#i write sin like twice a year

[ddarker-dreams]

Easy Does It.

Scaramouche x F Reader.

Warnings: Explicit Not SFW, Scaramouche is annoying, Reader’s body is described as AFAB, they both bicker like an old couple... Word count: 7.2k.

You have a triumphant pep in your step as you hop down from the inn’s engawa to where your traveling companion awaits.

He stands beneath a canopy of sakura trees, late in their bloom, yet beautiful nonetheless. Pink petals dance around him in wayward clusters, swaying wherever the breeze blows. It’s an idyllic scene taken straight from the pages of a fairytale. He too appears absorbed with their hypnotizing essence, extending his hand upward and allowing for a lone petal to find its home there. He brings it to his face, studying it closely, an unreadable expression etched onto his countenance when the Electro energy imbued within tickles his fingers.

It could be your imagination, but you get the sense he almost looks sad. Forlorn, even. A strange heaviness haunts the air around him.  

You’re about to call out when a twig crunches beneath your feet, alerting him to your presence.

The ethereal mirage fades away faster than if a painter were to take water to their freshly painted canvas.

“Oh, there you are,” The Wanderer greets, his fingers curling inward and crushing the petal within a tight fist. “You sure took your sweet time. I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever get you back. Well? Are you just going to stand there and gawk? How’d the ‘negotiations’ go?”

You puff out your cheeks. To think you almost fell for his spell so easily… that mouth of his could easily break you out of any enchantment. Not that you’d have it any other way.

“Behold, you nonbeliever,” you proudly lift and display the keys you secured, its metal reflecting the blood-orange sun. “I told you I’d work something out. We’ve got shelter for the night.”  

“Oh? Not bad,” he crosses his arms over his chest, his lips twitching into a smirk. “You have some uses after all. Color me surprised.”

“A simple ‘good job’ would have sufficed. Are all your compliments this backhanded?”

“I wouldn’t know, since I give them so rarely.”

You roll your eyes at that and carry onward, striding past him in the process. The Wanderer blinks, following your form with his eyes, then half-jogging to catch up with you. Unsurprisingly, he wastes no time voicing his dissent over your actions.

“Hey, I know your sense of direction isn’t the best, but the inn is that way,” he juts his thumb toward where you came from. You take a deep breath to prepare yourself. You cherished being lavished in his praise, awful as he is at it, for all of thirty seconds. It’s likely that’ll end here if he isn’t in the most forgiving of moods.

“... About that,” your voice comes out uncharacteristically weak, “They didn’t magically get any openings in the hours since we last asked. I offered for us to get rid of some pesky nobushi—”

He lets out a dissatisfied grunt that you choose to ignore.

“—And in return, they’re letting us use an old house that’s traditionally off-limits, since it’s mostly for storage. Hey, don’t look at me like that! The nobushi job can wait until morning. It beats sleeping out in a storm.”

As if on cue, a low rumble of thunder resounds in the distance. The Wanderer just huffs, your line of reasoning is too solid for him to bother arguing further. You both searched high and low for proper accommodations upon learning a nasty thunderstorm was inbound. Normally, it wouldn’t be so difficult, but there was apparently a festival that had inns in the immediate area stuffed. The tempests in Inazuma were notorious for their ferocity.

“So they lug their pest extermination project on us. What a bore,” The Wanderer yawns at the mere thought. “Humans always want to know what’s in it for them. Our Mora should’ve sufficed.”

You don’t bother replying. He likes getting the last word in and you’ll let him this time.

The house the old couple who ran the inn described to you grows closer with each step. It’s not as dilapidated as you pictured from the outside, a rather quaint-looking abode. The design reminds you of the homes found in Konda Village, boasting a thatch ceiling and a light-colored wood exterior. Paper lanterns hang from the veranda, as do white cloths with strings tied around the top, giving the impression of a round head.

You point to the unknown object and voice your curiosity to the Wanderer, who you know hails from Inazuma. “What’s this? I’ve seen them in lots of the villages we’ve passed through.”

“What do I look like, a tour guide?” he mumbles under his breath, yet sees fit to answer you anyway. He always does. “It’s supposedly a talisman meant to invoke good weather, called teru teru bōzu. You’ll find they’re popular in rural areas that rely on farming to get by.”

You let out a small “ohh” at his explanation. “Interesting. I didn’t expect that the denizens of Inazuma would try to ward off phenomena so closely associated with their Archon.”

While saying this, you fit the key snugly into the lock and twist, granting you both entry.  

“Hah. These simpletons would do far better for themselves if they gave that good-for-nothing recluse more pushback.”

While the Wanderer is no stranger to voicing his thoughts, for better or for worse (normally the latter), his animosity toward the Raiden Shogun is unmatched. Anytime she’s so much as mentioned you have to start praying to a higher power that he won’t lay into whatever unlucky soul brought her up. Fortunately for you, his eerily friendly façade doesn’t falter in the moment. He waits until it’s only you around for the venom to spill forth. He certainly has no shortage of it.

“Hurry up inside so we don’t get struck by lightning because of your heresy,” you remove your shoes by the entrance and he follows suit. “From what I can tell, she got plenty of pushback from the Vision Hunt Decree a ways back.”

“Not nearly enough.”

The interior is a bit worse for wear than the exterior, but at least it’s clean. You get to work moving aside furniture and other miscellaneous items so there’ll be enough room to sleep. In the meantime, the Wanderer slides a screen door aside, revealing a bunched-up futon. He takes it outside to pat it off, further continuing your oddly domestic routine. In your few years of traveling together, you’ve come to learn that you synergize together surprisingly well. The Wanderer might complain that you’re a nuisance who he keeps an eye on out of pity, but you know better than to take his words at face value. There are always precious gems hidden beneath the hard exterior.

When he comes back inside, he sprawls the futon down across the tatami floor, then settles his hands on his hips. “What sort of rundown inn is this? There’s only one futon in the closet.”

You situate yourself on a cushion that happened to already be out. “We should be thankful that they even had one since this isn’t a proper rentable room. You can feel free to take it. Sleeping on the floor isn’t so bad.”

“And have to deal with you complaining about how sore you are for the next few days? No thanks,” he scrunches up his nose. “... Wait here. I’ll go have a chat with our hosts and see if I can get some proper hospitality.”

Uh oh. That doesn’t sound promising. “Please don’t get us thrown out, I’d rather not get blown away in an eighty-mile-an-hour wind.”

“I’d fly to get you back,” The Wanderer hums as he makes for the door. Then a mischievous gleam dances in his eyes, a sight you’re plenty familiar with. “Maybe. If I was feeling particularly generous.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He removes his hat, stands it against the wall, then makes for the door. He’s gone faster than you can think to stop him, leaving you temporarily on your lonesome. The many compliments he received for his well-mannered behavior when you passed through Konda Village come to mind, a memory that makes you snort. You suppose you can’t blame them for falling for his act. He could be rather convincing when he set his heart on something. So could you, for that matter. Hence why you ended up becoming an unlikely pair to begin with.

Standing to your full height, you begin shedding your outer layer of clothes. The trek back to the inn combined with the owner’s talkative nature should ensure he’ll be gone for a while. Once you’re left in nothing but your undergarments, you fold and set your clothes aside, ambling toward a plain yukata you saw hanging up in the closet. You put both your arms through the long sleeves and then stop, your fingers resting over the Electro Vision clasped like a necklace around your neck.

Inazuma, land of the Electro Archon, a place the Wanderer seemed intimately connected with. It strikes you then how little you know about your companion. You’ve told him plenty about yourself — the delicious wines, tall windmills, and sea of dandelions found in your homeland — hoping it’d get him to do the same. He’d dodge your inquiries with ease, stating that he was ‘just a wanderer these days’ and nothing else.

You know that can’t be it. Especially not with his tendency to refer to people as ‘humans’, inadvertently implying he isn’t one himself. So just who is he? What is he?

Why does he still seem keen to travel with you, when he could make it perfectly fine by himself?

And most importantly… when will this fun adventure you never expected to take come to an end? After all, that is the fate of all journeys. Nothing lasts forever.

For some reason or another, the thought fills you with an uncomfortable pang.

You begin carrying out the steps of properly securing the yukata. It’s an awkward endeavor, as you’re not used to it, but you start to make some decent progress. That is until your soul all but ascends when the door unceremoniously flings open.

“Seriously, the gall of them to lock up so ear—”

The door slams closed as the Wanderer doesn’t have the presence of mind to ease it shut. “—Ly…?”

His eyes go as wide as saucers while the most you can think to do is turn around, rushing through the final steps to regain your dignity. He wasn’t supposed to come back so soon! This shouldn’t be a big deal, it really shouldn’t, yet the expression he wore was unlike anything you’ve seen. The Wanderer is always so sure of himself, bordering and often crossing over into arrogance. It didn’t matter if you were lost in the middle of nowhere with low provisions or stuck in a battle against waves of monsters seemingly without an end in sight. He’d act with the utmost confidence, dissipating your uncertainty like a lighthouse’s beam on a foggy night.

