#bitchy ocs

[itneverendshere]

trying to behave, but i'm feelin' some type of way - r.c drabble.

request: rafe x bitchy!pogue reader pleaseeeee!!!! he just hates that he wants her soo fucking bad and she finds it hilarioussss warnings: it gets steamy but no smut!; slutshaming; mean!rafe.

you’re out of place here, which is exactly why you’re here, tannyhill.

fuck them. fuck him.

every high-strung kook princess with their perfectly manicured nails gives you a quick once-over, nostrils flaring when they catch the sight of your scuffed-up boots. not that you care. it’s not like you’re trying to impress anyone.

and why should you? you’re only here for the free booze, it’s not your fault this place is such a bore. always all pearls, pastels, and the scent of white wine and privilege. who the fuck drank white whine at a party? but the real reason you’re here, the whole damn reason, is staring straight at you from across the room.

rafe cameron. ugh and yum.

he’s leaning against the bar, muscles taut under that fitted navy polo like he was born to flex, with a scowl as always. it’s always that look���the one that’s aimed solely at you, every time he sees you. it’s practically a tradition by now. you show up somewhere, he glares.

there’s a tightness in his shoulders, something tells you he’s going to snap eventually, maybe it’s because you’ve been pushing buttons lately. maybe it’s because he’s got his daddy’s expectations hanging over his head like a guillotine.

or maybe it’s just because he wants you, and that little inconvenient truth pisses him off to no end.

you flash him a slow, lazy grin, shifting your hips as you grab a beer from the cooler. when you catch the way his eyes drag over you, lingering on your exposed skin, your stomach hums with satisfaction.

let him look. let him stew in it.

“country club,” you call sweetly, raising your bottle in a mock toast, the light catching on the condensation like it’s winking at him. “how’s it going?”

his jaw ticks, his lips pressing into a thin, flat line. “you shouldn’t be here.”

“and yet, here i am,” you sing-song back, taking a slow, pointed sip. you’re feeling reckless tonight. he’s dangerous, sure. but he’s also predictable. you know exactly how to make it worse.  “aww, what’s wrong?”

you know exactly this’ll go. he’ll insult you, you’ll insult him back, and then—

his eyes narrow dangerously, that vein in his temple ticking. “what the fuck are you wearing?”

you blink innocently, glancing down at yourself. “clothes, obviously. why? does it bother you?”

“yeah,” he snaps, eyes raking over you again, lingering on the swell of your chest, the sliver of skin peeking out above your waistband. “aren’t you tired of slutting yourself around?”

your lips curl into a smirk, the slow burn of satisfaction warming your chest. this is exactly what you were hoping for.

“slutting myself around?” you echo, voice teasing. “didn’t know you were keeping tabs.” you cock your head, letting your gaze linger on his flushed cheeks, the way his nostrils flare, and that slight clench of his fists by his side.

he’s seething—looks ready to burst into flames right here in front of the bar. good.

he’s always been like this with you. short fuse, especially when it comes to what you’re wearing, how you look, where you go. but you’re onto him. you know what it’s really about.

“you must really be obsessed with me,” you continue, “it’s kinda weird, don’t you think?” you take another sip, slow and deliberate, licking your lips as you meet his glare. he steps closer, crowding into your space, his chest brushing against your shoulder. you should back up, or at least pretend to care, but you just tilt your head, looking up at him with a smug little grin. “what’s wrong?” you murmur, “feeling a little tense?

“fuck off,” he grits out, stepping back like he’s burned. but it’s too late. you’ve got him now.

you cock your head, giving him a slow, taunting smile. “why? afraid you’ll get hard in front of your little friends?”

his eyes darken, jaw clenched so hard you wonder if it hurts. “i swear to god—”

“what?” you interrupt, teeth flashing. “you gonna hit me? break another one of your daddy’s toys?” you wave your hand around the pristine room, the glittering chandelier, the polished bar. “go on, then. show everyone what a psycho you are.”

“you think i won’t?” 

“yeah, i think you won’t,” you say softly, staring right into those burning blue eyes of his. “because you’re all bark and no bite.”

