#answers. ｢ look to the heavens and pray to devils. ｣

[nottellingofname]

You picked a dance with the devil - Choso Kamo

TW: NSFW / MDNI, Explicit sexual content, First time / virgin!reader, Soft dom!Choso, Praise kink, Overstimulation, Light restraint, Slight power imbalance, Religious/angelic imagery (used erotically), Consensual power dynamics, Aftercare

🚫 Do not interact if you're under 18.

"Am I being good, angel?"

You weren’t quite sure when the shift happened—one moment he was at the front door juggling groceries, and the next he was between your thighs, as if gravity itself had changed its rules for him.

Earlier, you'd been kneeling on the floor like a devout little disciple, hands folded, eyes shut, whispering sweet apologies to the heavens. Begging for reentry.

Your brothers and sisters had exiled you—maybe for sneaking around too often, fighting too many battles that weren't worth fighting for.

The door creaked open.

Choso stepped in, the rustle of plastic bags and the slump of his shoulders announcing his arrival. His grocery bag looked lighter than the exhaustion tugging at his body.

You didn’t flinch, still praying. Still hoping.

He set the bags down, eyeing you warily like he’d walked into something too sacred to watch. Which, in fairness, he had.

“When I left, you were watching Hell’s Kitchen,” he said softly, crouching beside you. “How’d we end up here?”

You cracked one eye open. “My sisters used to tell me that only good people get to live in heaven. And I want to be good so I can go back.”

He blinked. “Angel…”

Choso had done a laundry list of morally questionable things—enough to earn a restraining order from heaven itself. But watching you cry because you thought you were too tarnished to go back? That hit somewhere deep.

Without thinking, he reached for your hands.

“C’mere.”

He pulled you up gently, as though afraid you’d break or float away. You landed against his chest with a soft thud, all warm limbs and wet cheeks.

He wrapped his arms around you, tucking your face into his neck. You sniffled once—then twice—and suddenly he was walking the both of you toward his room.

His safe place. Maybe it could be yours, too.

At the foot of the bed, he tried to put you down.

You didn’t let go.

Your arms stayed looped around him like he was your personal flotation device. He felt the soft press of your chest against him, your body rising and falling with every shaky breath.

Now he was definitely going to hell.

Because somehow, despite your red-rimmed eyes and angelic despair, you were turning him on. He cursed himself. Loudly. Internally. Multiple times.

You. An angel. Crying.

Him. Horny.

Hell. Immediate.

Still, he ran a soothing hand down your back, hoping it would ease your trembling. It did. Your sobs quieted, soft hiccups fading into gentle exhales. And then, you started rocking slightly on your feet, swaying him with you in a slow, clumsy dance.

“This feels nice,” you murmured, voice muffled into his shoulder.

Your breath hit his skin, warm and sweet—and he felt it in his spine.

God was definitely watching. And God was definitely judging.

Something in him short-circuited the moment your fingers ghosted down his spine. Light. Barely there. But it lit him up like a struck match.

Your touch wasn’t just gentle—it was deliberate. The kind of intimacy that made his thoughts feel soft around the edges.

You looked up at him, and God, he was finished.

Your eyes were glazed, lashes damp, brows drawn together in that pouty, kiss-me expression that made his chest ache. And your lips—oh, you were staring at his like they held answers to every prayer you’d whispered.

You inched closer, slow and steady. Like gravity wasn’t pulling you, he was.

Choso’s arms tightened ever so slightly around you, trembling from the effort of holding himself back. His breathing hitched, shallow, his control thinning with every blink.

You looked so desperate. So soft. So willing.

He could die happy right now—and still go straight to hell, because there was absolutely no way this was sanctioned by the angels above.

Was this divine intervention? Or just a very, very vivid sin?

Whatever it was, confidence bloomed in his chest—nervous, fragile, but real. Like a boy holding something holy with both hands.

He reached up slowly, thumbs brushing away the dried remnants of your tears. His hands framed your cheeks, gently coaxing you to look at him, really look.

“Tell me what you want, angel,” he whispered, voice hoarse with restraint.

You didn’t hesitate. You leaned into his touch, breath trembling as you murmured.

“Make me feel good, Choso.”

Something deep in him cracked.

And all he could think was: Amen.

Choso didn’t hesitate. The moment the words left your lips, his mouth was on yours—hot, hungry, and all-consuming. It wasn’t tender. It wasn’t soft. It was desperate. Messy. Tongue, teeth, spit, breath—like he’d been starving for this, for you.

In another universe, he might’ve been gentler. Maybe he would’ve taken his time, worshipped you like you deserved. But not here. Not now.

Right now, he needed you. Needed to taste the sin on your lips. Needed to prove, in the only way he knew how, that you were his salvation and his damnation all at once.

Your fingers gripped his waist, nails biting into his shirt, grounding yourself against the storm of him. You’d never kissed been kiised like this—never been kissed at all—and your body trembled from the intensity, overwhelmed but unwilling to let go. You gave him everything, lips parted, breath stolen, letting him lead.

And God, Choso had never felt more alive.

You were melting into him, clinging like he was the only thing tethering you to earth. You whimpered into his mouth and he drank it in like it was the sweetest nectar, swallowing every gasp, every needy moan like a man dying of thirst.

His hands cradled the back of your head and your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer, like he could fuse you together and maybe then it would be enough.

When he finally pulled back, both of you gasping, your mouths were still linked by a thread of spit. Choso leaned his forehead against yours, his breath ragged, his voice wrecked.

“Make yourself comfortable on the bed,” he murmured, low and commanding, but reverent. Like a priest guiding his angel into the altar of sin.

His hands lingered on your hips, warm and trembling.

“Please,” he added, barely above a whisper.

You laid back in the center of the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight, your chest heaving with anticipation. Choso was over you in an instant, his arms caging you in as his eyes searched your face for any flicker of hesitation.

But before he could say a word, your fingers threaded through his dark, silky hair—tugging him down, guiding him to the crook of your neck.

“Worship me,” you whispered, voice shaky and sweet, your breath brushing his ear, “Please.”

That was all it took.

Choso collapsed into you like a man falling to his knees at an altar. His lips latched onto your neck, slow at first—soft, reverent kisses. But each gasp you gave, each shift of your hips beneath him, drove him deeper into sin.

He kissed and sucked your throat, your collarbones, dragging his teeth along your skin just to hear that pretty little gasp again—the one that made his cock twitch painfully in his jeans.

Your fingers tugged harder at his hair, pushing him down your body, silently begging him to keep going.

His lips stayed tender, but his hands—God, his hands—were desperate.

They palmed your chest with unrestrained hunger, like he couldn’t believe how full and soft you were, like he was committing the weight and feel of you to memory. He squeezed, massaged, thumbed over the peaks just to watch your back arch, your thighs rub together, needing more.

“Can I take this off?” Choso rasped, though his voice was already half gone, drunk off the taste of your skin. His hands stayed glued to your chest, greedy even in their restraint.

But you couldn’t take the teasing. Not when he was already halfway to heaven between your breasts.

With a low groan of impatience, you ripped the shirt clean off, the fabric tearing like paper under your divine strength. Then you shoved his head down with both hands—no more hints, no more patience. Your nipple pressed against his open mouth, and he welcomed it instantly, groaning as he latched on.

Choso lost his balance for a second, but it didn’t matter—he braced himself on his forearms, mouth already wet and hot around you, tongue circling your nipple like he was starving.

His hair tickled your skin as he buried himself against your chest, suckling deep, nuzzling, losing himself completely in your body.

But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly.

When he moved to your other breast, tongue flicking the stiff peak, you caught his hand and tugged it upward—placing it over your neglected nipple. Your fingers squeezed over his, guiding him, letting him feel just how raw and desperate you were for his touch.

“Give me more,” you whined, breathless, “Please…”

Choso groaned—low, deep, feral. He’d never felt anything so soft. So warm. So responsive. You were arching into him, hips squirming, eyes fluttering shut as he mouthed and licked over your chest, soaking your skin with spit and hickeys.

He couldn’t help himself.

Both hands grabbed your breasts, squeezing them together until they spilled between his fingers. And then he dove in—his tongue flicking back and forth, his mouth trying to take both into his mouth at once. Messy. Wet. Devoted.

Maybe he was greedy.

But if he was going to hell for this, he was taking every inch of heaven with him.

Choso’s hands squeezed greedily at your flesh as he descended, kneading and molding you like he was trying to memorize every curve. Your body jolted beneath him, hypersensitive, yet still rising eagerly into his mouth. You were trembling, overstimulated, but so needy.

Your fingers slipped from his hair, searching instead for his hands—gripping them like you needed grounding.

When he reached the hem of your pants, he didn’t bother with gentleness. His teeth dragged them down your thighs, slow, filthy, worshipful. And then—

His face disappeared between your legs.

You’d forgone panties, as always—what use were such things in the heavens?—so his nose made instant, divine contact with your clit.

You gasped, back arching violently off the bed. The sensation was electric—unfamiliar and overwhelming, like the first time you ever truly felt. Slick flooded from you, coating his face. Without thinking, your thighs parted even wider, silently inviting him in.

Choso groaned, deep and guttural, nose nudging your clit again and again. You clawed at the sheets, mind unraveling as he mouthed at your most sacred place like a man possessed.

And then, just as your whines started to crest, he pulled away.

You let out a desperate cry, but he said nothing—just stood at the edge of the bed, his hands sliding under your thighs. In one sharp tug, he dragged you to the edge.

You gasped at the sudden movement, but Choso didn’t break focus—not even for a second. His eyes zeroed in on your twitching hole, fluttering around nothing, slick and needy.

He dropped to his kness and pried your thighs open, locking you in. His gaze—heated, reverent—never left your cunt.

"I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he murmured, voice slurred with lust, head dipping lower. “Okay, angel? Please let me make you feel good..."

Your breath caught, heart thudding as you nodded.

Then he tasted you.

One tentative lick had his eyes rolling back. Your taste—sweet, heavenly, addictive. He moaned low into your folds and dove in again. His tongue was warm and soft, but firm, working in long, deliberate strokes that left you sobbing into the air.

You gave in completely.

His mouth worshiped you, licking you clean, as though each drop of slick was a sacrament. His tongue swirled around your entrance, then up to your clit—devouring you like he was starving.

It wasn’t just the pleasure—it was the devotion. Someone was willing to see you, taste you, even in your filthiest moments. And not just accept it, but savor it. The reverence in his touch made your chest tighten. You felt holy in his mouth.

Choso licked and slurped with abandon. When your clit started to ache from overstimulation, he sucked on it harder, and pushed his tongue deeper into your leaking hole. You could barely form thoughts—only gasps and twitching limbs.

Your hands found his hair again, trying to guide him. But Choso, ever the stubborn sinner, gently pried your hands away. Instead, he maneuvered your trembling fingers to hold your own thighs open.

“Be good and keep them open for me, yeah?” he murmured, lips glossy with you.

You moaned, obeying even as your arms trembled under the weight of your pleasure.

Choso used one hand to pull back your clit’s hood, exposing the throbbing nub completely. With the other, he spread your lips open, stretching your hole, watching the way it twitched, slick gushing freely.

His tongue dragged from your entrance to your clit, and when he suckled hard, your thighs spasmed—but his thick arm pinned you in place.

You were dripping—onto his face, down the bed. Choso couldn’t keep up. Without thinking, his thick index finger pressed into you, sliding in with ease from how wet you were.

“Oh! Choso—” you gasped, hips rocking up for more.

“Yeah?” he breathed, finally rising to look at you. "Am I being good, angel?"

Your face—red, glossy, mouth open and eyes glassy—was enough to make him feral.

You were holding your legs shakily, pout forming on your lips as tears gathered in your lashes.

“Kiss me,” you begged, voice broken.

Choso leaned forward, lips brushing yours as his finger thrust slow and deep. Your tongue met his eagerly, licking into his mouth—tasting yourself. His face was still wet with your slick, smearing against your cheek, but you didn’t care. You wanted all of him.

He swallowed your breathless moans in the kiss.

“You want more?” he whispered, voice cracking at the edges.

Then he slid his middle finger in beside the first.

You whimpered at the stretch, the unfamiliar burn, but instead of pulling away—you tilted your hips higher, silently pleading for more of him.

Choso groaned into your mouth, curling his fingers inside your soaked heat.

“Good girl,” he rasped. “You’re taking me so well…”

Choso’s hips pinned your thigh down firmly, spreading you open and holding you steady like you might float away. His fingers moved with skill and care, curling inside you in slow, deliberate strokes.

He kept his pace steady, watching every twitch of your face, every arch of your body, like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

His free hand found your hair, gently carding through it—soothing, grounding you, even as he unraveled you completely.

And when he hit that spot—that spot—you choked on a whine, your voice cracking as you gasped, "Choso... feels weird..."

"I know, angel," he murmured, voice deep and low in your ear. "It’s just new. You’re doing so well. Just breathe. Let go for me."

His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he kept his strokes consistent, coaxing you closer, deeper into the edge. You could feel your body tensing, your legs beginning to tremble.

Then came the third finger.

Your back arched hard, and a raw cry tore from your throat as your orgasm took hold—sudden and all-consuming. Your hands flew off your thighs, one gripping Choso’s wrist, the other fisting the sheets. Your thighs clamped around his arm, body shuddering as the climax rippled through you.

"That's it," he praised, breath brushing warm across your cheek. "Good girl... just like that. Keep going. Make yourself feel good."

His fingers kept moving, not rushing, not overwhelming—just helping you ride it out, gentle wriggles that kept the pleasure alive until it ebbed naturally.

His other hand never left your hair, stroking softly, his lips finding your cheek, your jaw, your neck. Kissing away the tears and sweat, whispering in that low, reverent voice, “You did so good for me. So perfect, angel.”

When he felt your grip loosen and your thighs slowly fall open, he finally let his fingers still inside you, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

"Just breathe. I’ve got you," he whispered.

He eased his fingers out of you slowly. You whined softly at the emptiness, your body still humming, overstimulated and spent.

"Shhh, I know, baby... I know,” he cooed, brushing hair out of your face. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

Choso lifted his hand, his fingers coated in your release—slick and glistening. You blinked up at him, dazed, still catching your breath.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean—slow and indulgent, like he was savoring something rare and sacred. You watched, wide-eyed, heat blooming fresh in your belly despite your exhaustion.

But he only chuckled softly, eyes crinkling. “Mm. Sweet,” he teased, before leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Now go get some rest, angel.”

You barely noticed him guiding you onto your back, tucking a pillow beneath your head, adjusting the sheets. The scent of his bed—warm, musky, his—wrapped around you like a blanket. It was comforting, familiar in a way you hadn’t expected. Like safety. Like home.

Your breath slowed, deepened. In the background, you heard the faucet run, but your eyes were already too heavy to keep open.

You felt it, though—cool cloth on your thighs, your hips, between your legs. Gentle hands, reverent and unhurried, cleaning you with the same care he worshiped you with.

Soft fingers pulling clothes back into place.

A blanket drawn over your legs.

And then, Choso’s hand returned to your hair, stroking slowly, lulling you deeper into rest. He didn’t say anything. Just breathed with you. Stayed close. Stayed present.

You've never slept more comfortably in your life.

xoxo first time writing smut, kinda nervousss

[clawedevil]

Tag Dump because I'm tired of not having my tags handy.

Also NSFW headcanons because i forget my headcanons. I have headcanons but I only write smut when the stars align and two blood sacrifices have been made in my honor so no one needs to know these.

HIM's eyes go black when they c*m.

They are a nonbinary-shapeshifter but they prefer to have a pen*s.

Head game is insane.

They are EXTREMELY vain so when it comes to talking during its usually stuff like "you like my *blank*" "i know it feels good when i *blank*"

Believe it or not, HIM is a switch. They have no preference for either though. It's really just whatever they feel like at the moment.

They love to leave marks in visible spots.

Finally, the tags:

ooc. ｢ monster fucker simulator. ｣ ic. ｢ lace a lie with truth none is sweeter. ｣ him. ｢ creature most vile. ｣ mojo. ｢ prove yourself worthy to a worthless cause. ｣ musings. ｢ delights of pain and pleasure. ｣ headcanons. ｢ to kill a god. ｣ aesthetic. ｢ luxuries of devil to make angels weep. ｣ style. ｢ dipped with gold and blood. ｣ self promo. ｢ fall in decay. ｣ promo. ｢ succumb to your weakness. ｣ desires. ｢ the taste of the forbidden  ｣

body. ｢ all the better to eat you with. ｣ fc. ｢ evil always seeks to tempt. ｣ answers. ｢ look to the heavens and pray to devils. ｣ jojoisnomo. ｢ beautiful disaster i’ll eat you. ｣ mojo and him. ｢ own me i'll let you play the role. ｣ rebelpuff. ｢ what's the most you ever lost ｣

[aedearly]

✎ . . . 𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑴𝑬 𝑨 𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑵𝑬𝑹.

₊˚⊹ a collection of loose poem verses, quotes or lyrics from various books and chansons. most were written originally in portuguese or french, and were translated to english by me. some are extracted from personal poems, as well! they all have some type of religious reference/motif. writing/roleplaying prompts. from fluff to angst and suggestive! feel free to edit as you see fit.