So what was that look he gave you, an emotion on him you’ve never seen before? It’s making you feel warm from head to toe.

“... You’re… you’re doing it wrong.”

The Wanderer is standing in your shadow, closing what already feels like the nonexistent distance between you. You cease moving entirely when his hands reach around to tug at the loose fabric. He folds and tucks everything into place as it should be, no sounds registering in your brain aside from the shuffling of fabric and your pounding heartbeat. Internally, you beg yourself to say something, or for him to say something, the flow of your usual banter entirely staunched. In a matter of a few seconds that feel like they’re dragging on for an eternity, the yukata is set into place as it should be. Just when you think you’re free from this embarrassing nightmare’s tendrils, he sets his sights on the final piece.

He wraps the obi around your waist and ties it. When he’s done, he takes a step back and finally breaks the excruciating silence.

“Turn around.”

You try to think of a snarky rebuttal that’d diffuse the peculiar heaviness in the air, as if gravity itself had intensified. Upon coming up with nothing, you acquiesce to his softly spoken demand, your eyes set firmly on the ground. Is this real life or a very potent figment of your imagination? You’ve never felt so sheepish around him; in a mere second, your entire dynamic shifted.

“Is the floor really that interesting?” His face is close enough that you can feel his warm breath tickling your skin when he laughs. The sound is different from his usual derisive chuckle. Freer, in a way. “Look up at me already.”

Somehow, this request seems easier to fulfill than his previous one. You find yourself lifting your head without your mind deciding if that’s what it wants to do yet, your body and impulses taking the reins. The Wanderer must not have been expecting your willingness either — his breath hitches in his throat when you make unwavering eye contact. It’s in the peaceful seconds of nothingness that follow that you find yourself admiring your companion’s features.

He’s beautiful to a surreal degree. If he told you he was handmade by the gods, you would’ve believed him without question. His skin is like porcelain, his eyes wide and glossy, framed by long, dark eyelashes, his lips rosy and his cheeks even rosier. For all his impish attributes, his visage is far more in line with that of a cherub. You don’t bother hiding your unabashed staring. He told you to look at him and you’re going to do just that.

Whatever devious words he had waiting for you on his tongue must’ve withered away without ever blooming.

Logically speaking, it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds that ticked by since he last spoke, but you feel like you’ve shared an eternity together. If you weren’t used to seeing him surprised, his current expression is all the more foreign. It was a puzzle piece that didn’t fit. You scour your memory, analyzing the countless impressions he’s made, placing the countenance you’re currently seeing over them to find a match.

Eventually, something in your frazzled brain clicks.

This isn’t a new expression at all. You know it better than you’d like to admit.

This is how he looks at you when you eagerly compliment his cooking, scoffing and muttering under his breath that it isn’t anything to get so excited about, while fighting back a smile. When you rope him into playing with the kids of whatever family is feeling kind enough to give you lodging for the night, a thousand excuses on his tongue that he never follows through on after seeing how you laugh and run without a care. This is how he looks at you in the morning, afternoon, evening, twilight, and night.

Now that you’re being honest with yourself, you can’t remember a time when he didn’t look at you this way.

With yearning…

(He’s leaning forward).

Adoration…

(His lips are almost close enough to touch yours).

… And rapidly spiraling self-control.

“Wanderer?”

There’s a flash of lightning outside, a prelude to the storm ahead.

Bright streaks of light illuminate the side of his countenance. The instant the lightning’s glow fades, you’re face to face with his back. He’s walking away. A torrent batters the worn-down windows in a violent clash of water and glass. Where is he going? He picks his ornate hat up and places it on his head. Why is he going? Shaky fingers rise to press against your lip.

You never got to feel his.

He doesn’t get the chance to twist the doorknob before you’re leaping into action, more adrenaline pumping through your veins than any fight could ever evoke. He stumbles forward from the force of your bodies clashing yet manages to remain standing. Your arms encircle his waist, pulling him back to you, not an ounce of your strength going unused. Initially, his body goes stiff as a corpse. And then he struggles. Sharply twisting his torso to deter your hold, which successfully puts your footing off balance, but doesn’t get you to retract. He tries it again. This time with more force. You shake your head, adamant and unwilling, embracing him even tighter.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, disbelief apparent. Instead of coming off like a predator that’s bearing its teeth, you view him as prey caught in a trap that wildly thrashes when being set free.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?” you return, your voice almost threatening to crack beneath the weight of your words. Having piqued his curiosity, he ceases movement altogether. You lower your volume to a solemn whisper. “You were about to… about to kiss me.”

“No, I—” he cuts himself off, the words coming out in an almost incomprehensible jumble, “I was just messing around. You’re so… so easy to fool, you know that? So gullible. You don’t know the first thing about me and yet you’re willing to let me touch you like a lover. It’s almost pathetic, really.”

The words meant to add fuel to the fire blazing in your soul do the opposite and extinguish it instead. You loosen your grip enough that he could easily break free if he tried.

He doesn’t.

“You’re wrong about that.”

“What?” He sounds incredulous more so than angry. However he anticipated this to go down in his head, you wouldn’t follow the script, if anything, you’d be handed it only so you may shred it to pieces. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“I do,” your affirmation comes out quickly, though far from uncertain. “You said I don’t know the first thing about you, but that’s a lie. I know plenty. I know that you’re pretty terrible.”

The Wanderer lets out a noise you can only describe as a choked, humorless laugh, but since you’re not finished, you continue on.

“Yeah, you’re awful alright. You act like you’re better than everyone else before you get the chance to even know them. You refuse to acknowledge the good in the world when it’s dangling right in front of your eyes, so focused on the backdrop that you miss what’s really important. You’re conceited, insensitive, and stubborn to a fault. But…”

Although he can’t see you in this position, you smile. “You’re willing to acknowledge your shortcomings after enough convincing. You’ll point out mine too. You see through things that I’m blind to, standing up for me when I’m afraid to do it myself. You tell me I talk too much yet still listen and remember every word. If I get sick, you take care of me until I’m better, even if you complain the entire time. You’ll push me out of the way in a fight, taking a blow meant for me, then swear it doesn’t hurt so I won't worry. It does hurt, though, doesn’t it? You feel pain the same way I do. Just because you’re used to it doesn't make it hurt any less. Yes… you’re right that there are some things I don’t know about you. But I know enough to say I love you, awfulness and all.”

“... Love?” He’s breathless. “You love me?”

“Somehow or another, so— oof!”

In an instant, your positions switch. The first thing you register is your back hitting something solid. Both your arms have been lifted and pinned over your head by him. When you reopen your eyes to gain your bearings, you’re treated to a sight you don’t think you’ll ever forget. The Wanderer is almost feverish, his face flushed, his lips parted so he may pant, his chest heaving for air. His dilated pupils look nowhere else than directly at you. The heavens could collapse and the Abyss could rise and still, he would not look away. It’s raw, it’s depraved, but it’s him.

“You mean it? You really mean it?”

You try to wriggle your hand free, longing to touch him, but he narrows his eyes and tightens his grip. The strength he uses further convinces you that had he genuinely wanted to, he could’ve easily rid himself of you earlier. Words escape you entirely beneath the intensity of his stare. Your legs feel weak and it’s like the air had been stolen entirely from your lungs. There’s no way he didn’t hear everything you painstakingly laid out for him. You let him glimpse into your heart, what was all this apprehension about?

The wetness growing on his lower lash line makes you understand, deep down. It’s not that he doesn’t want to believe you — it’s that he’s scared of what it’ll mean if he does.

You’re the one who closes the pesky distance. The contact is gentle, chaste, a hesitant brushing of your lips against his. You let them linger there for a few seconds longer, feeling how his lower lip trembles, tasting the bitterness of the matcha he drank not too long ago. When you think to pull back, his body lurches forward, unwilling to let you get away that easily. He’s noticeably inexperienced, somewhat awkward in how he slots his mouth against yours. Still, it sets fireworks off in your chest and makes you croon. He’s so distracted with helping himself to your lips that he relaxes his grip. You use this to your advantage, finally free to wrap your arms around his neck and bring him closer.

When you part for some much-needed air, he encases your face in his hands.

“Say it again,” his lips ghost over yours when he speaks. “Please. I need you to say it again.”

How could you ever deny him when he’s talking to you like that?

“I love you.”

“Even though I’m ‘pretty terrible’?”

“Even then.”

“Won’t you change your mind?”

“I won’t.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise,” you smile, unable to stop yourself from beaming. Floating midair wouldn’t make you feel as light as you do now. “And what about you, Wanderer? Did I successfully win over your heart?”

There’s an enigmatic gleam in his eyes that you don’t quite understand. “Yeah. Although I wouldn’t say it’s anything worth winning. Whatever joke of a heart I’ve got, you can have it. It’s yours. You can’t get rid of it even if you want to. Or, to be more accurate…”

You gasp when he nibbles the shell of your ear then whispers, his voice low, “You can’t get rid of me even if you want to.”

If this is his attempt at intimidation, you aren’t impressed.

“It’s a good thing I don’t want to then, right?”