“you wanna see bite?” he murmurs, voice dripping venom. “i’ll show you fucking bite.”

then his hand snaps out, wrapping around your upper arm, and before you can react, he’s yanking you out of the room, down a hallway that’s all shadowed corners. you stumble, cursing under your breath, but he doesn’t stop until you’re both crashing through a side door into some empty back corridor.

“jesus, cameron, take a fucking xanax—” you start, wrenching your arm free.

for a second, you think you’ve gone too far. his whole body goes still, and something flares in his gaze—something unhinged and a little bit terrifying. but instead of snapping, instead of throwing a punch, he leans in, so close you can feel the heat of him against your skin.

you’re shoved against the wall, hard, his body caging yours in, his hands braced on either side of your head. you freeze, breath hitching. he’s close—too close—and it’s too hot and too much and—

“shut up,” he growls.

you should tell him to fuck off. you should knee him in the balls. you should do anything but feel the way you do right now—flushed, breathless, and…too horny for your own good. 

“do you always have to be so fucking dramatic?” you huff, placing your hand in chest in a futile attempt to push him away. you know he can break you in half if he wants to. 

he doesn’t move of course, just stares at you, chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon. he’s got that crazed look in his eyes that should make you run for the hills, and yet you stay put.

and then, suddenly, his mouth is on yours, demanding and angry.

it’s not a kiss—it’s a punishment. his teeth nip at your bottom lip, his tongue sliding against yours with a harshness that steals your breath. you gasp, your hands coming up to shove him away again, but somehow they get tangled in his hair instead, gripping the soft strands as he presses closer, closer— it’s a disaster. you’re a disaster. because you don’t pull away. 

you kiss him back like an idiot, just as desperate, your nails digging into his scalp as you pour all your frustration into the kiss. why does he have to be this hot? in your books, kooks aren't allowed to be hotter than a 5. unfortunately, rafe is a solid eleven.

he tastes like mint and rage, and it shouldn’t feel this good, but it does. god, it does. he breaks away, panting, glaring down at you like you’re dirt under his shoes. “you drive me fucking insane, y’ know that?”

“good,” you gasp, licking your lips. “you deserve it.”

he laughs, a low, harsh sound. “you’re such a fucking bitch.”

“and you’re a spoiled, narcissistic asshole,” you snap back, shoving at his chest. he doesn’t even flinch, just glares harder, and it sends a thrill through your entire body. you’d never seen him like this, so unguarded and it was weirdly intoxicating. 

“i should ruin you,” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself. his hand comes up, fingers brushing your jaw, trailing down your throat. “make you beg.”

you keep your expression defiant. “you think you can?”

rafe smirks, slow and dangerous, and it makes something burst in your belly. “i know i can.”

his hand slides lower, fingertips brushing the hem of your top, and your breath catches. you should stop this again. you should slap him, kick him, do anything but let him keep touching you like that, but you don’t. you just stare up at him, heart racing.

“show me then.”

and then his hands are on you, yanking you forward, spinning you around. you gasp, palms slapping against the wall as he presses up behind you, his body solid against yours.

“you’re a fucking brat,” he growls, his mouth right against your ear. one of his hands comes up, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to make your back arch.

“and you’re obsessed with me,” you shoot back breathlessly, tilting your head to meet his gaze over your shoulder.

rafe’s grip tightens in your hair, hard enough to sting, and his lips brush your earlobe, “obsessed?” he repeats, like he can’t believe you had the fucking audacity to say it. “don’t flatter yourself, baby.”

but you feel the way his body presses against yours. your panties might be drenched but this man is just as hard. he’s close to you—so fucking close—you feel every ridge of him, and despite every insult he’s ever thrown your way, despite how much he claims to hate you, he’s here. the way he’s breathing tells you exactly what you need to know. 

you twist against him, pushing back just enough to test his restraint. “then why are you so worked up, huh?”

“i think you’re confusing us.”