❝ i never felt more alive than when you called me your angel. ❞ ❝ saints above help me… don’t look at me like that. ❞ ❝ admit it, you’d have taken a bite out of eden, too. ❞ ❝ what are you waiting for? pray. ❞ ❝ confess. repent. repeat. ❞ ❝ for you? i will be any believer you want me to be. ❞ ❝ run away with me, where no gods can find us. ❞ ❝ i begged for a miracle. instead, i got you. ❞ ❝ you smell like the devil. ❞ ❝ where is your faith now? ❞ ❝ call me a sinner. ❞ ❝ the way you call my name sounds like heresy. ❞ ❝ in your gaze, i find my prayers answered. ❞ ❝ your lips are scriptures i long to memorise. ❞ ❝ even silence feels sanctified like this. ❞ ❝ when you embraced me, i felt like i was cradled by divinity. ❞ ❝ i do not wish for the stars to hear us now. ❞ ❝ meet me at our shared altar, where our ghosts can dance. ❞ ❝ kiss my hand. make me feel holy. ❞ ❝ your love feels like a fallen angel’s curse. ❞ ❝ please, can’t you be my sanctuary tonight? ❞ ❝ should i kneel and beg you to look at me again? as if you’re a saint? ❞ ❝ worship does not come cheap. ❞ ❝ must i pay for my sins? cry for forgiveness? ❞ ❝ hate me, blame me, crucify me; just please don’t walk away. ❞ ❝ i do not know how else to love you if not like a sinner. ❞ ❝ you were my redemption; now you are my ruin. ❞ ❝ the weight of your absence is my penance to bear. ❞ ❝ i built cathedrals of dreams, and you razed them to dust. ❞ ❝ you’re a hymn that haunts my mind at midnight. ❞ ❝ you left me bleeding for you, devoted—abandoned. ❞ ❝ i prayed to forget you, but even the heavens refused. ❞ ❝ do not tempt me with your promises. ❞ ❝ hellfire has nothing to your touch. ❞

[livelaughlovesubs]

~ 09.10 - Michael ~

Dom!reader x sub!michael - reader is gender neutral

Warning: thigh riding, dubcon (becomes consensual), dacryphilia, mind break, sub space, virgin Michael, corruption kink, slight hierophilia, public sex..?, a bit exhibitionist, teasing, kissing, making out, mentioned kidnapping, Michael cries a lot just saying, this is a little sad in the middle

~ Wordcount: 6.2k ~

Nini!rant: requested by @rae-pss - inspired by his evolution date, I SPEND TOO LONG ON THE PREMISE

Kinktober list 2024

It’s been a few days now that you’ve been brought to heaven by Raphael. He did promise you he’ll kidnap you one day, what you didn’t expect was for that ‘someday’ to happen this soon. As to how that happened? Well, the sky was clear that day, so much that he could see your silhouette from the edge of heaven. Leading to him darting down like a hawk who found its prey, and holding you between his arms before flying off again.

You didn’t even have time to yell or reach out to your companions, who were dumbfounded to the point of being frozen in place. It must have looked pretty stupid after all. Once you were brought to heaven, Raphael looked at you expectantly, as if waiting for a treat. “I’m not going to call you 'good boy', Rara, you kidnapped me.” You brushed him off, then sighed and asked, “I can’t go back down, huh?” He nodded his head. “As expected, fine, then show me around here.” This was a reaction he didn’t expect, why did you sound so done with everything—

The next few hours were spent with the little angel showing you around all excited, though he tried his hardest to not wag his tail. You followed closely, looking around this unfamiliar place. There weren’t any kind of fun things or shops in heaven, only houses for residents. It looked pretty depressing, especially because everything was rid of colors and purely white. When he asked if heaven ain’t better than hell or earth, you didn’t have the heart to answer honestly.

Soon you reached the last destination, his own place, where he would spend his nights. That’s when you found out all the seraphim’s sleep together, on the floor, with a thin cushion only. Compared to the devils, angels must have been real minimalists. To Raphael's dismay, Gabriel and Michael were also inside the building. You met Gabriel in the prayer room, where you almost got blinded by his halo. When your kidnapper saw him, he quickly tried to rush you out of the room, but Gabriel still noticed your presence.

“You brought Solomon’s descendant here? Why?” He shot you a glare, ready to put his scythe to use. You stared back all disgusted. “Don’t you dare, Gabriel. They belong to me.” He scoffed, and stood between you and the once-praying angel, to hide your form from his piercing gaze. The two of them were fighting like cats and dogs, basically not paying any attention to you anymore.

Which is why you took that opportunity to sneak away, tender steps as you backed out of the room. You aimlessly walked around their residence, exploring this new world, starting to pity their mundane lives. If you were to spend centuries in this boring place, where everything was white and monotone, you'd become a feral beast as well and probably lose your mind.

Like a miracle, you found something colorful, amid this white paradise. Carefully you stepped out of the building, into what seemed to be the garden. With a gentle swipe of your hand, you opened and closed the door, looking around to get familiar with your surroundings. There were flowers, everywhere, so many that it looked like straight out of a painting. It was simply beautiful. By the looks of it, this could be the garden of Eve that’s so infamous on earth, for this was a scenery so magnificent you didn’t anticipate it.

Heck, it looked a little out of place even, for so many colors to exist on this plain canvas that’s called heaven, as if god dropped a bucket of paint over this secret place. Slowly, you walked along the path to the huge apple tree in the middle. In front of it was a white pavilion, underneath it was a table with six chairs, but two of them had been stacked and pushed to the side.

“Beautiful…” you whispered breathlessly, eyes sparkling with admiration. There were so many kinds of flowers you’d expect the smell to be intense and intoxicating, but it wasn’t. This defied all logic, though you were kind of getting used to it by now. Only if you squeezed your eyes shut and focused solely on the smell, could you feel a sweet scent reach your nose, a scent you couldn’t quite describe. You tried to identify the smell and concentrated really hard, but to your surprise, you noticed a hint of sadness in the undertone of the scent.

Startled, you looked around, wondering if you were going crazy. Then you heard water flowing, no, to be more specific, someone watering the flowers. With even quieter steps, you approached the source of the noise and caught a glimpse of a figure with black hair. It must be Michael, you thought, and wanted to turn around and quickly leave before he tries to kill you, if not for him who mumbled, “Don’t run.” You froze in place, he didn’t even look up from the flowers, still tending to them.

You waited until he was done, nervously sweating as you clenched your hands. He wouldn’t kill you here, right? “Are you going to kill me?” Look at you, so bold, taking the initiative like this. Michael frowned, “Not here, I don’t want your filthy blood getting on my flowers.” So you were correct, Michael was the one who took care of those plants. “Ah.., ermm, understandable, those flowers are very pretty.”

The angel still had that distinct scorn on his face and a breath of arrogance, but he was beautiful nonetheless. His black hair stood out among all the colors, and the feathers of his wing that fluttered softly in the wind, as well as his right cheek which still hasn’t stopped crying. “Obviously they'd be pretty, I’m personally tending to them. Now get out, you are lucky I’m busy.” He walked past you, shoving you to the side and almost making you fall into the flowerbed, before filling up the watering can.

You stared at him emptily, then walked to the pavilion and sat down on one of the chairs, leaning back and watching him. “What do you think you are doing?” Michael then groaned, shooting you a furious look. “I’m looking at the flowers," You answered defiantly. “I thought I told you to get out—”

“Y/n!” Raphael’s voice rang through the garden, and he ran, almost tripping over Michael who was hovering near the entrance. “Urgh- don’t stand in my way, Michael.” When the black-haired angel heard that, he flared up, and his wing also flapped around very quickly, “Bloody hell Raphael, I was here first.” Quickly you stumbled across the yard and stopped the fight from escalating, grabbing the arm of the red angel, “Don’t fight, don’t fight, I’m here Rara. So, where did you want to take me?”

Raphael gave the other angel a final glare, before turning to you, "I haven't shown you your bedroom yet, come." Afterward, he walked away without looking back, holding your hand in his. Your gaze lingered on Michael for a while, longer than intended, before eventually turning around and following the much too enthusiastic boy.

That was your first day in heaven, and the days that followed weren’t all that different. It has become your daily routine to come to the garden, every single day. You were simply infatuated by the exotic flowers, and frankly, because you were curious about Michael. Why was he so dead on taking care of these flowers? Did he like pretty things, or was this simply his hobby? Every day, without fail, you’d bring some snacks and drinks with you and enjoy them under the pretty pavilion. Sometimes, more often than not, you’d be accompanied by Raphael as well.

Michael didn’t like that one bit, but since this garden belonged to all three seraphim’s, he couldn’t forbid Raphael from entering. Whenever you two spend time chatting and eating, he’d try to ignore you. Yet he couldn’t help but steal the occasional glances at the two of you being all lovely dovely. If you were to meet his face during these moments, he'd have an expression of pure disgust on his face, though he would never look away. Sometimes he also stares with an expression that wasn't disgust, it was something you couldn't put your finger on.

Particularly so when you’d pat and stroke Raphael on the head, hug him goodbye, or have him lay his head on your lap while you laugh all carefree. There was something about it, that seemed way too familiar, so intimate that it made him reminisce.

Back to the present, this time you came to the garden alone, which was rare, but not unusual. Michael hovered on the ground, the watering can placed next to him, he found it to be insane how used he’s gotten to your presence. Normally, he'd immediately luge for you and try to murder you, but now he's tolerating you for the sake of Raphael. You walked up to the angel, squatting, looking at the same batch of flowers he was looking at. He frowned at you for a split second, before turning his gaze back to the flowers.

“They are pretty, what’s their name?” You eventually asked, after admiring them for a good second. The flower had a pure white color, it hung from the thin stem, looking like multiple little bells. Michael stayed quiet for a moment, a gentle breeze running through his silky long hair, making them fly up a little. His soft feathers moved gently, proof of how soft they must be, you felt an impulse to reach out and touch them. He pondered over if he wanted to talk to the likes of you, then answered, “Lily of the valley.”

After hearing his answer, your eyes widened, you didn’t expect him to actually reply to you, and so calmly as well, it almost made you flustered. Wanting to continue the conversation, you quickly chirped, “Ah- it’s a pretty name.. erm, do these flowers have a meaning?” His head hung low when you voiced that question, the scent of sadness tickled your nose again.

Since you’ve spend so much time in the garden, you’ve come to understand it was the scent of Michael, who cried all the time. He debated with himself whether or not he should tell you, it was a little too intimate to tell strangers after all, yet there was something about you that made him feel weirdly at ease, and he whispered almost inaudibly, “They remind me of someone.” You didn’t need to ask twice to understand who he meant, instead, you chuckled. The boy grabbed your collar with an angry expression, and snapped, “What are you laughing at?”

You didn’t resist and explained, “Nothing, I’m not making fun of you. It was a bittersweet laugh.” Michael hesitated, the hand clutching your collar trembled slightly. “What do you mean.” He demanded, not even really asking. “It’s just… there’s someone I know who also plants flowers to remember his loved ones.” His grip loosened, and he pulled his hand back, you could swear you noticed his tears flow a little faster. “I think I know the name of the flower as well, it was— gardenia.”

He was a smart man, even if you beat around the bush he was fully aware of the person you meant. Seeing as you got him on your hook, it was time to spill the tea, just for the drama effect. You weren't sure where you were going with this, though you've always wanted to help these forsaken brothers, even if just a little, “but you know, he was a clumsy man. Even though he was the one who told me the name of the flower, he'd mistakenly call the flower ‘Michael’. What a silly man.”

Suddenly Michael darted towards you, tripping you over. You tried your best to not damage any of the plants around you, hands kept to your chest as the male got on top of you, pinning your head between his arms. Your head luckily didn't hit the stone floor, though his weight was a little uncomfortable. That's when you heard him scream, “Stop… acting like him..!”

“Hu-huh..?” The confusion was undeniable in your tone, and you tried to look at the man who was hovering over you. His hair blocked your sight, tickled your skin, and then wet droplets splashed onto your face. Were these... tears? Ah, probably from his- hold up, he was crying with both eyes. You gawked, surprised by his vulnerable emotional state. Guess angels were only neglected children after all. Gently, you brushed his hair to the side, seeing his eyes become watery and spilling hot tears.

Contrary to what you expected, he didn't deny your touch but instead leaned into it. His voice was quivering ever so little as he stated, “You knew from the start, didn’t you? So why.. why did you.. you and Raphael, you two..” his sobbing increased, blurring his sight with his tears. In the end, he stopped pinning you to the ground and straddled your lap.

With lingering doubts, you sat up, watching him wipe his tears with his now equally wet sleeves. You didn't know what came over you when you whispered subconsciously, “Beautiful.” It was what you thought at that moment, your most honest feelings. He stopped for a moment to look at you, then smiled bitterly, muttering, “You two are similar even in that regard..." Suddenly he hugged you, wrapping his arms around your neck and holding onto your back, clenching your clothes tightly.

Without missing a beat, he nuzzled into your neck, sobbing into your shoulder, all quietly, only the occasional hiccup could be heard slipping from his puffy lips. You knew all he needed was a shoulder to cry on, so you patted the back of his head, stroking through his soft locks, using your other hand to grab his waist. “It’s alright. And let me tell you something, I know Lucifer loves you just as dearly as you do." To your surprise he rubbed his wet cheek against yours, then turned to look at you, “…I guess you weren’t doing it on purpose?”

He had a meek smile on his face, an almost embarrassed expression. The tears didn’t stop flowing, though it seemed he calmed down a little. “I don’t know what you mean?” You retracted your hand from the back of his head and wiped his tears away. The angel stared at your fingers for a moment, then leaned even closer to you, uttering, “Lucifer Hyeong would have kissed them away.” For the next few seconds, you froze.

Why did he tell you that...? Was he hinting at you to do the same? Does that mean he thought you were similar to Lucifer?

“May I ask why you think so?” The question was a little out of pocket, but he knew what you tried to ask him. “You know what I... miss about Hyeong?" He looked down, clenching his teeth, muscles tensing before relaxing them again to finish his sentence, "Everything, I-I miss his laughter, his hugs, his soft strokes- And guess what you've been doing in front of me?” You went quiet at the last part, this time you knew exactly what he meant without further explanation.

Though you truly weren't doing it to spite him or with other ulterior motives, you were simply being yourself. The look you had was indescribable, it wasn’t quite pity, but more a cocktail of many emotions. “You…” he began once again, stopping to take a deep, shaky breath, to calm his erratic heart and stop the sobbing, before continuing, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I didn't mean to appear identical to-” you didn’t get the chance to end your speech when he interrupted you, “don’t you dare speak with my brother’s tone, while looking and acting like him.” At this point, you didn’t even know what to do, how could it be that everything you did reminded him of that person? Furthermore, you feared he was starting to have a twisted and possibly delusional image of you, to make you his substitute for Lucifer. You were sick of playing house after all that ordeal with the devils— especially Sitri.

All in all, no matter how similar their image of you and the person they meet in their dream is, you could never become the same. You were your own person, and not whatever others wanted you to be. The only thing you could think of doing was to somehow comfort him, this beautiful man who didn’t understand his own feelings, in a way his dearest older brother would never. So you hugged him, pulling him into a tight embrace, something he desperately wanted and needed.

The results were him crying even more frantically, weeping like a baby bird while he cried out, “I missed you so much, brother.” You didn't like his choice of words. After a while, you said silently, like a soft exhale of air that grazed his ears, “I’m not Lucifer.”

His grip on you tightened, but nothing else happened until you commented, "And I'm not your brother or Hyeong." The angel whined out, “Stop..” yet you didn’t, you followed your statement up with, “Not to mention I doubt Lucifer will ever come back to heaven.” Micheal looked like he was devastated, unable to accept the truth, he was basically begging you now as he yelled, “S-stop! I demand you to stop talking—” You shifted in your seat, now grabbing his wrists with one hand, “Michael, I think the reason he left is because it’s time for you to move on.”

He stayed completely still, arms now placed above his head, cheeks, and nose completely red while he wore this lost look in his eyes. “I’ll say it again, I’m not Lucifer. No matter how I act, I won’t be able to give you the same solace as he does.” Slowly, you guided his wrist to your lips, and bit down, leaving behind a red mark and a flustered Michael. He whimpered at the pain, taking his sweet time to snap back to reality as if he wanted to stay in his own fantasy world. “I can at most comfort you in other ways.” You then added, holding him closer with your free hand.

The boy didn’t struggle anymore, his pupils shook slightly, cheeks rosy as he hid it behind his wing. His face has been decorated with those pretty, shiny water droplets, some even dried off already. “W-what..?” Before he could prepare himself for what you had in store for him, you guided his body to move back and forth on your lap. He almost shrieked at the sudden movement, and then he stared at you with a baffled look.

If he had to describe it, it felt like he was riding a horse, but why were you doing this? Rubbing his metallic chastity belt against your skin, wasn't it uncomfortable? “Hold on to me.” You then said, and he became even more confused. Nonetheless, he obliged all obediently, grabbing your shoulders but taking care to not use too much strength.

This shift in behavior wasn’t because of you, he was still seeing you as that person, as him. With gritted teeth, you pulled down the zipper to his pants, and his cheeks flushed immediately. “Wait! What do you think you are doing?!!” He screamed, obviously not prepared for that bold move of yours. The boy was being so loud your eardrums almost exploded.

Judging by his reaction, you were achieving the effect you wanted, breaking down his idolized version of you, “I’m guessing Lucifer never taught you sex education~?” You joked and stared at his chastity belt. It’s the second one you’ve seen, the first one was Raphael’s. This one looked a little different in shape and color, it was golden, like most of the accessories of Michael. Despite it being a few weeks already, you still remembered clearly how you unlocked that device, which is why it didn’t take long until you freed the poor member of the male from its cage.

Michael stared down at you, unmoving, eyes widened while being as red as a tomato. When he heard the click of the lock, he felt his heart leap for a second. “No- no way.. you opened this? So easily?” He blushed and seemed slightly disgusted by the looks of his erection, which was leaking glowing precum down his shaft. This is also his first time seeing his dick, you almost forgot about the fact, that angels are basically all virgins. Gosh, how cute~

With one pull, you threw his chastity belt to the side, staring at his half-erect dick. “Yep. And- oh my? You are way bigger than your brother?” To be honest, you weren’t even sure if you were impressed or terrified. Michael hid his face with the back of his palm, thighs instinctively trying to squeeze close when a gust of wind blew against his now fully hard cock, though of course there weren't any results, considering he was straddling your thighs.