“That’s my [First] for you,” he brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face and laughs. “Only you could find a positive way to spin that. Well, perhaps that strangeness is what draws me to you. You might be just as messed up in the head as I am.”

He swoops in to kiss you again but is met with the softness of your cheek instead of your lips. His eyes widen, then narrow, dark energy gathering and permeating around his figure. You almost think better of your decision to mess around with him but ultimately remain firm. He can’t always get what he wants without having to put in some work. You’ll end up spoiling him if you act too indulgent.

“I think you may have ruined the romantic atmosphere,” you add some dramatic flair by sighing. He blinks rapidly, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. It’s a cute look on him. “I poured my heart out to you and not only do you call me strange, you say I’m messed up as well. I dunno, my feelings might be too hurt. Maybe I should just go to bed…”

He actually gapes at you, sputtering, incapable of forming an intelligent rebuttal at your sheer audacity. You press your advantage and writhe out from his hold. You don’t make it more than a single step toward the futon before you’re being hoisted into the air, the Wanderer recovering from his stupor in record time. He bridal carries you over, muttering how you’re “such a difficult woman”, the gentle way he lays you down contrasting his harsh words.

He crawls over top of you, the grin on his face a mix between boyish and menacing. His next words come out in a playful singsong. “Oh no you don’t, little minx.”

It’s almost impossible to fight back a smile, but you somehow manage, though you have no doubt he sees through your weak façade. With about as much innocence as you can muster, you say, “If you’re tired too, we could always sleep together.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, the innuendo not lost on him. “Your jokes suck.”

“Hah, but you laugh at them anyway,” you stick your tongue out at him. “So which one of us truly sucks here?”

“You, on your knees, another time maybe,” he replies, a little too self-assured for your liking. “Not tonight though. I have other plans for you.”

He accentuates this by latching his lips to your neck, directly over where your racing pulse is most prominent. You tilt your head to the side, allowing him easier access, your senses so overwhelmed with him that nothing else registers. His hands to get work undoing what he helped put on you minutes prior. Cool night air bites at your newly exposed skin, the front of the yukata fluttering to the side. He pulls back from his task of lavishing your neck in heated open-mouthed kisses to admire the sight. It’s almost animalistic, the way he’s regarding you now, as if you were a feast put in front of a starved man. The intensity of his gaze almost makes you shy.

“... May I?” He murmurs, his previous bravado melting away. His face is red up to his ears. “Is it really okay?”

Unable to find your voice, you nod your head, almost biting your lower lip hard enough to bruise. Why is it far easier to deal with him when he’s being a cocky little bastard? When he talks so uncharacteristically sweet… gazes at you reverently with those big, doe-like eyes… you simply don’t know what to do with yourself. He’s making you go crazy.

When you work up the courage to look at him again, you swear your heart almost stops. Both your eyes meet in a silent exchange of adoration. You hadn’t realized it earlier, but in this spot where the silvery moonlight shines through in gratuitous amounts, you notice a damning detail. There are tear streaks on his cheeks. Without giving the action much thought, you raise your hand to cup his face. His wet eyelashes flutter shut and he leans into your touch. The pad of your thumb grazes over his cheekbone, gently wiping away what you can. Eventually, he reopens his eyes, and when he does, you adjust yourself so that you may unclasp your bra. The undergarment is thrown haphazardly to an unknown destination.

Both his hands raise, his fingers twitching while they descend to caress your chest.

“Soft…” he whispers, his eyes glowing an otherworldly hue, “So soft.”

Whether he meant to or not, you’ll never know, but his thumbs brush over your nipples just right and you let out a whimper. He freezes in place, his attention going from the flesh in his palms back up to your face. Upon confirming you did indeed release such a debauched sound, he dips his head, his lips wrapping around your nipple and sucking. His eagerness to help himself to your body causes wetness to stain your panties. He lets out a content noise when you thread your fingers through his hair, bringing him in closer. His free hand goes from groping greedily at your chest to traveling downward. It brushes over your lower stomach, then settles itself on the side of your hips.

You let out a huff at the lack of friction where you want it most. Something tells you he would be content to do this for hours, and while that’s a lovely sentiment, it’s akin to torture when you want so much more.

Your hand guides his to where you want it most — right between your thighs.

He pulls back with an audible pop, his lips shiny with saliva. “Oh? Aren’t you a bold little thing. I was in the middle of doing something. You’re just begging to be punished, aren’t you?”

The Wanderer probably expects you to respond with equal brattiness — and maybe you would’ve if your body would stop screaming and let you think for a second — but you don’t. You surprise both him and yourself by whispering in a voice dripped in sin, “Please.”

He swallows thickly. You can feel his arousal twitch to life, hard and hot against your legs. Slowly, so that he may continue savoring your expression, he pulls back until he’s nestled between your legs. He places a chaste kiss against your inner thigh. Then your panties’ hemline. Finally, he presses his lips against your clothed cunt, the slight pressure from his slow, open-mouthed kiss driving you mad with want. You try bucking your hips forward, an act that earns you swift retaliation. His hands hold your hips in place tight. He gives you a warning squeeze, one that communicates he’s working on his time, not yours.

“Ah ah ah,” he chastises, his lips cruelly departing from your clothed cunt to your inner thigh, where he alternates between nibbling and kissing your feverish flesh, “Try anything like that again and I’ll show you how mean I really can be. You think you know, but trust me, you don’t, since I’m actually quite sweet on you…”

His fingers hook around your panties and pull them down. “I know you’re beyond desperate for me, but let’s try to have a little decorum, okay? Or has your lust made you incapable of feeling shame?”

“I liked your mouth better when it was busy,” your comeback would’ve sounded a lot stronger if it didn’t come out like a whine.

“You just always have something to say, don’t you?” He sounds amused more than anything. You never get the chance to respond, for he places his middle and pointer finger against your pussy, applying the most pressure yet. It’s divine if not the furthest thing from enough. “Let’s see if I can change that.”

The Wanderer feels at you, curious, dragging his fingers up and down while studying your various expressions. When he sees something he likes, he focuses the majority of his attention to the spot that caused such a visceral reaction. Through the hot waves of pleasure sinking you into a delightful abyss, you realize he’s found your clit. Not long after discovering the best place to touch you, he replaces his fingers with his lips, pulling you flush against his face. You throw your head back as he devours you, what he lacks in skill is more than made up for by his enthusiasm. You spread your legs further for him, wanting anything he’s willing to offer from the bottom of your soul.

The muscles in your thighs go tense as your release steadily approaches. You can’t remember the last time you were intimate with another, having been on the road for so long. The most you could ever do to appease any carnal need that reared its head was wait until the Wanderer was sound asleep, giving you the chance to relieve yourself. He never left your side long enough to any other time. Or to find any partner you could mess around with. Any flirtatious remarks sent your way ended with the offender cowering from a brutal verbal lashing. Maybe getting launched through a window by a ‘gust of wind’ if they were bold enough to touch you.

No, the man currently eating you out as if his life depended on it was fiercely protective. Now you know why. He wanted you for himself.

When you come, you let out a high-pitched noise, your head lolled to the side and your fingernails digging marks into your palms. This doesn’t deter him in the slightest. He continues lapping and suckling your oversensitive clit, drunk on the sounds he could make you produce. You finally get him to detach yourself from your person using a burst of strength. He looks up at you through his eyelashes, a wicked smirk full display.

You smooth out his tousled indigo locks. “Thank you. That felt really good.”

“I should be the one thanking you for the delectable meal,” he runs his tongue over his lips, further savoring your taste. It’s a miracle you have any semblance of coherent thought after witnessing such an obscene display. “My appetite is far from satiated, though.”

To your great pleasure, he begins removing the layers of clothes that make up his normal outfit. The fast rate at which he does so belies his inner excitement. The golden rings on his middle fingers go first, then his black gloves, and outer white and turquoise tunic. The almost sheer, sleeveless black shirt he wears beneath clings tight to his lean torso. He makes quick work of his belt and shorts, shooting you a bemused look over his shoulder when he catches your eyes.

“Did no one ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

“I can’t help it,” comes your rebuttal. “You’re so beautiful.”

His head snaps away and he clears his throat. “S-Surely you can do better than that. I suppose I can accept such uninspired praise for now.”

You raise yourself to a sitting position and settle yourself behind him, your bare chest pressing against his back. It doesn’t take him long to relax in this unexpected embrace. Being this close to him, you’re given the unique opportunity to notice intricacies you couldn’t otherwise. On the nape of his neck is the symbol that represents Electro, its shape the exact same as the one found on your Vision. Your Wanderer certainly is a bundle of mysteries, isn’t he? His muscles go tense when you press a kiss against the spot. You then nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply, the earthy scent of kyara wood sticking to his skin.

“You’re not going to say anything about it?”

“Hm? About what?”

“You know what I mean,” his words lack any real bite. “I know you saw it.”

You close your eyes, arriving at an answer surprisingly fast. “I’m sure you’ll tell me about it when you’re ready.”