“sure,” you laugh, even as his hands move down your sides, his fingernails digging into your hips. “that’s why you dragged me out here, right? because you’re just so indifferent?”

his chest brushes against your back with every ragged breath. he’s losing it. you’re making him lose it. and fuck, that feels good.

“i could ruin you,” he whispers again, like he’s trying to convince himself. his hand skim up your ribs, thumb grazing the underside of your tit, and your senses kicks into overdrive. “one word from me, and you’re done.”

“you’re all talk cameron,” you challenge, arching your back slightly, giving him more room to touch you.

you shouldn’t want this—you shouldn’t need this—but you can’t stop. 

his mouth is on your neck, hot and open, teeth scraping against your skin in a way that sends a shudder from your head to your toes.

“fuck you,” he growls against your throat, the words almost lost in the heat of his mouth. “i’m not playin’ your games.”

you bite back a moan, fingers curling against the cold wall. “you’re already playing.”

“you’re so fucking—” he cuts himself off, breathing harshly through his nose. “fuck, i hate you.”

“no, you don’t,” you turn your head just enough to catch his eye. his gaze is wild, and you smirk, taunting him with your lips just inches from his. “you wish you did.”

you know you’re pushing your luck, but then again, when haven’t you?

“you have no fucking clue what i wish,” he growls, each word dripping with so much frustration it makes you laugh.

it comes out like a soft, mocking sound. “ooh, i think i do. you wish i’d shut up. wish i’d disappear. but you really wish you didn’t get hard every time ’m around.”

his jaw ticks, that telltale sign that you’re getting to him. god, he hates you. you can see it in his clenched teeth, his furrowed brows. he hates that he wants a pogue and you find it hilarious.

“don’t flatter yourself pogue,” he snaps, but his voice is strained. his hands tighten on your hips, fingers biting into your skin just shy of painful.

you push back against him just a little harder again, feeling the rigid line of his cock pressed against your ass.

“yeah?” your voice turns breathy. “then why do i feel that?” you grind your hips subtly, just to punctuate the point, and the low sound that rumbles out of him is almost worth the risk of provoking him further.

“because you’re a fucking tease,” he mutters, voice harsh and low in your ear. “you show up, looking like you want it—”

“and so what if i do?”

it’s a dare. he’s holding you, like he can’t decide if he wants to strangle you or fuck you senseless, perhaps both. you know you’ve crossed some invisible line.

“you’re gonna regret this,” he murmurs.

“maybe,” you shoot back, unflinching. “but that’s the thing, rafe.” you twist, just enough to look at him over your shoulder, “i think you’re more scared of what you might regret.”

instead of shoving you away, instead of storming off, he does the one thing you didn’t expect. he laughs.

it’s that crazy sound he makes before he does something reckless every time, the kind that makes people run away. it’s such a humorless sound, it should scare the living shit out of you as he leans in, lips brushing against your neck. “don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

before you can answer, one hand slides up to cup your jaw, tilting your head back so you’re forced to meet his eyes. they’re wild, almost feral, just like you expected.

“tell me to stop,” he whispers, his thumb brushing your lower lip, the touch so gentle it’s almost jarring. “go on, say it.”

you swallow hard, pulse hammering in your throat. you should say it. but you don’t want to.

“make me.” you know he hears you—feels you—because the corner of his mouth lifts in a slow, taunting smirk.

“yeah?” he drawls, thumb slipping from your lip to trace along your jawline, his touch featherlight and maddening. “you sure?”

“prove me wrong. or are you scared?”

“you think ’m fucking scared of you? think i can’t handle a little mouthy brat like you?”

he’s goading you, pushing you like he always does, and every word you had prepared dies on your lips 

“i’d loooove to see you try.”

“oh, you will.”

[izanallu]

I should probably stop dying.

Anyway. ART.

This file finally got too big and started lagging the server every time I loaded it whoop

[grimmbunniee]

Not to sound like a bitch or anything but why is every HOTD oc the same person. Her name is always Aemma/Visenya Velaryon or some god awful made up Valaryian name. Her dad is never Laenor but instead ser harwin, Daemon, or sometimes Cristion coke. Her lover is always Aemond(Cregan stark is also in love with her too). Aemond ends up defecting to team black and your oc and him win the war. She also rides cannibal or has claimed more than one dragon(you’ll never be Daenerys Targaryen you can’t out do the doer).