“No, d-don’t look..! No one should... expect god…” more tears swelled up in his eyes, he was also embarrassed at doing it outside, here so many people could catch you two. It would be blasphemy if anyone saw him in this state, he'd probably rip off his own wings and join his brother in hell if that happened! Knowing that you almost felt bad for him, for all these sexually frustrated and very much depraved creatures.

“Shh, don’t worry, I’ll just help you jack one off. You’ll feel much better afterward.” With that being said, you got to work. Fingers sinking into his smooth flesh, moving him around on your thigh, making him rub the underside of his most intimate parts against your clothes legs. It felt so rough against his perfect and soft skin, and on top of all of it, it felt so weird and so hot. He mewled, unable to fathom all these sensations, eyes searching for some guidance from you. Though you deliberately ignored him, gliding him across your thigh, trying to stimulate the male.

He began trashing around, resisting, pushing you away while crying out, "No! H-hyeong would never do something sinful like this..!! You stop these.. unholy and inappropriate acts!" You only laughed in response, asking teasingly, "But tell me, Michael, doesn't this feel good?" Completely treating his request like some passing breeze, feeling grateful that he was still capable of making his own judgment.

"I- no, I'm not answering you?! Are you trying to slander my brother?" He sounded just a tiny bit angry with you, trying hard to ignore the building arousal in his lower abdomen. "No, I never claimed to be him. Do you understand what I'm getting at, Michael?" His mouth hung open, as if he wanted to say something, yet not a single word escaped his throat. On the other hand, a series of moans and choked-out whimpers reached your ears. "Nghh... ahHh- I, s-still, sto- hnNghhh!"

Not good, he was being swept up by those hellish sentiments, by the temptations of the flesh. Why did it have to feel so hot, and be so brain-numbing? Poor birdy could barely think straight after all that edging on your part. You were way too perverted and too much of a tease to be his kind and gentle Hyeong!

"Y-y/n...! Please, I-I don't want this... it's scary, stop..!" At last, he resulted to pleading, unable to deal with the weight of his emotions clashing and fighting internally. It was the truth that he sought comfort by your hands and wanted you to fill the hole in his heart, but then you went ahead and turned the table at him. He didn't want to be touched by someone who wasn't god... and Lucifer. He also didn't want his first sexual encounter to be with you, or if it had to be done, out in the open in a place like this, where he'll defile all these pure and pretty flowers.

"Don't touch me..!" Even though he was so deadbeat on his mindset, he didn't try to push you away, was it out of consideration for the flowers or because he didn't dare hurt you after seeing Lucifer in you? No, hardly so, you could see right through his facade. He was probably thinking about how awful this situation was, but you knew he was lying to himself.

To prove your point, you stopped, leaning back and using your arms to support yourself off the ground, you apologized almost half-heartedly, "Alright, sorry then, I won't touch you. So, you do as you see fit. Climb off if that's what you truly want." Once again you surprised the angel with your actions, he didn't think you'd be so willing.

Only when you stopped pleasuring him he noticed that he actually missed the bubbly and warm feeling of your touch or that his erection was throbbing almost painfully so. He glanced down in disbelief, humiliation filling his senses. If he had to be blunt he had absolutely no idea how to react to this, so he did the only thing he could think of, doing whatever you did. Mind you his brain was already turned into mush due to all the tension from before.

Skeptically, he rolled his hips along your thighs, squeezing his lips shut in a poor attempt to stiffen his moans. At this rate, he was going to overstimulate himself since he didn't know what he was doing. Pride thrown out of the window while he bit back his shame, desperately grinding against you with that flushed look on his face. Small, muffled whines still seeped through his almost, almost water-tight defense. "Don't you dare... say anything... mhm!!"

He knew how hypocritical he was being, doing exactly what he apparently ‘hated’, that's why he didn't want to hear any mean comments from You. But his body moved on its own, he couldn't stop chasing after his own bliss. Why did it have to feel so good anyway? To drag his cock along your thigh, grinding his pre into your clothes... You watched the show unfold with attentive eyes, smirking as if you were saying, "Told ya". His grip on your shoulders got tighter, almost painful to bear.

Then he laid his forehead against the crook of your neck, body shivering tremendously while he groaned, "I-I... bloody hell... you did this to me." That angelic voice of his grazed your skin, hot and laced with need. "I don't know why I'm.. hngg, reacting l-like this..." He continued, egging you on, not getting to the point. "So, what are you getting at?" Again, you were aware of what he wanted from you, but you wanted to hear it from him personally.

“What I mean is- you... you take over!” Suddenly he leaned back to stare right into your eyes, he was still crying from both eyes. This time you were sure it wasn't due to his self-pity and sadness. You reached out for his cheek, cupping his face. His skin was hot, so much so that your hand felt ice cold against him. He leaned into your touch, lips squeezed into a pout, brows furrowed as he held his gaze low. "I thought you didn't like it?" You cooed, rubbing his tears away with your thumb.

Michael stayed quiet, he couldn't argue with that, he was the one that desperately pushed your touch away. That's why he just slumped back against you, mumbling, "P-please... I don't like— this heat either... make it go away..." Just to mess with him some more, you hummed, tilting your head to the side, "Hmm, I don't know, can't you do it yourself?" Now the angel was gritting his teeth, you wondered if you went too far. Much to your surprise, he pulled you into a deep, clumsy kiss.

The salty taste of his tears grazed your lips, his tongue messily stumbled into your mouth and he slurped and swindled it around aimlessly. You stayed still for a second, partly due to you getting startled, as well as you being in awe about how bad he was at kissing. Perhaps it was his first kiss, how cute, he's willingly gifting it to you. Since he has given you something so valuable, you had to show him a good time now, ain't that right?

Slowly, to not scare him, you moved your tongue as well, meeting his eager kiss with a smile on your lips. Closing your eyes to fully immerse yourself, only after seeing the embarrassed look on his blushy features. While he was distracted, you placed your graceful fingers around his slim waist again, giving him little instruction on what to do. Then, once he got into a rhythm, you moved your leg to meet his thrusts.

His heat and wetness already seeped through your pants, soaking your skin with his sticky substances. Yet you didn't bother, focusing solely on him and his pleasure. After a few sucks on your side, against his willing body, he started moaning into the kiss. Long, drawn-out moans that ended with a high-pitched whine for more, "ahhnnngh.. mhmm-uhm!!"

His hips suddenly jerked forwards, his poor cock was leaking and twitching helplessly, wagging around like some kind of tail. The neglect was impossible to overlook. May it be for his red, swollen tip that was decorated with glistening pearls of pre, or his bulging veins that looked like they were about to pop, it didn't matter. All he knew was he wanted more of this ecstatic, hypnotizing feeling that only you could provide.

Gradually, his movements became faster and more sloppy, your grip on him was so tight that his skin bruised. He choked, gagging on your tongue, throwing his head back to break the kiss. This was too much, too intense..! That poor birdy needs a break, or his brain will melt! Despite that, you grabbed him by his wing and forced him to stay still, lips crashing against his again. The feeling of your hand on his wing only intensified his pleasure, making him more erratic as electricity coursed through him.

You weren't done nor satisfied yet, hence you shoved your tongue down his throat again. "Mffhhmm!! ♡♡~! Y/n- I- nghhH..!!" This sensation, of something tingling inside him, threatened to burst at any rate. How was he supposed to hold himself back? All resistance fell on deaf ears and crumbled, and he felt himself being brought over the edge of bliss and sanity. For a moment that was supposed to be forbidden for him, or downright sinful, he felt strangely warm inside.

He hadn't felt this fuzzy and at ease for a long time, and so, he did what his instincts told him, he embraced the feeling. Tears poured from his eyes like little waterfalls, his face ruined to the point of being unrecognizable, and his wing flapping around in a pathetic attempt to balance out the pleasure. He grabbed a fistful of your clothes, almost digging holes into them as he relentlessly rode your thigh. He felt weak, so powerless like never.

His knees have been shaking for quite some time now. If it wasn't for your hands on his hips, he would have slumped forward and fallen into your embrace, that was how weak he was. More sweet whispers of pleasure slipped from his swollen lips, sending a tingle down your spine. "Hmmm... m' su-sumthin's cummin'..!♥︎♡!!" Michael tried to warn you, head so empty he couldn't form proper sentences. Not to mention you were still making out with him, rendering it almost impossible for him to speak coherently.

His dick twitched around a few times again, the tip was rather rubbing against your belly than your thighs, leaving behind strings of pre in its wake. Finally, after an eternity of tension and promised pleasures, he felt himself reaching his limit. The feeling was nothing he had ever experienced before, he couldn't even try to put it into words that was how mind-blowing it was. With one last meek try to warn you, which ended up sounding more like a high-pitched shriek of bliss and pure, primal ecstasy, he came all over the two of you.

“MhNMHHH~ aaAhHHnNNGGh♡♡♥︎♡♥︎～!!” Tridal waves of pleasure surged through his veins, making him shudder due to the intensity. His toes curled, wing flapping uncontrollably as thick ropes of white cum spurt out of his way too-overstimulated dick. It splattered across your clothes, and his as well. Judging by the amount of glowing fluids he shot out, he must have been pent up. Once again, you took the first orgasm ever of an angel, and it felt weirdly fun.

All this pleasure was too much for an inexperienced virgin angel like him~ his mind basically blanked out during his ejaculation, causing him to whimper and groan like some animal in heat, "Ah- uhm.? Nghh, uh-hnggh ♥︎♡♡!" He never knew there was pleasure like this, this amazing and tingly. It was just like the day he lost his eye.

You weren't even sure what he was trying to say, maybe nothing, maybe insults, whatever it was you didn't really care. Instead, you were fascinated by how different yet similar his reaction was to Raphael's. So it was true that angels were as bland as their buildings, with no real knowledge of what the pleasures of the flesh meant. You smiled, looking at his wrecked face. Still as red as ever, with dried-out tears stuck to his skin, and drool hanging out of his mouth, he has never looked more beautiful.

His wing has also calmed down, it was almost limping next to his head. Eyes still a little unfocused as he slowly regained his clarity, moving his hand to his face to rub his puffy eyes. That silky, untangled hair was a little messy more, and his clothes wrinkled. "That was a little too much stimulation for your first, huh?" You joked, and he didn't have the strength to give you a sassy answer, but he glared at you nonetheless. It was more of an I'm-too-tired-for-this glare than anything else though.

You didn't move from your spot, not wanting to rush him, giving him enough time to collect himself until he deemed himself ready to stand up from your lap. In the meantime, you noticed that the sad scent that radiated from him has dissipated, at least for now. Somehow, you felt really proud of yourself for that, smiling under your breath as you placed a kiss on his forehead.

Michael squeezed his eyes with a pout but didn't resist. His argument or defense for himself was that he was too worn out and tired, for now, and that he had enough opportunities to kill you in the future. It was nothing else but excuses, considering angels are just delusional beings at their core. As soon as he stood up on his wobbly legs, you wanted to ask how he was doing, that's when Raphael emerged from behind the doorframe.

His head peeked into the garden as he smirked darkly, mischievously even. "Pff, you look like a horny beast, Michael. Was it fun, screaming so loud I could hear your disgraceful moaning from miles away?" You stared at the blond angel with a skeptical look, he was acting as if he didn't act just the same. Then, he turned to you and said, "Anyway, y/n, you, come with me. I have something to show you." Now he stood in the doorframe with his entire figure, leaned against it.

You stood up from where you were previously sitting, and answered all carefree as you walked past him, "Okay ~ lemme get changed first." Raphael made way for you when you walked by and nodded in acknowledgment. Once you were gone, he made eye contact with his dear brother and had a slight scorn on his face. Michael frowned back at him, brushing off the dust from his clothes, even though there were bigger problems about his appearance than that. Like his disheveled hair, or the traces of shining cum on his shirt.

“What, don't like the fact they aren't only yours?” After a quick glaring contest, Michael spoke up, a sneer present in his voice. He got closer to Raphael, now standing right in front of him, crossing his arms around his chest. Though it seemed he had recovered very quickly, his legs and knees were still a little uneasy. "...I can't say I'm pleased with it, but they are free to do as they wish." The Blondie said, averting his gaze for a split second.

“How unusual of you, sharing was never your strong point.” The black-haired seraphim commented. A snarky laugh erupted from the red angel, and he scoffed, "You are one to talk." Afterward, he turned around, waving his hand as if to say goodbye, "It's a shame that I'm not the only angel who has experienced god's given pleasure now, but oh well, I'm still their first, remember it well." With that, Raphael disappeared into the building, leaving Michael standing at the entrance to the garden, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth.

Tags: @shianarou @ghostiegirl56 @thisisnotangel @ghostgoosygoose @aghrentroplayer @i-dont-fooken-know @chuuya-brainrot @allyfoxglove @thigh-o-saur @fallenthemisticalyingyang @fem-dom-roze

Nini!rant 2.0:

I found many different translations for the meaning of the mentioned flowers, but these are the ones that I liked best.

Lily of the valley: purity, happiness, nostalgia, sadness, pain, death

According to the bible, lily of the valley is most infamously mentioned in the Song of Solomon (2:11). It’s also sometimes used as a metaphor or comparison to Jesus Christ, due to its sweet scent and white colour (Ephesians 5:2). White, which is knows to be a sin-free colour, used to describe a person without sin -> Michael still sees luci as a person without sin

There’s also a saying that lilies are the tallest of flowers, but hangs its head down, symbolising humbleness (Philippians 2:6~8). Also it’s supposed to have a lot of medical qualities, so it fits lucifer, who’s a healer.

Gardenia: purity, harmony, sweetness, joy, secret love

Here, it’s also qualities and things lucifer wishes for Michael. Like harmony, joy. Then, how he sees him and thinks about him. I thought it’d be cute haha

I choose them very carefully, there was quite a lot of thought behind them, that’s why it got its own special mention here :]

[sl3epyaf]

WHB Kings as parents

Adopted or biological- These are just my headcanons of the kings as parents.

Now do I think the kings would be good parents? Ehh.. maybe? It honestly depends.. but also for Beel for an example I feel like he'd accidentally forget you somewhere or just legit leave you with Bael- (I promise i'm not slandering him I love him sm)

Update: I did make a small fic but tweaked the concept:

Beep beep

Honestly the best parent out of the kings- considering his experience in raising his brothers when he was an angel- well overall the best dad tbh.

I feel like Lucifer would tell you stories about heaven if he deems them safe enough for kids

So maybe about the scenery, about his past etc.

He'd definitely teach you important life lessons- once you're old enough to atleast understand somewhat.. that's when the life lessons start.

Might even teach you medicine incase you're curious about it

You and Gamigin are the chaos twins but Lucifer still loves you both.

Your future lovers better PRAY to God that they pass the Lucifer test, if they don't they can kisses their asses goodbye without an anesthetic

I don't think he knows shit about parenting

Atleast Levi will make sure someone (Foras cough cough) keeps an eye on you 24/7 to make sure you're safe.

Leviathan will not be the most affectionate to you but he still cares for you

If you mention wanting something expect to find it in your room. Don't ask him though, he'll deny it 100%.

You'll have the best fashion ever, if you're his child then naturally you have to look good as him, just not better, he'll get envious.

Your future lovers also better pray to someone that they'll pass the Leviathan test (Failure rate 99,9%). If they don't they're turned into coffin monster food, simple as that.

This can go either two ways

He'll leave you with Bael

And Bael will curse him out for it..

But Beel will send you tons of gifts that he's either found or gotten while he's been out, which may or may not include wine because he doesn't know that it's not safe for children to consume- but atleast you'll have a stash for when you're an adult?

Bael also curses him out for this and he may or may not have stolen a bottle or two because he's tired of Beelzebub's shit.

Second option- he brings you with him at all times which is like- good job your life is a constant roadtrip.

You'll need a few- hundred phones to for your pictures unless you have godly memory

When Beel forgets something he asks you about the memory and 100% wants you to send him pictures of the moment if you have them.

Beel will also 100% want to create tons of memories with you so he doesn't forget that you're his child.

Your partners might have to pass the Beelzebub test a few times because he'll forget..

but on the good side atleast they can sorta memorize the answers in advance for the next time they have to retake the test?

The best dad #2

I mean come on, mf had a wife and kids.

He'll often take you out to visit earth and during that time he'll ignore the people swooning over him, your enjoyment is his top priority.

If you're in an amusement park/arcade he might charm the employees to give you free plushies..

Honestly though Asmodeus might be the reason why you're single.. If your partner is a devil I can guarantee you that they'll run to the fucking north pole to avoid taking the Asmo test that determines whether or not they're good enough for you.

And Asmodeus has the highest standards, he wants the best for his child..

But other than that he's on the same level as Lucifer- maybe honestly even higher?

If you end up as a spoiled child it's all Mammon's fault.

Mf will buy you anything you want including stuff from earth

Nobody also dares to fuck with you considering how big Mammon is-

I'll be 100% honest if you're holding a birthday party or just any event Bimet will be there and he will try to charge people for everything- A guest wants to use the bathroom? Pay him 50 bucks.

And of course Mammon is watching him not giving a damn- in fact he might tell you to look up to Bimet..

When it comes to your partners I'm honestly not sure- I feel like Mammon would have them prove their worth to him in some kind of way considering you deserve nobody but the best.

The Mammon test might include having your partners give him treasures that he hasn't discovered yet.. so uhh- welp, that's nice.

