#Idle hands do the devil's work and all that.

[irisfixation]

Today, on system interactions:

iris: [freezes up due to sudden bodily pain or other awareness of body, resulting in being frozen almost entirely in place.]

Her Grace the Observer, immediately sensing a viable puppeteering vessel: "Oh, how convenient."

[trans-li-ling]

oops started hyperfixating on csm and now I'm figuring out what devil's everyone would have Contracts with

[syddsatyrn]

Omg your requests are open. I've seen some of your work and it's amazing❤️

Can you do a smut with Lucifer. He's become my new obsession.

⛧Idle Time is the Devil's Play⛧ By Sydd Satyrn

⛧Pairing: - Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

⛧Warnings: Shameless smut, fingering, swearing, fluff

⛧Words: 2.5k

⛧Notes: This was actually rather fun to write, thank you for the request! My head canon in this one is that Lucifer wears reading glasses.

The day started out on the wrong foot from the second you woke up. The dishes are piled up, laundry needs to be done, and how is there so much dust in here?! Nifty does her best to keep up but she's only one tiny person. You begin with the dishes, stack and stacks of plates and bowls, cups and flatware cover the counter. You let out a sigh of disappointment. After working for a short while, Angel Dust walks in with a surprised look on his face. “I thought you were dating the King of Hell, why are you wasting your time with chores?” The tall spider asks, holding a stack of dishes from his room. “Angel, I work here. I don't know how many times I have to tell you…” You reply with an eye roll. “Yeah, yeah, Charlie’s dreams, blah, blah, motherly nonsense. I’m just sayin’ you could totally slack off and get away with it.” He says, placing more dishes on the counter. You give him a side eye, and Angel laughs. “Chill out toots, I’m just playin’.” He says and heads back to his room. He’s right, you could slack off if you wanted to, but you felt the need to try for Charlie. You and Lucifer have been dating for a little over 6 months and within that time you’ve become rather fond of his sweet daughter and her dreams to rehabilitate sinners. So you took on a role at the hotel and did what you could to help make it possible. You wanted to impress Lucifer's daughter, maybe one day she might even see you as family, if you’re lucky.  You finally finish the dishes and take a step back and admire your handiwork. A clean sink, and counters, all the dirty dishes are now washed, dried and put away. It took a good chunk of the morning but it was worth it. The kitchen looks spotless and you decide to move onto the next chore. You tidied a few empty rooms and then delivered clean towels to each room with an occupant. You’re already running out of energy and it's only noon. “You look like you could use some coffee.” Husk says from behind the bar while wiping down the countertops. “You read my mind, Husker.” You say and take a seat at the bar. He pours you a cup of black coffee and sets it in front of you. “Thank you, you have no idea how much I need this.” “Don’t mention it” He says and returns to his countertops. Husk may seem grumpy all the time but you’ve come to know him as a rather genuine and helpful person.

You drink your coffee slowly and contemplate what you should do next. There are so many chores that need to be done, where should you even start? Nifty should be cleaning the bathrooms or taking out the trash by now. You decide to start dusting next, it shouldn't be too hard. 

After dusting the common areas, you begin on the hallways. You start at the top floor and work your way down. You hum quietly to yourself while wiping the window sills. As you turn a corner, you run into Angel Dust, and spill dusting spray all over his jacket. “Shit!” He says while wiping his jacked off with his hand, Angel looks frantic and upset, you’ve never seen him so scared. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?!” You immediately apologize. “Y/N, I can't find Fat Nuggets anywhere! I took my eyes off of him for one second and he disappeared! My poor baby!” Angel says, clearly in a state. He looks like he might even cry. It’s gonna be okay, we just…need to split up! I’ll head downstairs and you stay up here.”You say, trying to remain calm. Angel nods, and you both go your separate ways.

You search all the rooms on the first and second floor, the lobby, the bar, and even the basement. There is no sign of the little pig. You were sure you would find him rooting around somewhere in the kitchen but still, no Fat Nuggets. You notice the back door is slightly ajar, you definitely didn’t use that door when you were down here earlier. You open it, expecting to have solved the mystery, but still nothing. You lean against the wall and let out a defeated sigh. “Dammit, Fat Nuggets, where are you?” You say out loud. Suddenly there is a rustlin noise inside a tipped over trash can. You lift the lid and inside is a very happy looking little pig. You scoop him up and give him a big hug, he must have gottens stuck out there looking for a snack. As you carry Fat Nuggets upstairs you hear a shriek of joy coming from Angel Dust. “My baby!” He cries as you hand him over. “Don't you ever leave my side again!” He says, baby talking to the little pig while giving him a snuggle. “I owe you one, Y/N.” Angel says with a smile. “Dont worry about it, I’m just happy we found the little guy.” You gently boop the little pig’s nose. —------------ As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of pink and orange across the sky, a sense of tranquility settled over the hotel. The warm glow of the fading sunlight painted the walls in soft, golden hues made the place feel somewhat serene. Finding Fat Nuggets took up the rest of your afternoon and you were feeling unusually exhausted. 

 You head down to the lobby and see Nifty cleaning up the last of the dusting you did earlier.

She greets you as usual. “Good Evening, Miss Y/N! How was your day?” She pauses her cleaning and stares up at you with her single cyclops eye. “I am so worn out, Nifty. How are you?” You return, smiling down at her tiny figure.

“I’m okay. There aren't as many bugs in the hotel to squish anymore so I’m getting pretty bored.” You smile at her, Not entirely sure how to respond to that statement. She always says the wildest stuff, but you’re used to it. Alastor says she's always been pretty quirky. “You should go spend time with your boyfriend.” Nifty teases,”I’ll deal with the rest of the chores.” “Thank you, I could really use a break. Today was a mess.” You say with a sigh of relief. After walking down the long, lavish hallway to Lucifer's room. You open the door slowly, you don't want to wake him if he is asleep. The King is already in bed wearing nothing but a robe and his reading glasses. The lamp next on the bedside table is the only source of light in the room. The blonde haired man is reading a book and glances over at you when he hears you come in. “I was wondering when you’d be here.” He says with a smile on his face. He closes his book and sets it on the nightstand along with his gold rimmed glasses. “Sorry I’m late, I’ve had a really long day.” You admit as you sit on the edge of the bed. “Oh? What did you get up to today?” He asks and crawls toward you. “There was a lot to do around the hotel today, a mountain of dishes and so much cleaning. Like seriously, where does all this dust come from?! Then Angel lost Fat Nuggets and he was outside…” You ramble on and Lucifer listens intently. “Fat Nuggets?” Lucifer chuckles and cocks his head to the side. “His pet pig.” You remind him. “Oh, I see…” Lucifer places his hand on your cheek. His warm touch sends shivers down your spine. He pulls your face closer and kisses your lips gently. Your heart flutters and you kiss him back, blushing slightly.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here now.” Lucifer laughs, knowing exactly what he's doing to you. “Sounds like you need some time off. I notice you do a lot around here, you shouldn’t wear yourself out like that.” “I just want to show Charlie that I support her dream and believe in her.” Your words make Lucifer’s heart swell, the fact that you are trying so hard to impress his daughter is quite possibly the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He smiles at you, his expression full of love and admiration. You return his smile, your face bright red. He pulls you in for a tight hug, burying his face into your hair. “You’re doing just fine, my love. You can let up a little.” He whispers in your ear, “You should let me take care of you for a couple days.” Lucifer's voice is sticky sweet, you can see why Eve was so easily swayed. You melt into his arms and he kisses the top of your head. “I know exactly what you need…” Lucifer days, his voice laced with a mischievous tone. “Do you…?” You ask and giggle at his bold statement. He reluctantly lets go of you and takes off to the bathroom connected to his room. You can hear him turn on the faucet to fill up the tub. Lucifer walks out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he grabs your hand and pulls you close, his eyes half lidded. He kisses your cheek and wraps his arm around your shoulder. “Come with me, my dear.” He leads you to the bathroom, the tub is filled about half way with warm water. The room is filling with steam and the lights are low, a few candles are lit. The ambiance is warm and charming just like he is. Your eyes widen and you feel Lucifer hands tug at your clothes, silently telling you to take them off. Your face feels hot as you start to remove your clothing, piece by piece. You leave them in a pile on the floor, trying your best to keep your composure. “I have to admit I wasn’t expecting this…” You say, Lucifer smirks, pleased with himself and your reactions. He removes his robe, revealing his perfect body. He steps into the tub and turns to you.

"Well, are you coming or not?" He teases, you take his hand and slowly get in the tub with him. He sits behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you just a bit closer. Together, you both leaned back against the edge of the tub, letting the warmth of the water soothe your weary muscles. The stress of the day melted away, you could feel your muscles relax, you lean the back of your head on his shoulder, breathing him in.

"See? Isn't this much better?" Lucifer purrs in your ear.  

You nod and let your eyes close. You can feel him kiss your temple and you can't help but smile. “I definitely needed this…”You murmured, Lucifer's hands begin to roam your body, his hands trace down your arms. 

"You have the most beautiful skin...I can't help but touch it." He whispers and kisses your neck, you sigh softly. "And you always smell like vanilla, I adore that..."

“You flatter me, Lucifer.” You reply. He kisses the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. His hands begin to massage your shoulders, "Are you cold?" He asks, noticing the goosebumps forming on your skin. With gentle hands, his fingertips traced delicate patterns along the contours of your skin. In the hushed ambiance, time seemed to slow, as if caught in the embrace of the moment. “No, I’m fine.” You assure him.” You’re just really good with your hands.” “Is that so?” Lucifer says with a playful tone. He can barely contain himself, the way your body responds to his touch is fascinating to him. Lucifer's hands travel lower down your torso and gently cup your breasts. You hum softly and push your body closer to his.

"My, you're a needy one tonight, aren't you?" He chuckles and runs his thumbs over your nipples. "I think I know exactly how to help you." His hands travel lower and lower until they reach your core. Your breath hitches and your face turns a bright shade of red and Lucifer notices. "Is that okay, my love?" He asks, making sure he's not overstepping his bounds.

"Y-yes, it's more than okay.”

Lucifer's fingers explore your folds, teasing and prodding. His movements are slow and deliberate, as if he's trying to memorize every inch of your body. You gasp as he enters a finger into you. You moan softly and your back slightly arches. "That's it, my love, just let go, let me take care of you." The King’s tone is lustful and alluring. Lucifer adds a second finger and starts thrusting in and out, his thumb rubs your clit. He moves his fingers faster and harder. “Luci…fuck…” You swear followed by another moan, the pleasure is overwhelming. You can feel him smile against your skin, his hand working wonders between your thighs. You bite your lip and whimper, gripping the edge of the tub. Lucifer bites the tip of your ear and quickens his pace. “That’s it my dear, are you gonna cum for me?” Lucifer groans and pushes his fingers deeper inside you. You let out a whimper, a feeling of warmth growing deep within your core. Between the steam from the bathtub and all the stimulation you start to feel a little dizzy. Lucifer groans and buries his face into the crook of your neck. He focuses back on your clit, his middle finger massaging little circles, picking up speed with each second that passes. You can't stop the moans from escaping your mouth, the pleasure is too much. You can't hold back any longer and your body is rocked with wave after wave of pleasure. Lucifer's fingers move slower, helping you ride out the waves of your orgasm. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your face is bright red. Lucifer pulls his fingers out and wraps his arms around you, hugging you tight.

"Are you alright?" He asks, kissing your neck. You nod and completely relax into Lucifer's body. You lay in the bathtub together, his fingers caress your arm, he presses another kiss to your temple.

"I think it's time you got some rest." He says, barely above a whisper. You both get out of the tub and Lucifer wraps a towel around you.

"You're absolutely perfect." He says with a grin and kisses your nose. You smile at him, continue to dry off and wrap your hair in a towel. Lucifer loans you a pair of his silk pajamas, they are just slightly too big for you. But all that does is add to how comfortable they are. You lay in bed next to him, the covers pulled over your shoulders. He pulls you close and runs his fingers through your hair.

"So, tomorrow you will do no chores, no errands, just relax and take it easy.” He says, with a slightly demanding tone. You lay your head down on his bare chest and he picks up his book. “Yes sir…no chores…” You murmured against his skin. “He chuckles, "Good girl. That's what I like to hear.” He praises while putting his glasses back on. You're exhausted from the day and can barely keep your eyes open. Before long, you fall asleep in the arms of your love, ready for a trouble free day tomorrow. 

[astralnymphh]

ROBINS EGG BLUE

⤹ . moments with domestic!ellie x pregnant!reader

WC; 1.07k

⤹ . content; fluff, lovey–dovey, may cause baby fever or heartwarmed tears to swell, reader discretion is advised ౨ৎ

pregnancy is infuriating as not being able to comb your hair thoroughly. there is always a fat fucking knot to stem the fluid moment thereof– just as there lies a fat, fleshy boulder fastened to your stomach for a gruelingly long nine months. the bulge of your belly button has witnessed most of three seasons, and you weren't buoyantly idling around for the fourth to appear. this baby– this little devil, needs to get the hell out of dodge.

from the chagrin of a pair of jeans failing to button at the hips, straining the seams as you pull that fly parallel to your mother yanking the poor hairs from your scalp with a paddle brush– to the fleeting aggro nearby popping a blood vessel you feel when arguing with your wife, ellie, about some nonsensical, fruitless or futile dispute about what wallpaper pattern best suits the small dimensions of the nursey– pink and pearl striped with roses or robins egg blue and beige striped with roses, ellie continuously states "they're basically the same baby, i don't see what all the fuss is about." or whether ellie should throw in a batch of dino nuggets or regular nuggets cause the taste totally isn't the same, the shape definitely impacts how salty it is to your tongue, illogical banters.

but ellie will still be your loving, selfless, fond, and doting wife. your number one. apple of your eye. stupid auburn–haired heartthrob. you name it. through thick and thin of your expanding belly, she will always be the first palm to greet your baby in the morning, plastering her blanket–hot hand just beneath your navel and pressing her sweat damp fingerprints dimpling into your stomach, bending her index lightly into the petunia purple stretchmarks that vertically dip into your hips, waiting for minutes in the virgin sun morning for your baby to kick. literally, she has abandoned her old forenoon routine just to feel that first thump on her hand. and when it finally does happen, a little pounce vibrating beneath her palm lines– her fingers twitch lightly and a smile immediately crafts upon her rose lips, purring excitedly upon the fringe of your ear, words that only your snoozing brain with hark, "huh, see? he knows who his mama is– told ya."

but, ahh, stretchmarks.

she adores those little lightning marks lacing your belly– you on the other hand, thought the contrary, to which that husky fry would remind you, "ts' cause y'gotta baby growing in there, yeah? ours." flowing past the pouty berry lips so adamant on plowing kisses to the span of your scruff, ghosting them dry over the fine threadlike hairs with a pitched promise to never let you– or your belly go.

or, goddess, that one time ellie insisted you sit on the couch while she played her acoustic guitar, denting her fingertips with the strings as she plucks, subtly leaning the bay oak instrument closer to your belly so the baby would pick up those hollowed notes vibrating through the air. the fattest smirk would mushroom those cheeks to hug her nose– grooving those nasal lines to encase the thin curve of a smile, deepening at the corners. you even recall the dorkiest shit ever, how it carried to your ears out of the blue and left you pinching brow lines of amusement, "gonna' play this lil' guy guitar everyday– hey, d'ya think if i do that, he'll come out already knowing how to play?" spoken on a smokey chord, glancing up at you through lashes slightly downturned due to her facing the belly, directly. you told her with a sigh, "ellie, that is not how it works." dumbly smirking back, and she replied, "what? c'mon, maybe if i play electric, he'll be born a rockstar!" squeezing her voice with silly enthusiasm. a roll of your head cracks your neck, dangling back to barb, "you are ten times the idiot than you were yesterday." cause, well, she's constantly spewing the dopiest ideas. next thing you knew, she was rasping, "m'your fuckin' idiot." that cheesy motherfucker, slinking her guitar off the round of her thigh and stowing it at the sofa's footing, lurking forward on all fours to tackle your belly with bespattering kisses, moist and fiendish as ever.

infuriating was the task of putting socks on. fucking socks. the effortless effort that would usually clock you under ten seconds, moreso felt like ten eons. "ughh!" you would grunt from the depths of your compact lungs, extending two zombie arms over the blockage of your portly belly, perking the ears of ellie who was just in the abutting room, walls thin enough to bombard with sound. she whips around the door trim, leaning her lank weight away from it and cocking her head, distinguishing the predicament you had landed two feet in. a dry chuckle sounds from yonder the room, trailed by her honeyed resound, "need sum' help babe?" which, to her, falls to strike as a question– au contraire, soft, padded footsteps of feet who already had socks on, lucky them, carries ellie over and at your side, crouching with her knees splayed apart like bird's wings, raising hands to politely creep fingers under yours, prying the cottony ball from your grasp and craning it to her chest, sidling in her squat so that she would be an eyeshot vis–à–vis to you, at your beckon practically.

you remained silent, doused in the soft moment before you, yet a little embarrassed you couldn't do it yourself. a raspy, "here's one.." croaks from her throat prior to a hand cupping the ribbed underside of your ankle, tamping it gently into her chest so she could unfurl the sock and roll it up your foot, hedging your toes first with the linty fabric and laying it up the heel, letting the band snap in place– and her fingertips lingered at the ankle, caressing the nub for only a twinkle in time. "and the second one.." she scoops up the other foot, repeating the same tedious tenderness she gave to your other, gliding her hand from your ankle to your knee as she stood up, plating a pressure to the top of your thigh as she leans in, lips first, uttering, "there you go," smacking a puckered kiss to your stagnant lips, whispering upon them, "m'comin' to the bathroom with you. wanna hold him for a bit."

not even wild wolves could tear ellie from your baby, her baby.