As if silently voicing his agreement, he twists around, bringing you into a soft liplock. He coaxes you into laying back down. You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with any loose strands of hair you feel. Upon opening your eyes, you’re blessed with the sight of a simple smile from the man above you. There’s no underlying haughtiness or malice, just pure, unadulterated devotion. For you and you alone. Something hard brushes against your entrance, causing you to gasp. He chuckles, swooping down to steal another kiss before whispering in your ear,

“Ready?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

The head of his cock presses against your lower lips. He rubs himself against you teasingly, coating himself in your essence for more lubrication. Slowly, he sinks himself inside you, the fingers on your hips trembling from the unusual sensation. You do your best to relax your breathing and body to better take him in. He enters inch by inch, the drag of his length against your inner walls a touch uncomfortable if not incredibly fulfilling. You’re unable to focus on your body getting used to the feeling when he’s panting by your ear, soft moans falling out in abundance.

“Fuck,” he hisses through grinding teeth, “That’s good.”

He goes still when he bottoms out inside you. Slowly yet surely, the dull ache from the stretch fades. The room is filled with the sound of both your labored breathing and rain hitting the fogged-up window panes. You drink in one another’s presence. The world itself could come to an end, and still, you’d be content. Having fully adjusted, you feel bold enough to bring him impossibly closer by locking your legs around his waist. He grunts, his eyes wide-blown.

“You can move now. Hm… or should I take the lead?” You ask teasingly.

The skin beneath his eyes tightens when he grins. “Hah. I’d like to see you try.”

“I’ll hold you to tha— mm…”

He pulls himself out of you to the tip and then plunges back in, causing you to throw your head back. He’s big and of decent girth but without being too much to handle. Your low, heavy moan causes his cock to twitch inside you. There must be nothing he enjoys more than the sounds you make. He commits himself to taking you at a moderate pace, his hands on your hips bringing you down to meet his thrusts. His lips are on yours again, this kiss being the messiest yet, a clash of tongue and teeth. He shoves his tongue into your mouth and allows you to taste yourself. It's greedy, it's unrefined, and most importantly, it’s everything you want.

A thin bridge of saliva connects your lips when he parts, his eyes narrow with glee. “You love me. You really— ah— love me…!”

The Wanderer buries his face in the crook of your neck, his pace growing faster. You rub circles into your clit, another release right on the horizon from his previous actions. He’s doing what he can to keep his volume down, and yet you’re still treated to a lovely melody of pants and moans. There is no song that could ever compare. He might not be whispering sweet nothings into your ear, but this is infinitely better. Watching him get drunk and lose himself in pleasure when he’s normally so composed is a privilege exclusive to you.

“I’m close,” you whimper, every inch of your existence engulfed with heat, “So close.”

“Go on then. Show me how good I make you feel.”

Each sensual roll of his hips brings you higher and higher. He devotes himself to your ecstasy, fucking you with more strength than you expected him to use. It’s all too much. His cock massaging your insides, his tenor voice letting out the most unholy voices near your ear, the frenzied stimulation of your clit that lost its rhythm ages ago. You arch your back, your walls squeezing and fluttering as you cry out. He presses his forehead against yours while you lose yourself beneath him.

“There we go, just like that,” he coos. “That made for quite a sight. You really were made for me. Or maybe…”

After a moment’s contemplation, he voices a thought tinged with indecipherable emotion. “Maybe I was made for you.”

From his increasingly erratic thrusts, you can guess that he’s getting close as well. His vice-like grip on your hips is sure to leave bruises for the days that follow. The sound of skin on skin carries throughout the small space while the scent of sweat and sex permeates the air. Through the haze clouding your mind, you swear to yourself that you’ll always remember this. You want this special moment shared between you both inked into your subconscious. His alluring scent, his frantic touch, his bittersweet taste and little moans.

When he comes, he forces your hips down to meet his stuttering thrusts. Warmth seeps into your insides. He doesn’t stop there, he fucks his release deeper into you, your name rolling off his tongue with all the piety of a devotee worshipping their god. He goes soft inside you yet doesn’t pull out, seemingly content to stay put while he catches his breath. Absent-mindedly, you rub circles into his shoulder blades, encouraging him to relax. He ends up relaxing a little too much, collapsing on top of you and resting his head on your chest. His arms go around your shoulders and pull you flush against him. It would appear even a mere inch separating you both is unforgivable in his eyes.

“Hey.”

“Mm.”

“You’re heavy.”

“Not my problem.”

“Get off already.”

“Don’t wanna.”

His world-renowned brattiness has made a triumphant return. You try propping yourself up by your elbows, only to be met with him nuzzling himself into you further. You tumble gracelessly back onto the ground. How can he be annoying yet so endearing at the same time? He’s a walking set of contradictions. Due to the physical inactivity, the night’s frigid air starts to have more bite to it. Shivers and goosebumps erupt over your body.

“At least let me get dressed,” you huff, rolling your eyes at the petty way he tightens his grip around you. “Know that if I get sick, it’s all your fault. I’ll be making you wait on me hand and foot.”

“Fine. Be quick about it, irksome woman. I was enjoying myself.”

The Wanderer reluctantly rolls off to the side. His member slides out of you, leaving you feeling empty in its absence. Before you can start moving, he takes two fingers and pushes any cum that’s trickled out back in. Then he slides your panties back up to keep it in place. You give him a questioning look, to which he smirks, pressing another kiss to the inside of your thighs and then sitting up.

“There’ll always be a part of me inside of you now,” he explains, visibly satisfied at the thought.

What a weirdo. You decide to keep that to yourself. “Could you help me with the yukata again, please?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” he pretends to ponder, a hand on his chin. “I think I prefer it when you look like this. Besides, I still need to get revenge for how you so brazenly insulted me earlier. What was it again? I’m ‘conceited, insensitive, and stubborn to a fault’, right? Sorry, it doesn’t seem like I’m the type of person to help others in need.”

“What if someone looks in the window and sees me?”

A malignant shadow falls over his face.

“I’d tear them to pieces.”

“... Isn’t that overkill?”

“I sure don’t think so,” he twirls his finger in the air. “Now turn around before I change my mind."

Similar to earlier, he helps you into the yukata, though the atmosphere is far more pleasant. He’s humming a tune to himself as he ensures everything is in order. After he’s content with his handiwork, he pulls you down onto the futon, clinging to you from behind. A shower sounds heavenly right about now, but you’re doubtful he’s going to let you out of his sight tonight. If you’re being entirely honest with yourself, you don’t really mind.

Exhaustion hits you like a ton of bricks. This is made worse by the comfortable blankets he pulls over you both. Your eyelids flutter shut, the siren’s song of sleep luring you in. His soft breath tickles the back of your neck and makes you smile.

“Hey, [First], are you awake?”

“I think so.”

“Good, 'cause you need to hear this,” he inhales sharply, his next words coming out as a whisper. “I… I love you too.”

“Let’s stay by one another’s side then.”

“... Always?”

“Always.”

When the puppet falls asleep that night, he sheds tears in his dreams, though this time it is not from sorrow, but overabounding joy.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Beekeeping age [Dilf!Konig x fem!Reader]

You're ex-boyfriend is an asshole, so you decided to fuck his hot military dad instead. You're going to find out why his first wife ran as fast as she did, very soon - but Konig is still the best dick that ever happened to you.

CW: Daddy kink(obvi), power imbalance, possessive Konig, perverted Konig, age gap(Reader in her early twenties, Konig in his early forties), mentions of cheating(your ex is a douchebag anyway), slightly obsessive Konig, size kink, unprotected sex.

FIRST PART (can be read separately) AO3

— Why your wife left you, again? 

You stuff your face full of…something. He cooked it – gods did he cook it well. It’s meat and vegetables and spices, and it feels like your dad cooking but twice as good. It feels like pure sin because he says you shouldn’t worry about calorie counts or how fat the meat is, or how good everything tastes fried because he needs his special girl to feel good and healthy and fatten up a little bit, and you��gods, you’re down. Bad. 

You wonder if König’s wife left because she couldn’t compete with his cooking. You wonder if his wife left because he was feeding her too good. 

— Why don’t we leave uneasy questions for later, Schatzi? 

He brushes his hand over your hair, taking in the way you look – dressed up in his shirt, skin covered in bites and bruises from his hold. He can’t see it right now but can almost testify to the way your lipstick was all over his collar – good thing he wasn't wearing his uniform shirt, wouldn’t want to make dorks from Kobra jealous. 

He brings you another plate, he fills your glass – you never knew beer could taste this good, but he whispered something about having his own little homemade brewery for wine and beer somewhere in the mountains, in his Summer house. This man has a hug apartment in Vienna and a Summer house – you think you heard him having enough land to go hunting and to keep bees, and you might have cum a little bit just here and there. 

— I would like to know the story, actually. To not repeat her mistakes, you know. 

— You won’t, Liebling. I can already picture you with a ring on your pretty finger. 

— Not so fast. Maybe I don’t believe in marriage. 

— You’re too young to stop believing in it. 

— Way to talk when you’re the divorced one, sir. 