You're Beleth's child now, congrats you're switching fathers like it's musical chairs!

No but- Beleth will look after you 99,9% of the time. The only time when he's not looking after you is nap/bed time.

During that time you're 100% with Belphegor and he'll make sure you get ZERO nightmares. Your sleep is important to him (Just like you are- he just doesn't have the energy to take care of you all the time)

Imma be 100% fr- You're gonna have piercings.

Your partners have to worry about the Beleth test more than the Belphegor test considering his only requirement is that his sleep (and yours) doesn't get disturbed.

You might end up as short as him-

Jokes aside you'll have a FUN childhood. Satan will 100% let you on his motorcycle.

If you don't want a motorcycle later in life I'd be shocked honestly.

He'll also teach you the classic Satan yeeting method- (Aka ass kicking to the Gehenna devils)

Does Satan really know how to parent? Not really but he'll try his best

If something annoys you/makes you sad prepare for it's funeral- whether it's a devil or an object. How dare something/someone annoy you or make you sad.

When it comes to the Satan test I feel like It'd be a motorcycle race.. If your partner doesn't win they'll get their asses kicked out of Gehenna and into Paradise Lost..

[m3lodyxo]

Salvation for the damned

Priest!Sanji x fem!Reader smut

Minors, do not interact!!!

Author's note: This is my first smut, go easy on me. I'm not used to actually posting what I write. Ever since I saw @hunnismokah 's fanart of Sanji as a priest I haven't had a WINK of sleep. She has unleashed something feral into the world.

Warning: if you're uncomfortable with themes of religion, I'll advise you to scroll away.

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"What is troubling you, my child?"

Sanji fancied himself a man of God. From a young age, he knew his role in life was to serve The All Mighty and help lost souls find the right path again.

He gave an Oath, and swore his body, mind and soul to The Lord, in promise to never stray from the path of light. And Sanji was a man of his word. Hence why he was sure you were sent by the Judge Of All, to test his strength and devotion.

Oh, you were the most angelic being he had ever laid eyes upon. Or at least so he thought, because, in truth, he saw you as a temptation crafted by The Devil specifically to torture him. And as much as he prayed and kneeled before God, begging for expiation, you wouldn't leave. As hard as he cried out to the heavens for a chance to atone, his screams were never heard.

You would always creep into his dreams, where he was most vulnerable, and force him into sin. You were a foul succubus, the daughter of Satan, and you have come to ensure his fall.

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"Father, I must atone for these terrible sins I've committed against the Holy One."

He hadn't expected you to turn up so late, looking deeply troubled near the Church's entrance. He let you in without a second thought, and as soon as you reached the altar, you dropped down to your knees, your hands clasped together, looking up at him in desperation.

His face softened and he smiled ever so slightly. He was glad you finally decided to turn yourself over to The Light. Sanji lifted his hand over your head and spoke with firmness in his voice.

"Speak now child, lay yourself bare before The Lord and share your troubles. Pray that He may forgive you."

He felt closest to God during confessions. It was as if The All Mighty spoke through him, accepting the wrongs of those before him into his heart and engulfing them in pure holy light.

"I've been plagued by impure thoughts, Father. The sin of Lust and Desire has claimed me and shackled me in its repulsive hold and I have become its slave."

Through the silence, a shaky breath was all that could be heard. Sanji felt his body shudder and pool in a cold sweat, a chill running down his spine. His knees were so weak he thought he might keel over any moment now, had he not been holding Saint Patrick's Cross so tightly in his other hand.

Taking a deep breath in through his nose, Sanji composed himself. Right now, he had to help this poor woman redeem herself before The Lord.

"Very good, my child. The first step to redemption is seeking out the forgiveness of God. Stand."

You did as you were told immediately, without asking a single question. Good. The expectant look in your eyes could melt the resolve of the most cold-hearted man, had you only wished to do so.

"For your heinous crimes, you shall face punishment, and you shall suffer, and you shall be freed. Now, are you ready to carry out God's task?"

Oh, that spark in your eyes. He could almost feel the devotion radiate off your body into zaps of energy. Almost. "I am ready, Father. I swear that I will do whatever it is The Lord asks of me."

Before you even finished speaking, he had already turned around and instructed you to follow him.

------------------------------------------------------

Not before long, you found yourself in his private quarters. Just as you were about to question why, he called out to you, and you answered. Sanji was sat at the edge of his bed, looking up at you with a gentle smile adorning his face.

"Kneel, child."

You sank back to your knees, reaching out with your hands and hesitantly placing them atop his own, all while looking at him. He extended his hand to you and gently cupped your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

Breath caught in your throat, you dared not utter a word, lest all kinds of sinful thoughts escape through, in-between your teeth.

"Do you know what you must do?" You could feel his thumb brush across your plush lips and pull the bottom one down.

"Yes, Father."

Sanji felt your hands drag up his thighs and settle on the zipper of his pants. He held back a groan at the feeling of your hands on him, inhaling sharply once you pulled his cock out and sat up on your knees to press a featherlight kiss to the tip.

You licked your lips and pressed one more kiss to it before wrapping them around the head, sucking lightly. He let out a gasp and shut his eyes, basking in the way your perfect lips wrapped so well around the head of his dick. Sanji felt you pull away and opened his eyes only to see you spit on his cock and wrap a hand around to stroke him. Your palm so soft and gentle, your pace slow and sensual, easing him into the feeling of your skin pressed to his. He was trying so hard not to let out soft moans of pleasure as you touched him, your skin igniting a spark in him that ate away at his soul deliciously so.

He could feel sin seep through his skin and into his heart, pulling him away from all that he deemed right, enticing him to beg for more. But he couldn't allow it, couldn't allow to lose himself to such carnal desires.

His resolve, however, faltered the second you took him into your mouth again. Enveloping his cock in its warmth and continuing to stroke whatever you failed to fit with your hand. Sanji let out a whine, and pressed his palm to the back of your head, keeping you in place. You had long since closed your eyes, basking in the feeling of him filling up your mouth, making you imagine what it would feel like for him to bury himself deep inside you and claim you as his.

Oh, you've dreamed of him for so long. You knew it was wrong to want a man of God, selfish, to wish he'd devote himself to you instead. You'd stay awake at night, desperately pumping your fingers to feel even the slightest relief, but your body knew what it wanted. And it wanted it badly.

Whatever you did, you couldn't satisfy your hunger for the man, and tonight, after hopelessly trying to chaise you high for hours and failing miserably, you decided enough was enough. You had to have him.

Snapping back into the present, you moved your tongue against him, hearing him let out yet another sinful cry, tears threatening to spill over his eyes. You could feel yourself clenching around nothing. Sanji tugged on your hair, and a moan escaped your throat, making him mewl in ecstasy.

He could feel a knot begin to form, like a balloon ready to burst, so he pushed you away, panting.

You looked up at him, confused. Had he not enjoyed himself? Did he perhaps change his mind? Maybe he finally realised how wretched you were.

"Come, sit." You wasted no time in hastily removing your bottoms and straddling his lap. Sanji placed both his hands on your hips, pressing gentle kisses to your neck and collarbone. A sigh left his lips when he felt your fingers swiftly undoing his ponytail and running your fingers through his long, golden locks of hair.

You aligned yourself up with his cock and sank, taking him in inch by delicious inch, filling yourself. Once you finally fit him all inside, a breath of relief left you.

He was still pressed closely to your chest, holding you tightly and squeezing your hips as if you'd disappear should he let go. And his grip became tighter once you started moving. Sanji felt like he'd lose his mind by how tight, wet and warm your walls were, pulsating and squeezing around him and greedily sucking him in.

"Father...please." Your voice was so weak as if the wind was knocked out of you, leaving you gasping and craving for more. He groaned and tried to meet your hips with his, thrusting up into your cunt in chase of the pleasure engulfing him whole.

"Fuck, you feel so good my sweet." He was quickly losing himself in you. Breathing in your scent and feeling it fill up his lungs, it was almost as if his mind was spiralling into insanity.

"Call me by my name...Let me hear you say it." You could barely register what he was asking of you, too drunk on the feeling of the man you've been craving for so long finally giving you what you've been wanting.

"Sanji, please don't stop." A shameless whine interrupted you. You couldn't form coherent thoughts anymore. All you could think about was him and how good he was making you feel.

He just kissed your forehead and began fucking into you harder, hitting that special spot deep inside you every time. He knew you were close by the way you tightened so much around him, it was evident.

"I know darling, 'm close too. Fuck- Been dreaming about this pussy for months. Been dreaming of filling it up to the brim with my cum. Is that what you want love? For me to paint your insides white?"

All you could do was throw your head back and moan like an animal in heat, desperately moving your hips to chase that high.

"Use your words, sweetness. Tell me you want it." He didn't falter in his movements, keeping up the brutal pace and abusing your cunt, set on hearing you.

You locked your eyes with his, barely able to keep them open. "Want your cum Sanji, please give it to me. Want you to fill me up." He groaned, hearing you barely get out the words, too focused on the pleasure he was giving you.

"Since you asked so nicely, you better take it all." You could feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as you tipped over the edge, his words alone making you lose your mind. You moaned out his name again and again, like a prayer and he felt that knot finally snap.

With a final thrust of his hips, Sanji came, spilling deep inside you, painting your walls white. You felt your insides warm up as you milked him of every last drop until he was spent.

With both of you panting, he gripped your face with one hand to make you face him again and asked. "What do you say now?"

"Thank you, Father."

[stagefoureddiediaz]

So its 2am and I’m still on my ‘911 is using The Wizard of Oz theming to tell Eddie’s story’ soapbox and thought I’d talk about something I didn’t go into in my other 911/Wizard of oz post - the fact that Oz, the Emerald City, the wicked witch of the west and the Wizard are all an allegory for the Catholic Church and Christian faith more widely!

I’ve made quite a few posts about 911 playing into religious iconography and so I thought I’d add to that post count by talking about the (anti) religious theming in The Wizard of Oz more generally and how it relates to Eddie’s arc!

The Emerald city is designed to look like a Cathedral

The way the wizard of oz - both the books and the film, plays on religious imagery is similar to the way that C.S Lewis played on it in his Chronicles of Narnia series - but where C.S Lewis created a positive allegory that upheld religion and religious beliefs, Frank Baum was creating a more negative allegory- where religion does't provide the answers, but the individual person

Dorothy starts her journey in Kansas - in the real world, but finds herself in the technicolour world of Oz after a tornado transports her over the rainbow. The film, especially, plays on the idea of her having a head injury - causing her to have this vivid dream of this fantastical land - which is why we see the people of Kansas appear as characters in Oz.

Oz is clearly playing on the idea of heaven and hell and limbo. The wicked witch of the west represents the devil (lucifer) and her castle Hell. While the Emerald city represents the house of God (the church). Glinda is supposed to be an arch angel. Remember that lucifer is a fallen arch angel.

The wizard is a man from the same world as Dorothy and is meant to be viewed as a priest (most likely the pope) - priests being Gods representatives on earth

While the silver (book) or ruby (film) slippers are a representation of enlightenment.

Dorothy is searching for a way out of her ‘coma’ dream and so goes on a journey through Limbo to the house of god to try and get home- along the way the devil tries to stop her getting to the church and subsequently into heaven using the tricks at its disposal. The devil doesn’t succeed and Dorothy and her friends navigate their way to the emerald city and complete the tasks they think god has set for them so they may gain what they seek - to go home, brains, a heart, courage.

It is here that they discover the lies of the priest and once he is gone they all figure out they had what they sought all along - they are enlightened and didn’t actually need the priest or the house of god at all. From there Dorothy chooses to go home and awakes from her coma back in the real world - but retains the knowledge of what she dreamt in her coma.

The wizard of oz as a piece of media (in either book form or film form) is showing the audience that they hold their own power within them and it cannot be granted by outside forces.

The film chooses to show Oz the great and powerful in much the same way as the crucifix is displayed in a catholic church - praying to a false idol in search of what you seek

The wizard hiding behind his curtain is akin to the priest behind the confessional screen - offering absolution and healing etc, when he doesn’t actually possess the power to do so because he is just a man pedalling falsehoods and lies.

The residents of the emerald city in their monochromatic green colouring are an allegory for the members of the churches congregation - blindly following the edits and rules set out by the church in the hope of a happy and fulfilled life - but they are shown to be almost drone like - subjugated and controlled into mindless devotion in the same way people follow the churches teachings without questioning.

Dorothy and here friends never change though - they don’t start wearing green and blending in to the emerald city and they find out that they actually have the power to achieve their desires within them the entire time - as represented by the silver/ruby slippers.

the moral of the Wzard of Oz is ultimately that what we desire or want is within and it cannot be found externally by putting our faith in something outside of us like the church. - Dorothy and her friends always had the things they sought - they just had to figure that out for themselves.

This ties into Eddies entire journey perfectly.

Just because I couldn't write a post about Eddie and not have a picture of him!

Eddies Kansas pre the tornado is his childhood - before he was parentified/husbandified by Helena Diaz.

The tornado is Shannon - she provides him with the escape from his old life and sets him down in California (Oz).

There is a reason the Wizard of Oz theming is heavily coded toward him and his arrival on the show - it is the idea that he has landed in California (Oz) and on top of the wicked witch of the East (hence why we never see Eddie at the same level as the red shoes in the rubble) and has been following the yellow brick road the entire time.

Chris is waiting for Eddie on a yellow strip of flooring at the end of 203

Bobby (Glinda) who shares the catholic faith with Eddie, brings him to the 118 and helps guide him forward on his journey - providing advice and support as and when Eddie needs it, but always watching over him. (one could view Eddie leaving the 118 as the equivalent of the poppy field in the film - leaving his path briefly before returning to it when he wakes up in mayday 'god has spoken')

He has now reached the crux of matters - he has arrived at the Emerald city. It seems likely here that in 804 we will see him have his encounter with the Priest who like the wizard in Oz, will guide him towards a reckoning with his mother (the wicked witch of the west) in order to find his way to inner peace and who he is supposed to be. Once he has dealt with Helena he will discover that he won't find what he seeks in the church - but it will have provided him with something important that plays into the idea that he is a combination of all four characters who journey along the yellow brick road, as their individual traits all represent a part of himself Eddie needs to embrace in order to break free of the chains that have held him back his whole life.

The knowledge (scarecrow) of who he truly is that will also make him realise he already has what his heart (tin man) truly wants if he has the courage (lion) to go for it and that it will get him home (Dorothy) where he truly belongs - accepting himself as a queer man who is in love with his best friend and Chris's forgiveness and return to him in LA.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

*NSFW* I'm Alive (Yandere!Monster x GN!Reader)

CW: Dead Dove, dub-con, death, gore, inhuman anatomy, sexual non-sexual penetration, mind control, angst, you have been warned

Breathing hurt.

His entire body convulsed as he inhaled, the writhing mass that was his body cracked and groaned as it pulsed. He was once a man, though he no longer remembered much of his previous life. There was a torso emerging from the ball of flesh that was his lower half, and sometimes when he closed his eyes he could recall owning a pair of legs; but now he was just an abomination.

Trapped under the earth in what seemed to be the ruins of a temple or some kind of forgotten catacombs, he spent his days lying in a corner, eating the rats that came and tried to devour his body that reeked of decay.

Sometimes, he dreamt. There is a dream of a building called a "church", where a woman would clasp her hands together and speak to an invisible man. She called it prayer, and told him if he prays then her god will answer, but whenever he awoke and interlocked his red, skinless fingers together, the woman's god never granted him death.

Death never comes, nor does relief.

There was only rot, and pain, and rats.

Each and every day. He didn't know how he knew, because he hadn't seen the sun since becoming a monster, but he knew that there was such thing as a sun, and a sky, and that the day changed to night, which would become weeks, then years. And he knew that he has been down there for a very long time.

Then, one day, there was light.

And God granted him his relief.

.................................

The group of adventurers broke through the sealed entrance to the abandoned tower. It once stretched all the way to the heavens, but had sunk into the dirt centuries ago. Half of the excited group were thrill seeking scholars, willing to put their lives on the line to uncover the secrets of the Inverted Tower, and the other half were monster slaying treasure hunters, investigating the ancient rumors of forgotten relics. Among them was (Reader), a hero unknown.

The dreams began when they were just a child. Dreams of a man begging them not to leave, falling to his knees as the walls crumbled around the two and the familiar stranger's skin peeled off like cracking paint. A nun in the dreams would assure (Reader) that it wasn't their fault. But it hurt. It was too much for a child to see. Seeing themselves, but not themselves, a body foreign yet undeniably their own, reliving the moment when they chained a man to the floor, then locked the door and left him to die.

Now they stood at a hole in the ground: the magnet of fate pulling them into a place they felt would be identical to their dreams.

And they were right.

The halls seemed to be persevered by magic, dirty and dusty, but still fairly untouched by the erosion of time. Landing onto the top floor was like dropping into one of their dreams. Memories from someone else invaded (Reader's) mind, and forced them to recall things they never experienced before.

Adopted by the Tower of God, (Reader) was proud to have been chosen amongst all of the other orphans. Their skills were unmatched, as was their intellect. Only six years old, and the magical talent scouts had determined that they had what it took to learn to be a great warrior for 'The Cause'.

There was another child around (Reader's) age that had been adopted from a different country. He looked like an angel, with gold hair and eyes so clear and blue that they looked like the sky.

The floor shook dangerously as the group worked their way to the stairs. A healer tried to hold (Reader) back, concern filling his face. "You look really pale, do you need to sit down?"

"We literally just entered!" A thug stage whispered, nervous to make any loud noises. No one knew what was in the tower, but there had been many stories about monsters and demons. Some said that the devil himself pulled the tower into the earth out of jealousy towards God.