(Don’t get me started on how some of y’all will write Rhaenrya as this god awful stereotypical boy mom. When Rhaenyra has always wanted a daughter would spoil the living daylights out of her little girl, no matter who the father was)

[alestrameria]

shitpost yuusona time send tweet

[vspin]

absolutely amazing commission that @tadpole-apocalypse did of Tav'Lyn during her Menzoberranzan days. Thank you so much, I love it!!!

[devildom-moss]

Signs of Affection (gift)

Part 3/finale of this request (Lucifer, Leviathan, Diavolo, Barbatos, and Simeon)

(Beelzebub x gn!MC) (Thirteen x gn!MC) (Raphael x gn!MC) (Mephistopheles x gn!MC)

(Suggestive)

Word Count: +3,600

Beelzebub

By the time Beelzebub finally returned home, it was late. He made a stop after practice with one goal in mind: to make you smile. So, after a long day, the second he walked through the door, Beel went looking for you. Unfortunately, you weren’t in your room. Nor were you in his room – which was a shame, as a selfish part of him hoped to find you curled up in his sheets, waiting for him to get home. He would have asked Belphie if he hadn’t passed out in his own bed for a pre-dinner nap. Then, he remembered: you were in charge of making dinner tonight. How could he have forgotten? Usually, Beel would look forward to your home cooking all day, anticipation building in him until dinnertime. Beel hurried to the kitchen with a smile on his face.

When he found you, Beel couldn’t hold back. He came up behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist, and buried his face in your neck. Between your scent and the smell of whatever you were cooking, Beel was in a state of bliss. He sighed against your skin and whispered, “found you.”

You noticed that he was still wearing his school uniform. Beel tended to shower and change after he got home – especially when he had practice. “Did you just get back?”

“I’m home now.” Beel hugged you tighter and sighed again. His hot breath tickled your neck. If your presence hadn’t subdued him into a soft, pleasant haze, Beelzebub might have found the words to clarify: now that he finally had you in his arms, he felt at home.

“It’s pretty late. You must be starving. Is that why you came by? I’ll be done soon, I promise,” you reassured him with a soft smile.

“Actually, I came in for this” – Beel took one arm off you to dig something out of his satchel and set a bag of bright crimson candies, tied with a dark green ribbon, on the counter next to the stove – “I bought you a bag of cherry candies.”

“That’s so nice! Thank you, Beel.” You smiled over your shoulder at him.

“I got another bag for myself so I wouldn’t be tempted to eat yours. Wanna try one?”

“Sure.”

Beel pulled out a piece from his own bag – which he had already opened on the walk back home – and unwrapped it for you. Without a word, he brought it up to your lips. You knew you should have been used to him trying to hand feed you by now, but the feeling of his fingertips grazing your lips always stirred something in you, and you were rarely sure whether he was purposefully trying to turn you on or not. Although, those few times where he dared to tease you – by, for example, pushing his finger into your mouth along with a bright cherry candy, and dragging it along your tongue before sliding the saliva-dampened digit down your chin – suggested that he always knew what he was doing to you.

Whether it was from the rush of sugar melting on your tongue or the racing of your heart, your lips curved up.

“There’s that smile.” A soft, breathy chuckle teased you further. “I thought I should bring back something sweet for you – because you’re sweet.”

“Aww, you think I’m sweet?” His words made you melt.

“Yes. You’re a very sweet person,” Beel replied in a candied tone. He loosened his grip around you to place his hands on either side of the stove, boxing you in. Leaning over your shoulder, Beel whispered into your ear: “And you taste even sweeter.”

The seductive drop in his voice sent chills up your spine that caused your shoulders to tremble slightly – an effect you hoped that Beel wouldn’t notice. You did your best to divert his attention and give yourself a chance to calm down. “Are you hungry? Do you want to try some of the stir-fry?”