[homunculus-argument]

I still don't know which interpretation is the right one, but I admit I was raised protestant, and hearing "idle hands are devil's tools", I always interpreted it to mean that it is literally a sin to just vibe and do nothing. But apparently it's more like "gotta give you something constructive to do, because if you're not being put to work at all times you're going to use those hands to write another erotic naruto/transformers crossover fic."

[gravehags]

desinare

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: Teen

Tags: awwww look it's a pre-relationship fic just like old times, dinner party, reader meeting the papas, reader and copia being awkward little weirdos with baby crushes, papa nihil slander, references to other curator reader fics

Words: 3,784

Summary: Your very kind cardinal friend has invited you for a meal with three Satanic popes. Surely there's a proverb about this.

a/n: i had so so so much fun writing this lmao i didn't realize how much i missed writing them pre-relationship. my beloved nerds.

~~~

“Eh, signorina?”

“Fuck!” you yelp, dropping the stack of folders you were holding in shock. “Shit…sorry Cardinal. How do you move so quietly with all that fabric on?”

“M-many years of practice, heh,” he kicks himself for how stupid he sounds, wringing his hands while you smile kindly up at him as you stoop to pick up your papers.

“Teach me how some time? I’m always falling over myself. I’d love to have even an ounce of your grace.”

He can feel his ears burn as a dopey grin spreads across his face. She complimented you. Now compliment her back. Go on, say something charming, idiota.

“Dancing!” he half-shouts, making you jump. You fucking fool. “I…I mean I learned how…how to be graceful from dancing. Ballet. In my youth.”

You’re making an impressed face now which is worlds better from the look of terror you previously wore when he barked at you like a senile chihuahua.

“The Cardinal is a dancer?” you murmur, eyes glittering, “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“Oh, it’s been years,” he blushes, “this old body doesn’t move the way it used to.”

He swears he sees your eyes flick up and down his form and a tiny smirk lift your lips.

“I don’t buy that for a second, Cardinal.”

Are you flirting with him? You turn to busy herself with organizing your folders but Copia can see the pink tinge at the tips of your ears.

“Do you like bolognese?” he says, once again loud and blunt. 

“I…what?”

“My…my fratelli and I - the Papas that is - would very much like to meet you. A-and share a meal with you. If you are interested?”

Your mouth forms a little “o”.

“There’s more than one Papa?” you ask, cocking your head. 

“Sì, sì, there is also eh, Papa Emeritus I and Papa Emeritus II, known as Primo and Secondo, respectively. Terzo you already know,” he grumbles, and your lips twitch.

“Three Satanic popes and a Cardinal. Wow…life sure comes at you fast, huh? Never expected this from a job offer.”

“So…is that a yes?”

“No,” you say and Copia’s face falls, “I mean - shit - sorry! A no about the bolognese. I don’t eat red meat. But a definite yes for the dinner, I’d love to meet some more people here! You’re very kind to have invited me.”

“Ah,” he waves his hand dismissively, but a smile still curls his lips, “We don’t get pretty new faces around here very often. It would be our pleasure.”

It doesn’t dawn on him what he said until he sees your lips silently form the damning word and your cheeks light up. Shit, why couldn’t he be normal around you?

“Anyway,” he says, his voice going up a humiliating octave, “would you be available this week? Friday evening, perhaps?”

“It’s a date. I mean–” you look as panicked as he feels at your wording, “--a dinner date. W-with your…with the Papas. And yourself. Sorry, where should I meet you? I’m uh, still familiarizing myself with the abbey. This place is huge.”

“Eh, how about I meet you at your office and I’ll lead the way from there, sì?”

“Sì. I mean, yes. Is there a…should I dress a certain way?”

An image is conjured in his mind of you in a pretty cocktail dress, heels lifting your shapely calves and your decolletage on display—

He shakes his head to rid himself of the vision.

“Uh…dress in whatever is most comfortable. Undoubtedly Secondo will put you to work in the kitchen so–”

“Oh good,” you say, “I mean my culinary talents are uh…definitely lacking but I’d be happy to help and keep busy. Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop, and all that. Well…something like that anyway, I’m not sure if there’s a Satanic version. Anyway I am definitely blabbering on so feel free to ignore…literally everything that just came out of my mouth.”

You’re embarrassed. As if he couldn’t listen to you talk and talk and talk for eternity. He’s about to tell you something to that effect before his brain yanks him away. Bit much for only knowing her a month, fool. Instead he gives you a friendly nod, and bows slightly.

“I’ll eh, see you Friday then yes? At 6:00?”

“Sounds perfect. And…thank you. I don’t remember if I said it or not but thank you for making this place feel like home.”

He feels as if his heart is about to burst from his ribcage.

“Signorina,” he murmurs, “it is my honor. Ciao.”

“Ciao, Cardinal,” you say softly as he turns and exits your office. He doesn’t see the way you collapse into your desk chair with a dreamy sigh.

—

You’re going to be late.

As soon as your work day ended you hustled up to your apartment and began getting ready but it’s now 5:41 and you still have no idea what the fuck you’re going to wear. Half your wardrobe lies scattered on your bedroom floor (you know it’s going to make you insane when you return later that night but fuck you can’t remember what clothes you even own) as you stand in the center of the room in your underwear.

“Okay. Okay you’re going to meet three Satanic popes,” the sentence has a delirious laugh bubbling out of your throat. “Three Satanic popes and one…sweet…handsome…Cardinal. What is the correct choice.”

You eye a snug, knee length burgundy velvet cocktail dress to your left. You’ve been saving this one for a while - for a real special occasion. You would undoubtedly impress but…nah. Too much. To your right is a pair of mom jeans - you pick them up and give them a tentative sniff - acceptably clean. You toss the jeans onto your bed behind you. Okay now for a top. How about…ah! You spy a soft, dark green sweater in a pile and snatch it up. Cozy, comfortable, and practical. Perfect. As for shoes…your well-loved black Chelsea boots should do the trick. You look down at your watch.

5:48

Shit! Almost tripping more than once you jump into your jeans and pull the sweater over your head, tucking it halfway into your waistband. You don’t have the time or the patience to put any makeup on beyond a few swipes of mascara and a dark red lipstick and when you make it out the door with your phone and keys, it’s five to six. You briskly power walk the entire trip to your office and by the time you’re standing outside the door, you’re clutching your side and heaving for breath. You pray to whoever is listening that the Cardinal is a little late so you have a chance to compose yourself but before you can even form the thought–

“Signorina?”

You spin on the spot, trying to look as casual as possible.

“Cardinal!” you rasp. “Uh…hi.”

“You look lovely,” he says with an anxious little smile that gives you butterflies, “you’re glowing, signorina.”

“Thanks, it’s the sweat.”

You ought to be taken out back and shot like Old Yeller.

To your immense relief, he doesn’t look disgusted but instead seems to relax as if your odd faux-pas cuts the tension. Chortling, he gestures for you to follow him with a gloved hand.

“What’s for dinner?” you ask, as the two of you proceed down the hall.

“You’ll have to ask Secondo that, I have no idea what the maestro has planned for us this evening.”

“Sounds ominous,” you smile.

“Eh, sì. He is.”

Oh God.

“Your week has gone well?” Copia asks, adeptly changing the subject.

“Yes, just you know. Trying to make sense of everything von Schreck left me with. Can’t help but feel his presence looming over me whenever I change something he did. Did you know him well?”

“Not well, no. He was a quiet man, kept to himself. His eh, mind started to go, in the end. Became paranoid.”

“Ah. Explains his cataloging system then. If you can call it that.”

You realize you’re now in a wing of the abbey you’ve never seen before - a long hallway with a dark red rug running the length of it and arched doors. Copia stops at one that is open and gestures inside with a nervous smile.

It’s a kitchen. A very large, very well equipped kitchen with a massive island and high ceilings. There are three men standing inside it - you recognize one of them and the other two are staring in your direction. The tallest (and from what you can tell, the oldest) has a soft smile on his face. The other is also tall but broad where the older figure was slim, the overhead light glinting off his bald head. Terzo hops down off the counter, swirling a glass of wine and grinning. You’re suddenly aware of four pairs of the same mismatched eyes boring into you.

“Uh. Hi.”

The three Papas are on you like flies on honey in a snap, pulling you into the warmth of the kitchen while Copia removes his black biretta and wrings his gloved hands. With a shaky voice he introduces you to the two you are unfamiliar with and to Terzo he simply gives a hard stare.

“It’s an honor to meet all of you,” you murmur, smiling around the room, “Wow, three Satanic popes. I haven’t even met one uh…regular pope. Not to say you aren’t ‘regular’ or ‘normal’, of course. The Satanic versions are so much more interesting.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Do you drink?” the bald, mustachioed one - Secondo - asks.

“Please,” you sigh in relief. He gestures you over to the counter.

“What do you know about Italian wines, piccolina?”

Piccolina? You remind yourself to look that up whenever you manage to take a bathroom break.

“Uh, not much. That is to say…nothing.”

He smirks. You know immediately this man is a heartbreaker.

“I will teach you. This riserva is from the Ministry’s vineyards in Piedmont. Made from Nebbiolo grapes.” He pours you a generous glass which you swirl delicately in your hand before leaning in to sniff.

“Oh! I’m definitely getting…red fruits, perhaps cherries? Something mineral, like the way a damp cave smells. Hold on–”

You take a sip as Secondo watches you carefully.

“Wow that’s gorgeous,” you gush, “I didn’t smell the rose element but I definitely taste it. You said the Ministry made this?”

“Sì,” he nods, as he pours more into your glass, “I’m pleased you like it, you have excellent taste.”

“Oh, I really don’t,” you smile, “you’d cringe if I told you some of the swill I find acceptable. Particularly what I drank in college.”

He laughs loudly.

“What kind of self-respecting American college student drinks wine?”

“One from California, that’s what,” you smirk.

“Secondo stop hogging our guest,” Terzo calls from the other side of the room. “I want to see her pretty face.”

Secondo ushers you over to the small breakfast table where Copia sits with the other two Papas before leaving to fetch several wine glasses.

“Don’t you look bellissima tonight,” Terzo grins, and you blush as he gives you a very obvious once-over. That smile disappears though when he jerks violently, slamming his knee up under the table.

“Stronzino, that hurt,” he hisses at Copia, who has carefully schooled his face into a neutral expression. 

Huh. Wonder what that was all about.

You’re distracted by Primo softly saying your name and you turn to the older man with a smile.

“Are you enjoying life at the abbey so far?”

Ah. Well about that. You want to lie - to tell him everything has been smooth sailing but something about the way he looks at you instantly makes you want to be more candid.

“It’s um. It’s been…a lot,” you say, looking down into your wine glass, “The Cardinal is really the only one who speaks to me outside of Sister Imperator. I-I haven’t got out of my apartment much except to go to work. I’m a little self-conscious about exploring, to be honest.”

Primo gives you a gentle smile.

“Do you know where the greenhouses are, fiore mio?”

Fiore mio. Another one for the list.

“I think I know where the gardens are but I’m not sure if they’re nearby–”

“They are.” he says, “Sister Imperator…doesn’t have much use for an old relic like me. I spend my time tending to all that grows here. With some assistance from my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?” you ask, cocking your head.

He smiles.

“Ah, you haven’t met any yet, have you? Well I won’t spoil the surprise. I’m sure the Cardinal would love to tell you about them some time. Anyway, all this to say…please come visit me when you have the opportunity, sì? Ah, that reminds me,” he gets up and walks through an adjacent doorway to what you assume is the dining room. When he returns, he’s bearing a bouquet of vibrant pink dahlias in a glass vase.

“Oh!” you say, setting down your wine glass as Primo places the flowers on the table in front of you.

“For you, cara. To welcome you.”

You’re squeezing the meat of your thigh as hard as you can under the table to keep from crying but the tears well up in your eyes all the same.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and he reaches out to take your hand into his long, wizened one.

“Cazzo, are you making her cry, you old fuck?” Terzo grouses.

“Terzo!” Copia says with a sharpness you’ve never heard from him before. You’re not sure if it’s the wine but you’re definitely picking up on some tense vibes between the two of them.

“Uh, need help with dinner, Secondo?” you ask, trying to cut the awkwardness.

“Most of it is already finished but you are welcome to assist with the antipasti. Forgive the lack of aperitivo but someone forgot to pick up olives today.”

Secondo glares across the room at Copia, who turns beet red.

“That’s okay, I don’t like olives anyway,” you say cheerily. Primo groans.

“Ugh! Philistine!” Secondo snaps, making a sharp gesture, “Get over here and atone for your sins before I kick you out of my kitchen, piccolina.”

Now your face is red.

“Yes, Papa,” you murmur obediently as you rise from the table, missing the way the four men look at each other with raised eyebrows.

“Va bene,” Secondo says gruffly as you approach the island, leaning over to pour more wine in your glass, “Do you know how to toast bread?”

You give him a look.

“I think I can handle toast,” you scoff, setting down your glass. “Are we making bruschetta?” 

He favors you with a nod and a half-smile. A point in your favor.

“Here is the olive oil,” he says, gesturing to his left, “here is the balsamic. I have already diced the tomatoes and here,” he turns and opens the large refrigerator, coming back with a healthy amount of burrata, “is the cheese. Think you got it?”

“I…think so? Wait, do you have a grill for me to use or…”

He hands you a square metal pan with holes perforated in it.

“You’ve used a brustolina before?”

No, you have not used a brustolina before.

“How hard can it be? Don’t worry about me, please go sit down.”

He gives you one last sideway glance before snagging his wine glass off the table and joining his brothers. 

Ten minutes later, Terzo is standing on the breakfast table waving a rag in front of the aggressively beeping smoke detector as Copia looks as mortified as you feel.

“It’s alright, fiore mio,” Primo soothes as you sniffle, staring at the charred remains of what used to be several slices of sourdough bread.

“It’s toast. I cannot believe I actually fucked up toast.”

Copia scurries to your side and Primo steps away to make room. When your head thunks heavy against his shoulder he wraps an arm around you, making soothing noises. 

You don’t see Terzo thrusting violently into the air with a wide grin on his face, still standing on the table but you do see Secondo yank him down when he lets out an undignified squawk. The noise has you choking out a laugh, and you turn to Copia to see him staring down at you with a painfully soft expression.

“It’s nothing, piccolina,” Secondo says, unhanding his brother, “We didn’t need bruschetta anyway. Prometto. The real star is coming soon. Please–” he picks up your wine glass and gives you yet another generous pour, “--go take a seat. Enjoy the company of the Cardinal, and Primo, and my other idiot brother.”

You nod, accepting your glass.

“Sorry,” you murmur, and you feel Copia’s hand rub warm circles on the small of your back. You’d be willing to burn all the toast in the abbey if this is what you got out of it.

“It’s nothing, signorina, truly,” he says quietly in your ear, leading you back over to the table. Secondo efficiently dumps the cremated bread into the garbage and puts an apron over his head which reads “Osculari Coquum.” 

By the time Secondo tells the four of you to take your seats in the dining room you are…pleasantly tipsy and incredibly hungry. The smells coming from the kitchen are so decadent, you can feel yourself salivating. 

“Here we are,” Secondo says, entering the room with a loaded plate, which he places in front of you, “Pollo alla cacciatora con riso.”

You have to sit on your hands to keep from rudely digging in before the others have been delivered their meals but as soon as Secondo sits down, you’re ready to strike. Before you can, Primo speaks up.

“I would like to toast our lovely new friend. To your health and happiness. May you find a home here amongst us. Benvenuta nostra sorella. Ave Sathanas.”

Sorella. The word sounds familiar, as if you’ve heard it in the abbey halls before. It makes a warmth bloom in your chest that you’re certain cannot be attributed solely to the wine.

“Grazie mille,” you murmur with a smile. “Thank you all for having me this evening, I appreciate it more than you know.”

Copia’s hand, resting next to yours on the table, twitches and ever-so-slightly his gloved pinkie finger brushes against yours. You look at him out of the corner of your eye but he’s staring diligently down at his plate, mustache twitching as he fights to smile. The sight makes your heart thud in your chest. It’s as if the two of you are in your own little world, oblivious to everyone else despite the fact that neither of you openly acknowledge the other. It’s a breathtaking feeling and you wish you could put your finger on what is so special about this peculiar man.

