just what Snow believes but it's neat either way. her dead mom DOES give her signs in her dreams though

The biggest differences lie in the prince, probably. In the movie he shows up once early and then in the end to kiss her but here he spends a significant amount of time working with Snow and they're the same age so that's nice. And he first shows up trying to get an audience with the queen for a trade deal instead of just singing his song to Snow White. they got to have a near-death experience together too and exchanged personal items as a promise that they would reunite at the height of their coup plan. the main premise of this novel is that the prince is the one poisoned by the apple instead of Snow and that alone makes the glass coffin thing make a lot more sense, the queen wanted to lure Snow home with him so of course she'd do that

The highlight is absolutely the Mirror, it fucking sucks and is like "ooooh you want to feed me your lifeforce you want power you want to kill people" and it's really funny when Ingrid was younger she studied under some wizard guy and he was like "girl no!! I left that thing in the back room to die on purpose!! it's going to consume you" and she goes "hell no the evil artifact chose ME and he cares about my wellbeing" like yeah sure man it's literally stealing your life but okay. the mirror tells Ingrid that if she wants power she's going to have to kill Snow White when she was 7 years old and Ingrid has enough morals to not kill a child and then 10 years later when Snow becomes an active problem the mirror goes "should've listened to me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯"

near the end they visit an old lady who makes them a potion and then they have a toast "to storming the castle". at that point I was really distracted. and earlier whenever the haunted woods came up I just kept thinking of Ventus telling Snow White that hallucinations are normal and everyone gets them. they mentioned hearts and the power of bonds a few times and every time I thought "woagh just like kingdom hearts" which is actually why I care in the first place. yippee

anyway verdict is it's pretty good for what it is, which is essentially snow white and the seven dwarfs (1937) fanfiction. it wasn't a fresh new take on snow white but it didn't advertise itself to be and before I went and read the movie script there was a lot of stuff I assumed came from the movie that was actually original (well, until the end). it felt very natural and like it made sense, which is good for any fanfiction. and as a diehard kh fan who has to truck through some absolutely awful disney movie retellings, it's good enough for me

started looking into the twisted tale series because kingdom hearts has stripped me of my shame and honestly it seems pretty cool…. like a lot of the gritty disney derivative works I’ve seen are either like “what if the villain was misunderstood and the good guys were also shit” or “we added more violence” but the premises of these books appear to be canon divergences that maybe change an event or a motivation but not the personalities? which makes things more interesting imo. I read the Little Mermaid graphic novel one (which has beautiful art by the way. I looked into the artists, Kelly and Nichole Matthews, and they’re also working on Magic Treehouse graphic novels which are also pretty) and the change was that Ursula got what she wanted but she didn’t do anything that seemed much worse than what she would’ve done in canon if given the power. it wasn’t excessive. actually, due to Ursula’s ambitions and who she married, it got pretty political. I think it being a bad end au sequel instead of an au retelling helped, so I guess if I want to know how they’d handle that I’d have to check a different one. and maybe a graphic novel isn’t really the best view of a novel series, seeing as a lot of stuff needs to be cut for them, either… every single silly little animal friend was still there though, look at these fucking guys