Beel laughed and opened his mouth for you to feed him. You carefully grabbed a piece of meat with cooking chopsticks and allowed it to cool before holding it in your hands. It wasn’t as if you were eager to feel Beel’s lips on your skin. You just knew that you could trust him to not take a bite out of you more than you could trust him not to bite through the chopsticks. Besides, you didn’t want to contaminate the food by letting him eat with your cooking utensil.

He looked so happy as he chewed. “It’s delicious. I wish I could eat your cooking every day.”

“Thank you, Beel,” you grinned with a hint of pride.

Beelzebub wrapped his arms around you and buried his face into your neck affectionately once more. His cheeks burned, and he admitted, “But I still want to eat you most of all.”

Thirteen

When Thirteen invited you to her cave, you hadn’t expected to find such an obvious trap awaiting you. Right in front of the entrance to the cave was a vibrant pink gift box tied with a blue ribbon. She wasn’t fooling anyone, but you would hate to disappoint her, so you approached the present and leaned down to pick it up, trusting that Thirteen wouldn’t put you in harm’s way. Besides, you didn’t sense any malicious magic coming from the present.

The second you lifted the lid, a flurry of bubbles and confetti rushed out of the box. A particularly large bubble that was uniquely semi-opaque floated closer to you. There was something inside, or at least the strange shadow near the bottom suggested as much. You held your hands to catch the bubble, but just as it reached your palm, it burst into a puff of smoke, leaving its contents in your hand. Once the smoke cleared, you saw a bracelet with large, light pinkish-purple colored stone beads.

“Okay, where’s the cute little trickster who designed this?” you yelled out, knowing that Thirteen was probably watching nearby.

There was a gentle rustling in a nearby tree before you saw Thirteen hanging upside down from a sturdy branch. She arched her spine and bent backwards so she could get a good look at you. Thirteen gave you a smile, kicked her legs off the branch, and flipped over, landing safely on her feet. You felt compelled to clap for her.

“Someone called for a cute trickster?” Thirteen walked over while stretching her arms above her head, lifting her shirt up slightly higher.  

You tried to ignore your racing thoughts and asked, showing her the bracelet in your hand, “what’s this?”

“It looks like a thirteen-bead lilac kunzite bracelet – knotted, with a silk cord,” Thirteen answered plainly before a grin snuck up on her face. “Oh~ you mean, is this pretty little accessory and Mr. Bubble Barrage Surprise a gift for a precious human from someone madly in love with them? Who knows.”

“I’d say you might know.” You laughed at her, which only made Thirteen’s smile widen.

“I might,” she confirmed.

“Well, your – I mean their – Mr. Bubble Barrage Surprise was delightful, and it is a very pretty bracelet. Whatever human receives this is lucky, and I’m sure they are just as madly in love with the sender.”

“Oh you!” Thirteen bit her lip, all too pleased that you had not only played along with her but had flirted to the point of making her heart race. “Let me put this on for you.”

“You mean it’s for me?” you teased.

“Stop playing with me – unless you’re willing to put something at stake. In which case, I won’t go easy on you. Now, give it here.” Thirteen held her hand out with a wicked grin. You placed the bracelet in her palm.

Thirteen loosened the bracelet and slipped it over your hand. She rubbed her fingertip over the first stone and continued the motion like they were prayer beads until she got to the seventh. On that one, Thirteen rolled it back and fourth over your skin a few times. Then, she tightened the bracelet around your wrist.

“Thank you, Thirteen. But why did you want to give me this?” Usually, Thirteen preferred to give you food that the both of you could share or gadgets she had made. A bracelet wasn’t something you expected from her. Then, it occurred to you. “Wait, did you make this yourself?”

“What do you think?” Thirteen held your hand up, admiring the way her work looked against your skin. She smirked. “I am good with my hands, after all.”

Trying to ignore her innuendo, you asked, “What made you think to make this for me? It’s so sweet of you.”

“The answer isn’t that sweet; do you still want to know?” Thirteen caressed your knuckles with her thumb.

“Yes.” You nodded.