— Shut it, Schatzen. I can still take care of a good girl like you, ja? König leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing over your mouth – it’s wet and swollen, he bite you quite a few times already, and you feel dizzy just from the way his tongue lingers just a second before going in, taking your arousal even more. His hand gently brushes some hair from your face and you giggle from the sensation of his rough fingers on the softness of your skin. It never failed to mesmerize you, just how seasoned and old the colonel might be – and his hands would still tremble as if he is handling the finest porcelain doll in his hands. He has the expression of an anxious, devoted follower – you are not sure how his wife could left him. If he was looking at you like this every day, even as you go through with pregnancy and a piece of shit kid like Paul, you would die before leaving him. 

— Could you two please stop fucking each other? 

— I thought you wanted to move to dorms.

— This is my house too!

— Not on the documents, it’s not. — You can’t just throw me away, dad! — Your new stepmom needs her space. 

König grasps your shoulder as you try to stop them from arguing again – it’s embarrassing enough that you’re fucking your ex’s dad. Colonel makes it a whole fucking show, parading you around as his controversially young girlfriend, making sure that his son will hear your moans and whimpers as you get fucked at every surface of this apartment. You were wondering if you could ask him to move to the Summer house – even with your college and all. You can take a gap year and write a journalist investigation about lonely veterans and their mastery at brewing alcohol. You can take a gap year and try your best in the new trophy wife gig. König’s hand is firm on your shoulder – you know better than to try and argue with him, the silent recognition of authority loud in your head. You sigh, trying your best to just stop yourself from acting too damn weird. It’s their male thing, and you’re just an intruder in a big T-shirt and old leggings. König said it wasn’t his wifey’s – that he burned all of her stuff when she left. Somehow, you find peace in that statement. 

— How could you even…Jesus fucking Christ, this is disgusting. She is my age! — And the most beautiful girl in the world. I can see why you liked her. — She is my girlfriend! — Schatzi came to me in distress and begged me to take her. I think we both knew you weren’t…the best option. You feel more embarrassed with each second of their conversation. You don’t want to listen, you don’t want to take in their words, you feel like a trophy being discarded between two different winners. You feel like a prized mare on a farm – and they won’t even look at you. Too distracted by the sound of their voices, you eat your dinner in somewhat somber peace because you need to eat, after all, and you really like what König cooks. You like what König does most of the time. All of the time. 

Paul storms off the room after a few minutes of bickering. You feel guilty for not stopping him because he was still kinda your boyfriend. You ex-boyfriend. Your asshole incel-ish ex-boyfriend whose assholless literally made you go and sleep with his dilfy dad, and…god, you feel like a whore. Good. Paul was calling you a whore a lot of the time, you may as well take the new name and plaster it in your new badge. 

König’s hand lingers on your back, caressing it gently. You whimper because you feel bad and you’re still in college, and Paul’s disgusted reaction reminds you that fucking a guy in his forties isn’t the best business decision. Even if the said guy is a retired colonel with shitload of money, even if he still goes to work sometimes, just because he wants to feel cool and shoot guns at bad guys, even if this guy buys you cool gifts and he promised to renovate your car or buy you a new one, and he makes plans and takes you to places that don’t make you feel like begging for attention. 

If anything, you feel like he is drowning you with attention. 

His hand lets go of your shoulder – he was holding you so tight the whole conversation, you can sense the bruises forming on your skin. You lick your lips, and he moves to kiss you again. You feel like drowning, you feel like this is all just a dream – and you’re also drunk because gods, König knows how to make a good glass of…something. 

— You shouldn’t act like this. He is your son. 

He laughs dismissingly. He dismisses a lot of things you said – you think it’s the age difference. You think he is just being traditional, and you don’t want to be too nagging. You don’t want to end up like his wife and wake up from the dear you’ve been seeing. 

König’s lips are soft, and you can look past his hands, taking you too possessively – you can close your eyes, and you can just listen to his accent, smiling as his tongue worms its way into your mouth. He is good, you think – at this whole kissing thing. At this whole “Hi there, I’m a retired old dog and I am fucking the girlfriend of my only son. I’m divorced btw” .

He has experience – you know it when he tucks your lip between his teeth, when he massages your shoulders as you spread your legs already, so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing. You never slept much with Paul – his poor excuse of a son – it was always never enough lube, it was always never enough attention, he always needed you to shave or to leave your hair to grow a little bit, it was either your perfume being too sweet or you no wearing anything at all. You thought he would have much more fun masturbating to his anime chicks and poor gaming sessions with his friends. 

But König isn’t like this – every time he drops on his knees to eat you out like a man starving, you feel utter and complete devotion. In his tongue, in his mouth, in his teeth as he sucks little marks into your thighs, making sure you will remember it tomorrow when he will ask you to stay for breakfast and then ride you to whatever you need to come next. Last time he promised to drive you to the library, he took a few turns and took you to some restaurant instead. You gushed about not having proper attire, he was still in his half-uniform and rocking dark cargo pants, and he was apologizing every time his fingers hit that special spot in your cunt as he fingered you during the second course of meals. He said that he was so, sorry about not fucking you properly, about having to resort to public displays like this – and you were too high on loving him to care. You still are. — I don’t think we should be…

— He left. Won’t bother us anymore. 

— I’m not in the mood right now. 

— You’re always in the mood, Schatzen. Enough to drive me crazy. — You’re a pervert. Like Paul. 

— He takes on after his father, ja?

It would alarm you how much contempt he had for his own child right now. Then, again, you were the one who dumped his son for the powerhouse of a dad. Maybe it was your daddy issues, maybe it was your dumb reasoning and the summer break that you didn’t want to spend with your family. Good thing you’re spending it with the other. 

König’s face is buried between your legs, his teeth tugging on the soft fabric, forcing your leggings down. God, it feels good – he is so high on wanting you, can’t even wait to take off your clothes properly. You never had a man wanting you so badly before – it’s addicting, it’s crushing, it makes you feel like a goddess among men. Makes you feel wanted, a thing that your ex never did. 

You forget about guilt when he kisses your lower tummy, when his lips trace down to your cunt, taking sharp licks through your panties. You wore them this morning, something from a new lacy set he bought – one of the only ones that weren’t torn off from your body the moment you took them on. He always wanted you to make these little fashion shows for him, making good use of his money – you weren’t a sugar baby, not on paper, you still clutched to the last traces of your dignity, but he did buy you a lot of gifts. 

— S’ pretty for me, Liebling. The prettiest girl in the world.

— I assume after…af..ter your wife. 

You giggle when he frowns, his rugged face filled with concern. He doesn’t like jokes about his marriage – you don’t want to ask him about it because it would mean waking up from a dream you want to experience over and over again, but you heard what Paul was talking about. What his mom told him about. you heard enough to know that kissing a man like König is a safety hazard and a liability that you can’t afford, but it’s warm, and he is rich, and you don’t want to go back to your part-time job this season. You want to be dumb and you want to be young – right now, you’re doing both. — Don’t be so dumb, Schatzi. Although it suits you. 

— I’m not dumb! 

— Nein, you’re not. Just silly. 

— You just call me a different type of dumb. 

— I like it when you’re dumb. Makes you cuter. 

König is awkward and funny, and he buys you things that you could never afford. He is mysterious and kind – to you, not his enemies – and he uses German words randomly in his phrases because he knows the accent, and the pronunciation drives you crazy. You never thought of thinking of yourself as a dilf hunter but, hell, here you are. With his dark ginger stubble – and grey streaks that make you go wild every time you look at him – between your thighs. It’s tickling, and it’s a bit irritating, and he will rub some calming lotion in your skin after this, making sure to cover every inch of your skin with some expensive cream that he knows jackshit about, but you wanted it, and so he went out and bought it. Gosh, you felt dumb even asking him for this. 

He traces his kisses along your thighs, tongue lingers to press against your wet, swollen folds. Flirting in front of Paul made you embarrassingly hot, solidifying you as a shitty, bad, horny person who needs fat cock stuffed in your leaking pussy. You lick your lips, and you tremble when he pushes his tongue inside. He is starving, pushy with all of his needs – makes you almost beg for it, like a pet he took from the street. 

— I want to take you to the Summer house next week. 

You open your eyes, shocked. It’s nothing, really, you shouldn’t be this surprised about him wanting to show off his other properties. You want to check out his wine cellar and how sturdy the furniture is. You want to see if he had deers running around the house. If he had any pictures of his family – and if you could ever hope to compete with his ex-wife. It’s a petty competition, but you don’t have much to do and to think about. It’s obvious the love here won’t last until the end of the break, and you want to get as much from it as possible. Maybe even some hot bikini picks at his pool. He has to have one. — What if I have plans, sir? 

It’s innocent and you play the role well. You think some of your friends wanted to hang out or make a study group for the upcoming semester. You are a good girl at heart, with nice grades and a perfectly played-out future, and not as many working opportunities as you may like, but you could manage with something. Writing a killer essay about your life with a smoke show during Summer would be easy with someone like him. 