"I'm fine.." (Reader) wiped the sweat off their forehead with the back of their hand. "I'm just getting a weird sense of deja vu..."

The children entered the tower's chapel hand in hand. It was nearly empty, save for a nun kneeling before a terrifying statue of a cloaked figure. Despite wearing a habit, she was an unusual looking nun, with her eyebrows shaved off and tattoos visible from under her hood.

"Welcome, children." She gave a small smile, one that seemed more tired than welcoming.

"You look weird." The golden boy gripped (Reader's) arm tighter.

A genuine laugh erupted sharply, startling the kids. "I am a clerical nun."

"What's that?"

She revealed her hands to the small orphans before her. Sparkling light rose from her fingers like snowflakes falling backwards.

"The God that I serve gives me power. Power to cleanse the world of evil." The statue looming above the trio felt as though it heard her mention it; it's presence darkening and suffocating (Reader). "You were chosen because your souls glow stronger than most.. God has blessed you both."

"All you have to do is pray.."

An axe slashed through an attacking bat. Only on the 112th floor and the group had already began to run into creatures from the beyond. Lesser evils such as minion bats and living slime charged the group as ferociously as possible, mad with hunger. As they continued on, a growing affection for the young boy bloomed within (Reader's) heart, reliving someone else's journey of friendship and love, with a terrifying sense of anxiety. Each new remembrance of secret handholding and hushed murmurs behind closed doors gave (Reader) a rush of dopamine, but also made them fearful to continue. They knew there was a memory they didn't want to uncover; one that would connect to the dreams they've had since forever, and it scared them.

On the edge of puberty, (Reader) and the Boy could feel that something within them was changing, but being raised by a guild of monster hunters left them without the basic learnings of what was happening to their bodies and minds. The two were surrounded by loving adults who cared for the orphans like family, but continued to isolate themselves as they grew, relying on each other in secret more and more.

The two hid under the blanket, sharing a bed long after it was time for lights out. (Reader) held onto the Boy's slightly clammy hand, repeating a prayer in their head for God to make their heart stop hurting. It was as though they were allergic to their best friend and brother. Whenever he looked into their eyes they felt a tidal wave of emotion so intense it nearly brought them to tears. However, at the same time they couldn't leave his side. They wanted to hug him so tightly that his body would melt into their's.

"I don't like Mother Lillian." The Boy whispered through pouting lips. "She keeps making us take our lessons apart from each other."

"Haha. That's because you refuse to do your work when we sit together." (Reader) knocked their forehead against his lightly.

In the black of their room, they couldn't see the Boy's face blushing, so they assumed that the heat they felt was coming from their own cheeks.

"Schoolwork is boring... I'd rather spend time with you."

The thing on the ground floor could smell his salvation. That prayer he had mumbled in incoherent words for decades was finally heard by his God. A person who's name he hadn't forgotten despite his language skills diminishing to nothing but grunts and groans had finally come for him. He would no longer be alone.

A horrifying sound of flesh ripping echoed throughout the corridor as he tore his body away from the wall he had begun to fuse to. It was agony, dragging his living corpse across the floor, but he knew that it would all be worth it.

Soon.

(Reader's) talent for the arcane accelerated, like a snowball gently tumbling into an avalanche. Praise and recognition were no strangers to the young teen, but as their recognition grew they were kept apart from their best friend for longer and longer intervals. While it hurt to be away from him, the genius had no idea the absolute trauma the separation was inflicting on him.

Mother Lillian held her bleeding forehead, tears falling not for herself, but for the young man she saw as her own son. The Boy stood above her with a candlestick holder raised high above his head, ready to swing again. This was the scene (Reader) interrupted, lashing out on instinct with a holy light, hoisting their best friend off his feet with a frantic wave of their hand. "STOP!"

Blood continued dripping from the tattooed cleric as her aging body was pulled into her other child's arms. It wasn't a deadly strike, but a second surely would have ended her. She was powerful, but took a vow long ago to only use her magic against evil, so even having her brow split open she refused to defend herself, because that would mean that she thought her adopted son was evil.

And even though he didn't believe it, she did love him.

"It's all her fault! She won't let us be together! She's keepING YOU AWAY FROM ME!!"

Moisture sweat from the walls.

The heat was becoming unbearable. Cooling potions were being consumed in fairly consistent dosages as the party descended. But it wasn't the earth's core, nor the presence of hell itself that caused (Reader's) fever.

They could still feel the sting of betrayal when they threw their best friend off of their mother.

"No.. that wasn't me.." the hero wobbled on their feet, fingernails clawing at their scalp.

A clay vase nearly toppled as (Reader) clipped their hip on the corner of the little table it was resting on.

They could see the Boy watching them from behind the ugly vase, and it made their stomach feel strange. His shoulders had grown wide and his chest broad. The Boy no longer looked like a boy, and (Reader) couldn't block out the odd, scary new feelings they had for him.

"STOP!!" (Reader) took off, slamming their face into a wall with a force loud enough to draw the attention of skeletons.

Said monsters hobbled closer to the group of panicking adventurers, drawing the attention of the dizzy and confused hero, who recognized the tatters draping the undeads' bones immediately.

Clerical wizards and holy people smiled at the young adult knowingly as they tried to explain, with all seriousness, the illness plaguing their body whenever their "brother" was near.

"Calm down!" The healer begged, trying to cool the panicking person down.

"No! You should all be in heaven! Why are you here?!"

Why am I here?

Whispers seeped out of the door to the Boy's room, whispers the jealous cleric-in-training on the other side did not recognize. Unable to contain their envy, (Reader) burst into the room, only to see their exhausted blonde friend standing alone in the center.

"[•••••], who were you talking to?" They demanded, eyes narrowed and shaking. At hearing his own name his cloudy eyes widened, accentuating the bags hanging heavy underneath.

"I was just praying.." His arms engulfing his angry "friend" instantly dowsed their fire, almost hypnotizing them with his touch into forgetting that they thought they had heard a second voice. "If I'm.. If I can be as strong as you, then we'll be able to spend more time together, right?"

Your God wasn't listening, so I found a new one.

As (Reader) remembered a life that wasn't their own, so did the abomination from the basement.

Each floor that their bodies drew closer also brought back pieces of their souls; souls that could only exist together.

He came to me, and offered me a deal.

The Man woke his old friend when the sun wasn't close to rising, climbing over their body under their blankets. As soon as their lips parted to question his actions, his tongue was in their mouth.

With no light to guide them the two kissed passionately and without experience. They didn't know what they were doing, just that they needed to feel one another.

(Reader) greedily grabbed the sides of his face to pull him closer, legs shifting to feel his body against their own, instantly stopping at the realization that his face was wet under their palms.

"[•••••]?" They tried to pull back as he leaned in, trapping them against their pillows. What they first thought to be tears was too warm and thick to be water. Roughly pushing him back, (Reader) illuminated the small space with magic, frightened.

Blood leaked down and smeared across his cheeks as [•••••]'s bloated, red eyes were on the verge of popping.

"Shit, we finally got passed them!" The barbarian wheezed out. "Those boney bastards were fucking tough, no thanks to you!" He directed that last part to the nearly comatose hero being supported by the healer.

"no.."

The young magic user barely heard the sick patient whimper. They had been muttering gargles of nonsense for a few levels, so it was worrying seeing them lucid and frightened; eyes round of scared, pointing at the door the barbarian was about to open with all their strength, shaking. "No..."

"Why were they so tough..?"

The door swung open with a loud bang, and a tendril shot through, piercing the barbarian's skull and splattering the scholar behind him in brain matter.

"He had made a pact with a devil."

A man bubbling alive screamed in agony as he attempted to tear off his hands to rid himself of the holy chains keeping him tethered to the floor.

Mother Lillian made an audible sound of pain as she choked back her feelings. Years of meditation and worship, and she could not keep a stoic face despite this being her job. So many exorcisms she performed. So many monsters she'd slain.

But this was her son.

"We can exer-"

"We have already tried that." (Reader) felt their world shatter. "This was a contract, not a possession."

A paladin in golden armor offered a sorrowful expression that seemed genuine. "The only thing we can do is to put him out of his misery."

"No!" They cried out, attempting to launch themselves at the godly man as their grieving mother held them tighter to her chest. "Let me see him, please! I can talk to him! Convince him to give up the name of the devil, so we can hunt it down and save his soul!"

"That's-" The paladin was cut off by Mother Lillian's icy glare. That was a long shot. Not only would it be a reckless waste of human life to hunt down a devil for one man, said man was delirious, borderline demented. There was no reasoning with him.

Bloody holes where eyes once sat welcomed (Reader) as they entered the cellar prison.

Without his sight, he could still see. He saw with scent and sound. The sound of their blood rushing through their veins made their shape, and the natural odor of (Reader's) sweat identified the body. He smiled, another tooth falling out as he did so, joining the wet pile on the floor.

"(Reader)~.."

"Tell me the name of the devil you serve." They kept their voice even and still, despite the quake rattling their spine.

"You came for me~ Just like he said!~" A pop ended his sentence, one of his arms dislocating as he pulled on the chains to get closer.

"Just like who said?" (Reader) fell to one knee, leaning in as closely and as they safely as they could. "Please, tell me the name of the devil you made a contract with."

"And now you'll love me!" He squealed.

"I want to save you!" (Reader) grabbed his shoulders but was instantly repelled, throwing themselves away and back towards the door. His skin had slipped off and stuck to their fingers. "Please, please just tell me!"

"God made me strong so you would love me!"

(Reader) turned to run out.

"Wait. Where are you going?" His voice almost sounded like his own again. It pulled (Reader's) hand away from the handle.

"I need to hunt down the devil that did this to you." Their voice trembled, barely containing their tears.

".. what?" The smile was gone as more skin stripped off the decaying body. "No?"

The pain was beginning to return. It had left when his love entered, but now that they were threatening to leave.

"You can't leave? No! NO!" His face tore as he slammed his skull down onto the floor. "Don't leave me! You need to love me! Please don't go!"

Corpses lay around the detached person slowly coming to terms with their apparent reincarnation. They knew they never returned to that tower in their previous life. They spent their entire life searching for the devil that stole their first love's soul, and died bleeding out on a battlefield, forgotten by history and remembered by no one. Unknown to them, the tower with their forgotten family did not carry on their legacy, for it had sunk while they were searching and they had simply never heard the news.

Perhaps, there were no gods, only devils. Because even the most righteous people to have ever lived were damned to wander the tower as the undead instead of passing over to the afterlife. It wasn't fair.

(Reader) gazed up at the tumorous creature that had massacred their party with glassy eyes. The name they couldn't recall during their entire discovery of their past life rolled off their tongue as they reached out for him-

"Ydenn."

A language no longer spoken by a people that no longer lived; suddenly the language (Reader) had known their entire life was replaced by something much older.

Skinless hands grabbed (Reader) gently and raised them to eye level. "(Reader).."

He called them by their past name, bruising their hips under his fingers. (Reader) briefly worried that they were about to die, that all these years alone Ydenn thought they had abandoned him, and that all he desired for all these years was revenge.. but instead he pulled them close, smashing his face against theirs in a mock kiss.

Without lips his gums rubbed painfully against their lips, but it felt just as hungry and desperate as their first kiss under the covers. (Reader's) body may have felt different in his arms, but he knew it was them.

They parted their lips for his invading tongue, now longer and monstrous, it moved like a writhing worm inside their cheeks before pressing itself down their throat, pulsating and hot. Ydenn's hands tore off their top, effortlessly going through multiple layers to feel their bare skin against his raw muscles. He sat their body on his mound of flesh, unable to think of anything other than becoming one with them.

A bright light filled (Reader's) vision as their pants were removed, suddenly replacing the horrific scene with a pleasant dream. Lying in the bed they owned well over a century ago, Ydenn held them under his naked body, face red and glossy from his crying baby blues. "I finally have you again." With a wide smile he kissed them again, smiling harder when they eagerly reciprocated.

They pulled back just to say "I tried to save your soul, Ydenn! I'm sorry I never came back, I'm sorry for dying!"

Just like the angel (Reader) remembered him to be, his face cracked under the weight of his joy, hearing his love babble underneath him as though they were nervous of his feelings. "You came back for me~"

"I'm sorry it took so long." Now (Reader) was also smiling through tears. "I'm sorry I never told you.. that.. that I already loved you!"

(Reader) could feel his erection press against their thigh and willingly opened their legs, making room for him.

Ydenn's heavy pants hit their ear as he dropped his face into the crook of their neck, caressing his dick with one hand as he rubbed its tip between their legs. "Tell me you want to become one with me."

Shivers pimpled their skin in anticipation as they looked down between their bodies at his swollen cock. "I want to become one with you."

There was a searing pain that pieced (Reader's) core.

With a blink the dream was gone, and (Reader) was back facing the skinless half living corpse; a thick tendril made of gore and once-human meat penetrating their stomach.

Vomit and blood spat out across their chest as the throbbing entity began thrusting in and out of the wound it created. Their eyes gave away their shock at the treachery. The wound was too deep and too sudden; the immediate pain was already gone, and they felt numb from the waist down.

"Yd-Ydenn?" They choked on his name, but the gurgle of blood went unnoticed by him. Just hearing his name spurred him on. His teeth scraped against theirs as he began violently fucking the hole he had created. The tendril raped their abdomen like a prehensile penis while his hands ground their urine soaked groin against the growth that was his lower half. Each slap of their bodies bore the wound deeper, spraying blood and mulched intestine.

Between slaps were images of that dream, almost within (Reader's) grasp. They could almost feel pleasure, as they imagined running their hands through his hair as he pounded them into their bed.

They could hear the bed creaking against the hard wood floor as they reached their orgasm, excitedly moaning as they spasmed under his crushing pelvis. (Reader) could feel something building within them, threatening to pop as his dick slammed into something inside of them perfectly.

Just as it was spilling out, the rush of a climax vibrating their system, a loud thunk brought them back to their bloody reality.

Their glazed eyes lulled to the side to find the source of the loud sound.

(Reader's) severed bottom half lay on the floor, only attached to their torso by the stretched out intestines and leaky organs barely holding on.

The disembowelment of his lover didn't seem to phase the monster, still making love to them as more smaller, wriggling pieces of flesh penetrated (Reader).

They could feel the tendril writhe up into their chest, and wondered how they weren't dead yet. It rubbed itself against their heart, leaking an inhuman precum against their weakly beating organ. Through the black goop they thought they could see blue irises smiling back at them with happy tears.

"I love you, (Reader)."

Hot fluid splashed up into their brain as he came inside of their nearly hollowed out cavity, then the world went black.

There was a creature at the bottom of the tower, that no adventurer dared to attack. It never killed unprovoked, but it's kill rate was perfect.

It was a strange creature, a large ball of rotting chunks of human meat, held together by dark magic. Out of the tumor like creature sprouted two torsos, one more decayed than the other, and they were often seen embracing one another, creating ungodly sounds that echoed throughout the entire tower.

Though they forgot how to speak and see, their names never each other's mouths, repeating them over and over to one another without end. They had no need for sleep, nor rest. It was as though they forgot they needed to eat and even breathe.

They only needed each other.

[lenoue]

you're sam winchester and you're 5, your father takes you to a church where you learn of God, of prayer, of angels in white and of God's grace and love and forgiveness. You don't understand it yet, why you feel the inexplicable need to apologise in the holy room

you're sam winchester and you're 11, your brother and father haven't answered your calls for 12 hours past check in time and you're scared and small, there is nothing you can do from the dingy motel you're in but wait and fold your hands and pray and pray and pray until you hear the phone ring

you're sam winchester and you're 16, at a squallor, infinite miles away from the school you just settled in. you're so angry and you don't know what at. all you know is that you cannot do this any longer. this will kill you, what makes you you. Your fists scrap the bare rundown walls and you hope it rings all the way up to the high heaven because you cannot pray tonight like this. prayer will not save you here.

you're sam winchester and you're 24, you wonder if your father ever thinks of you in hell. you wonder if you'll be seeing him there soon. you wonder if it makes you a bad son to pray so hard to be saved. doesn't matter really, you know you couldn't meet his eyes either way

you're sam winchester and you're 26. tomorrow you will fall into eternity with who was once God's most beautiful Son. Does he know of you yet? It's an odd sentiment, you're oddly giddy. This is your apology.

you're sam winchester and you're (?????). time must have passed, it weaves around you and makes you feel loss that could be the last remnants of your humanity. Lucifer talks of God. You could see it, how God must have poured some of Him in his Sons too. The grief is far too intimate, you would know, your kind was made in God's image afterall.

you're sam winchester and you're 33, God wants you to go back to your prison cell. you understand. it was only natural. you broke out before your sentence of eternity was over.

so why does it carve you empty inside to find out that it was the devil calling out all along?

you're sam winchester and you're 33. You are sitting in a room with God. No, your eyes are not closed, your knees aren't bent, your hands are not folded in prayer. God is here. He has met you. You have felt his mortal skin.

All these years.

God has looked into your eyes, looked into your soul, heard your prayers and turned back to write another best selling novel about the hellscape that is your life

[dem1verse]

﹏ ❛ hell as well.⠀⠀⠀äs nodt.

˖⁺ ⊹୨ ★⠀the one where you speak with him after a fight with your mother.

content disclaimers ╱╱ young!reader. HEAVY angst to fluff. religious trauma & themes. mild body horror. platonic relationship. wc: 1.2k.