“I wanted to stake my claim on you. Those idiots are always clamoring for your attention, and I don’t mind that you indulge them, but it makes me feel a bit possessive. Since I’m certain you wouldn’t allow me to bite you every day, this is my way of marking you. I hope you don’t mind.” Thirteen had a soft smile on her lips – tainted with the shame of her jealousy. She grabbed the ends of your bracelet and tugged it gently, guiding your hand upright. Then, she slid her hand up, and intertwined her fingers with yours. “I want you to remember that you’re mine too.”

Raphael

Days alone with Raphael were a rarity, especially days spent comfortably relaxing in his room – and not just because the state of his room was often too chaotic for him to invite you in without any shame. However, Raphael found the place in a post-project cleanliness that encouraged him to ask you over at your earliest convenience. He was happy to have you all to himself.

“Take your shirt off,” Raphael suddenly insisted.

“Excuse me?” He had always been blunt, but the demand startled and flustered you. It wasn’t off the table, but the way he brought up his desires – how he initiated his advances – was jarring. You stared at him, wide-eyed.

Raphael chuckled at your surprise – almost as if he had intentionally phrased it that way just to tease you. He got up and went to his designated “projects for MC” bin and pulled out a neatly folded cloth, “I made you something, and I want to see how it fits you.”

He held a black button-down shirt up to your body. The cuffs and collar had subtle gold and blue embroidery that matched the four-part diamond accent unique to Raphael’s Celestial Realm clothes – the one on his choker and the front of his pantlegs. During his downtime over the past few weeks, Raphael had worked hard, crafting the shirt from scratch and ensuring everything down to the gold-thread buttonholes was beautiful. He had even taken the time to match the golden thread and the diamond-shaped metal buttons.

“Do you not want to get undressed?” Raphael’s lower lip pushed forward in a false pout – and had you realized he was setting you up to tease you, you might not have felt your chest tighten with heart-wrenching pity. That pout revealed its true nature: a wicked smirk unbefitting an angel. “Or maybe you’d like some help, hm?”

“Okay, if you don’t mind,” you agreed coolly, hoping to calm his teasing with shameless honesty.

Raphael draped your new shirt over the edge of his bed, freeing up his hands so he could take his time with you. His fingers lingered along your bare skin, appraising each inch of the exposed flesh he revealed. Scarred, hairy, dry, uneven, or sagging skin – any perceived flaw and every part of your body under his hands deserved the reverence he held for you. Each unnecessary caress was an offering of affection, praise whispered through a brief topographical survey of your body. Once he got you out of your shirt, Raphael took a second to admire you before helping you into the new one. He slowly buttoned it up, savoring the warmth of your core. His fingers stopped after the third button from the top, and he trailed his index finger down your exposed skin until he reached the button he had just done and hooked his finger inside your shirt. A part of him wanted to stop and undress you all over again.

“Raphael.” You cleared your throat in an attempt to pull him out of the daze he had worked himself into. He blinked slowly.

“Sorry. It’s not every day that I get to treat you like my doll.” Raphael held a gentle smile on his lips and dragged his gaze up to your chest as he finished buttoning up your shirt. Just as he imagined it would, the shirt fit beautifully. He smoothed his thumb over the embroidery on your collar. “Perfect.”

Raphael was right. The material was soft, and the shirt was a perfect fit. It was unbelievable. “How did you make this? It feels like you tailored it just for me, but you didn’t even take my measurements. Is that some kind of superpower?”

“Of course not,” Raphael chuckled at your confusion. “You know that silky black shirt you wore at the last R.A.D. event? I thought you looked amazing in it, so I used it to construct a pattern for this shirt.”

“You stole my shirt?”

“No. I borrowed it.”

“What? When? How?” You scrambled to understand what Raphael had done to get his hands on your clothes, but you decided to disregard those concerns and asked, “Do you still have it?”

“Yes – probably. I might have lost it in the sewing process. I’m sorry.” Raphael rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I can buy you a new one.”

“It’s okay. I already have a new shirt thanks to you.” You offered him a soft, understanding smile.