He laughs, his hand lightly smacks your butt. You bite your lip and whimper, not accustomed to pain feeling this good. 

— You will change them, little one. For the whole Summer. 

— I wanted to study. 

You moan when he lightly presses his tongue on your swollen clit, kissing and licking it. Slick runs down your legs, and he collects it with his mouth. You whimper again, tears prickling at the edge of your eyes – the sensation is sudden and overwhelming, makes you get your hands in his hair and slightly tug. He groans, pleasure from having you so active, so participating is overwhelming. He loves you, loves you, loves you, adores you. God, you’re beautiful. And so, so restrained – just his special good girl. Only for him. — You can study at our house. 

— You mean you and your ex’s house. 

He smacks you again for the foul language – although you know you didn’t even curse, he is still punishing you. In the lightest way possible, of course, you know you won’t handle anything too harsh – still, you feel nice and warm when he isn’t just eating you out, but also smacks you for speaking in such unpretty words again. 

You don’t even register the way he called the house yours too. All too dumb for this, again. 

— I mean our house, Schatzen. Just you and your daddy, ja? You worry too much about studying. 

— I want a nice job. Without…distractions. 

He slips one finger in your warm, tight hole – even just one digit is enough to make you shiver, clenching it like a sloppy whore. He is big in every way – just two of his fingers are bigger than a normal cock, and no, you didn’t want to compare a son with his father, but even Paul’s cock, as big as it was, was still way thinner than his father’s. 

— Why you need a job? 

— Not everyone are retired military. I need money. 

— You have me. 

— I d…don’t want to be a sugar baby. Sir. 

— I have no problems with being your daddy, Schatzen.

König is build like a powerhouse – when he slips just the tip into you, ignoring all previous preparation because, by god, you both need to feel connected, he is dragging you on top of the table, tossing aside the dirty dishes with remains of his perfectly cooked dinner…and you feel like home. Almost. 

You imagine waking up with his cock every morning, and with the nice cup of coffee only he can make. You imagine him gushing about rebuilding the house and working on his tight and neat desk job at the mercenary company – something about instructing, dumb recruits, only the most elite missions as an operator in retirement, creating strategies and tactics for the warfare – and thinking that, wow, your husband is really cool. You shouldn’t be thinking this because this is just a summer fling. Your relationships with Paul weren’t too serious either, you just didn’t want to be alone. 

König gently caresses your fingers, whispering something about numbers – you think you could recognize the word for a ring a bit later when he was making a call to some friend. In German, of course, you don’t quite understand it, but you worm your warm on his lap like a spoiled cat, purring on his crotch like a good fucking girl. But it was a while later. 

Now, you’re gasping and panting, his cock spreading you open and stuffing you like the poor bird he was cooking for dinner. You know you won’t be able to walk after a short while – would probably have to spend the day at his house, with him cooing and gushing about your sore body while he is quietly proud of himself. If you’re lucky, you could convince him to let you go in the evening. If you’re not, he will ask you to stay the night, and maybe even a bit more, and then he will just get the bag with your stuff from your room in the dorm by himself, and then… — What do you think about getting married in August?

Maybe, you do know why his wife left him. 

[jakedoxxenvasion]

dr.lee

fellow doctor heeseung! × resident doctor y/n!

warning: MDNI!, unprotective sex (whops) kissing and more?

not in a million years you would think you will do something like this, with someone that you adore so much.. someone that you look up to as a senior to you, someone that you met everyday and formally call him by his surname instead of..

"h-heeseung!"your sinful lips moaning for his name, "sshhh, you want them to hear you?"immediately you bite your bottom lips once getting that warn from him, he peck your lips and smile. "didn't expect you to be so obedient to me, love. such a good girl."you humming to everything he said to you, trying to not moan out his name.

you know what you did is wrong because you're just a doctor resident and he's your senior doctor, it's totally wrong but you couldn't stop him. not that you can't but you don't want to, having him pounding his cock so deep into you in the small store room in the middle of your night shift, the clock strike 3 in the morning as much as you remember when he call for you to help him earlier.

it's all start with you helping him with sorting out papers, and files of patients records and ending up finding yourself here in this room with him doing things that you could ever imagine in your right mind. "just a little more, does it hurt you, hm?"you shake your head, no he doesn't hurt you but the pleasure is too much.

heeseung smile when he kiss your lips, hips still rutting into you. he could feel your wall hugging him tight at each thrust he make, sending him over the cloud but he know that he cannot be loud. "s-shit, you're so fucking tight, love."he let out a low groan, watching how you try to control your own voices and somehow he like the way you did.

liking the idea of doing this in secret, liking the idea that there's an outside world that you try so hard it keep it out, not wanting people to find out about what the two of you did in this room. "fuck- heeseung i'm close ah-"he shut you up with his lips, kissing you so deep, cock still pounding in and out of you.

your fingers tangle with his hair, he push you against the wall, "cum for me, love."he whisper those once he pull away from the kiss, like a cue you could feel the feeling at the pit of your stomach rushing down. heeseung smile, letting you rode out all your orgasm with you weakly leaning on his shoulder, doesn't have much energy left in you.

he thrust into you once.. twice then he pull out from you, only to shot his loads on your stomach. "oh fuck."you watch those thick white liquid spurting out from his cock, messily on your skin. somehow, heeseung has those proud smile after everything that he had done with you. you look at him and he smirk, he peck your lips before he slowly put you down to make you stand on the ground.

"so fucking perfect, love."he caressed your cheek softly then continue to kiss your lips again. when he pull away, he stare into your eyes, "doctor.."your soft voice call for him, which make him chuckle. "that was not what you called me earlier, ms.y/n."your cheeks immediately turn red as his remarks, he continue to caressed your cheek as he stare into your eyes.

but then heeseung take a few step back, you watch him grab a box of tissue at the top shelf behind him and he rip it open before he help you clean up and get dress again. "so.. do i pretend like nothing happen earlier or-" "unless you want more, you can always come to my office, love."he interrupt your words then wink at you, blush immediately creep up your face.

you slowly nod your head, he pat your head then he open the door after grabbing a random file on the shelf. "later, make sure you keep everything in place again, okay? ms.y/n."he said, know it very well he did that on purpose, you follow him from behind after you fix your white coat. "sure, dr."

heeseung turn to look at you just to give you a wink before he walk away.

should i write a longer version of this? cause i kind of like the plot lol

[yuebinnie]

Proverbs 5:19

☾ Pairing : Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Fem!Reader

☆ Warnings : mdni. Priest!Alastor, implied chubby!reader, noncanon Alastor, dubcon, coercion, blasphemy, abuse of authority, blood kink, blood drinking, squirting, multiple orgasms, fingering (f receiving), cunnulingus, catholic prayers used in a sexual context, scriptures used to coerce, cum eating, size kink, loss of virginity (implied, not talked about), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, literally just smut

☾ WC : 9.8k

☆ A/N : Taking a break from Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea to write Alastor smut ^^ This contains heavy Christian imagery, so if it's something you are uncomfortable with, this fic might not be for you! I really enjoyed writing this; it's my first time writing smut for Alastor, so hopefully I do not disappoint you all. I also posted the fic on AO3, if you'd prefer reading there. Have fun!

There was something about going to church that felt incredibly soothing. The deafening silence every time you walked in during the early hours of the day, steps echoing against the painted ceiling and colourful rose window, the shadows dancing behind the burning wicks of the candles set on each side of the main aisle, the smell of dust dancing in the air like a reminder of how desolate the people who came to visit truly were. You had not always been religious, but you had found peace in believing that there was a divine truth, that being good in this life would give you eternal bliss.

The church was a small one, and an old one; how it was still standing you had no idea. It was annexed to a small decrepit churchyard with moss-covered headstones that dated from at least two centuries ago. To any passersby, it'd be believed to be abandoned, as the outside of the building was quite literally falling apart, the bricks slowly eroding and the tiles covering the roof covered with the same moss as the headstones. The exterior appearance did not matter however, only the inside did; that's where God resided after all.

Despite its age, the inside and of the church was well kept. Yes, the rose window was cracked, and, as an attempt to keep the place as pure as possible, electricity had never been installed. The candles did the job of keeping the inside lit, and as for the temperature, well, dressing warmly was mandatory during the colder months of the year. The benches were old and the varnish that had once covered them was long gone; dents and chips could be found here and there, but they were still sturdy. The altar was small and simple, a wooden thing settled on a small stage that hovered only a few inches above the floor. Near the entrance sat a confessional which reeked of mould, but in the absolute presence of God, the smell was easily forgotten.

You had a habit of going to pray most days when you were not bedridden from the exhaustion of spending the night reading your favourite verses. 5 AM; the perfect time to pray, just as the world welcomed the sun's warmth and light. Very rarely did you meet anyone else; it had happened a few times, mostly old people nearing death coming to ask for absolution for their sins. Otherwise, the only person you had seen was the priest, whom you only had spoken to once or twice. He would look at you while you kneeled and mumbled prayers and verses, a smile plastered on his face.