“Bella, if you don’t eat that I’m going to eat it for you.”

Terzo is staring at you from across the table, mouth full of chicken cacciatore. The whole room, in fact, is staring at you.

“Shit! Right! Sorry I was…I don’t know where I was. Hmm.”

The four men once again exchange a look as you politely dig into your chicken and rice. It’s divine, as you knew it would be. The conversation flows wonderfully, the Papas all eagerly explaining the Ghost project to you.

“So you are all part of the same band?”

“We each had our terms,” Primo explains, “I was the first, Secondo was second, and now Terzo is the third.”

Your brow furrows as you mouth their names and something clicks.

“I’m sorry, you’re all brothers and you’re named first, second, and third? Who does that to their kids?”

Copia snorts into his glass at your candidness.

“Our idiot father, that’s who,” Primo says, and you’re shocked at his venomous tone, “You’ve met Papa Nihil, have you not?”

Oh. You’ve met Papa Nihil alright.

“Ah…yes. Yes, we’ve met. I don’t think he cares much for me.”

Terzo laughs.

“We all have that in common, bella mia! Consider it a badge of honor.”

You don’t quite know what to say to that and an uncomfortable silence falls on the room.

“So,” Secondo begins, “you must listen to each of our albums and tell us which one you like best, sì?”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’m qualified to properly judge that sort of thing–”

“We insist,” Terzo says imperiously, “I want nothing less than an album ranking and your overall top five songs. Cardinal, see to it that she gets educated.”

“I don’t see how this is my area of expertise,” Copia says sullenly, stabbing at what remains of his chicken. “It’s not my band.”

Hmm. Another frisson of tension.

Interesting.

“If everyone is done with their meal, shall we move back into the kitchen for dessert? Piccolina, how do you feel about gelato?”

Your cheeks redden at the moan that escapes your mouth. Copia coughs sharply at your side, having turned red himself.

“What’s your favorite flavor, bella mia?” Terzo asks, rising from the table as you do.

“Stracciatella, definitely, but I will never say no to chocolate.”

“Ah! A woman after my own heart! Copia do you hear this? She likes stracciatella.”

The Cardinal remains seated, nodding distractedly. As you exit the room you see Primo move closer to him and put a hand on his back, leaning in to speak quietly.

—

“Oh topolino…she’s just as lovely as you said. Kind, smart, beautiful. Burns bruschetta but eh, no one is perfect.” Primo smiles as Copia looks up at him in earnest.

“Papa…I really like her.”

It’s the first time he’s voiced his feelings out loud and he can feel the flush on his cheeks creeping down his chest.

“I know, ragazzo mio. And you know what? I think she really likes you too.”

Copia’s heart skips a beat.

“Really? You think so? I-I want to do something nice for her, something she deserves but I’m not sure–”

“Spend time with her,” Primo says, smiling, “She is very lonely. Continue to be the friend you have been thus far - that’s what she deserves.”

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” Copia murmurs, “Surely she’ll tire of me or–”

“Surely nothing of the sort,” Primo says firmly. “If she cares for you as I suspect she does, she will welcome you into her heart. All parts of you, not just the best ones. You’ll see, topolino. Prometto.”

“Grazie,” Copia whispers as Primo places a kiss on his forehead.

“Hey you two what flavor–oh, I’m sorry, I’m interrupting something.”

You move to exit the room but Copia stands abruptly.

“No, please. Stay.”

You smile. If only he knew now how you’d take that request to heart.

[meyousing]

𝐑𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥, 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤; 𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞

FOR MY POOKIEWOOKIE @moongreenlight !! who i adore sososo much I HOPE U ENJOY !! 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after realizing what raphael could do for you before; ridding your mind of the emperor for the briefest moment, you wanted to know how that could feel for a second time, no matter the cost. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: -> sneaky HUMAN raphael, non-con, deception and lies its raphael what else did you expect. probably a little ooc since this is for pookie so fk canon :D. as always all sexual nsfw will be under the cut!

I'm walking, you've been hiding,

And you look half-dead half the time.

Monitoring you, like machines do,

You've still got it, I'm just keeping an eye

You told yourself that you’d do anything for answers, that the cost didn’t matter–you wanted a solution, a cure to your tadpole infliction, and despite knowing better than to trust a devil, you were growing hopeless and running low on any other options. Yes, you knew the magic that Halsin told you about, the same words later spoken by the Emperor; their proclamation of impossibility regarding the worm’s extraction no matter which method you attempted, from whomever. But there was one time, and only one, when you remembered what mental quietude could sound like amidst such circumstances.

So, veiled by the darkness of the night sky en route, you navigated through Sharess’ Caress to the upper floors, intent on finding Raphael–even though he was hardly the paragon of trust–and experiencing solace in silence once again, something that, unfortunately, only he could provide. Gale was always going on about the benefits of respite, and this one you craved like a drug, now that you could remember how solitude felt after so long without it. What a crime to wish for independence within one’s own mind these days. 

You didn’t bother knocking, he likely sensed you at some point or another on your way here, what with his attentiveness to you and all that implied your involvement. You didn’t care about being the intrusive one for once, careening the door open and briskly sending it shut behind you.

“Surely you didn’t think that little disguise would work?”

“It wasn’t meant for you.” You tugged your hood down easily and shrugged the rest of your cloak off, balling it up and tossing it aside carelessly. You spotted Raphael standing a few feet away, in the first doorway of the den, his back to you. Yet he knew what you were wearing. 

He turned and lifted a brow at you, but the rest of his expression showed obvious disinterest in speaking about this any further than the short exchange. 

“Have you come to make the right choice?”

“Bold assumption,” you said quickly, not yet ready to fully admit why you sought him out in your situation; in the dark, on your own. “Shouldn’t you ask why I’m here first?”

“All I needed was a look at you to know.”

You didn’t respond, and he grinned, his lids low as he watched you.

“But I’ll let you tell me anyway, I wouldn’t want to spoil your fun. What troubles you, little mouse? What is it that’s brought you right into the cat’s paw?” he approached slowly, hands interlocked behind him as he subtly looked you up and down–knowingly–like you were the subject of an experiment. That wasn’t entirely wrong. 

“I want you to do… whatever you did for me before, again.” You kept your eyes on him, speaking somewhat hesitant but remaining strong in your stance, your gaze unwavering. You noted the way he subtly mouthed along when you spoke the word ‘again’, tauntingly, like he already had you figured out. Perhaps he did. 

“You don’t mean this?” He murmured, and with a snap of his fingers, your mind was yours again; that insistent, idle static now fizzled out. 

Your eyes widened, brows uplifting alongside your lips as you nodded; it was just like the last time, pure silence aside from your own little conscience as it came to the same giddy realization that it was alone once more. Raphael only chuckled, and after a too-short moment, your mind was back to its newly but usually muddled state. The Emperor had nothing to say yet, which you were grateful for, as it saved you the need to seek an excuse for his inability to communicate with you in a second instance that shouldn’t have been possible the first time around.  

“Are you expecting me to do you a favour like that for nothing?” he laughed dryly, mockingly; it made you feel like the vermin that was about to be squashed beneath a dirty boot sole. “You may be the brightest, most shimmering jewel in my crown, but something so deliciously close to free will in a time like this cannot come without charge. What’s more, it is most costly when one chooses selfishness over the common good.” 

You should have expected this. You must’ve known deep down that it wouldn’t be so easy, that Raphael wouldn’t be a one-time good samaritan–a saint–and do you this favour, even in spite of all the honeyed names that’d roll off of his tongue when he sought you out, making it seem as though you were a little more special than his usual clientele. Stepping forward with a frown, you scoffed:

“How am I being selfish?” Was he just toying with you for his entertainment now? You hadn’t been here for long, but the trip would be cut off even sooner if this continued. You craved relief, but not enough to get tangled up in the deep end with a devil, to a point of no return.  

“Why do you deserve the fix before anyone else? Do you think I’m a good-willed cleric made to provide relief to all those with your affliction?” Despite how incredulously he spoke, you could tell now that he was merely testing you. Testing you for what exactly, you couldn’t tell; your will, your determination?

“Who are you to be the dictator of right and wrong?” you countered him with a question of your own, stepping up closer once he stopped in his tracks. He hardly raised his brows in his fullest reaction to your bravery, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. 

“I’m not. But I’m the only one who can provide a moment of respite to you, and I don’t work for free. Is that not fair? You are asking for quite a privilege.” He smirked like he knew what you would say next.

“You’ve already done it for me once before, what makes it different now? It’s temporary anyway, is it not? Am I wrong?”

“It is. But last time was just a… sample if you will. For a second taste, a true dealing between us, you’ll need to do something for me too.”

You grimaced, and he looked too pleased with himself. You’d managed to avoid getting involved with him this far along, rejecting most ultimatums he offered, and you’d been fine without his assistance–or obstacles, rather. Yet now, something initiated completely of your own accord was creating a conflict that you could’ve avoided if not for your greed and its insistence; you weren’t done yet.

“Fine” you conceded, rather quickly too. His smirk widened, he looked so smug.

“Good, good” he purred. You blinked a few times, your body having an unexpected reaction to the bassy sound as you averted your gaze, refusing to recognize it.

“What do you want from me, then?” you mumbled.

“What do you think I would like from you–my dearest–” he drew out, “in exchange for my services?” He tilted his head, and he seemed a lot closer than you last remembered. He was much more visible in your periphery even as you forced your eyes aside. Were you supposed to answer that question and know what to say, what he wanted?

“I-I don’t know. Do you want me to take the deal with you and promise you the cro–actually, no, that is way too much in exchange for a few minutes of sile–”

“No” he cut you off sharply, his expression falling flat. “That, I can wait for. Your choice will be even sweeter to hear the longer you hold out on me. But considering our current circumstances…” he trailed off, and when you didn’t look at him during that pause, you felt hands slide up your waist. 

You blinked at the same time that your body jolted–a millisecond–and your surroundings changed. You still stood in Raphael’s grasp, just before the dining hall’s grand table within the House of Hope. Your eyes darted around warily, but you still felt an odd sense of… calm. Raphael, so tenderly that your heart thrummed a little off-beat, slid his fingers up your body and down your arms, grasping your wrists as he led you to one of the seats; facing the flames that so ironically burned in the fireplace. He walked slowly, dare you say methodically, striding to take a spot across from you.

"Indulge yourself” he muttered, looking utterly observant. He placed his chin atop his hands, fingers interlocked into a fist. He didn’t touch the food, but you expected as much.

“I’d rather not” you garbled, your gaze careful while you studied him and tried not to overreact, still settling into the new environment. You didn’t have an appetite per se, not for the deceptive refreshments that were too perfectly laid out before you anyway. Raphael may have been worming his way into your routine so often, just like the godsdamned tadpole itself, but his presence lingering for so long didn’t equate to trust yet. 

“Then indulge me.”

You watched him reach for and open a bottle of wine, one you didn’t recognize as common among those you’d scraped together from wooden boxes and crates on your way to the gate. It looked more prestigious, the bottle was embellished with what you could only assume to be real gold melted within the glass, and it caught the light so intriguingly each time he tilted it to pour some out; a drink for him, a drink for you. You looked away when he stood and took the chalices in his hands, placing one before you and promptly returning to his seat. When you looked to him again he had elevated the goblet in his hand, his chin lifting.

“To a new era.”

Your fingers approached the table, tips dancing towards the stoup’s base, the entirety of which could have been crafted by Gond and polished by Moradin. You wondered, despite how aged everything throughout the House was by the natural processes of time; cracked tile, buffered but helplessly dull stone… the stemware looked so new; untouched. He didn’t save it just for you, surely? Flitting your eyes back to Raphael as you thought about it, you noted how he finished taking a slow sip, lowering his cup back to the tablecloth. You couldn’t stop yourself from watching his tongue dart out to get some more of the taste, from what lingered on his lips. He noted your longer-than-usual silence, and those same lips turned up. 

“Your insistence, or stubbornness, rather, is very endearing in more… suitable circumstances. For once, you should try to act less like the illithid you’re bound to become and let go of those inhibitions. Look where you are” His head swayed slightly to his left, to the room, fingers drumming mutely on the tabletop. 

The wine was tempting, and his taking a first sip did comfort you in some way. You spared him a final glance before zeroing in on your goblet, staring down the dark liquid inside, watching the warm candlelight rippling reflectively on its surface. Perhaps it couldn’t hurt to indulge just this once, you thought, as you took the cup into your hand.

Raphael nodded along, encouragingly. Uncharacteristically. 

You figured there was no harm in it, especially if he was as fond of you as he claimed, then he wouldn’t want you to meet a preemptive demise. Not yet. 

You bit the bullet, raising the chilled gold to your lips. You did feel rather parched, and the substance slid down your throat so smoothly, so soothingly.  

“You know, I poisoned one of our goblets.” 

Exhaustion was sent over you like a wave, and not because of the poison immediately having an effect–had it been your substance that was tampered with–but because of course he did. You sighed, your eyes falling closed to console that Raphael-induced fatigue. 

“Gods, I hope it’s mine,” you muttered beneath your breath.

He let out what you may have heard as, amidst all of your quarrels, his first genuine laugh. His face was delighted as he shook his head. 

“Are you so displeased at the prospect of dining with me?” he leaned back in his seat, grinning and crossing a leg over the other. Getting comfortable. Settling in. You were tense in opposition, knees tight together as you kept yourself at the edge of your chair.  

“This clearly isn’t all that you want from me, Raphael. Either get on with it, or let the toxins do their job and let me off easy” You put the goblet down, pushing it forward and away as you inhaled sharply, now on higher alert considering the circumstances. 

“It’s only a bit of fun. The dose isn’t lethal, I couldn’t rid Faerûn of such a treasure in that crude of a way.”

At least you were right about that. 

Raphael said nothing else as he took in your silence, and his expression didn’t say much either. He stood slowly, his eyes remaining on you as he dragged his fingers along the tabletop until he landed at your side.

“If you’d like to experience mental solitude again, then I’ll only ask for one, small thing from you.”

You certainly felt a touch drowsier than before, your limbs a little more numb and tingly, like they had fallen asleep on you in a too-short duration. You turned your head to look up at him, and even at a neutral pace, the motion made you nauseous. You let out a soft groan of displeasure, closing your eyes and moving to drop your head down. Raphael caught your chin and forced your eyes to remain on him, his voice barely above a whisper as he proposed: 

“Solitude, for a kiss.”

“The least isolating ask,” you muttered bitterly, eyelids heavy as the sight of him became a degree blurrier than what you knew as typical. Yet you could still make out his smirk, and he leaned closer.

“But not a very weighted one. Don’t you miss being able to think without the added badgering of the Emperor’s two cents?” 

Truthfully, you did, if this last-resort decision wasn’t enough of an indicator. A kiss also wasn’t a huge deal, but Raphael was the cambion equivalent to the poison coursing through your veins. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you also weren’t in much of a position to deny him. Would you even be able to enjoy the seclusion if this didn’t wear off after he did this favour?

“That’s really all you want?”

“It is. Perhaps if you wished for something more permanent it would be a different story, but alas. It doesn’t need to be written contractually either, nothing so serious.”

“Fine, then.” 

You chose to take the initiative, the leap of faith, pressing your weight into the armrests of the chair so you could stand up and lean in. Your resistance was, helplessly, nonexistent when Raphael pushed you back down; the side effect of his poison making it too easy.