“But you looked really good in that one,” Raphael protested. “Let me buy you a replacement. I insist.”

“Okay, fine.”

“Good.” Raphael busied his hands by folding up the shirt you were wearing before. “Oh, but if I find it, do you want the old shirt back?”

“If you can use it for something else, you can keep it.”

“Oh? Alright.” Raphael nodded. Wonderful. He just had to keep the old one hidden for a few more days.

Mephistopheles

You were busy helping Diavolo, Barbatos, Lucifer, and Satan with paperwork when Mephisto burst into the student council room. He had been searching for you all day to give you a gift. He’d never admit to keeping his eye out for you – nor would he admit to sinking so low as to ask the one angel he actually got along with if he knew your whereabouts. Luke mentioned seeing Barbatos escorting you to the council room, so Mephisto took that lead and explored it.

It was annoying that you weren’t easier to track down, but Mephisto was especially irritated to find you sitting shoulder to shoulder with Lucifer as that pompous bastard leaned over to examine your work – as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world that Lucifer was coming on to you by pressing himself against you. What an entitled ass. What a rude, desperate, jerk!

Mephisto was fuming as he made his way over to you – although his anger wasn’t directed at the human he was unfortunately enamored with. He came up right behind you and Lucifer and sandwiched himself between the two of you as he set a small black leather box with silver accents down on the table.

“For me?” You stared at him, confused.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at you as if you had just asked the stupidest question he had heard all week. He started to speak: “Are you –”

“Yes, of course it is,” Mephisto cooed, happily interrupting Lucifer, and bent over the table until he had claimed the scarce space between paperwork. He stared at you over his shoulder with a seductive tint that Lucifer should have been grateful to be spared from witnessing. Mephisto’s gaze didn’t break as he asked, “Who else in this room would I go out of my way to spoil, you ridiculous creature?”

“Diavolo, probably,” you answered honestly.

“Lord Diavolo doesn’t require my spoiling. He’s a perfectly capable leader.”

“MC doesn’t require your spoiling either,” Lucifer interjected. “They’re spoiled plenty at home.”

“What sort of egotistical guardian denies someone the simple pleasure of a present because he believes himself capable of tending to their every need?” Mephisto continued to keep his eyes on you as he directed his question at the demon to his side.

“Excuse me? What overinflated suitor believes he’s more capable of pleasing someone who lays their head down in the bed of another?”

“I could ask you the same question!”

“Can you two knock it off?” You sighed, glancing around the room. Barbatos gave you a look that suggested he was two more coded insults away from shutting those two up himself.

“I’m finished with this stack anyway.” Lucifer gathered his paperwork into a tidy pile and got to his feet. “Just call on me if you need anything at all, MC. I’m certain I can fulfill whatever you ask of me.”

Once Lucifer walked away, you saw Mephisto’s shoulders relax. You shook your head, slightly entertained by his commitment to hating Lucifer. “Thank you for the gift, Mephisto. This is very sweet. I’ll open it after I’m done here, okay?”

“Certainly. Well” – Mephisto stood up straight, smoothed down his jacket, and quickly squeezed your shoulder as if he was afraid to let anyone notice that a desire to touch you burned in him – “I should be on my way.”

“Wait. Could I have a kiss before you go?” you asked.

“What? Why would you want –? Right now?” Mephisto felt especially flustered at the idea of kissing you in front of Diavolo and Barbatos. If you had just asked in front of Lucifer and Satan, he would have quickly obliged you.

“Please?” You encouraged him, sweetly.

“What’s the matter, Mephistopheles?” Lucifer made his way back towards the wreckage to antagonize the drowning victim. A sadistic smirk sat on his lips. “I gave MC a kiss the last time I gave them a present. Can’t you do that much?”

“I don’t want to!” Mephisto huffed and stormed away. You felt guilty and were about to chase after him to apologize when he loudly demanded, “Don’t follow me. Just leave me alone.”