It was the only downside of it all, that unsettling presence. The priest, a handsome man you had apologized to God for finding attractive, was always smiling. It was a bone-chilling sight; it made you feel as though he could see right through you, like he had access to every single thought that cluttered the inside of your mind. He had asked for your name once and had told you to have a 'delightful rest of the day'. That day had turned out to be horrible, as you had learned your grandmother was diagnosed with stage four cancer and only had a few months left. You had prayed for her, but God had decided to take her, nonetheless. Your subconscious had linked the priest's words as a direct cause of your grandmother's tragic diagnosis, and you had tried your best to avoid talking to him ever since.

When you woke up that morning, sweaty and feeling stickiness between your thighs, you felt sick to your stomach remembering the dreams that had plagued your mind in your slumber. A faceless man, dragging his lips down your stomach, his fingers touching your body in a way that was so sinful; the only logical explanation was that you had been visited by an incubus, an agent of evil. God was testing you, letting evil reach you to see if you'd be as faithful as Job or if you'd succumb to sin like Eve had. You cleaned yourself and changed your nightgown to proper clothes, putting a slightly warm coat on before leaving your house.

The sun had not yet started to show itself, and a thick fog floated above the quiet streets. The sky was covered with grey clouds that seemed to hang low, you wondered if you could touch them if you reached up, but your mind was too preoccupied with your predicament to try and touch something so close to Heaven. Mind running faster than a hare trying to escape a wolf, you tried to convince yourself simple prayers would do, but a loud voice kept coming back, telling you this could only be forgiven by confessing. The thought of having to talk to the priest whom you had convinced yourself was the catalyst of your grandmother's death made you want to cry, but the thought of failing God and disappointing Him was far more upsetting. You reached the church as the first rays of light made the dew covering the Earth glisten, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open.

Your eyes fell upon the priest, who was bent down in the middle of the aisle, a long match in his hand as he lit the candles up. You froze, your eyes running across his shoulders and back. The door closed loudly behind you, and you jumped; the man's head snapped in your direction, his smile growing when he saw who had just walked in.

"You are quite early today, my dear," the priest stated simply, his focus going back to the unlit candles that still begged to melt under the burning flames. "Luckily enough, our Creator does not sleep; we're under scrutiny every second of our time on this earth."

You gulped at the words, the implications they held. You crept closer to the man, fidgeting as you thought of what to say. You let out a small quiet sigh, biting down your bottom lip as you stopped and stood a few feet away from him. The man straightened up and turned in your direction, his head tilted to the left as his gaze travelled across your face, "Oh my, whatever has you this upset?"

Your cheeks flushed as your eyes shifted from his eyes to the floor, the shame of what you had yet to confess weighing down your shoulders like the cross your Saviour had carried through heat and pain. You felt tiny, the priest towering over you; he had to be close to two feet taller than you. Had this been how Lucifer felt when he was at last pushed to meet his fate in the depths, a force greater than all administrating the final judgment? Sinfully powerless, a mere weak being? Tears gathered at your lower lash lines as you spoke, oh so quietly, your voice like the echo of an echo, "Father, I have sinned."

Seconds passed, silent ones, before the man hummed and walked past you, making his way to the front of the church. You twirled around, your eyes landing on where the priest now stood, in front of the old rotting confessional. You gulped, nodding to no one in particular before slowly making your way to the man who was stepping into the booth, the door closing behind him. You did the same, slowly closing the door after giving the empty church one last look, your eyes lingering a few seconds on the nailed Christ resting behind the altar, seemingly judging you.

You sat down, cringing at the creaking of the wood beneath your weight. The grille was pulled up, the silhouette of the man on the other side vaguely distinguishable. You took a deep breath, then spoke softly as you brought your right hand to your forehead, the gesture almost instinctual, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." You put your hand on your thigh, staring at the unmoving priest, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is.... too much time, since my last confession. I am a university student, in my last year to obtain a bachelor's degree." A low hum was heard, and you shifted in your seat, trying to find the exact words for your confession.

"Father, something terrible happened last night. In my weakened sleeping state, evil befell me. I was plagued with sinful dreams. You must understand, I am thoroughly devoted to Christ and our Lord, never have I let a man, or anyone, disgrace the body I was given; never have I had thoughts or dreams of this kind. I fear my will is not strong enough, that this evil shall come back and torment me. I fear I will fall into sin, just as our first predecessors did. I am nothing but willing, Father, so please, do help me. I am sorry for all these sins, and the sins of my past life."

You sniffled, wiping away the tears that had fallen down your rosy cheeks, your eyes glued on the silhouette of the man beyond the grille. His silence made you want to cry even more; were you a lost case? Had your fate already been sealed, your soul now tainted because of the touch of evil in such sacred places? You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you waited, seconds becoming minutes.

"This evil you speak of, what exactly has it done to you?" His voice seemed to have dropped lower, the sound a bit raspier. You furrowed your brow slightly at the question; you had been clear about the incident. As if feeling your hesitation, the priest continued, "Ma chère, only by knowing exactly what this evil put you through can I give you absolution."

You felt a blush creep up your neck, and flinched as the crack of thunder was heard beyond the church walls; your heartbeat quickened, was this Him telling you to obey?

You let out a small breath, before speaking up, the words shaky, "As I slept, this evil... Entered my dreams. It took advantage of my defenselessness. It disgraced my soul and my body. Upon waking up, there was... Remains of the sinful things it had my body do." You could feel the man's stare on you despite the grille separating you, causing yours to drop to your knees, feeling vulnerable.

"What sinful things did it inflict upon you?" Rain had started falling, as if the sky itself cried for you; the sound of it hammered against the roof, a continuous wail of grief for your poor soul.

"Father, I don't understand how this is necessa-"

"Do you not want absolution? Do you desire to be locked out of His kingdom? The choice is yours," his tone was harsher, demanding, even. You gulped and shook your head; no, that was not what you wanted. It was the furthest thing from it.

"I apologize for questioning your words, Father," you began, fidgeting with the hem of your coat, "From what I can remember... This evil took the shape of a man. A faceless man. I was in bed, and it joined me, and... We, uh, we kissed. It took my nightgown off." Your hands felt clammy, and you couldn't help but press your thighs together as you recollected the events of your dreams. "It kissed my breasts, then my stomach. It went... Down there, and stayed there until my whole body tensed up. Afterwards, it pushed itself inside me, it thoroughly disgraced my body. When I woke up, my body showed signs that it had reacted to the defiling. Father, please, believe me when I tell you that I was coerced by evil."

Thunder was heard again, breaking the silence that had settled between you and the priest. As the minutes passed, you became uneasy; was the man disgusted with you? Could he sense the sins radiating from your being? He cleared his throat, breaking your train of thought. Your eyes went back to his silhouette, waiting for him to speak up.

"I fear this is beyond the power bestowed upon me, dear," his voice was silky, it made warmth spread inside your chest, as if the vibrations it had created affected your very cells.

Your eyes widened; that was impossible. You had confessed and explained the evil that had haunted you. You had done exactly what He told His followers to do, confessed and asked for forgiveness. You shuffled closer to the grille, tearing up as you begged, "Father, please, there must be a way. I will do anything; I will suffer just like our Saviour has if it's what it takes. I'm supplying you, help me get rid of this evil."

“Very well,” the man said. You watched as his silhouette stood up and opened the door of the booth before it disappeared. The door of your little chamber opened, and you turned your head to look at the tall priest, who adjusted his glasses as he stared down at you. You took a few seconds to really look at him. Despite his smile that made shivers run down your spine, the man was handsome. His skin was tan, his hair dark and styled in an old-fashioned way. His features were sharp, intimidating, almost. Towering over you, his shoulders were wider than some quarterbacks’, and his waist was ridiculously small compared to them. His hands seemed to be twice the size of yours, and you found yourself wondering how he managed to button up his shirts with such big hands.

You looked back at his face as you blushed, realizing the man before you knew of your body in such intimate ways. You slowly stood up as you held his gaze, unsure of what to say next. He took a step aside and gestured for you to step out of the confessional, before closing the door behind you. The priest smiled down at you, “Follow me, dear.”

He started walking down the aisle, the flames of the candles on each side of it dancing as he passed by. You hesitantly followed him, looking out one of the small windows to see the rain pouring onto the world as lightning illuminated the sky. He stopped at the altar and turned to you, his smile ever present. You stopped in front of the stage; sinners did not belong anywhere close to that sacred place. The man stayed silent and with a gesture of his hand, permitted you to step up. You gulped and got on the stage, feeling extremely out of place.

“There is one way for you to repent,” he began, his stare fixed on you, “Though it is a bit unorthodox. The choice is yours, but you must remember that there is no place for sinners in Heaven.” He watched as you nodded quickly; you were eager to be forgiven, to go back to being free of sin. The corner of his lips twitched before he uttered one word, “Strip.”

Your eyes widened as your face turned a deeper shade of crimson. Stripping? You searched his face for hints of dishonesty, hoping he was playing a sick joke on you, but to your dismay, he was serious. Your body was frozen as you looked at him, not even the booming thunder making you flinch.