He grabbed your jaw, fingers firm but the motion gentle as he turned your face towards his. Your eyes were already half-closed, but you didn’t miss the intensity on his features. He hovered over you, his mere presence so imposing as he kept you right where he wanted; under his thumb. He moved closer until his cupid’s bow brushed over yours, ever-so-tender, so close yet so far. Your heart nearly skipped a beat once he tilted his head a little further, his lips parting in the slightest as they touched yours, but it wasn’t yet a kiss. Yes, you had expected him to draw this out considering the circumstances of the required affection pertaining to a deal, but what you hadn’t expected was your subsequent anticipation and eventual impatience. 

“Just do it–” you managed to murmur out against his mouth, some natural venom lacing the words without the help of the poison. You were surprised that he closed the gap properly right after by pulling your head up to him, his fingertips pressing deeper into your cheeks as he did, fingernails scraping the thin skin. 

He kissed you hard but without much aggression. You were taken aback by his normalcy, but it appeared that he was just getting started, as he soon used the leverage of his hand on your face to bring you to your feet. You winced, the motion pulled at your neck, but you weren’t given time to dwell on it when he jerked you to the table and tore his lips from yours. 

“Not going to put up a fight? How unlike you” he smirked. You could only glare at him because if he wasn’t sharp enough to nullify any resistance efforts, you both knew who would be pinned down right now. He chuckled once, appraisingly, before pushing his body into you again, his lips finding your neck instead. 

He started with nipping at the skin, then tasting it with a languid lick that made you squirm, and moving to hold your hands down against the table–as if you’d be able to move them on your own anyway. 

“More than a kiss–” you managed to state, your voice containing a hint of matter-of-factness, but was a little raspier as his closeness certainly affected your fortitude. 

“You knew better” was all he had to respond with, the words muffled as they were kissed into the horripilation on your skin. He remained content here for a while, bringing a finger up to your jaw to turn your head in the opposite direction of where he had already ridden your skin with his lips and hot saliva; making you shiver when the wetness caught the air and consequently cooled, regardless of how hot it was in the hells and logically shouldn’t have been possible. 

You were equivalent to a ragdoll by now, simply letting it happen when he grabbed your arms and flipped you around, your loose-limbed body immediately tipping over so your front was flat against the table; your hips perfectly positioned for your ass to press into his hips. He laughed and didn’t even try to create space, pressing himself into you so you could feel how hard he was, and it made you grimace at the realization of just how far this was going to go.

“You’re the only person worth this,” he breathed, his fingers snaking up to wrap around the column of your neck and force your head up. “The only one who deserves to experience this privilege.”

Unable to suppress your snicker when he said that, you almost whined aloud when his fingers tightened in response, and began rutting his hips into you steadily but with enough force to shift your body against the tabletop each time, your shirt getting caught up in the tablecloth and pushing it up so the cool surface touching your heated flesh made you tremble. The strong scents of all the lavish foods surrounding your immediate proximity almost drowned out Raphael’s scent, but it wasn’t enough, especially not as he leaned down so his front was against you completely, his face next to yours. 

“So amusing, is it?” he rumbled, subtly bringing his free hand up the side of your limp thigh, finding your hip, and reaching to tug at your panties. You couldn’t even feel shock anymore, simply letting out a strained exhale the material shifted when he slid it down your skin; off. “We’ll see for how much longer you feel that way.”

How much had you missed within those few seconds, to be surprised when he was already playing with his cock against your entrance? You felt a lot hotter then, your skin crawling with pleasure-induced chills as he moved his tip slowly, heavily up and down, prodding so slightly into your warmth and making your muscles tense each time he slid it away and down to your clit. He never lingered against one spot or the other long enough for any long-term sensations to last, and you couldn’t stop yourself from releasing a disgruntled groan. His chuckle reverberated through you, making your breaths shake as they became increasingly rapid. 

“I wonder if any of your devotees across the realms know that you can be reduced to this–if they think about it,” he pressed the tip of his cock into you now, making your hastened breaths hitch, your lungs burn, “if they imagine you beneath them, or maybe even above them–but you only deserve to be here,” he pushed his hips forward and slid in deeper, with ease, the motion so precise it made your thighs twitch, “beneath me.”

He set a slower rhythm to start, but the way that his movements bumped you further into the table each time made it so that you could feel all of him so perfectly. You felt so open, so exposed–

“Y-You seriously want to do this right here?” you whispered, only because your voice was so strained under his palm, and his cheek went taut in a grin next to you.

“My bed is still busy being warmed, this will do for now. You deserve better than mediocre; the real thing, not my copy. Feel fortunate” he sighed, pressing deeply into you for a moment and staying there, enjoying you, nearly pushing into your cervix–distracting you from the tongue-in-cheek response you wished to give to his words. You instinctively squirmed away, the intensity of it being too much too quickly with how teasingly he had been going thus far. But he wasn’t having any of your resistance despite how it was impulsive and not of your volition; pushing his body down heavier upon yours until you were trapped entirely, forced to take what he gave. Then he resumed movement, and he was moving faster now. 

You fisted the tablecloth before you with the weakest grip; the strongest you could muster, physically fighting every part of yourself so as to not give into him too quickly by carelessly moaning out and letting him know that he was actually making you feel something good. It didn’t matter though. Hoarse, uncontrollable whines vibrated in your throat, locked behind your canines as they sunk into your bottom lip in a further attempt at deceiving him. You were shocked that somehow, throughout the numbness in the rest of your body, each stroke and deep tingle of pleasure could be felt in its most intense form. You continued to amuse him, making him laugh as if this were something wholesome and wholly reciprocated. 

“What do you hear?” he whispered to you, the closeness and low volume of his voice making you writhe, igniting prickles of delight inside of you, making your pussy squeeze around him and pull him in deeper; even shocking yourself as your jaw dropped open from the sensation. All that you could audibly make out were your breaths and his, accompanied by the slick sound of his cock pistoning in and out of you with ease by how wet he made you in such a short time. 

“Just you–” you lied, “–mumbling in my fucking ear,” you tried to chuckle, but when the hand that wasn’t on your neck squeezed your hip tightly enough for you to actually feel it amidst all of the numbness, you gasped quietly, the dry laugh devolving into a whimper. 

“You shouldn’t hear anything,” he said slowly, but in a tone that was maybe one pitch higher than normal, like he was concluding another one of his awful riddles. You’d have taken time to cringe if he hadn’t grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you up at the same time that he moved, pulling you flush against him and continuing to fuck you like you were nothing more than a toy fulfilling its purpose. 

He favoured intensity over speed, ensuring that you couldn’t escape him as his cock never fully left your sex; only sliding back to quickly grind deeply inside once more, making you see stars each time–you didn’t care about whatever else he had to mumble to you now, all you cared about was engrossing yourself in the feeling of him. It made your stomach churn deliciously too, and that familiar warmth of finality was beginning to stir within as he bit down on your neck, sliding his fingers out of the way so he could hold you still by a shoulder. If your body wasn’t essentially dead you’d have regretfully reached back to hold onto him for support, grasping at the material of his intricately designed garments which would probably irritate him; perhaps your situational debilitation was for the better. 

“You’re not about to come for me, are you? Tut tut” he purred, and you couldn’t discern whether the way your eyes rolled was from annoyance or pleasure. Despite the degradation he didn’t relent, encouraging you above all else. His body encapsulated yours as he held you how he liked, keeping your back arched just slightly enough for your hips to perch nicely off of him as he pounded into you; had you seeing stars. “Don’t keep me waiting, then~”

When a sneaky hand left your shoulder and made its way to your front, pinching your clit, you came undone with a sharp whine; you could barely feel the way your thighs clenched, tightening alongside your pussy as you ground back into him to experience the sensation in its fullest, whimpering his name so weakly as your head lulled back to rest against his chest. You hardly caught the sight of him smirking down at you, so self-satisfied as his hand in your hair tightened, and only a smidge of embarrassment crept into your overall feelings of elation because you knew that he had every reason to feel that way. 

Soon enough the waves of bliss calmed, to your dismay, and Raphael pulled out of you with a soft groan, releasing your body carelessly and stepping back out of your sight, making you rush to reach out and have your palms land against the table rather than your face. 

As you turned around slowly and panted to catch your breath, you watched while he adjusted what minimal undressing he’d partaken in, and only then did you notice the feeling of something wet and thick sliding down the inside of your thigh. You looked down, your eyes widening a bit as you rushed to pull your panties back up to be rid of the sight of it; when did he cum?? You also wondered about how much control he must’ve had over the poison as you could feel the toxins wearing off now that it was all over; the ability to perceive and to touch returning to your body again, albeit weakly. 

“Good, don’t let my gift go to waste. So intuitive.”

You shuddered in disgust and swallowed the lump in your throat, ignoring his stupid, contented face and even happier statement. Now that you were approaching a state where you held a semblance of control again, you cleared your throat and redressed fully, smoothing over your clothes and standing taller after giving a quick shake of your head. 

“Okay–you got what you wanted, give me my end of the deal now.”

Raphael grinned, his brows lifting in feigned surprise.

“Oh, darling, that was it. Couldn’t you tell? Surely you didn’t want your dearest Emperor to know about our fornication?”

You stood there, stunned, slowly but surely feeling hot rage seep into your bones. No fucking way was he being serious.

“Bullshit.”

He laughed at you in a falsely taken-aback way, even raising a ridiculous hand to his chest.

“That’s no way for a lady such as yourself to speak–you chose to jest when I asked what you could hear, that was your chance to tune in and tell. Regardless, we both fulfilled our ends of the bargain.”

“Oh that’s rich,” you started, not knowing what to do with your hands as they fidgeted at your sides, itching to reach up to him and–

“If you wish to experience this again, you know where to find me. Hopefully next time you’ll have come to a decision about the crown, too.” he chuckled in a muted way, to himself, like he was considering some inside joke that only he was part of, not you. Perhaps you were the joke to him, after doing something like this; surrendering to him. The thought made your face twist in anger and you began to approach him, your arms raising.

You only caught the split-second motion of his hand reaching out, and then… nothing. Moments of black, of unconsciousness… and then you were standing outside the den again. You lurched for the doorknob, tugging at it to no avail for the first time ever. After cursing aloud you hit the wood with your fists, letting out a long, deep sigh, shutting your eyes as you realized what a mistake this was to begin with. 

You turned shamefully after a few more seconds of basking in exhaustion, your feet heavy and still feeling abnormal to use after so much time spent being dead weight. You trudged along to the exit of the brothel, cloakless, having left it in Raphael’s room and now being forced to endure the rain that had started. At least it was still dark outside, and you could return to camp innocently beneath the moonlight; be unheard beyond the pattering of the condensation while everyone else rested, acting as though nothing had happened at all, that you’d been there all night. 

You kept your head down, blinking away the raindrops that slid from your hair and into your eyes. Only once you were alone, past the business outside of the Caress, that familiar bustling moved from the ambiance of the bordello to the innards of your brain, and a question was posed by the voice that’d been with you since the beginning of this life you had grown accustomed to:

“Where were you just now?”

© meyousing 2024. do not share/export my work onto any other platforms. do not translate my work.

[jazeswhbhaven]

💜Only 4 Me, Levi: Mass Birthday Post💜

💜Mini Playlist💜

Obsession- Innerpartysystem Change- Deftones People Error- the GazettE Filth in the Beauty- the GazettE I'm That Girl- Beyonce All Mine- Kali Uchis

💜Cake Flavor Headcanon💜

White Chocolate Raspberry bundt cake, drizzled with sweet cream and Raspberry compote

💜How the Nobles Celebrate Their King's Birthday💜

Foras: He mostly tries to convince Glas and Barbatos to leave Leviathan alone so he can serve him by himself all day. After being turned down for the third time with the span of five minutes, he's opted to hang himself for him instead.

Barbatos: He wanted to present a perfect rosebush he worked on growing in the shape of Leviathan. But it was too distracting so Levi destroyed it and Barb was to hang for thinking he could replicate Levi's beauty with plants.

Glasyalabolas: He intentionally seeks out MC, in attempts to spend alot of time with them in order to agitate his Majesty. He's even taken off the top half of his uniform to show off his form and let MC put their hand through his chest...which didn't last long because Leviathan immediately dragged him back to the palace by his rope to hang.

Orias: Oh the usual, he tried to get his soul...steal his life force, pulled all the pranks he could because he assumed he'd be distracted by his birthday and MC. He even put poison in a cupcake and tricked MC into delivering it. Ofc Levi suspected it and every plan failed. Up he goes!

Overall: None of these nobles work together, too jealous of one another and wanting to one up on who's praising Levi the most. Sadly, it's even certain that Levi would hate it more if his nobles planned something together for him anyway. How dare they all work together to waste time? Well it is for him. But still, can't have idle hands when there's things in Hades to take care of.

💜How Levi Celebrates with MC💜

MC does what their told and stays exactly where they were standing with their phone in hand. Suddenly, there's a presence behind their back...

MC: Oh! Levi, you showed up...

Leviathan: Why wouldn't I? I told you I was coming...

MC: Right. Um, So?

Leviathan: First, look at my face. What do you see?

MC: Nothing in particular...just your face?

Leviathan: No. Tell me what you see.

MC: Just a pretty face looking at me? Is that what you wanted to hear?

Leviathan: *scoffs* Next, focus on my horns.

MC: Levi...

Leviathan: Is there a problem? Or are you just too stupid to pay attention?

MC: No! Hey. I get it you're better than the others...you don't have to show....

Leviathan grabs their arm and starts dragging them back to his room

Leviathan: It seems you need to focus in a more private setting. Being in the middle of this hallway has you thinking about other men again.

MC: ????? But I-

Leviathan: I swear if I could tie you up and throw you in my coffin for the rest of your life I would. At least there you would have nothing to think about.

MC: *thinks to themselves* Guess this is best I'll get for celebrating his birthday.

Leviathan: See? You're doing it right now aren't you? Unbelievable. Right in front of me...*grumbles and drags them faster*

💜Levi and Beel: The Worst Besties Ever💜

Beelzebub once tried to throw Leviathan a surprise birthday party in Aybssos by luring him there with false pretenses that it was important. The amount of devils yelling "surprise" pissed of Leviathan so much he chased around Beel for three days trying to kill him for doing this. After the three days, he went back home to find a pile of gifts waiting for him that magically appeared from Beel. He told Foras to burn every single one, but changed his mind and took them anyway. He still has the gifts in his room in a glass case that he covers with a blanket so others can't see it. He uncovers it once in a while to dust it and look over everything.

nsfw incoming....

💜He doesn't normally celebration his birthday so he skips the formalities

💜A present? Why did you waste so much time picking something when he hasn't told you what he liked? Oh wait...he does like it...

💜The gift is easily forgotten because he suspected you asked someone else about what he likes, which means you're speaking to other devils again

💜As your clothes strip, he asks who was it that told you what he liked? Was it that annoying fly? That beast from Tartaros? The walking disaster that defends Gehenna?