YOU HAVE (1) MESSAGE UNREAD !⠀⠀♡⠀⠀“for those of us who don't know/remember, i wrote a halloween themed oneshot about as nodt and it quickly became my most popular work (kinda :/) and a lot of people have asked for a part 2 so here it is! it could be read as a stand alone or as a sequel. keep in mind that although i am a former christian, this work is in no way meant to mock or slander the body of christ as a whole. most of this stems from my personal feelings and experiences. enjoy!”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"THE GRACE OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST, AND THE LOVE OF GOD..." You recited these words with the members of your church, your hands stretched forward. Each word that fell from your mouth filled you with shame. Shame for yourself. You wouldn't have been at church if it weren't for your mother's insistence. She pushed you day after day, like a cornered animal, noticing the changes in your behaviour. You no longer spoke to her. Your eyes were glassy, and you talked to yourself for hours. It wasn't until you were called to the head pastor's office that her concern turned to horror.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The pastor told her that a demonic cryptid had attached itself to you and advised her to pray for your deliverance. Kneeling on the soft carpet, you bowed your head as your mother and the pastor prayed. Their invocations grew increasingly aggressive, the carpet feeling like hot coals digging into your knees. Finally, they finished their prayers and left. Your mother gave you an inscrutable look as you both left the holy grounds.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The ride home was unbearable. Silence filled the vehicle, your mother refusing to acknowledge your presence. At home, she led you to the living room and questioned you like a criminal.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Is it true? What they told me at church, it is true?" she asked. You remained silent.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"[Name]," she declared sharply. You slowly nodded your head, her face falling. "How long?" You shrugged your shoulders.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"You don't know?" she laughed bitterly. "After everything I've done for you. I've shown you the right way. I prayed, preached, and taught you everything. You of all people know what the Devil is capable of," she lectured. "I am deeply disappointed in you. How could you allow yourself to be consumed by the Devil in such a way, my child?" The silence in the room was deafening, your lips refusing to utter a single word. Your mother pleaded for a response. "Answer me!" she demanded. And then, a sound escaped your lips. A laugh.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Your shoulders trembled as you began to chuckle, sending a chill down your mother's spine. "Are you laughing?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "God will punish you for mocking him!" But your laughter only grew louder, evolving into uncontrollable cackling. Tears mixed with your laughter as you wailed in a haunting manner. When you finally regained composure, you fixed your gaze on your mother, eyes filled with sorrow. "God? What god do you speak of?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Your mother was taken aback. She had never heard you speak in such a way before. But you continued, unleashing a torrent of pent-up emotions.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"The god who condemns those who dare to question his love? The god who remained silent as I begged for mercy until my knees bled?" You recounted every instance where you had turned to the heavens for help, only to be met with disappointment. "The one who made me a heathen, cursed to yearn for love that will never be given back? The god who remained seated on his throne, unmoved by my impassioned pleas, my desperate cries echoing through the heavens, shouting: Why am I cursed to be as I am? Why do I suffer so? Why? Why me?" you sobbed, your voice breaking. Your mother could only look on with pity as you poured out your heart. "Is that the God of whom you speak?" The question hung heavy in the air, dripping with the heavy feeling of sadness and betrayal.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Perhaps the Devil is trying to deceive me and drag me into the darkness with him. But I would rather stand by his side," you declared "But I would rather be by his fucking side than be anywhere near your god." And with that, you walked away, leaving your mother shattered and lost.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀｡ ˚ ︶︶𖤐︶︶‌ ₊ ˚

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The night had fallen, and hours had passed since the intense confrontation with your mother. Exhausted, you collapsed onto your bed and drifted into a deep slumber. As you slowly regained awareness, you were met with the sight of Äs Nodt, the enigmatic figure you had grown close to in recent months, looming over you. His presence was both comforting and unsettling as he gently caressed your cheek, a silent greeting. A faint smile tugged at your lips, acknowledging the bond that had formed between you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"why?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Hmm?" you mumbled. Äs Nodt didn't speak often, so it was quite a surprise. The silence broke at the unexpected sound of Äs's croaky voice again.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"you and i both know that my nature is far from pure. why bother trying to vindicate my presence in front of your progenitor?" he asked. He sounded confused, looking at you intently. You sighed.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"You are not a pure being, Äs Nodt," you declared with conviction. "I knew that from the moment our eyes met. You are the embodiment of darkness, a spirit that preys on the vulnerable, luring them into a web of deceit and falsehood. As I stood before you, you revealed yourself to me. It may have been out of malice, but back then, it brought me solace." Äs Nodt was speechless, for he had never encountered someone like you. "I had always felt like a burden to Heaven, carrying the weight of guilt on my shoulders. But you, with your understanding gaze and comforting presence, lightened that burden. You smiled, igniting a foreign warmth deep within his undead heart. "As long as you promise not to leave me in my darkest moments, I can rest assured in the knowledge of your true nature."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Äs Nodt finally came to a realization, and deep down, he'd be deceiving himself if he said he didn't grow fond of you. As a malevolent principality roaming the world, he long grew jaded to the sounds of tormented souls, their cries of despair echoing in his ears as they struggled to escape the pits of their own making. And yet here you were, defying all expectations by engaging in conversation with a demon who had long abandoned any semblance of care for the world. You were different. You searched for the faintest glimmer of light in his abyss of darkness. He let out a deep chuckle. "an answer that eludes my comprehension, yet a gratifying one nonetheless." he said. "thank you, youth. my conscience is now at peace."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀You leaned on the cryptid as he welcomed your warmth. He wrapped his arms around you, slowly lulling you back to the familiar realm of sleep. As he gazed towards the door, he locked eyes with your mother, his rolled eyes boring into her skull. Her face twisted in horror as she finally comprehended the consequences of her actions. How long have you suffered in silence, burdened by the weight of self-blame for the deeds of the enemy?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She staggered back to her room, unable to confront the harsh reality of her abuse. She had ultimately driven you to the brink and allowed the influence of a demon to infiltrate your heart. She had no one to hold accountable but herself. No amount of prayers to God could rescue you now. You were beyond saving, too deeply entranced in darkness to be swayed.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀And it was only a matter of time before you would be condemned to hell alongside him.

DEMI'S POST-IT⠀❞⠀i wrote this in one night 😭 idk what it is about me and big, bad people having a soft spot for a young kid who's having a hard time but that's just me.

[clawedevil]

@thefaeriescafe asked: did you ever even care about us? about me? / from Brick :3

Blackened lips collapse into a scowl followed by silence. A sickening.. deafening silence. Brick was the loudest of the three beings HIM called kids. A trait they could appreciate when that crude mouth wasn't pointed at them. A trait they unfortunately picked up from both his fathers.

HIM's own forked tongue hit the roof of their mouth, sucking their teeth. They flicked their claw towards Brick a few times as to dismiss his concerns or perhaps just him.

"I care. Enough. You three are my... favorite toys! More than I can say about more than anyone else. Be grateful, you little snip."

[mjonthetrack]

shine

CHAPTER 44: “Afternoon Snack” Warning: Xavier is off the leash now and baby, he's not playing fair 😮‍💨

Janelle blinked twice.

Still barefoot in that thigh-length Michael Myers tee and a silk bonnet tied tight, she stared at Xavier on her doorstep like she’d summoned him by thinking too hard. Except this man wasn’t some daydream. He was 6’3 of solid heat, standing with his arms crossed, shirt nowhere in sight, grey sweats hanging low and slung like he came to wreck something—and her poor doorframe was the first victim.

“Xavier?” Her voice pitched up, confusion laced in it but her dimple still popped. “How the hell you—?”

He stepped in without invitation.

Big. Warm. Hungry.

“You wasn’t answerin’ my calls.” That country drawl hit like bass from a subwoofer. His jaw clenched. “I been tryna be chill about it. I really was. But you out here playin' Red Dead like I ain’t just had my face buried in heaven.”

Janelle stepped back instinctively, mouth parted.

“Xavier…”

“Uh-uh. Don’t 'Xavier' me now,” he muttered, locking the door behind him like he paid rent. “You up in here wearin’ that lil horror movie tee like I ain’t still got your taste in my mouth.”

She was backed up to the wall now, eyes wide as he closed the space between them like a panther on the prowl. His curls were a little wild, beard sharp, and his hands—Lord—those hands flexed like he was ready to grab the devil outta her.

“You showed me what it is,” he said low, head tilting, his hand pressing flat to the wall beside her head. “You showed me that backseat ain't even the start. And then you just disappeared on me? Nah.”

He leaned in and sniffed at her neck, that familiar fruity scent making his eyes shut for a second.

“Still smell sweet,” he whispered, mouth brushing her ear. “You been walkin’ around leakin’ sunshine while I been out my damn mind.”

She shivered, lips parting. “I ain’t say you could—”

“You ain’t say stop either.”

Then? He dropped to his knees. On her welcome mat.

Like this was communion.

Like he came to worship.

“Xav—” her words died because this man had his hands gliding up her thighs, thick and soft under that shirt, his mouth already kissing up the inside of her knee.

He looked up with that devil smirk. “Afternoon snack. I ain’t ate since last night.”

"Xavier, I swear to God—"

He kissed her again.

Higher this time.

“Then pray for your damn self, 'cause I ain't stoppin'."

Meanwhile… in the Panthers locker room, Xavier’s phone buzzed from his locker. Missed calls: 3. All from Bryce Young: "Aye bruh where you at? We late for film!" "You good??" "XAVIER GET YO COUNTRY ASS BACK HERE!"

But Xavier?

Yeah.

He was busy being fed. 🍑

And Janelle?

...about to regret answering that door in just a t-shirt.

HAPTER 45: “Clean Your Plate, Country” Warning: Peach cobbler? Gone. Mind? Gone. Hips? PRAY FOR ‘EM.

She should’ve known.

Janelle should’ve known when she opened that door and saw him standing there shirtless, smelling like new sweat and sandalwood, lookin’ like a damn problem in them loose-ass sweats. She should’ve known it was over for her lil peaceful afternoon the second he stepped over her threshold.

But now?

Now she was the one grabbing at throw pillows on the couch for leverage, her thighs trembling like she was on the last boss battle of a Soul Calibur tournament, and Xavier—Xavier was a man on a mission. Laid out between her legs like her damn salvation.

And the worst part?

This man was moaning. Like she was the one feeding him.

“You tryna kill me, country,” she gasped, back arching off the couch, her hand tangled tight in his curls. Her bralette was somewhere on the floor. Her thighs glistened from both sweat and him. “Ain’t no damn way—"

“Shhh,” he muttered against her inner thigh, voice all low and gravelly. “You talk too much.”

He licked his lips, eyes rolling a little like he was tasting something outta a dream. Like he was drunk on her, straight twisted. And then? This fool had the audacity to smile.

“Damn, Nelle,” he drawled, “you cook like this every day?”

“Xavier—”

“Nah. Don’t change the subject. I’m tryna get seconds.”

He went back like a man starved, arms locked around her thighs, holding her open like she was his. Her toes curled. Her hips jumped. Her eyes damn near crossed.

And just when she thought he was done, done done?

He looked up again, beard glistening, breath hot on her center and said, “Turn over.”

“Boy what—”

“Turn. Over.”

His voice had dropped an octave, and she felt it between her shoulder blades. And listen—something about that country man saying it like that? Whew. Her soul left her body.

She did as she was told.

On instinct. On autopilot. On whatever this spell was. Her back arched, and her pretty little shirt slipped up just enough to show off the curve of that ass.

He didn’t even touch her at first. Just sat there. Watching. Breathing like she’d just punched him in the chest.

“You really built like this?” he whispered to himself. “And you let me have it... forreal?”

One hand ran up her back, the other gripped her hip like a handlebar. He leaned down, mouth brushing her ear as he whispered:

“Now say ‘ahh’ for dessert.”

Cut to an hour and a half later: Janelle’s knocked out sideways on the couch, legs half-dangling off the cushions. A hoodie she didn’t own (his) thrown over her, bonnet crooked, lip gloss completely gone.

Xavier?

In her kitchen. Shirtless. Calmly drinking a Gatorade. Beard still sparkling.

He checked his phone—ten missed calls from Bryce, three from Coach.

He took one last swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and smirked like a damn menace.

“She gon’ learn not to feed strays,” he muttered, texting Bryce back: "Tell coach I pulled a hammy. See y’all tomorrow."

Chapter 46: “That Wasn’t No Damn Dream, Baby” 🫠🫣😵‍💫

Sunlight hit her eyes like a stage light.

Janelle groaned, one leg flopped off the couch, the other tangled in a pillowcase she did not remember being there last night. Her throat felt dry, her lip was sore, and her thighs—

Whew. Her thighs were sore sore.

She blinked hard, brain foggy, mouth parted as she rubbed her eyes.

“Okay, girl,” she mumbled to herself. “You had a wild ass dream. Real vivid. Real… country.”

She rolled over and stretched.

And froze.

Because standing in her kitchen, sipping orange juice straight from the bottle, was him.

Xavier. Tall. Dark. Shirtless. Sweats riding low. Beard still glimmering with faint remnants of her sins. His curls were wild like he’d been in a damn tumble dryer—and he was smirking. Like a man who had the answers to everything.

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

“OH SHIT!”

Janelle launched off the couch like a damn jackrabbit. Arms crossed over her chest, shirt barely hanging on, the hoodie he’d thrown over her slipping to the side like it gave up on covering her too.

“You—how are you—why are you in my kitchen, country?!”

“You invited me,” he grinned, leaning against the counter like he wasn’t the very reason she now had a flashback playlist on loop in her head. “Said something about peach cobbler. I’m just here for breakfast.”

“Hell naw—”

Her accent dragged out hard, Alabama and Atlanta blending like sweet tea and tequila. She backed up so fast she tripped over the couch arm, turned, and dropped to all fours in pure survival mode.

Her little cheeks? SWISHING in panic as she scrambled down the hall like a sexy, terrified cat burglar.

“Don’t look at me like that! YOU GOTTA GO.”

“You really crawling away right now?” Xavier called down the hallway, amusement coating every word. “Girl. I ate. You. Up. You think I ain’t seen every single inch of what you tryna hide?”

“Xavier I swear on my mama’s soul if you don’t move! I will beat you with a Hot Comb!”

He laughed loud, deep, boyish—like she hadn’t just had him damn near passed out on her couch not twelve hours ago.

And the worst part? He started walking after her.

Smooth.

Slow.

Deliberate.

“You always run from folks who make you finish five times or just me?”

“BOY—!”

She slammed the door to her bedroom with a breathless huff, heart pounding, edges sweatin’. She stared at the closed door, chest heaving, cheeks hot, lips puffy, thighs trembling.

And on the other side of that door?

“Breakfast in ten, Nelle. Don’t make me come get you.” A pause. “…Actually. Wait. Make me.”

Chapter 47: "He Woke Up Starved & She Woke Up Shook" 🥵🐺

She tried to play it cool.

Hair tied up, robe cinched way too tight for comfort, sitting at the island in her kitchen like she hadn’t just bare-ass crab-walked down the hall like she was dodging an exorcism.

She had her little glass of mango juice, legs crossed like a damn talk show host, and was scrolling her phone like she wasn’t sweating every time he moved.

Xavier?

Calm. Collected. Cool as a muthafuckin cucumber. Still shirtless. Still got his gray sweatpants on. Still smellin' like fresh soap, sin, and peach cobbler crumbs.

He slid her a plate of breakfast—eggs, toast, bacon, and he even cut up her strawberries like he knew her favorite part—and leaned back on the counter just watching her. That grin?

Wolfish.

“You good, Nelle?” he asked, voice low and teasing. “You real quiet this morning.”

She shot him a glare over her cup, cheeks pink, dimples deep, but her legs crossed tighter under the counter and he clocked that instantly.

“Boy, eat your food.”

“I did.”

The way he said it had her damn fork clatter against her plate. Her entire face went RED, and she tried to hide it by ducking her head and mumbling something about “ain’t shit funny.”

But that man? He leaned in slow. That big hand of his slid up under the table, palm warm and wide, resting right on her bare thigh.

“Damn, Nelle. You always get this hot when you think about me between your legs?” he murmured against her ear, breath grazing her skin.

She flinched, eyes wide. “Xavier—don’t start.”

But he wasn’t even phased. If anything? He got bolder.

His hand squeezed her thigh gently, thumb brushing the inside—close enough to make her toes curl in her fuzzy socks.

“You think I’ma let you go all innocent on me now, baby?” he said softly, dragging his nose down the shell of her ear. “You woke up the big dog, remember?”

Her breath caught. She bit her lip and finally—finally—glanced up at him, eyes wide.

“I was drunk,” she tried weakly.

“No, you weren’t,” he said, dipping his head and kissing the corner of her mouth like she was a sweet treat. “You were hungry.”

She stood up fast—too fast. Knocked her chair back and backed away from the table like he was radioactive.

He didn’t move. Just watched her with a little smirk like he was letting her have her moment.

“Nelle.”

“WHAT.” she snapped.

“Next time,” he drawled slow, “I want you to ride me in that truck. Not just the stick shift.”

Her mouth fell open.

Her body locked up.

And when she stomped out the kitchen, robe fluttering and attitude flaring?

Xavier just grinned to himself and sipped his orange juice again.

Chapter 48: “Caught Slippin’ or Just Slippin’ Into His Game?”

Her phone buzzed that morning, and Xavier’s text glowed like a red flag in the bright Atlanta sun:

You forgot your scent on me. Should I return it or keep it? 😩🔥🐶

Janelle stared at it for a minute, biting her bottom lip so hard she almost tasted blood. That man was delirious… and she loved it.

She snapped back, quick and reckless:

Keep it. But you better be ready when I come through. 💅🏽🔥

No chill. No hesitation. Because that’s just her mood.

Fast forward a few hours later — the stadium’s packed, the crowd’s wild, and Janelle? She pulled up solo. No sister. No Russ. No squad. Just her, her wild self, and a plan nobody could’ve predicted.