You sat back down in your seat and nervously chewed your lower lip. Every part of that situation could have gone better. I probably shouldn’t have asked so much of him, and I didn’t need to be so persistent, you thought. Eventually, you refocused on your paperwork – trying to distract from the awkwardness you felt and to keep your eyes from wandering to the present sitting on the table, taunting you. Mephisto was being so nice to you, and now he's probably in a terrible mood; that didn’t seem fair, and it certainly didn’t seem fair that you were left with a gift that you said you would open. The paperwork-distraction did, inevitably, come to an end. There was nothing left to shove between you and that gift; your hands were idle. Maybe you shouldn’t open it.

“MC,” Diavolo interrupted your thoughts. “I think Mephisto would be happy if you opened it now.”

“He would?” You traced the decorative silver boarder along the top of the box.

“I’ve known him longer than anyone else. If I had to guess, I’d say he was really excited for you to open that present – whether he was here or off sulking somewhere. He just wanted to make you happy.” Diavolo offered you a smile and returned to his desk.

You decided to open it. Inside the box was a well-crafted brooch that was aimed to complement your style, which indicated that Mephisto had carefully considered what would suit you. Underneath the brooch was a small card with your name written on it in Mephisto’s lovely – although possibly ostentatious – calligraphy. You opened the card to read:

Wear this to dinner tonight. Dress nicely. A car will arrive to pick you up at the House of Lamentation at 8pm. Yours, unfortunately, Mephistopheles

He got you a present and asked you on a date – or, well, maybe demanded one. Now you really felt bad for letting him storm off. Would he even still want to keep your date? You pulled out your D.D.D. and anxiously crafted a message.

MC: Hey, Mephi. I’m sorry I was so pushy earlier. I shouldn’t have upset you by asking for a kiss so casually in front of people. I hope you aren’t too upset. . . Do you still want to go on that date tonight? I’ll understand if you want to call it off.

You pressed send and waited for a response that came soon after.

Mephistopheles: Just don’t get so needy in front of Lord Diavolo in the future.

Mephistopheles: And yes, I expect to see you tonight. I’m looking forward to it. However, I need you to do one more thing for me.

MC: Sure, what is it?

Mephistopheles: Bring a change of clothes with you – unless you want me to drop you off at home tomorrow afternoon in the same outfit you were wearing when you left.

You rolled your eyes and tried to tease him.

MC: What? I can’t go home in the morning? Are you not a morning demon?

Mephistopheles: I won’t be done with you by the time morning reaches us. Any other questions, you ridiculous creature?

(kiss version - Mammon, Satan, Asmodeus, Belphegor, Solomon)

A/N: This took way too long and I cannot explain why (I don't know. Maybe my brain is broken). Also we should get to romance the sides after the next update because it would make sense but also because I want to - even if they might disappoint me.

[lucabyte]

Happy halloween from Purrgatorio!! This year's costume theme is: things that have been distracting me from writing Purrgatorio

[camijust]

The day the world will heal is the day people will stop treating Camille as a "cutie cinnamon roll brat >:3" instead of the insufferable catty fucker he actually was

The same goes for Saint-Just because he's always the "icy and stoic twink who's a good boy for Robespierre :3"

[haharuspex]

white-haired obnoxious bastard vs white-haired obnoxious bastard but in pink. they think they're sooooo smart about "seducing" each other but they just have similar tactics/issues

anyway my boi temerity as bg3 protag, he and astarion would pull each other's hair out ♥️

[warlordfelwinter]

[antlerqueer]

Cruel Intentions (2024). Beta.

@lgbtqcreators creator bingo: antagonist

[seaquestions]

blake lets him keep it. this is a dire lapse in judgement on his part but they're just gonna have to live with it. (ids in alts)

[arrgh-whatever]

[canisalbus]

I'm sure you get this a lot but because my cousin and I love that one Danny Trejo action comedy, I always have to snap my brain into the right position when I read Machete's name. Maybe I should draw them both chilling

.

[everchased]

i have a small headcanon that one of the reasons finch and lae'zel get along so well and so quickly is both of their tendencies to subtly express themselves through their long fuckign ears

[knowledge-paradox]

stretching sketching feat Luca and his muscular issues part two 🔥🔥🔥