💜It doesn't matter who you were asking, you're here now sprawled on his bed with your legs folded close to your chest so he can thrust so deep you won't remember anything but his cock in your hole

💜He leans in for you so you have a good reach for his neck, make sure you choke him with vigor or he'll stop thrusting in that good spot that's making your eyes roll

💜Repeat his name over and over during, say it perfectly, same tempo, don't waver...he wants to know all you're thinking about is him.

💜How many hours have passed? Does it matter to you that much? Of course not. His mission has succeeded and you're thinking about nothing except of how your brain is mush, every orifice on your body has been filled with cum, and marks have been left in obvious places for others to see.

💜Your his. his. h i s. You belong to Leviathan. No matter if it's his birthday or any other day.

💜Happy Birthday to the Most Envious and Petty King, Leviathan 11/01💜

[cryptidghostgirl]

Oooo part 2 of Aka Till Death Do Us Part (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader) was interesting

Loved it a lot 😭

Just imagining how reader would meet Lucifer (yes I'mma add some short king love) for the first time, whether this the ep where everyone meets him for the first time or he's just visiting is undecided.

Anyways she's a smart gal, she creates viruses, diseases, etc.. in order to destroy the human race (now demon and angel race), so she tries to befriend Lucifer

He's powerful, he could be her ticket out of the deal she was tricked into. Plus Alastor hates him so even better.

Whether the wife collector is befriending her from his hatred for Alastor (aka trying to steal his ex wife) or because he actually likes her or not is also undecided

But they become buddies, keeping her little secret while playing Alastor as this horrid creature that coerced her into a deal

She might not understand how deals function, but just like Alastor she'll find a way out of it. She won't let him interrupt her work for years again.

Another bonus of befriending Lucifer is she can try and coerce him into giving her some samples (blood, hair, skin, etc..) It'll help with the virus she's creating, along with seeing if there's any cell differences between fallen angels and normal ones.

A/N I literally love this idea. It is so on brand for her if she was tuned in with the world around her enough to realize her hanging with Lucifer even made Alastor mad. Also, not you calling Lucifer 'the wife collector,' that made me cackle.

Till Death Do Us Part pt. 3 (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader x maybe also Lucifer a little bit if you squint

Previous Parts:

Till Death Do Us Part (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader)

Till Death Do Us Part pt. 2

Warnings: I am not a woman nor am I in stem (but an enby in history) so pls be kind about the fact that I don't understand science. Angst, abusive/unhealthy relationship, possessive Alastor. It's not love but its certainly something.

Word Count: 2,176

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Alastor Master List 

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

Idle hands are the devil's playthings, wasn't that how the expression went?

It had been a month since that fateful day Y/n had struck a deal with Alastor, tying her to his side once again. She railed against it, fought valiantly, but there was no escaping the constraints of the contract. Never allowed a moment to herself, Y/n's life became a series of involvement in group activities she hated and chastisements from Alastor. She sat at his feet, the collar hanging heavy around her neck as a sort of twisted crown in his eyes. The Radio Demon and his wife, his queen, his prisoner.

She was never allowed out of his sight, Alastor even forcing her to stay in the same room as him, to sleep in the same bed. It was nothing Y/n had any sort of frame of reference for. He had never been like this in life, she had never experienced this sort of metaphorical suffocation. Y/n was adrift, the world a confusing blur around her. Every time she tried to make sense of it, thought she had figured out some small aspect, he changed it all again and left her in a lurch that sent her mind spiraling into unformed chaos.

Even when she managed somehow to stole a spare moment, was able to sneak away to her lab of a room, Alastor found her and dragged her out again. Y/n's continual protests and pleas to be allowed to continue her work, for him to hold up his end of the bargain and deliver her an angel, fell on deaf ears or were merely met with a solitary, fragile 'soon.' For all this time, Y/n had thought Hell to be misrepresented. She had found a true Heaven in Pentagram City, a safe haven, a salve. Now, she knew the true meaning of suffering.

It was different than she had expected. To suffer had always been something physical in her eyes. It had been her victims writhing in pain, it had been the sharp oppression of a world filled with human life. Never had she thought being trapped in her own mind like this could be a curse, rather than a blessed moment of reprieve.

Idle hands are the devil's playthings, wasn't that how the expression went? Y/n's hands were most certainly idle, all she needed was the devil to play with them.

It was just her luck when Lucifer showed up at the hotel, intent on visiting his daughter. Y/n was never the most observant but, since being tricked into selling her soul to Alastor, had become quite wary and watchful of him. It did not escape her notice the way his stance tightened and his eye twitched the minute the King of Hell threw himself through the hotel's double doors and into Charlie's arms.

Y/n watched the interaction carefully from where she sat lazily on the table beside Angel Dust and Sir Pentious. There were exactly three thoughts in her mind. The first was that it was useful to know Alastor hated the man. The second was that Lucifer was standing right before her eyes. He was powerful, maybe powerful enough to get her out of the sticky situation she currently found herself to be in. Not only that, but he was once an angel. This was the most important of the three thoughts, completely eclipsing the other two as soon as they reared their heads. Not quite the real deal but, potentially useful none the less. Getting close to him could mean getting one step closer to her goals. Silently, she slipped down from the table and began to approach the grouping of demons.

With a carful step, she sidled up behind them. Softly, she raised a hand to the back of Lucifer's head, to where his hair peaked out from beneath the edges of his hat. The excitement that rose in her chest was quickly stifled as Lucifer spun around.

"Charlie!" he exclaimed, "Why don't you introduce me to some of your other fr- oh!"

Y/n froze, her hand still raised. She opened her mouth to speak but the words caught in her throat once she caught the glare Alastor was sending her way. Letting out a nervous chuckle, Y/n's hands fell to her sides, clasping behind her back.

"Uh..." Lucifer turned to his daughter, his eyebrows raised.

"Oh, don't mind Y/n," Charlie awkwardly tittered, stepping forward, "she is always a bit... odd but, she is actually our newest guest!"

"Uh-huh." Lucifer nodded, his eyes moving back to Y/n and examining her features carefully, "Well, it is nice to be meeting you."

Lucifer stuck out his hand for Y/n to shake but the demon just eyed it warily. The furtive glance she shot Alastor behind his back, and the subtle nod he gave in return, did not escape Lucifer's notice. With another distasteful glance towards his hand, Y/n raised part of her hair up and took it, shaking it firmly.

Lucifer's confusion only seemed to grow as he looked down towards the point of connection.

"Um... okay, then." he hummed in thought as she released his hand.

It was when Alastor went out to solve the problem Mimzy had caused that Lucifer took his chance. All the while, as Mimzy had blathered on to Y/n about the 'good old days' and the shared aspects of their pasts, as soon as the tour of the hotel had ended, she had watched him. Observance was not, however, in her nature. It completely had escaped her notice that, all the while, Lucifer had been watching her as well.

The demon herself was nothing of import. She was strange and unrefined and, to be honest, deeply disconcerting to him in a number of ways. It was the thing lurking beneath it all that caught his attention. There was something going on between that girl and the Radio Demon and Lucifer didn't trust either of them. He may have thought Charlie's dreams to be in vain, known from his own experience how fruitless her project would turn out to be, but that didn't stop him from doing what it took to keep his little girl safe.

Lucifer sidled up beside the girl where she stood, watching the carnage Alastor wreaked with a vague sense of disinterest.

"So, you have a deal with the Radio Demon."

It was a statement, not a question. It was an accusation. Y/n shot into the air in surprise, not having noticed his presence beside her. With wide, analytical eyes, she turned to face him.

"With Alastor?"

"Yep."

"How could you tell?" she asked, leaning forward in curiosity.

"What are you two planning."

Another subtle command that went right over Y/n's head. She sighed, crossing her arms.

"I'm planning world destruction. He wants me to be his wife again and tricked me into this whole..." she waved her hands wildly through the air, "situation."

Lucifer didn't know whether to laugh or to take her out right there. Instead, he shook his head, opting to state in mild shock:

"Married? Again?"

"Yeah. I forced him to when we were alive so people would leave me alone and I'd have some human test subjects for my work. Let me tell you: not my favorite experiment I have ever conducted."

"I..." Lucifer was flabbergasted, struck into silence.

"So he tricked me into a deal. I was hiding from him for decades down here. One little slip up was all it took." she playfully used her hair to hit the side of her head, "Stupid Y/n."

"Where does the again part fit in?"

Y/n raised her eyebrows.

"Really? Why is that the part I have to explain to everyone. I mean, logically, it just doesn't make sense. That should be the question on the bottom of someones list. It shouldn't even be a question."

"Did you get a divorce?"

"In 1930? No. Even I knew that wasn't really an option. I married him to stop people talking, not start it. Besides, he wasn't this much of a bother when we were alive."

"So..." Lucifer prompted after a moment.

"Till death do us part?"

"Ah."

He really did laugh now. Just a light chuckle. Y/n smiled in appreciation.

"There you go. Now, how did you know? About the deal, I mean. Also, why do you guys hate each other so much? I thought you had never met before? And oh! Ohohoh! Also, can I have some of your hair."

Lucifer scoffed, his arms falling loosely from where he had crossed them over his chest to his sides. Charlie had been right, Y/n certainly was odd.

"My hair?"

Y/n nodded her head eagerly. When he gave no response, a concentrated and slightly confused expression flitted across her face. As if struck by a sudden inspiration, she regained her composure once again.

"Oh, yeah. I'm supposed to say 'please' when I ask for stuff. Al always said it was proper manners but I think its just a waste of time to be perfectly honest. It's still the same request, the same outcome. Doesn't really change anything. Why would one word make someone give a totally different answer? I mean, it's just foolish really. Anyway," she cleared her throat, "can I please have some of your hair?"

"I..." Lucifer raised a hand to his forehead, rubbing his temples, "why?"

"Because you're a fallen angel?" Y/n replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "And I want to see what that means?"

Before Lucifer could reply, Alastor stepped back into the lobby, straightening his jacket.

"What a show!" Angel exclaimed, applauding dramatically.

Alastor tipped his head to the side in recognition, his eyes surveying the room. When they fell on Lucifer and Y/n in the corner, his gaze hardened. Y/n payed the commotion no mind. Lucifer, on the other hand, grinned.

"I have a proposal." he hummed, turning back to Y/n.

She narrowed her eyes in sudden doubt.

"You don't like Alastor very much, do you?"

"No...? Of course I don't!" Y/n replied in exasperation, "All he does is keep me from doing my work and drag me around by that stupid chain like a dog. It hurts my neck and..." her voice grew softer and she looked away, fixing her eyes on her interlaced fingers, "and I feel like he's trying to force me into the shape of something I'm not. It's... it's like wearing shoes that are four sizes two small on a twenty mile hike."

Lucifer laughed.

"Well, that certainly is... descriptive. How about we make a deal?"

Her head shot up, her narrowed eyes meeting his once again.

"You're not going to just take my soul like he did, are you?"

"No, of course not my dear. Only lesser demons like him need to do that in order to feel strong, to maintain some sort of power, to get what they want." Lucfier enunciated the last four words sharply, the syllables like needles, "I'm simply offering an exchange."

"That's what he said too."

Lucifer raised his hands to show he meant no harm.

"Look, we don't even have to shake on it. I will give you some of... some of my hair or... whatever... and you will help me get on his nerves, take him down a notch. Who the Hell knows, that might even help you too."

Y/n was silent in thought for a moment. She did want the hair and messing with Alastor seemed all too appealing. Still, there was something eating away at her.

"Would you..." she lifted herself up to Lucifer's eye level with her hair.

Y/n wasn't that much shorter than the king of Hell, just a couple inches. Those couple inches certainly made a difference. Lucifer could have sworn there was a literally electrical spark in the darkness of her eyes.

"You're powerful, yes? King of Hell and all?"

Lucifer nodded.

"Would you be able to help me figure out a way out of this mess?"

It was Lucifer's turn to think now as he mulled the idea over in his mind. Sure, theoretically he probably could but, he had never tried to break another demon's deal and even past that, he didn't know if he wanted to. Y/n was disarming, strange, had mentioned wanting to destroy the world. Lucifer didn't know her well enough to gage if there was any real risk and Alastor seemed to have her on more than a metaphorical leash.

"Maybe." he admitted, deciding on the path of least resistance, the one where he could try and succeed or pretend it was an unknown impossibility all along, "I don't know."

In some strange way, there was something stable about the man before her. Alastor was unpredictable, had sent her life spinning. Lucifer felt safe.

"Good enough for me!" Y/n smiled brightly, "I look forward to working with you."

---

Writing this made me really want to do a Lucifer fic with the idle hands thing.

TAGS:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0@kahlan170@wendyphan01203-blog @fairyv-ice @clarakainda @lunaramune @mcueveryday @luxky-aish @peterpankat @corvid007 @marukun @nanami1chu @i-like-potatoes12533 @boogiemansbitch @apenasandorinha @almond-t0fu @mygoldtears @ahellborn @winterisholding @misty-melody @themetalbabygirl @trash-shoot @clarakainda @ladyscorpion19 @dasimp777 @juskonutoh @simpingsohard @sethianaa @gabile18 @slytherin4ever

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

I know this is random coming from me but corrupted kisaki nsfw hcs specifically this timeskip kisaki

NSFW HC's // Timeskip Kisaki

Minors DNI under the cut, please.

WC ::: Less than 950

Also ::: Thank you, Kat, for dropping this in my box! Ilysm!

Sorta proofed. Sorry for any oopsies.

✢ Kisaki is a busy man. He makes sure of it. He once heard somewhere that idle hands are the devil's playthings. But he's come to know the truth is quite the opposite. His hands, specifically, are the devil's playthings. And you? Well, you are Kisaki's plaything.

✢ He's taken to keeping you close by his side whenever he can. In his office, in his home, and anywhere in between. He's always one step ahead, knowing just where you'll be, what you'll be doing, and how to take advantage of the situation.

✢ He loves to watch you work. Your hands are delicate, graceful, and efficient. It's a shame that he feels the need to tie them up every night and he has to remind you just who you belong to.

✢ Kisaki keeps you on a tight leash, making sure to keep you under his watchful eye. He's trained you to be so obedient, and it pleases him to no end.

✢ You don't fight him anymore. You've learned your lesson. When he tells you to bend over his desk and stay still, you do. When he ties you up and spreads you open for his viewing pleasure, you stay put. You know your place. You know exactly what he wants from you, and you're more than happy to give it to him.

✢ Kisaki loves to use toys on you. He's got a whole collection, and he loves to see your reactions to each and every one of them. He's always looking for new things to try out, and he's very generous with letting you try them out first. To see which one(s) you like the most, or which ones just don't hit any nerve whatsoever.

✢ Kisaki loves to play with your mouth. He loves to watch you suck him off, to feel your tongue work its magic on his cock. And when you're on your knees in front of him, he loves to pull your hair and shove his cock down your throat. It makes him feel powerful and in control.

✢ Kisaki loves to make you cum. If he's feeling generous, he'll let you cum first. But more often than not, he gets to blow his load before you're even close. He loves to see you frustrated and desperate for release. It just turns him on even more.

✢ Kisaki loves to fuck you hard. He loves to bend you over and pound into you from behind. He leans over you and reaches up under to grab your tits. Massaging the soft, squishy flesh - for his pleasure. It's just an added bonus if you happen to enjoy it too.

✢ Kisaki loves to play with your pussy. He loves to explore every inch of your folds, every crevice and curve. He loves to taste you, to smell you, to feel your slick juices on his fingers. It embarrasses the fuck out of you when he stuffs his face in your cunt and takes a deep breath in through his nose and moans right back into it. You've learned to not speak up about it though. He doesn't like you talking bad about yourself. “Cunts smell, darling. And I love how yours smells. Don’t let me hear you say this again.”