She’s rocking her “disguise” that was 100% anything but lowkey:

Oversized Panthers hoodie pulled up over a messy bun,

Massive black Dior shades shielding those smoldering eyes,

One of Xavier’s game jerseys — stretched and hanging like it was stolen,

His sweats (left at her place last time, because duh) tied twice over her legs like some kinda fashion statement,

And Dior slides, because baby, she don’t do sneakers for the culture.

She swaggered through security like she owned the damn place, but her heart was racing like she was sneaking into the VIP afterparty.

The irony? Everyone was too caught up in the game and noise to clock the fact that this absolute queen was basically in plain sight.

She settled in the seats behind the players, squinting up at the field with that mischievous smirk.

Xavier caught a glimpse of her from across the turf — and everything inside him did a double take.

“Is that…?” he mouthed, eyes wide like he just saw a mirage.

She caught his eye, gave a slow head nod, then flashed that signature dimple smile that had his damn knees weak since day one.

He threw a quick glance over his shoulder — no Russ, no Ciara. No security. No excuses.

Just her.

And in that moment, the entire stadium faded out.

His mind spun: She showed up. Alone. To my game. Wearing my shit like a damn trophy.

She was testing him. Teasing him. Straight-up taunting.

And Xavier? He was here for every second of it.

Because he was starving — but more than that, he was hooked.

Chapter 49: “Game Time, But Make It Personal (Solo Edition)”

Xavier was pacing in the locker room, all eyes on the game feed but his mind replaying one moment over and over — hershowing up alone, rocking his jersey like she owned the damn stadium.

She came solo. No glam squad, no paparazzi, no drama — just Janelle, hoodie up, shades on, hair pulled back in a bun, and his jersey hanging loose over her frame like some kinda secret code he couldn’t crack. Sweats tied twice over her legs with those Dior slides? Nah, that wasn’t a casual fan; that was a whole vibe — dangerous and unapologetically hers.

Every time the camera flashed over the stands, she was the one he looked for. His heart hit a new tempo. She was his wild card, and man, she played it so cold.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, his curls falling into his eyes. “She really out here playing me.”

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to focus, but nah — his head was spinning, all fired up from her solo flex.

On the field, he went beast mode — every catch, every sprint, every touchdown had that extra sauce, like he was putting on a show for her eyes only.

Back in the stands, Janelle leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, hiding that trademark mischievous smirk behind oversized shades. She caught him watching and gave him a slow nod, just enough to let him know she saw him seeing her.

Xavier’s phone buzzed with texts from his boys, but his eyes never left her silhouette in the crowd.

The game ended — victory. But Xavier didn’t rush down to celebrate with the team. Nah, he had a mission.

He spotted her slipping through the crowd alone, the breeze catching the hem of his jersey, that confident sway in her step.

He took a breath, eyes locked on that lone queen owning the stadium in his colors.

He knew this wasn’t just a game anymore.

This was his.

Chapter 50: “Gotcha, Solo Queen”

She strutted through the crowd, hoodie up, shades blocking half her face, but the way she moved? Too confident, too smooth to be just some random in the stands.

In his jersey, tied sweats, Dior slides — Janelle was a walking flex of don’t test me. Acting like she was blending in, but girl, she might as well have had a neon sign flashing “I’m here for you, Xavier.”

His eyes scanned every inch of the stands, but the moment he spotted her — that signature sway, the silhouette framed perfectly in his colors — his whole body tensed like a coiled spring.

He wasn’t about to let this slide.

Without hesitation, he cut through the crowd, eyes locked, every step quick and determined.

Janelle caught a glimpse of him coming and almost smirked behind her shades, but she kept her cool. She knew she was caught. She wanted to be caught.

He slid right up beside her, voice low, a teasing growl wrapped in that southern charm:

“Thought you could sneak up on me like that? In my jersey? Sweats? Sweeping the whole stadium solo? Nah, you know I’ma find you.”

She turned, that dimple popping, smile playing on her lips like she was daring him to keep up.

“Had to see the real deal, country. You always talk a big game—figured I’d come watch it live.”

He smirked, eyes darkening, “You’re lucky I’m playing nice today.”

The crowd buzzed around them, but all he saw was her.

This wasn’t just a game anymore. It was them.

And girl, he was hungry.

Chapter 51: “Claiming Her in the Crowd”

Xavier’s eyes locked on Janelle like she was the only damn thing in that stadium. The noise of the crowd faded into white noise. All he saw was her — hoodie up, shades on, the way she stood out even while trying to blend in was straight-up impossible.

He stepped closer, voice low and dripping with that confident Southern drawl, “You think you sneaking in here solo? Girl, you know I ain’t lettin’ that slide.”

She smiled, biting her lip, letting the dimples play as she tilted her head just enough for him to see she was loving the attention.

“Maybe I wanted you to find me,” she teased, voice soft but packed with a challenge.

Without hesitation, he reached out, sliding his hand down to rest firmly on her hip — possessive, claiming — letting her feel the heat radiating from him.

“Best believe, I’m about to make sure everybody knows you’re mine tonight.”

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Better come get me then, country.”

He chuckled darkly, the kind of sound that promised trouble and sweetness all at once. Then, just like that, he pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her waist, lowering his voice, “You show up like this again, no jersey or sweats needed, and I’m takin’ you straight off this damn field.”

Janelle laughed, a soft, genuine sound that echoed between them like a secret.

“Good luck with that,” she whispered, “I’m way too wild to be tamed that easy.”

He grinned, eyes blazing, “I’m the one who’s gotta tame you, and I’m ready to work.”

Around them, the crowd kept cheering, the game still going on, but this moment? It was theirs.

And baby, the whole damn stadium could watch — Xavier Legette had found his queen, and he wasn’t letting her slip away.

CHAPTER 52: “YOU MINE.” 🧃🧃🧃

Janelle was damn near tiptoeing out of that stadium, sunglasses low, hoodie up, bun tucked, sweats cinched at the ankles twice over, Dior slides quiet on the pavement. She really thought she could dip out lowkey like she hadn’t just sat through all four quarters wearing his jersey, his sweats, and acting like she was just some fan.

Plot twist: she was not just some fan. And Xavier? He knew better.

He had clocked her before kickoff. That scent? Unmistakable. That hoodie-sweatpants combo? His. That ass in his game day fit? A violation and a blessing. He’d spent the whole second half wired tighter than his damn helmet straps, waiting for her to try this slick shit.

And now, as she tried to disappear out the side entrance, head ducked?

“Janelle.”

One word. Deep. Drawled. Right behind her.

She froze. Then turned so slowly like she hadn’t just been caught mid-heist. “Oh hey, country,” she tried to play it cool, voice light, like she hadn’t just ran out of that stadium without even texting him. “Good game.”

He was on her in two long strides, his big frame blocking the hallway light like a damn eclipse. “You got a damn nerve showing up in my clothes and not speaking to me,” he said, voice low and honeyed with heat.

She shrugged, hands in her hoodie pocket, “Didn’t think you’d notice. Wasn’t a big deal.”

“Wasn’t a—” he scoffed, jaw ticking. “You walked in here lookin’ like the damn reason I breathe and just thought you’d slide out the back? In my sweats, Nelle? You disrespectful as hell.”

That made her laugh — that laugh, contagious and bratty as hell — and she took a step back. “Oh, so now you care about sweats? Thought you left those behind on purpose,” she teased.

He grabbed her hand before she could back away again, pulled her flush against him. “Don’t play with me,” he murmured, lips near her ear. “You already know you got me in a chokehold. I see you in my jersey, smell you in my clothes, and you expect me to just let you leave?”

She looked up at him, dimple deepening even as her voice went innocent. “We in public, country.”

He didn’t care.

Didn’t even blink.

“I don’t give a fuck. You mine.” Just like that.

And then he bent down like he was gonna kiss her, lips ghosting right over hers—but he didn’t do it. Just grinned slow and dark, like a man who knows he’s got you spiraling.

She blinked, lips parted, heart thudding in her chest like a drumline.

“Go head and try to walk off now,” he said, hand still resting heavy on her waist. “But I promise you, you’ll feel me every step you take.”

AND SHE DID.

Because she didn’t get that kiss — and that somehow made it so much worse.

She walked away legs weak, hoodie still on, but his scent stuck all over her now. And the way his eyes watched her walk?

Yeah. Janelle Ashanti Harris was officially claimed.

CHAPTER 53: Ice Box Where My Heart Used To Be (Feat. Slick-Tongued Country Men) 🧊🧊🧊

Janelle Ashanti Harris? Bitter. And not the lemonade Beyoncé sang about. We talkin’ full-on “don't speak to me, don't look in my direction, don’t even let my name pass your lips” type of bitter.

She was in her penthouse, lounging in a pink velour set, scrolling Instagram when her thumb paused over his Story.

That smug, fine, country boy face? Smiling with his dimples and that gold chain resting on his collarbone? BLOCKED. No warning. No dramatic speech. Just: “Fuck his country ass. Ain’t nobody beg him to look that good. Anyways.”

The next app? TikTok. Blocked again. Xavier Legette couldn’t get an ounce of access, not a whiff of her aura, and that man didn’t even know it yet.

So when Ciara hit her with:

“Come to the Knicks game with us this weekend, bring that lil fly-ass attitude with you”

She gladly packed her bags and hopped on that PJ with a fresh silk press and a new French tip. She even brought her niece a mini fur coat because “princess deserves vibes.”

Now picture this:

Janelle stepping courtside with her sister and the fam, long brown legs out in a vintage denim mini skirt, Knicks blue cropped varsity jacket hugging that waist, and the fattest pout on her lips. Her locs slicked back into a sleek braided ponytail. Front row. Front and unbothered.

Except— The game ain’t even start good before her phone buzzed six times in a row.

“You serious?” “You really block me like a lil girl?” “You looked too damn good in that jersey to be actin this cold.” “We got unfinished business.” “Unblock me Janelle.” “Unblock me right. Fuckin. Now.”

She read all six texts, didn’t even flinch. Just sipped her wine and opened the Knicks program like she was skimming through vital information.

Ciara clocked her. “Nelle… that from who I think it’s from?”

Janelle let out the most nonchalant sigh ever uttered in Madison Square Garden.

“Mmhmm. He mad cause I returned his lil country energy with NYC ice.”

Ciara side-eyed her. “Girl, you gon’ keep playing games til that man shows up with a horse outside.”

Russ chimed in without even looking over. “He not invited. Security know.”

But her phone buzzed one more time.

A pic. Of the view from his seat. At the same damn game.

Janelle blinked. Looked up.

Turned around slow. There he was.

Row behind hers. Hat low. Hoodie zipped halfway. Smile cocky. Tongue licking over his bottom lip like he knew exactly what she tasted like.

Oh, she was pissed. Pissed and flustered.

Because now? She was the one feeling stupid for blocking him. And he was sitting there looking like a sin on a Friday.

She whipped back around, jaw tight, whispering to her sister through clenched teeth.

“I swear to God, if he leans over this seat and whispers some slick ass country shit—”

But it was already too late. He leaned forward, low in her ear, breath warm and voice dipped in South Carolina syrup:

“Unblock me and meet me at halftime. Or I’ll carry you outta here on my damn back. Your call.”

CIARA: 😳 JANELLE: 😤 HER INNER SELF: 🫠🫠🫠

CHAPTER 54: Two Can Play That Game (And I’m Winning) 🍷📵🧊

Janelle sat real pretty. Legs crossed, pout glossy, and her face? Blank like a poker champ with a full house in her hand.

She knew he was watching her from that row behind. He wasn’t even hiding it anymore.

She felt the weight of his stare on the back of her neck like his damn hoodie had eyes. Every breath she took, every time she tucked her hair behind her ear, that man clocked it. Tracked it. Catalogued it.

She wasn’t new to this.

So she decided to act accordingly.

Casually toxic. Beautifully brutal. Elegantly savage.

She angled her phone just right. Titled it up on her thigh, screen on full brightness. She tapped her messages with his name still at the top. Paused. Smirked.

Let him get a clear view of the screen from behind.

Then with her perfectly manicured nail? She held it down and hit “Block This Caller.”

CLICK. Just like that. That man was erased. Digitally ghosted. Spiritually castrated.

Then she set her phone in her lap like a queen placing her crown on her throne, lifted her wine glass, and took a looooong sip. Pinky up. Unbothered.

Ciara peeked over and muttered, “You just gon’ send that boy into an early grave.”

Janelle sipped. “Good. Hope the plot’s got a porch.”

Meanwhile—

Xavier?

He watched it all go down in real time. The block. The sip. The nonchalance.

His jaw dropped just slightly. His hand ran down his beard. He blinked like he was trying to process the betrayal of the century.

Homeboy next to him nudged him. “She blocked you again?!”

Xavier didn’t respond. Just sat back in his chair and let out the deepest, most country-ass sigh known to man. That shit echoed into the lower bowl.

He licked his lips once, real slow.

Muttered to himself:

“Oh aight. She wanna act like I won’t hop this damn rail—”

Security already watching him like a hawk.

But she wasn’t done.

At halftime, Janelle stood up to stretch, hips swaying in those damn Dior slides, hoodie lifting just enough to show the waistband of her Dior thong peeking under her skirt.

Yes. That man’s knees buckled.

And just before she walked off with her sister, she glanced back over her shoulder—

Locked eyes.

Bit her lip. Smirked.

Still didn’t unblock him.

He was going through it in that row like a man who just watched his soulmate walk out his life with no forwarding address.

[skycas1noregular]

Kinktober/Smuttober 11th - Mirror and soft sex, adoration (Fyolai)

(🔞NSFW)

Headcanon that Fyodor usually doesn't want to let Nikolai know how good he actually makes him feel, yet when Nikolai isn't teasing and is genuine, they can actually be lovely dovely and have soft sex. Fyodor adores pretty people (well known) and Nikolai is certainly a one pretty and hansome man (he gets a bonus for being white-haired too)

“You think you’re ready?” Nikolai whispered into his ear and gave a kiss to his earlobe just to sweeten the question. He got a positive answer – a nod from Fyodor. Hell yeah. He’ll get to be inside instead of just his fingers feeling the warmth. He’ll get to hear Fyodor’s moans and raw sounds without him trying to muffle them.

“C’mon then, move your pretty ass,” Nikolai gently nudged him, pulling out his fingers and gaining a gasp. He expected Fyodor to arch his back before him, but it appeared that Fyodor had other plans. Instead of facing the mirror, he initiated a position where he could see everything from the side – laid on the bed by its width rather than length, with arms crossed and head on them, staring right at his own reflection and raising his ass up, ready to watch every single one of Nikolai’s moves rather than just his face.

“Naughty,” Nikolai commented with a smirk but complied, got on his knees before Fyodor’s ass, and fetched the lube. He didn’t waste his time, instantly opened it and coated the length that Fyodor was willingly waiting for, which happens rarely, but when it does, Nikolai feels like he entered heaven in all its glory rather than just a devil that was burning inside and heating up his cock.

“Ready?” Nikolai questioned, waited for the nod Fyodor gave in the next second, and took his cock in his hand, guiding it to Fyodor’s entrance. Knowing that he should take it slow rather than bury himself in fully right away as he would usually, he leaned down over Fyodor’s back, kissed the first mole at the bottom of his spine, and gently rocked forward, getting in just a tip.There was no need to destroy Fyodor in the first few minutes, after all. Yeah, that might be Nikolai’s plan any other time since Fyodor needed to be handled harshly for moans to start uncontrollably spilling out, but right here, right now, even just the tip entering got him a whimper that Fyodor didn’t try to muffle in any way.

Nikolai wasn’t any better – he let out a breath full of pleasure while smiling against his skin and placing hands on each side of Fyodor’s waist, same as continuing kisses up his back, following the moles. With each, he pushed a bit deeper, and with the scar right under Fyodor’s shoulder, he bottomed out with a satisfied groan, this time gaining a real moan instead of just a whimper from his lover.

“Hair to the other side. I want to see you,” Fyodor breathed out, and Nikolai instantly listened, flipping hair over his left shoulder rather than the right one where it was blocking the view of his face Fyodor wanted to see.

Nikolai gave another gentle kiss to Fyodor’s nape and turned his head to the mirror. What a sight that was. Fyodor looked so flushed, so unusual, so fucking beautiful that it managed to get Nikolai to throb inside him. “Fuck Fedya, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.” With that, he pressed his forehead against Fyodor’s back once again, breathing out and praying to whoever was above not to cum on the spot.

“Show me,” Fyodor whispered and without any warning moved his hips back, got Nikolai to hold onto him tighter and moan. He took that as an invitation to start rocking his hips and did just that. Slowly just like Fyodor liked. He’s here to please both of them, which means that Fyodor’s preferences and pleasure had to be top priority. Nikolai didn’t mind – just the feeling of being inside felt divine.

It wasn’t just Nikolai who admired his lover. Fyodor did too – watched every single one of Nikolai’s moves in the mirror, took in every slight gasp and moan, kept his eyes on Nikolai’s face and his smile that grew. He was indeed beautiful. So beautiful that he could be compared to Greek gods. Fyodor might be religious and might have one God that he prays to regularly, but at the moment, he had one worshipping him and groaning close to his ear while slowly rocking his hips. How could he not moan as a prayer, reward another for the pleasure he was putting him through? He deserved it.

He admired hands on his hips, felt and saw the grip around them, and shivered every now and then when Nikolai’s fingers would twitch out of pleasure. And soon enough, when Fyodor got used to the stretch, he ordered him to go faster, show just what he was doing to him, and fuck as much as he would like, with one simple but silent request Nikolai knew he should follow – no mockery.

But mockery wasn’t even on Nikolai’s mind. Quite the contrary – he breathlessly whispered sweet nothings into Fyodor’s back with moans interrupting him from time to time when he hit slightly deeper and felt Fyodor clenching around him. Indeed, it was heaven for both of them.