✢ Kisaki loves to take his time with you. He loves to take you slow, to tease you until you're begging for more. He loves to make you wait, to leave you wanting more. And when he finally lets you cum, it's like heaven and hell all at the same time. It's intense and overwhelming, and you love every second of it.

✢ Kisaki loves to cum on you. He loves to mark you as his, to claim you as his own. He loves to see his cum drip down your face, or splatter onto your tits, or just down your throat. He loves to see his cum all over your body, to see his essence seep into your skin and to know that you belong to him.

✢ Kisaki loves to fuck you in his car. Mind you, there's no divider that can be put up. And he doesn't ask the driver to get out 1/2 of the time. So you're basically riding him through town on the way to his next meeting. It's incredibly risky, and the thrill of getting caught is just too much to resist. Although, he did slap you across the face that one time - the first time ever - you squirted all over his suit. He apologized immediately and profusely. But now you’re afraid to completely let yourself go when you’re in the car with him. 

✢ Kisaki loves to fuck you in his office. He loves the idea of someone walking in on the two of you. And if someone were to walk in on the two of you, he'd just keep fucking you, and make sure you scream his name so they know who you belong to.

✢ Kisaki loves to fuck you in the bathtub. He loves the idea of having you so vulnerable, so exposed. Knowing that you're completely at his mercy. He loves to see you naked and wet, and to feel your soft skin against his own. He likes how wet you feel between your thighs - the mix of the bath water and your pussy juices makes him almost lose his mind. 

✢ Kisaki loves you in the only way Kisaki knows how to. He’s told you many, many times that you can take it or leave it. But “Good luck finding someone who will put up with your whining.”

And you’re like, “What whining????”

Taglist ::: @katkitkats @kazutora-kurokawa @viburnt @darkstarlight82 @arlerts-angel

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All the Good Girls Go To Hell 17

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, injury, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You come home for the summer but your break is not as relaxing as you expect.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: people are testing me today.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You idle across the street from your mother's place, staring at the white siding and dreading your next move. You don't know what to say even as you rehearse a dozen different takes in your head. You can admit you’re wrong, but that’s the problem. You’re not. Something inside you wants you to resist but you never been very good at being stubborn.

Naomi leans against the door, half-awake. You're worried about her too. She's still out of it. Even after eating, she barely has any energy. 

You shift into gear and slowly pull into the driveway. Better to just get it over with. You don't have much of a choice. You need somewhere to stay. If only your father would answer his phone.

You play with the dangling keychain and leave the keys in the ignition. You won't bring Naomi in right away, that'll only trigger your mother. One step at a time.

"Hang out here," you turn up the radio, "I'll try not to be long."

She murmurs and nestles into the door. How did your summer end up such a mess? You want to blame her but she's just so pathetic. Steve definitely caused a lot of shit too. He seems like the most obvious culprit in all of this.

You get out of the car and as you head up the walkway, you hear your name behind you. Speak of the devil. You ignore Steve as you march up to the door. He catches up and latches onto your arm. You face him as he holds a cardboard tray of coffee in his free hand, barely keeping it from tipping as you try to wrench away.

"Let go--"

"Wait a minute, sweetie, I just wanna talk."

"I don't want to talk to you--"

"And you think your mom wants to talk to you? You haven't even called these last few days. You hurt her. I'm offering you a favour here, I can make her listen to you."

"What are you even talking about? How about I tell her about your wife? Maybe she'll listen then."

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, looking towards the car, "and what are you going to tell her about that slut? Hmm? Your mom wouldn't be very proud to have you hanging out with some OnlyFans whore. She certainly wouldn't appreciate those photos of you in front of the mirror."

"What photos?"

"Don't play dumb, honey," he lets his hand slide down your arm, "she was showing them off at the party. Everyone saw you with your tits half out."

"Stop!"

"I'm tryna make you a deal. You keep your mouth shut, I'll do the same," he winks.

You yank away from him and puff out, "whatever. She's my mother. She'll believe me."

"Did she believe you before?" He asks as you spin on your heel. "When you lied about me the first time?"

"I didn't--" You keep from arguing as you approach the door. You let yourself in as Steve follows. You quickly shut the door and lock it from the other side.

You wander in cautiously, listening to the silence of the house. You enter the kitchen as you hear the faucet running. Your mother stands at the sink rinsing out a carafe.

"Hey, mom," you squeak.

She turns her head and looks at you from the corner of her eye. She doesn't say a word as she returns her attention back to her task. You exhale and come closer.

"Mom, I'm... I'm sorry. Really. This summer's been so weird and I think-- maybe I overreacted. About Steve? It's a lot of change--"

"I know it's a lot of change," she slams the faucet off and plunks down the carafe, "I got a divorce, I had to be alone in this house for months, and I find someone to keep me company and you have to try to ruin it all."

"No, mom, I wasn't. I swear, I just... there's something I need to tell you about Steve."

"I don't want to hear it. Whatever lies you've come up with now."

"I ran into him last night and I have to tell you--"

A pounding comes at the door and Steve hollers through, "hello!"

"Save it," she waves you off and storms out of the kitchen.

You trail her as she goes to unlock the front door. Steve strolls in, presenting his tray of coffee, "hey, hon, thought I'd surprise you with a good morning."

"Oh, sweetie," your mother fawns and gives him a kiss as he tilts his head down.

"I thought I saw you," he nods at you past your mother, "welcome home, kiddo."

You frown. Your mother turns back to send you a bitter look. You give a helpless shrug.

"Mom, please, listen to me. He's not what he seems."

"Stop," she warns.

"I won't. I'm trying to protect you, okay?" You throw up your hands, "ask him about his wife."

Silence. Your mother's forehead wrinkles and she lifts a single brow. She gives a guilty look and peeks at her feet evasively.

"I know about his wife, sweetheart, alright? That's how we met. In a group. We're both divorcing so naturally--"

"He's not divorcing her. I saw them last night--"

"Look, Yvette, I didn't want to worry you. Wanda called me last night. She got wasted again and I had to drive her home. I know, it's awkward but I just felt bad leaving her somewhere in that condition," Steve says somberly, "you know, I thought separating might clean her up..."

"Oh, sweetie, it's okay. I understand," your mother preens at him, "you're so caring and she takes advantage of that--"

"No, I saw him with her. They were--"

"Why don't you tell your mom where you saw me carrying out my drunk ex? Hmm? I'm sure she'd like to know about the old man you've been entertaining. The one who bought you those shiny new glasses."

Your mouth drops open. Oh no. Oh. That sounds a lot worse than the truth. You sputter and look your mom in the face. She's mortified.

"Old man?" 

"No, I was at Naomi's, I swear. My glasses broke so her dad--er, Bucky, he--"

"An older man? Her father? You..."

"No, mom, it's not like that. I didn't do anything with him. I wouldn't. He's like... he's Steve age."

"And that makes it even more nasty, he could be your father."

"Noooo, no. No. I'm not-- I'm not involved with him. I was just hanging out with Naomi--"

"Oh, and such a good influence she is," your mother hisses, "she's really rubbed off on you, hasn't she?"

"Mom!" You shout.

"Do not raise your voice with me. I have put up with you long enough. Running out, disappearing on me for days, lying to me, and on top of all that, making those gross allegations against Steve," she snarls, "You are not welcome in my house."

"Mom," you gulp.

"That might work on that old man you're messing around with but you're an adult now. You can take care of yourself--"

"Mom, no, I didn't... I wouldn't... you can't really think that I'm like that?"

"I don't know what to believe with you," she sniffles, "you just can't stand to see me happy, can you? You're just like your father, you're selfish."

"Please, list-en--"

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" She shrieks and covers her ears, turning and devolving into quaking tears. Steve puts down the tray and swiftly wraps an arm around her, pulling her head to his chest. He smirks at you over her head, "you've done enough. Oh, Steve, get her out. Get her out!"

You're stunned. Speechless. You've never seen your mother like this. Her and your dad argued but she was always so calm. What did he do to her?

"Yvette," he says softly, "at least let her grab some stuff before she goes."

Your mother whimpers as she clings to him, "oh, you are too nice, Steve, too nice..."

"It's okay, I'll make sure she goes after she packs a bag. Come on, why don't you go outside and have your coffee," he reaches for a cup and pulls it free of the cardboard tray, "let me get you settled, alright?"

Your mother blubbers as Steve carefully leads her away. You shake your head and stomp towards the stairs. You can't believe this. That man is a psychopath and he's got your mother all twisted.

You go to your room and find it in a state. What the hell? Your panty drawer gapes open and several pairs are strewn on the floor. You sift through and grab a handful, shoving them into a bag with some shirts and a couple pairs of jeans. You don't have a plan beyond filling your duffel bag.

You go to your bed but keep from putting the bag there. You notice the white string crust only your pillow. Ew. Oh my god. He-- You shudder and back away.

Laptop, charger, a bunch of odds and ends before you head for the door. 

Steve meets you at the bottom of the stairs. You stop a few steps above and glare at him.

"I'm leaving. Move."

"Sweetie, if you need somewhere to go..."

"You are deranged."

"I'll take care of you. Wanda would really like you, I think."

You suck in air and barrel down, shoving past him. He curls you up in his arms and pulls you against him, flush to you as he rubs his pelvis against you. You squeal and wriggle in his grasp.

"Feel how hard I am? Not as bad as when I came in your bed. Fuck, I nearly choked on your panties--"

"Get off!" You elbow him and he releases you reluctantly.

"Think she'll let me fuck her in there? I mean, so far, she's let me do whatever I want--"

You swing your bag at him and stammer. You are repulsed to your core. You feel as if you could wretch. You don't want to leave your mother with him but you have no choice. Just as she said, she's an adult, she can take care of herself.

"I would never touch you. You're a disgusting old man," you yell and bluster away, "I hope you rot."

You charge out the door and try to escape the lingering warmth of his touch. He makes your skin crawl. You’ve never felt anything so visceral and vile. You open the back door of the car and toss your bag in before slamming it and plopping in the front seat. As you hit the locks, Naomi taps her finger on her phone and tucks it under her leg.

You blink and look at her. You grip the wheel as the card idles, the AC cranked to full blast. You exhale and let your shoulders slump. “We can’t stay– were you talking to someone?”

“Uh, yeah, Harry,” she wets her lips with her tongue, “he’s having a party.”

“Oh, a party,” you face forward and buckle your seat belt, “do you think that’s a good idea? After last night?”

“Why not? It’ll give us some time away, to hide out. What were you saying? That we can’t stay here? So, where else do we go?”

You nod and frown. You wish you had a different answer but it seems she has the only one. You really don’t want to go hang out with her old crowd but the alternative is hardly preferable.

“You have to promise me to pace yourself. Naomi, I don’t want to be peeling you off the floor again.”

She’s quiet. You rest your hand on the shifter and look at her. She has the grace to look guilty.

“Why do you care so much?” She asks; not accusative, more disbelieving, as if you’re wasting your energy.

“Because you deserve it. You’re a person and I like you, Nay. You’re a bit lost but you’re my friend. To be fair, I’m a bit lost, too.”

You pull the stick back and push down on the pedal, reversing out of the driveway. You crank the wheel and set yourself straight. You languish in the dull buzz of the radio, the volume cranked just above silent. You furrow your brow as your memory tweaks sharply.

“Naomi,” you say, “did you show Steve those pictures?”

“What pictures?”

“The ones from the bathroom. He said–”

“No, I told you, I wouldn’t. Those were just for me. For both of us.”

You grip the wheel tighter, “ but how did he know about them?”

She clucks and sits back. You glance at her from the rearview. She seems genuinely perplexed as she holds her forehead.

“Do you think maybe Bucky told him about it? He walked in on us. Maybe he didn’t see the pictures, maybe he just heard?”

You roll your tongue and think, clamping your lips together. You know you can’t trust Steve or anything he says. She could be right. He could be exaggerating for effect, just like he does with your mom.

“You aren���t lying to me?” You ask sternly, stopping at the red sign.

“Really, I wouldn’t… I might be okay sharing my pictures but I wouldn’t do that to you. Those pictures… they’re special…” she puts her hands in her lap and twiddles her thumbs, “you’re so gorgeous in them.”

Your cheeks heat up at the unexpected compliment. You steer on and chew your lip before mustering an answer, “thanks, that’s sweet.” You roll past the next intersection, “um, Nay? I don’t know where Harry lives?”

“Yessss,” she claps her hands, “we’re going to have fun. Forget about all that drama.”

You nod, hoping she’s right. You’d give anything to not feel, to not think, to be bound up with the knots of anxiety clustered in your chest and stomach. Maybe Naomi’s way is better. Just one night of fun can’t be bad, right?

[ohtobeleah]

Day Twenty [Nobody Can]

Summary: When a killer clown guts you like a fish, Bob is the one who stumbles upon you. Only to never come face to face who the person who did this to you.

Warnings: Bob Floyd x Seresin!reader. main Character deaths. Gore. Blood. Violence.

Word Count: 1.6k

Whumptober Prompt Day Twenty: Enemy/Stranger to caretaker, “I’m absolutely not qualified for this shit.”

Author Note: Please make sure you read the warnings provided. Disclaimer: I do not condone nor endorse the actions that are written about during the month of October. These works of fiction are just that, fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for this year's prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

“AH!” 

Diabolical forces are formidable. Those forces are external, and they exist today. The fairy tale is true. The devil exists. God exists. And for us as people, our very destiny hinges on which one we elect to follow. 

“Y/n? Was that you?” Bob Floyd had never liked you all that much. It wasn’t that you were a rude, hostile, or violent person by any means. No. It was more the fact he couldn’t stand your brother. Jake Seresin. That alone was enough for Bob to make a judgment call he thought was pretty on point for who you were. However, Bob was too kind of a person to completely ignore you. So, he tolerated your presence whenever you were in town. 

For a half-sibling, Jake had always been your biggest supporter. Your greatest protector. Your best friend. But right now? As you lay in a pool of your own blood on the floor of some wack-ass haunted house he’d invited you along to, Jake was nowhere to be seen. 

Never in your wildest dreams had you ever thought something like this would happen to you. This only ever happened in the movies, or some poorly punctuated fanfiction written at five-thirty in the afternoon the day before it was due for a prompt update. Things like this never happened in real life. Killer clowns in haunted houses on Halloween Eve? Yeah right. 

“Y/n?” Bob's voice dragged your mind from the inner workings of the Rolodex that was about to play out your life before your weakening eyes. “What are you doing?” It was something to hold onto though. Something to keep the very limited amount of blood still left inside you, pumping around. Oxygenating enough to keep you alive. 

“B-bob,” It was weak, so weak in fact you were left unsure if Bob had actually heard you. “H-elp me,” You begged barely above a whisper as you clutched at your stomach. Deep gushing blood spewed through your fingers as the blood-soaked shirt you wore absorbed enough oozing red to weigh you down. There was so much blood. Everywhere you looked seemed to be red. It stained your skin enough to show the small delicate lines that littered your hands like a sketchbook of memories. 

For Bob, this was all too much. First, the haunted house made him want to die at every corner he rounded. Then, he got separated from the group, making his anxieties skyrocket to new heights yet explored. And now? You’d decided to pull a stunt like this. And not a classy one at that either. 

“You and your brother really do my head in with your pranks” Bob shook his head in defeat. “This is just,” Bob couldn’t say what he really wanted to say, he didn’t want his mother rolling in her grave. “This is just upsetting to look at.” Even in his own anger, Bob could never raise his voice at you. His calmness, however, was usually something Bob relied on in situations requiring level-headedness. And that was about to be his biggest weakness. 