Whole work on my ao3:

[movedtonewblogcheckpinnedpost]

Now that the first book fresh on your mind, would you say the characters are made worse in the show or better in terms of morality/as persons? Just in context of the first book since that's all they've adapted for now.

(Yeah odd question to ask about a gothic horror story and its monstrous cast but I'm curious)

Hey, thanks for the question. :)

EDITED: Just want to say that this based on what Lestat tells, keep in mind first-person narration can be unreliable, even for innocent reasons. :)

So, I still haven't read the first book, I've decided to start with the novels that haven't been covered yet and then go to Interview With the Vampire. I'm currently reading The Vampire Lestat since that's the next one they're adapting. I'm still on part II, when Lestat is becoming familiar with his powers and learning how to have a social life with humans, but a private, isolated one as a vampire. Out of the show characters, I have only met Lestat and Nicki so far.

Based on what I know from this specific book and the show, I'd say they're on the same level. As a human, Lestat was abused/neglected/isolated by his family, whenever he tried to run and make a better life for himself he was forcefully taken back home, so he reached a point where he would even think of killing them. He also felt conflicted about it, his conscience told him it was wrong and he never tried anything. In the past, when he was at the monastery, he was a disciplined student that rarely got and the few times it happened, he enjoyed it. He appreciated the fact people saw the good in him and thought he could grow into an even better person. Way later, when Magnus kidnaps and turns him into a vampire, he thinks a lot about morality, and specially religion, right and wrong, heaven and hell, God and the Devil, his own existence as a vampire etc. BEFORE, DURING AND AFTER his transformation. He didn't want to be a vampire, he fought the entire time and when he didn't it was because he was too frozen to react. Magnus tried to make him accept it, but even until the last moment Magnus had to drop his blood in his mouth because Lestat preferred to die than becoming a vampire. It's after he was turned that there was a shift.

So far, it isn't a big shift, he still has all of that in his mind, he still prayed multiple times, he entered a church and touched all those religious objects hoping something would happen and it never did, put them back just how they were so people wouldn't notice it before leaving, he was afraid of meeting Nicki and his family again so he kept his distance, but sent loads of money to everyone - including his father, siblings and the theater he had worked at etc. He literally says "for now I had done what I could for all those I loved, hadn't I?" referring to those actions for those people.

'The biggest change was the ability of draining and killing humans. At first, he doesn't want to do it. However, his senses and hunger get the best of him, so he just goes for it like a carnivorous animal. And ultimately, he enjoys and embraces it. He even has preferences on what kind of blood is his favorite and the pace he drains them, because he likes to savor it. And it isn't just satisfying your hunger, there's a sensual component to that too. Also, he tried to eat and drink human food, but said he couldn't stand the taste and even its smell. There is some shift in his conscience too, he didn't completely lose it, but he has naturally developed a distance between himself and humans. I'm not saying that's a permanent thing or if it oscillates, I'm too early to have an answer to this, but when he is hungry, he is able to look at them as food, as a meal he needs like living beings can. There is a lot of aspects mixed together, his human mind and heart, the biological needs of his body and the supernatural side of it, that makes vampires closer to a God than a person or an animal.'The biggest change was the ability of draining and killing humans. At first, he doesn't want to do it. However, his senses and hunger get the best of him, so he just goes for it like a carnivorous animal. And ultimately, he enjoys and embraces it. He even has preferences on what kind of blood is his favorite and the pace he drains them, because he likes to savor it. And it isn't just satisfying your hunger, there's a sensual component to that too. Also, he tried to eat and drink human food, but said he couldn't stand the taste and even its smell. There is some shift in his conscience too, he didn't completely lose it, but he has naturally developed a distance between himself and humans. I'm not saying that's a permanent thing or if it oscillates, I'm too early to have an answer to this, but when he is hungry, he is able to look at them as food, as a meal he needs like living beings can. There is a lot of aspects mixed together, his human mind and heart, the biological needs of his body and the supernatural side of it, that makes vampires closer to a God than a person or an animal.

And after Lestat was turned, it's heavily implied that his emotions and senses were heightened, which makes the whole killing and draining humans thing even more layered. Lestat is a character that has a history of trauma and traits common to people that have BPD, ADHD, depression and/or even more. And I'm not saying he has any of these diagnosis, let alone all of them, but it is possible and he is significantly coded that way, whether Anne did it on purpose or not. So, all of those are amplified once he is a vampire. To the point he vomits with certain smells, that he cries so loud that he is sick of his own tears and the sound of his own sobs etc, so trying to navigate all of that, specially as a freshly new vampire without any counseling, can and is a lot.

I guess the show has explored all of these well so far, I've already had all of these impressions based on the series and some interviews alone, but what I've read seems to corroborate it. I feel like we got most of that from Louis, though, but it's understandable considering they were covering his book. And Jacob did a phenomenal job. And even in Louis's, Claudia's and Armand's flashbacks (or fanfiction, lol), Sam managed to play Lestat as people remember/think of him and what the scene demanded from his performance, but also found opportunities to show sides of him that those three might not know. He made Lestat be a full character with many layers instead of just a plot device to serve the arc of other people. The biggest difference is that they haven't shown a lot of Lestat's vulnerability (he only cried once, but when he did, it was as intense as what I've read on the book) and his complex with his existence and religion. But again, I'm quite early and I don't know if this is a permanent part of the books. Still, permanent or temporary, it is a part of his arc and I believe they will explore it to some extent on season 3.

[lesmisletters-daily]

The Beginning Of Repose

Les Mis Letters reading club explores one chapter of Les Misérables every day. Join us on Discord, Substack - or share your thoughts right here on tumblr - today's tag is #lm 1.6.1

M. Madeleine had Fantine removed to that infirmary which he had established in his own house. He confided her to the sisters, who put her to bed. A burning fever had come on. She passed a part of the night in delirium and raving. At length, however, she fell asleep.

On the morrow, towards midday, Fantine awoke. She heard some one breathing close to her bed; she drew aside the curtain and saw M. Madeleine standing there and looking at something over her head. His gaze was full of pity, anguish, and supplication. She followed its direction, and saw that it was fixed on a crucifix which was nailed to the wall.

Thenceforth, M. Madeleine was transfigured in Fantine’s eyes. He seemed to her to be clothed in light. He was absorbed in a sort of prayer. She gazed at him for a long time without daring to interrupt him. At last she said timidly:—

“What are you doing?”

M. Madeleine had been there for an hour. He had been waiting for Fantine to awake. He took her hand, felt of her pulse, and replied:—

“How do you feel?”

“Well, I have slept,” she replied; “I think that I am better. It is nothing.”

He answered, responding to the first question which she had put to him as though he had just heard it:—

“I was praying to the martyr there on high.”

And he added in his own mind, “For the martyr here below.”

M. Madeleine had passed the night and the morning in making inquiries. He knew all now. He knew Fantine’s history in all its heart-rending details. He went on:—

“You have suffered much, poor mother. Oh! do not complain; you now have the dowry of the elect. It is thus that men are transformed into angels. It is not their fault they do not know how to go to work otherwise. You see this hell from which you have just emerged is the first form of heaven. It was necessary to begin there.”

He sighed deeply. But she smiled on him with that sublime smile in which two teeth were lacking.

That same night, Javert wrote a letter. The next morning be posted it himself at the office of M. sur M. It was addressed to Paris, and the superscription ran: <i>To Monsieur Chabouillet, Secretary of Monsieur le Préfet of Police</i>. As the affair in the station-house had been bruited about, the post-mistress and some other persons who saw the letter before it was sent off, and who recognized Javert’s handwriting on the cover, thought that he was sending in his resignation.

M. Madeleine made haste to write to the Thénardiers. Fantine owed them one hundred and twenty francs. He sent them three hundred francs, telling them to pay themselves from that sum, and to fetch the child instantly to M. sur M., where her sick mother required her presence.

This dazzled Thénardier. “The devil!” said the man to his wife; “don’t let’s allow the child to go. This lark is going to turn into a milch cow. I see through it. Some ninny has taken a fancy to the mother.”

He replied with a very well drawn-up bill for five hundred and some odd francs. In this memorandum two indisputable items figured up over three hundred francs,—one for the doctor, the other for the apothecary who had attended and physicked Éponine and Azelma through two long illnesses. Cosette, as we have already said, had not been ill. It was only a question of a trifling substitution of names. At the foot of the memorandum Thénardier wrote, <i>Received on account, three hundred francs</i>.

M. Madeleine immediately sent three hundred francs more, and wrote, “Make haste to bring Cosette.”

“Christi!” said Thénardier, “let’s not give up the child.”

In the meantime, Fantine did not recover. She still remained in the infirmary.

The sisters had at first only received and nursed “that woman” with repugnance. Those who have seen the bas-reliefs of Rheims will recall the inflation of the lower lip of the wise virgins as they survey the foolish virgins. The ancient scorn of the vestals for the ambubajæ is one of the most profound instincts of feminine dignity; the sisters felt it with the double force contributed by religion. But in a few days Fantine disarmed them. She said all kinds of humble and gentle things, and the mother in her provoked tenderness. One day the sisters heard her say amid her fever: “I have been a sinner; but when I have my child beside me, it will be a sign that God has pardoned me. While I was leading a bad life, I should not have liked to have my Cosette with me; I could not have borne her sad, astonished eyes. It was for her sake that I did evil, and that is why God pardons me. I shall feel the benediction of the good God when Cosette is here. I shall gaze at her; it will do me good to see that innocent creature. She knows nothing at all. She is an angel, you see, my sisters. At that age the wings have not fallen off.”

M. Madeleine went to see her twice a day, and each time she asked him:—

“Shall I see my Cosette soon?”

He answered:—

“To-morrow, perhaps. She may arrive at any moment. I am expecting her.”

And the mother’s pale face grew radiant.

“Oh!” she said, “how happy I am going to be!”

We have just said that she did not recover her health. On the contrary, her condition seemed to become more grave from week to week. That handful of snow applied to her bare skin between her shoulder-blades had brought about a sudden suppression of perspiration, as a consequence of which the malady which had been smouldering within her for many years was violently developed at last. At that time people were beginning to follow the fine Laënnec’s fine suggestions in the study and treatment of chest maladies. The doctor sounded Fantine’s chest and shook his head.

M. Madeleine said to the doctor:—

“Well?”

“Has she not a child which she desires to see?” said the doctor.

“Yes.”

“Well! Make haste and get it here!”

M. Madeleine shuddered.

Fantine inquired:—

“What did the doctor say?”

M. Madeleine forced himself to smile.

“He said that your child was to be brought speedily. That that would restore your health.”

“Oh!” she rejoined, “he is right! But what do those Thénardiers mean by keeping my Cosette from me! Oh! she is coming. At last I behold happiness close beside me!”

In the meantime Thénardier did not “let go of the child,” and gave a hundred insufficient reasons for it. Cosette was not quite well enough to take a journey in the winter. And then, there still remained some petty but pressing debts in the neighborhood, and they were collecting the bills for them, etc., etc.

“I shall send some one to fetch Cosette!” said Father Madeleine. “If necessary, I will go myself.”

He wrote the following letter to Fantine’s dictation, and made her sign it:—

“MONSIEUR THÉNARDIER:—

You will deliver Cosette to this person.

You will be paid for all the little things.

I have the honor to salute you with respect. - FANTINE

In the meantime a serious incident occurred. Carve as we will the mysterious block of which our life is made, the black vein of destiny constantly reappears in it.

[melishade]

Number 4?

This ask game

Optimus telling modern day Eren, Armin, and Mikasa what happened 2,000 years ago in the Peaceful Timeline. Here's Part 23: Modern Day AU for more context.

The humans watched as Optimus' holoform opened the door to a small cabin up in the mountains that they had groundbridged to. The Prime wordlessly walked inside, forcing the humans to follow. Eren looked behind him to see Megatron standing outside in his bipedal mode. Eren could tell that he looked reluctant to even be here.

Or...to have the three of them here.

Eren jolted when he had heard the door shut behind him, realizing that it must have been Megatron, but he still didn't see a human form. Eren turned his attention to the inside of the cabin. He saw a living room on his left with a fireplace, and a kitchen on his right. Dead ahead, was a hallway with multiple rooms, but he didn't ask to see what was there. However, Eren did notice that the cabin looked so well maintained. There was great care in keeping it clean and tidy, but...somehow, it felt like something was missing.

"What do you three know of Marley's oldest tale?" Optimus questioned them.

"The Savior and the Devil?" Armin asked, earning a nod from the Prime.

"Legend says that the humans worked with a devil to conquer the lands," Mikasa began, "Marley prayed to the heavens for a savior, and adorned in red, it had slain the devil and had restored peace in the world."

"Although, historians say that they have no real evidence besides word of mouth and drawings of the events happening," Armin retorted.

"But it's one of Marley's oldest tales," Mikasa reminded, "And it's been consistently passed down."

"So were other mythical gods, but they were all considered fake," Armin proclaimed with a smirk.

"The Marleyan tale was incorrect," Optimus spoke up, ending the conversation then and there. Armin looked at Mikasa with smugness while the goth girl rolled her eyes.

"So...what really happened?" Eren stepped forward.

Optimus took a deep breath before turning his attention to the hallway. "2,000 years ago, I had sacrificed myself in order to protect my home planet from destruction. I thought I would be dead in that moment, but I somehow found myself on this planet. When I had awakened, I was alerted to the sight of a massive creature transforming on a battlefield. It was as tall as some of your buildings in the downtown area, and could crush me if it wanted to. I drove towards it, and on instinct, I attacked the massive creature, which you refer to as the 'devil' in the story. As a result, I had made an ally to the Marleyan forces adorned in red, and made an enemy out of the Eldian Empire adorned in blue."

"What?" Eren mumbled.

"The Eldian Empire then ordered the creature to attack me and the Marleyan army, so I replied in kind in order to protect the ones who were defenseless," Optimus continued, "Throughout the battle, the Marleyans and the Eldians continued to battle one another, and I struggled to stay alive. But then I heard someone bark out orders towards the creature. Demeaning it, insulting it, threatening to abandon it. As a result, it behaved more erratically and fearfully. It behaved like it desperately wanted to correct a mistake. It had me in a deadlock, ready to crush me with its massive hand, but even then, tears streamed down its face and it cried out in frustration."

"Why would it do that?" Armin asked, "Why not defend itself or attack the people saying those cruel words?"

"Because it was conditioned, brainwashed, and abused into staying with the Eldian Empire," Optimus answered, "It knew nothing else, only the cruelty of the world. So...I appealed to it. I told the creature it wasn't a slave. That I understood her pain, and I begged her to let me save her."

"Her?" Eren questioned.

"...initially, I had no clue what she was," Optimus explained, "And when she stopped attacking me, the Eldians had turned on her, climbing on her massive back to kill her. I jumped onto her back to protect her, but...then her human body emerged from the nape of the neck."

"The devil...was a human that had powers?" Mikasa asked.

"She was no devil," Optimus declared, "She was just a human girl, no older than the three of you. Before she acquired her power, she was captured as a slave for the Eldian Empire and conditioned to stay even after she got her powers. But when she emerged from the massive form she had created, she only mouthed three words to me."

Optimus turned to face the trio. "Please, save me."

"...Then what happened?" Eren asked.

"I took her," Optimus answered, "I shot the titan body she created and used it as a cover to drive as far away as possible. Years later, we had learned that the Marleyan general known as Helos, had slain the leader of the Eldian Empire, bringing his reign to an end and creating an era of peace."

"So...then what's this place?" Armin asked.

Optimus walked over to the kitchen table, and let his fingers glide across the old wood. "This is our home."

"What?" Mikasa gasped as she felt tears forming in her eyes.

"This is where I had kept her safe," Optimus explained, "This is where we raised her daughters and where she had found love once more. This is the place where she was allowed to live a peaceful life in obscurity, free from the cruelty and hardships of the world. I did not come here to slay some devil as depicted in Marleyan folklore. I came here to save the life of someone who had desperately cried out for help."

Mikasa found herself covering her face as she continued to sob while Armin just looked dumbstruck as silent tears streamed down his face. Eren could feel his throat swelling, but he refused to let himself cry. He still had questions to ask.

"But..." he hated how offensive this question was going to no doubt sound like, "...she's gone, right? The person you saved. So...why have you stayed for 2,000 years here?"

Optimus turned to Eren, and the teen could see just how emotional and sorrowful he looked. His emotions were laid bare before him and Eren just felt terrible for pushing too far.

"There is only so much we can do to keep her memory alive," Optimus explained, "Megatron and I have maintained the condition of this cabin, but....this was not enough. Even though we had returned to hiding, we made a vow to protect her descendants for as long as possible. Our sightings on this world, our interference, was because we were trying to protect her legacy, and have her live on in her children. Everything we have ever done and continue to do now is for her, and the family we were once part of so long ago."

Eren couldn't believe it. All this time he had questioned why Optimus and Megatron were even here. They weren't here for some grand purpose of protecting the world. They continued to stay here out of love, out of a promise to protect someone that hasn't existed for years. That was it.

Eren hugged the Prime out of comfort, causing him to grunt in surprise. The teen finally let himself cry as his body continued to tremble.

"You must have loved her so much," Eren whimpered.

"...I did." Eren could hear the way Optimus' voice trembled, "Eren, I loved my daughter so much."

Eren felt Armin and Mikasa wrap their arms around Optimus, and in turn, him. Optimus had broken down into tears, but the humans still provided their own comfort while also crying themselves. This was all the trio could provide to such an old soul, and they could only hope it provided him with some relief.

(So #95 has been asked but the rest is free game.)