“Not. A. Prank,” You laid there on the floor in a secluded spot in the haunted house looking up at Bob, who thought you were messing with him. Sure you’d pulled a few pranks in the past whenever you’d come to visit your brother. But this wasn’t your doing. This wasn’t a prank. This wasn’t fake. This was life and death. “Help me, please!” 

Bob stood there in idle mode for a minute longer than you would have liked him to. He stood looking down at you, bleeping out and cupping your intestines back into your body. Then it clicked. Holy shit… You weren’t trying to pull a prank on him. You were hurt, badly. 

“Oh my gosh, Y/n!” Bob finally snapped into action as he knelt down beside you. His hands immediately took over applying pressure against the open gash that had sliced through muscle and layers of fat and skin across your stomach. Your blood seeped through Bob’s fingers, kissing his fingerprints as he did so. “What the hell happened?” The look of pure terror that emanated off Bob’s face was enough to tell you that this was bad. Very bad. So bad in fact you could see yourself not making it. 

Not that you didn’t already think this situation was bad, hell, you knew that the second you saw your lower intensities spilling from your stomach. You weren’t a rocket scientist but you could conclude pretty easily after seeing something no human should ever see outside their own body, that you were in fact, screwed. 

“One of the c-clowns,” You tried to explain to Bob as he assessed your injuries. “Attacked me, with–an axe!” You never expected it. As you rounded one of the corners inside the haunted house, using your hands on the walls to guide you, you walked right into it as he swung. A sharp, bloodied axe. Right to the lower abdomen. It damn near split you in two. 

“Wh-where are the others?” Bob stuttered as little as he looked around the dimly lit hallway. Still holding you in his arms. “HELP! SOMEBODY!” 

“Shhh!” You pleaded with the aviator who you hadn’t always been the kindest to. You should have at least stayed till morning when you’d gone home with Bob three nights ago. You should have at least given him a reason as to why you didn’t want Jake to know you’d slept together. Maybe if you’d just told the truth and explained to Bob that you really did like him… it’s just that you didn’t think you were his speed. His type. Good enough for him. It was you, not him. 

Maybe then Bob would have liked you a little more. Maybe. Or maybe he’d still love you enough to pretend to hate you. 

Jake had always tormented you about having a crush on one of his colleagues. There wasn’t that much of an age difference, but Jake always had a way of teasing you about it. 

“He’ll hear you!” The blood you coughed up made Bob’s eyes well with adrenaline. Just how was he supposed to help you?

“We need to get you out of here,” Bob explained as he started taking his shirt off. “I need you to hold this against yourself to stop the bleeding. It wasn’t a matter of if you could stop the bleeding. It was a matter of how long you could prolong the enviable. 

“What are you–you gonna do?” You asked as you took hold of Bob’s crumpled-up shirt now pressed against your stomach. Immediately soaking up your crimson-red blood. 

“I’m absolutely not qualified for this shit,” Bob hissed through gritted teeth as he musted up all the courage he had to pick you up bridal style. “I’m gonna get you outta here, what the hell does it look like I’m gonna do, Y/n? Leave you here to die?” 

The sarcasm was tasteless in a time like this, but you bit back nevertheless. “You thought I was pranking you!” You tried to yell. But as you tensed more blood oozed out of your mouth. Your nose. Your ears. All the while Bob carried you through the haunted maze of windy corridors and false exits. “You think so little of me.” 

“Only because I thought we had something,” Bob confessed as he carried your bleeding self through the darkness. “So do me a favour here and don’t die, so that you can tell me to my face after I save your life how wrong I am, and that you love me the same way I love you.”

It was enough to have you fighting to keep yourself awake. It was just enough. Bob’s words sat heavy in your chest as he carried you closer to safety through the world’s most unrealistic haunted house ever erected. The only thing even remotely realistic was that stupidly terrifying clown. 

“I’ll try,” You replied weakly. Bob made eye contact with you for a few seconds. He carried you like dead weight in his arms, trying his very best to get you to safety. He may have felt some kind of way about you know but he didn’t want you to die. And he certainly didn’t want you to die like this. 

Diabolical forces are formidable. Those forces are external, and they exist today. The fairy tale is true. The devil exists. God exists. And for us as people, our very destiny hinges on which one we elect to follow. 

The only sound he made was a faint ‘Ugh’ sound before you were sent hurdling towards the floor in a heap of twisted lifeless limbs. You weren’t sure what had happened. Maybe Bob had tripped. In the fuss, you had been crushed you all of Bob’s dead weight. 

More blood oozed out of your deep wounds as you tried to escape from underneath Bob. But as you moved, you saw it. The axe sticking out of the back of Bob’s head. Now split like a coconut. Gushing blood as his body twitched above you in a heap. 

You wanted to scream, but you couldn’t. Your eyeline caught the clown shoes standing off in the near distance. Your eyes trailed up the legs, and the torso and even saw the grotesque mask splattered in what would could only assume was Bob’s blood. The chainsaw in the clown’s hand made your heart stop inside your chest. Fuck.

But it wasn’t until the clown removed the mask that you truly saw the face of pure evil. All the blood still left inside your body ran cold. 

“If I can’t have him, no one can.” Natasha chuckled as she made her way over to you. Chainsaw at the ready. 

[another-lost-mc]

Idle hands are the devil's playthings.

Perseverance | SOLOMON x afab!Reader 2.3k words | NSFW | Smut | Established Relationship Content warnings: Pet names, (mutual) masturbation, phone sex, teasing/orgasm denial, sex toys, sex magic, cursing, aftercare, implied past Asmo x afab!Reader x Solomon, implied/referenced kink/relationship negotiations. Reader uses gn!pronouns. Insatiable AU: [Part 1] [Part 3]

You know Solomon is up to something the moment he strolls into the RAD student council chambers unannounced. He was supposed to meet you at the House of Lamentation later - so why is he here now?

He returned from his trip to the human world early that morning, and you tried to tempt him to come see you before class. You missed him after nearly a week of not being with him, and you were desperate.

“I know, darling, I missed you too,” he said on the phone, but his voice had that mischievous tone that made you shiver with anticipation. “I have a few more errands to finish before I can come see you. I’ll fetch you after dinner this evening, and then I’m all yours.”

You reminded yourself that throwing tantrums about wanting your boyfriend to fuck you senseless wasn’t appropriate behaviour. The messages he sends you certainly don’t help. He reminds you of all the things he missed about you while he was gone and what he plans to do to make up for his absence. 

You're confident that you're prepared for whatever else he might do to tease you while you're stuck at RAD. You keep a kit in your locker that contains several pairs of clean underwear, a soft washcloth and a small bottle of liquid soap. It’s useful for days like today when you’re so fucking needy that your arousal soaks through your underwear; your thighs feel unpleasantly damp and sticky if you don’t change them.

When you can’t stop squirming in your seat, you ask to be excused and rush from the classroom. You lock yourself in one of the staff washrooms so you can relieve yourself in privacy. You pull down your uniform and lean against the wall, hand inside your underwear so you can tease your throbbing clit and stuff your needy hole with your fingers. It’s a futile effort to relieve the ache inside you that’s driving you to distraction. It works for a while, but desire still simmers inside you endlessly, constantly threatening to boil over with each depraved thought you try to ignore.

Your kit is going to need replenishing by the end of the day at this rate. You’re using up your spare clothes and taking self-care breaks between classes so often, it feels like a new record for you.

You can’t help yourself; Solomon has been sending you text after text of filth, spilling loose all his own fantasies about what he wants to do to you. He describes in excruciating detail what he imagined when he fisted his cock during those lonely nights without you. He also reminds you that he still has something planned to punish you for the video you sent him.

Oh, right - the video. It was two days ago when you woke up with your hand in your pajama pants while your hips rolled pathetically against your mattress. You called him and his voice was still thick with sleep, but he knew what you wanted. He guided you through two orgasms, his rough voice in your ear telling you how to touch yourself. You obeyed when he told you to stop and listen to him instead, letting the slick sounds of his hand around his cock tease you until you begged him to let you come too.

A couple hours later, you were in class and copying notes from the blackboard when your D.D.D. pinged with a message from Solomon. He wanted to inform you that he had an important meeting later that day, so you might not hear from him until that evening. The next message he sent was a picture - presumably from that morning - of his hand wrapped around his cock and a pearly-white rope of cum trailing up his naked belly.

That bastard.

You raised your hand to excuse yourself and you nearly ran from the classroom. Once you were alone in one of the nearby washrooms, you fucked yourself with your fingers and muffled your cries with your other hand. You changed your soaked underwear for new ones and spent the rest of the day deciding how you wanted to repay him.

When you got home from RAD that afternoon, you locked yourself in your room and rummaged through your toy drawer. You sent him a generous gift of your own: a video of you fucking yourself with one of your favourite toys. Your pleased noises combined with the obscene squelch of your slick as you thrust the toy in and out of your hole. You teased your nipples between your finger tips and when you came, you cried out his name with the toy buried deep, kissing your cervix; your free hand teased your clit through the aftershocks. When your body finally went limp, you said his name one last time with a breathy sigh.

His response to your gift was him telling you how naughty you were. Apparently, he received your message during a very important meeting. Even without sound, the video of you - beautiful, lustful, incredible you - nearly drove him mad. He had to excuse himself to deal with his cock, achingly hard and leaking inside his trousers.

Oops. 

It was difficult to feel guilty about it at the time, especially since he didn’t mention the video again until today.

The student council meeting is almost finished, and Solomon is speaking to Diavolo and Lucifer about something. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, and there’s something unreadable in his stare.

You look away and try to think of anything but him and his cock and what you’d like him to do with it. The other demon brothers are still mingling in the room and chatting amongst themselves. No matter how much you might want Solomon to fuck your brains out, as hard and as rough as possible, you don’t want to make a scene in front of them. You can be patient a little longer.

You need to retrieve your belongings on the dais before you can go home. You're surprised by the strange tingling between your legs as you walk. The sensation increases, and you suck in a breath to keep yourself from gasping when there’s a soft, teasing pressure against your clit. You try to ignore it and keep walking, but your knees buckle when the pressure travels through your folds and teases against your entrance.

You reach the dais just in time; you lean against it, palms slicked with sweat as something slips into your needy hole and massages your walls. Whatever it is is rubbing that soft spot deep inside, and you're on the brink of ruin. You clench your jaw to keep yourself from moaning when pleasure surges through you out of nowhere.

The orgasm leaves you winded and you’re panting heavily, but everyone else seems too distracted to notice. You look over your shoulder and spot Solomon across the room. He catches your eye and holds up his hand, his fingers wiggling playfully at you. He starts rubbing his bottom lip with his forefinger and you can hear him hum in agreement in response to whatever Diavolo just said to him.

You stare at him, mouth open in shock, when you feel the vibrations of his hum inside you. Your walls instinctively clench around nothing, and he winks at you before he looks away.

That absolute bastard.

You’re not sure what sort of magic he’s using on you or how it works. All you know is that you're exhausted and desperately fighting the temptation to collapse on the floor. You're one devilish smirk or teasing touch away from becoming a writhing, sobbing mess for everyone else to see.

You can feel him trying to coax more pleasure from you, but it's too much. You can't possibly endure more of this, not without completely humiliating yourself in front of your friends. There’s an exit to the side of the dais, and you manage to push through the door on your trembling legs. The sensations between your legs stop suddenly, and you head for the nearest washroom.

You’re not sure how long you’re in there, rubbing at your swollen clit and biting your lip to keep yourself from screaming. When you’re finally spent, your entire body is shaking. You feel hot and sweaty, and your clothes are damp and sticking uncomfortably to your skin. You groan loudly in frustration when you realize you left your bag - and the remainder of your kit - in the student council chambers.

It’s only when you hear a chuckle echo in the empty space around you that you realize you forgot to lock the door. Thankfully, you recognize who it is and nearly sigh with relief instead.

“I brought your bag,” Asmo announces when you poke your head out of the stall to make sure he’s alone. “I sensed something was going on between you two and figured you might need it.” He left it on the counter for you, and you clean yourself up as best as you can before going home.

“Appreciate it,” your voice warbles pathetically. Your throat is parched and you wince from the discomfort of choking down your moans and cries earlier.

Asmo looks you over, and you can tell that he’s equal parts curious and concerned. “It’s been a while since the last time I saw you look like this,” he notes. “What’s gotten him so worked up this time?”

You cup water into the palms of your hands and splash your face; it’s a cool relief for your warm cheeks. “I might’ve sent him a dirty video during a meeting when he was away.”

Asmo laughs - he can imagine the details, so he doesn’t ask for them. However, his worry for you doesn’t fade. There’s still a noticeable tremor in your legs. “Did he stop what he was doing to you?”

You nod and start peeling off your bottoms and underwear. You’re too tired to go back into the stall to change, and it’s nothing Asmo hasn’t seen before. “As soon as I left the student council chambers.”

“Good,” Asmo nods. He knows the rules as well as you and Solomon do - he helped you write them, after all.

You’re wiping yourself clean with the washcloth from your kit - it’s a quick, sloppy job, but you still feel a little better. “Was he ever like this with you?” you ask curiously.

The question surprises him and Asmo hums for a moment while he considers his response. “Like this? No, not really. The times we were together before - before you, I mean - it was more like an itch he needed to scratch. He had his moments, sure, but nothing like the way he is with you.” Asmo laughs, and it sounds almost bitter. “You two bring out the worst in each other, in the best possible ways.”

Their history together isn’t something you normally bring up, and you’re worried that you might’ve hurt Asmo’s feelings. He has a frown on his face, and his eyes look a bit sharp, like he’s annoyed by something. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He tilts his head curiously when he looks at you, and his lips tick up in amusement. “Don’t get me wrong, I still have my little moments of jealousy,” he admits, but then he clarifies for your benefit, “but it’s not you I’m jealous of.”

You’re not entirely surprised by his admission. The opportunities he has to indulge himself with you are rather limited, and it’s been a while. It almost makes you feel guilty when he helps you like this, his eyes so full of concern and affection for you. He loves you unconditionally, making no demands of you; he’s only ever cared about your well-being.

You adjust your clothes and try to smooth out the wrinkles of your uniform. Your reflection in the mirror still looks like a slightly worse-for-wear version of yourself, but you look better than you did before. You catch Asmo’s gaze in the mirror, and you both smile at each other. 

“Thank you for checking on me,” you murmur appreciatively when he turns you around to face him.

He pulls a stray hair off your jacket. “There’s no need to thank me. I wanted to make sure you were alright.” He looks a little bashful when he admits, “it’s not very often I get to spend time with you like this. Solomon is very greedy with your company - not that I blame him.”

You feel a little flustered when he hands you your bag. “For what it’s worth, I miss you too.” There was more than one occasion during Solomon’s absence when you considered going to Asmo for comfort, or for relief. They were desperate thoughts in your most neediest moments. Even in your lust-fogged state, you knew you’d regret asking him later. He would’ve said no - or forced himself to say no, most likely - no matter how tempted he was to give you what you wanted. 

Perhaps it’s time to revisit some of the rules.

It’s almost like he can sense what you’re thinking because Asmo gives you a knowing look. He drapes an arm over your shoulders so he can pull you into his side, and you lean against him gratefully as you walk together. “You know, there’s an event at The Fall next week I think you might enjoy. You’re both welcome to join me.”

You glance up at him and worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’s not one of those events, is it? Because I really don’t think I can stomach it a second time.”

He presses a kiss into your hair. He told himself he wouldn't take you back to one of those events again, even if you begged him to. “Of course not. This is one of the club's regular dance events, but the theme sounds intriguing. I think we'll be able to enjoy ourselves, together.” His playful tone intrigues you, and you promise to consider it.

The student council chambers have emptied by now, and you head towards the exit instead. You see Solomon waiting for you both in the distance when you step outside. “I'll ask him about it later, okay?”

Asmo gives Solomon a subtle thumbs-up behind your shoulder to let him know you’re alright. “There’s no rush.” He winks at you just to see you get flustered all over again. “I have a feeling you two won’t be doing much talking tonight.”

[boo-its-stress]

So I had a silly little idea about what if Danny was ghost king but he didn’t actually have to be in charge because he is baby. You don’t put a baby in charge you put an adult in charge until baby is ready. Vlad would be the most qualified. But he’s Vlad. So. It needs to be somebody else. Batman. I’m talking about Bruce Wayne. Death touched and not ready to rule the infinite realms in his stead. I’m full of big thoughts on this but instead of organizing them and sharing them I wrote a little Blurbo.

Bruce was on the bat computer writing incident reports on the night’s patrol. It was a quiet night and it looked like everyone might get at least 4 hours of sleep tonight. Well, quiet on the streets of Gotham. The cave was very much not quiet as Tim seemed to have had the stupendous idea to intentionally rile Damian up. Idle hands may be the devil’s playthings but apparently an Idle Tim was more likely to lose all sense of self preservation. He wasn’t too worried yet, he could hear Dick trying to keep the peace which had about 50/50 odds of working.

The sudden silence was the absolute worst thing he could be hearing right now. He spun around in that chair as fast as bathumanly possible and stood up. Prepared to deal with an attempted fratricide. But what he saw froze him in his tracks, though not quite as literally as everything else. Damian was frozen mid leap towards an equally frozen Tim who's laughing face was in the midst of shifting towards regret while Dick was reaching out to catch him. He was instantly on guard for whoever had done this, it would be an unlikely coincidence for him to be the only one (or even one of many) left unfrozen if this was a global event that had nothing to do with him. No this was likely a deliberate act but the question remained if the intent was hostile or not. Not that it really mattered because they froze his boys and he would not be relaxing until that was undone.

He felt a presence above him and threw a batarang even as he was turning to face them. And the batarang passed straight through a floating blue humanoid. A being who radiated an aura of power that was only somewhat ruined by the pendulum clock in their chest and a total lack of concern for the weaponry thrown their way. There was a beat of tense silence before they shifted into the form of a child and gave the impression of raising an eyebrow despite not having any above the unsettling wholly red eyes “Did I catch you at a bad time Bruce? I can come back.” And just like that his guard was up even further. An intruder in the batcave with this kind of power and he knew his name? That could not mean anything remotely good. He was mentally preparing alternative methods of attack should this turn to violence, as most forms of physical attack would be useless depending on what form of phasal shifting that just was.

“Oh there’s no need for any of that Bruce. I’m just here to congratulate you on your ascendancy to Kinghood.” That left him wrongfooted and before he could even muster up a response and begin with any proper Questioning, the being continued. “Well, King Regent at least. The rightful ghost king is still a child and you possess the familial relation necessary to stand in until they’re ready to ascend the throne. Should you choose to refuse this position you have 30 days to find a suitable replacement and contact the high council of the infinite realms with this information.” And just as suddenly as the… Ghost? Just as the possible ghost had appeared, they were gone.

All at once life returned to the world and there was an audible thump as one Robin collided with another. But it was Dick who screamed. For if one were to view things from his perspective, Bruce had teleported from across the room and he thought he was immune to the Batman jump scares now! With Dick and Tim briefly caught up in their own individual terrors it was Damian who noticed something was wrong. He shoved Tim aside with contempt, rising to his feet and dusting himself off as if he felt especially dirty after the physical contact he himself had initiated. “Father? What is it?”

Bruce let out the slightest huff of relief at seeing his boys in motion once more, most wouldn’t notice it at all, but the collection of current and former robins were not most people. They were all at attention, waiting to be told and willing to resort to trickery if he wasn’t in a sharing mood. “Something was in the bat cave.” All three stiffened, knowing this was serious. He returned to the computer to begin a profile on the (man? Ghost? clock?) and also to avoid looking his children in the eye. No need to give away how badly this had shaken him. “They were capable of freezing time selectively. And froze all of you while we spoke. Possibly everyone else. Oracle, is it still 1:27 outside the batcave?”

He could hear rapid fire typing before she replied. “Matches up with the time in Gotham and there’s no noticeable time delay between here and anywhere else on Earth. I’ll have to get back to you on if we fell out of alignment with other planets, but I can tell you there’s no gaps in the footage in the batcave either, it… it looks like you teleported.”

Well that was not comforting news in the slightest. Whoever this was, they were incredibly powerful. Possibly capable of stopping all of time with (hopefully) no consequences. Looks like he might actually have to take what was said seriously. For such a powerful entity would have little reason to lie about such a thing. But could he really? He might have had a few close calls with death but he was still living? His heart was still beating? How could a living man be the reigning king of ghosts? Even as a regent? And regent to who exactly? A child? Is that by human or ghost standards? Bruce seemingly didn’t qualify as a child but would Dick? The ghost had said familial relation which was incredibly vague and unhelpful. Did his adopted children count or was it only Damian? Could it possibly be some distant cousin? He didn’t know and unfortunately he had no leads to speak of. How was he even supposed to contact this High Council of the Infinite Realms? He got the sinking suspicion that was the point. That he wasn’t being given a choice in the matter.

His eldest broke him out of his thoughts with a hand on his shoulder, reading what he’d written before locking eyes with him. “And what exactly did he want to talk about B?”

He couldn’t help the slight downturn of his lips as he answered, “Apparently I’ve been named the Regent King of Ghosts.”

And with the widening of Dick’s eyes and a muffled curse from Tim as he missed a step and collided with a table he couldn’t help thinking he was right. The intruder hadn’t brought anything good.

When he later called Constantine asking if he knew how to contact The High Council of the Infinite Realms and the man promptly swore before hanging up? He was absolutely sure he had found himself tangled up in something that was bound to cause him at least one headache in the near future.

When he found the first green sticky note that appeared between one blink and the next he was ready to have words with whoever put him in this position. He sincerely hoped the King he was playing regent for wasn’t Jason.

[scuttlingcrab]

"The doublet is a magical item, so it can fit and mould to Raphael’s body no matter his form or temper." Now I'm just picturing Raphael transforming in anger while wearing the doublet and his rage is momentarily stopped when he realizes that it transformed with him and wasn't even singed.

Like, I could be incredibly angry with someone, but if I suddenly realized that my dress had pockets in it I know darn well that I'd need to at least stop and take a moment to marvel at that discovery before even thinking about continuing on with my anger. 😅

I was literally working on something similar when you sent your message! I've attached the ask below I was initially responding to. Thank you for your message anon and hope you enjoy! x

"Also, the idea of Raphael showing off his new clothes is just- It just tickles me! I can see him preening and flaunting like a peacock because of Tav's gift. I'd honestly read a sequel piece about that, if you want to write it. I've kinda already fallen in love with the whole idea of a luxury magic tailor Tav that the initial prompt fill and response has created as well as that Tav's potential dynamic with Raphael (and other characters *looking at Gale and his sewing needle quip*) and would absolutely be down to read more of that from you! 👀"

Summary: Raphael is caught off guard by his recent gift from Tav, so he decides to pay his little mouse a visit.

Notes: Read A Perfect Fit, which inspired this continuation.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

Dressed to Kill 

Raphael stomped through the halls of the House of Hope, shedding his mortal skin. The doublet didn’t set fire when Raphael transformed, instead, it morphed with his growing size. The silk fabric soothed his ridged body, feeling like a warm embrace. Raphael suppressed a scream. Wretched mortal! The debtors scurried out of his path like rats, seeking the shadows for an ounce of solace from the blistering rage. 

He passed an open window and jolted to a halt. The blood-red light of Avernus caught the designs of his doublet, causing it to glimmer like diamonds. During his shift, the colour of his clothing changed. It now had a dark golden shimmer, the infernal embroidery a deep blue. He extended his arm, admiring the sleeve as he twisted it only slightly, and watched as the adornment reflected tiny devilish patterns onto the marble floors. The decorations moved, as if dancing. Another interesting, subtle detail.

Staring at these animations, Raphael’s breath calmed, his mind cleared. He stood taller, his head never held so high. Abruptly he spotted one of the debtors staring at him from his peripheral and lowered his hand, slowly turning to face them. Fire burned in Raphael’s eyes as he hissed, barring his sharp teeth. The debtor screeched before scurrying off to continue their meaningless eternal task. 

“If I catch just one more incompetent lackey idling about, I will impale your sorry souls on trees and leave you to rot. You are all interchangeable. Do not forget that.”

Raphael watched as the last debtor fled from his sight. He will not be caught off guard again. No. In fact… he will pay that creature a visit. 

–

Raphael materialised at the creature's camp in a swirl of flames and sparks, returning to his mortal disguise. 

The camp was quiet at this hour, the creatures asleep, separated into their individual makeshift tents. And what a ghastly camp it was, third-rate, at best. Miscellaneous equipment littered every corner, books lay discarded, shoddy clothes hung drying on trees, and the animals… When did these mortals domesticate owlbears? Savages.  

He slowly approached Tav’s tent, nestled towards the lake's shoreline. He parted the flap with an index finger and peeked inside. The creature was fast asleep, sharing her tent with that monstrosity Karlach. 

He watched them sleeping, so defenceless. He perked up at the thought. If he was so inclined, he could have easily ended their lives, consumed their souls before the tadpoles defiled them; all it would take is a snap of his fingers…

“Rise and shine, little mouse.” Raphael purred. 

Tav sprang up from her bed roll, clumsily readying a dagger from her sleeve. She held it out towards Raphael, one eye still closed, as she fought off the interrupted slumber. 

Karlach simply turned over in her bedding, yawning and stretching like a cat. She slowly opened her eyes, sitting upright when she spotted Raphael standing at the entrance.

He smirked in response, placing a hand on his hip.

“What the hell is this creep doing here?”

“Good evening to you too, Karlach. I am simply checking in on my prospective clients.”

Raphael bowed deeply, making sure to be as flamboyant as possible in his gesture.

“In the middle of the bloody night? Fuck off, devil.” 

Raphael slowly straightened himself, adjusting his sleeves. He aimed his cuffs towards the campfire, taking care to make sure the lighting was just right to highlight the devilish decorations. 

“Tut, tut, Karlach, language. If I wanted to hear such hideous sounds I’d speak with a lemure.”

Karlach leapt to her feet, the rickety infernal engine in her chest glowing brighter as she stared daggers at him.

“Karlach, please…” 

Tav raised a hand at Karlach, putting away her weapon. She rubbed away the rest of the sleep and focused on Raphael. Her face instantly lit up when she caught sight of his doublet. 

“You’re… wearing it?” Tav whispered. She brought her hands to her mouth, attempting to hide her flushed cheeks. 

“But of course! How could I resist such a delicious gift? It’s not often a devil like myself comes across a mortal with such curious tastes. Your attention to detail is…”

Raphael dramatically clasped his hands together, as if in a prayer. Yes, indeed. Thank the Gods up above for damning these poor creatures and sending them straight into his claws. 

“Superb!” 

“Hells, what have you done?” Karlach groaned, rolling her eyes. “I told you it was a bad idea.”

Tav gave Karlach a sidelong glance, narrowing her eyes. Raphael’s smile grew, devouring the creature’s disapproval and embarrassment. Almost as scrumptious as a soul.

“You are quite the seamstress. What else have you been creating on your adventures, hmm? I wonder, what would be the price for another item such as this? Perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement?” 

Tav’s mouth hung open at his words.

“I-I-uh, didn’t think that far ahead. Let me sleep on it.”

“Don’t keep me waiting, little mouse. You had my curiosity, but now… you have my full attention.”

Raphael raised his arms out wide, like a peacock strutting their finest feathers. He laughed as he surrounded himself in infernal flames. He had truly stumbled upon his greatest prize, his secret weapon to uniting the Nine Hells. Raphael would reach his target soon, that was for certain, but oh, oh yes... he would look hellishly chic in his pursuits. He would turn heads, devils and mortals alike.

[shiorimakibawrites]

Congratulations on your 300 followers dear, you're awesome and you deserve this! 🥳❤️❤️❤️

I'll start with Inside The Mind: what headcanons do you have for girl father!Matt? I would reeeally love to know what you think about it!

Have an awesome day my love! 🥰❤️❤️❤️

Thank you, Yuna! 😉

Thank you for the request and here are my headcanons:

Girl father! Matt Murdock

When asked before the birth, Matt said that all he wanted was a healthy baby. He had a few idle thoughts about what it might be like to have a son or a daughter. But for the most part, being healthy was his own real concern.

He really didn’t understand those fathers who were disappointed by having a girl. From the moment she was placed in his arms, this little person was the sweetest, most beautiful person in the entire world. How could anyone not love her?

As you may have gathered from that statement, his daughter had Matt wrapped around her little finger from day one.

Not in letting her get away with anything kind of way but in that he will cheerfully indulge her desire to give him a make-over, braid his hair, drink pretend-tea out of tiny teacups, solemnly evict the monster under the bed, etc.

Thinks his heart is going to melt out of his chest when his daughter expresses a desire to learn how to “read with her hands, just like Daddy.”

Matt is fiercely protective of her, willing and ready to use every single tool at his disposal to keep her safe - the law, his fists, the works.

Agonizes over the things that he can’t protect her from. Like the terrible things she hears if she inherited his senses or any of the other pains from his senses (he wouldn’t wish the migraines on anyone, let alone his own child).

Education is important to him. The kid doesn’t need to get perfect grades but he does expect good ones. Struggling with a subject is okay, as long as she is doing her best and he’ll help find tutors or whatever else she needs to pass.

Better understands his own father and his fears upon witnessing his daughter’s fierce temper and need for justice, knowing both how powerful and dangerous that fire can be. Seeks to temper it, channel it into safer waters like law or medicine. Fears that he will fail.

Regardless, he does train her and prays that at best it will simply be good exercise and at worst, defense is all she ever has to use it for.

When boyfriends (or girlfriends) start wandering by, Matt makes sure they know that if they mistreat his daughter, he will be unhappy. And that he’s rather unpleasant when he’s unhappy. Then he smiles and he knows it’s not a nice smile. Because this isn’t Matt Murdock, Attorney at Law speaking, this is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen (Peter says that being old enough to have a teenage daughter has not made Matt any less terrifying when he wants to be).

Considers his threats more subtle than Frank’s (who made a point of cleaning his guns or sharpening his knives whenever someone came calling after his daughter). Others dispute this.

That being said, he will 100% cry at the wedding.