You opened your mouth to ask why, but the man beat you to it, answering your question before you even uttered a word, “Only by showing Him precisely how this evil tainted you can you be absolved. There is no need to be shy, ma chérie; isn’t He all-knowing? All-seeing? Wasn’t the shame of nudity created by His first creations’ sin? There is no purer form of devotion than to go beyond the embarrassment and bare yourself to Him; than to accept the vulnerable nature of your existence.”

He brought his right hand up to lay it flat against the wooden altar, observing you as you fought an inner battle with your dignity. His words were true, the wisdom of a man devoted to God, of someone who knew scriptures and their meaning. As if feeling your unmoving incertitude, he spoke up once again, “Proverbs 28:13.”

You blinked up at him, mind searching for the verse you had read many times before. You licked your bottom lip with your tongue before reciting softly, “He who covers his sins will not prosper, but whoever confesses and forsakes them will have mercy.” The priest hummed, and you raised your gaze to the crucifix hung on the wall behind the altar, feeling as if He was patiently waiting for you to submit to His will. You puffed out a small breath as you nodded to yourself, a hand coming up to the zipper of your coat, slowly bringing it down to then shrug off the piece of clothing and letting it fall on the floor.

You could already feel the wet cold seep through your thin sweater, but you ignored the feeling as you grabbed the bottom of it and lifted it up until it was completely off you; it dropped, finding its place next to your coat at your feet. Your eyes were unfocused, staring into thin air as you slipped your thumbs under the elastic band of your skirt, pushing it down so it pooled at your ankles. You stepped out of it, getting slightly closer to the priest whose gaze was burning your skin despite the goosebumps covering it. You brought a hand to your back, unclasping your bra before slowly taking it off, baring your breasts to the man. Your nipples hardened as the freezing air licked them and you bit hard down your bottom lip as you slid your underwear down your legs, then stepped out of your shoes, leaving you only wearing your lace-arbored anklets.

The man lifted a hand in your direction, a silent request for you to grab it. You did so all while avoiding looking up at him and followed him as he made his way behind the altar, his fingers squeezing yours slightly, “Our Lord blessed you with rare beauty, dear one, what a shame it led evil to you.” You gasped softly as his other hand wrapped around your waist, your eyes shooting up to look at him. He was still smiling, though his eyes seemed clouded with something you could not put your finger on.

He let go of your hand and grabbed the other side of your waist before effortlessly hoisting you up on the altar, the skin of your ass stinging from the cold of the wooden surface. Your gaze was questioning, and the man recited, his voice low and quieter than it had previously been, “I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service.” You gaped at him; a true man of God, that’s what he was. “Offer your body to Him, and you shall be absolved. Show Him what evil has done to you, so He can forgive and make you pure again,” he held your stare, his pupils slightly dilated. You nodded once, and the priest stepped aside, leaving you to face your Saviour in your naked glory.

You slowly leaned back, using your left elbow to not completely lie down on the wood. You brought your trembling right hand to your lips, the tip of your index finger stroking the pink flesh as you recalled where the lips of the faceless man had touched you. They lingered there for a few seconds before dipping to your neck, dancing around the column of your throat as your eyes fluttered shut; if goosebumps had not already been covering your body fault of the moist cold, they would have appeared, the feeling titillating. Your chest rose and fell in a timely rhythm as you dragged your touch to your breasts where your finger gently caressed your right nipple. Your lips parted, small breaths making their way out as you gathered with your small hand the heavy fat of your breast, squeezing. You could feel the stare of the priest on you, but you attempted to ignore it as you kept going.

Your fingers went down your stomach, using your nails to slightly scratch the skin, and they stopped a few inches below your belly button. You opened your eyes and looked at the crucifix; His peaceful expression, despite being nailed and in pain, gave you courage and you spread your legs, giving your Saviour the perfect view of your most intimate era. You nibbled on your bottom lip as you slowly brought your fingers down, choking on a soft moan when they made contact with your clit. The simple touch made your composure fall a little, your lips parted as your face reddened, feeling more exposed than you had ever felt before. You gently pushed against the bundle of nerves, gasping as your fingers started to move, following a small eight-pattern.

You could feel your heartbeat thundering against your ribcage, matching the loud striking of the heavenly fire against the earth beyond the safety of the church walls. Soft pants left your mouth as you started working on yourself, closing your eyes to focus on the memories of the previous night. Every touch and stroke were vividly drawn in your mind, your fingers moving in an almost instinctual way, leaving you a whimpering mess. You moved your elbow that was holding your weight, slowly leaning your back against the cold wood, before bringing the now free hand to your face, covering your mouth with it as your thighs trembled. Your body was thrumming, humming with new sensations, your mind as foggy as the early morning that had welcomed you when you had stepped out of your home.

Lost in pleasure, you jumped, your eyes shooting open as you felt long fingers wrap around your wrist, the priest looking down at you, his own eyes sharper and darker than they had been earlier. Your fingers nestled between your thighs stopped moving as you stared at him, but he tsked, “My dear, you must not hide anything from Him. These lovely, sinful sounds you make, are not to be repressed. Let them be; let Him hear what evil inflicted upon you,” his voice sent a chill down your spine, your back arching slightly. You watched as the corner of his lips twitched and let him pull your hand away from your mouth, gulping as you nodded weakly. “Good girl.”

Your breath hitched at the praise, eyes not leaving his’ as your fingers started to move once again, bringing your legs up to rest your heels against the altar, spreading your legs a bit more. As if in a trance, your gaze fixed on the priest as you moaned and gasped, your hips twitching as you rubbed your clit. You saw his Adam’s apple bob, his eyes narrowing as you used your free hand to caress the skin of your stomach, slowly inching towards your left breast. Your fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance, and with a bite on your bottom lip and a pinch of your nipple, you pushed your middle finger all the way to the second knuckle, your eyes widening at the feeling. You let out a throaty whine, pressing your head harder against the wooden surface that supported your weight. The cold was long forgotten, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat, muscles spasming here and there.

You slid your other hand between your thighs, the digits quickly finding your clit and gently stimulating it as you managed to push your finger further inside yourself. The faceless man from your dreams had used three fingers, and you could only wonder how your dream self had taken them, as you were struggling with a lonely, short finger. Despite the uncomfortable feeling, you bit down your lip and pushed your index alongside the finger that was already pressed inside you. Your face scrunched up at the stretch, a silent sob echoing through the dimly lit space. You felt your walls clench around your digits, your free hand still working on your clit as a way to make the dull ache more bearable. You waited a minute, giving your body time to adjust to the feeling, before carefully pulling the fingers out and thrusting them back in, a surprised whimper leaving your lips as a new feeling started to blossom in your lower stomach.

You arched your back and started speeding up the motion of your hands, unable to keep quiet as your body grew warmer and more tense. Your eyes fluttered open to look up at the priest, who was as still as Christ watching you from His cross on the wall. As you exhaled, you pushed a third finger in, welcoming the stretch with a high-pitched whine. Your knees dropped down onto the altar, leaving your womanhood fully exposed; you watched as the man glanced at where your hands were working in tandem to replicate almost exactly what the evil from your dream had done to you. You gathered the little concentration you had left and started muttering through gasps and moans, “Compassionate Father, you are the Lord who rescues His people. When I am overwhelmed with shame, help me find solace in you. You have said that you will help—though my sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are as red as crimson, they shall be like wool. Remind me that I have been purified by you, that the curse of sin and evil is no longer upon me. In your powerful name, Ame-” You were cut off by a large hand wrapping around your lower face, the feeling making your body jolt.

Right, it had to be the same as the dream; you had not uttered a prayer in it, far from it. You closed your eyes, moaning against the palm covering your mouth, as you focused on the growing tension in your core. Every second felt like minutes and every minute felt like hours as you quickly thrust your fingers in and out, all while you rubbed and nudged your clit. The pressure was almost unbearable, your whole body twitching as your hips tried to follow the movements of your digits as if they had a mind of their own. The priest moved his hand away, and you opened your eyes to watch him bring it to his mouth where he licked his palm, which was covered with your drool.

Something snapped inside of you and a loud sob made its way out of your throat as your muscles tensed up, your walls clenching tightly around your fingers as you stilled them, your mind unable to think about anything beyond the blinding pleasure that took over your body. Your eyes rolled back, pitiful sounds leaving your mouth as your back arched from the altar, your thighs squeezing together, trapping your hands between them. This felt so much better than it had felt in your dream. You teared up; the Lord’s love was so strong; evil could not even compare.

After a few seconds, your body relaxed, and you were left panting and sweaty, as if you had just run a marathon. Slowly opening your eyes, your vision became clearer as you blinked, a smile tugging at your lips as you looked at the crucifix, then up to the priest who had not moved. You removed your hands from between your thighs and brought your left one up to wipe the pearls of sweat on your forehead with the back of it. You wrapped your right arm around your chest, trying to hide your breasts as you spoke up, your voice small but hoarse, “Have I done it, Father? Am I free of sin? Has our Lord given me absolution?” Hope lingered; you had done what you were told to do, you had been good, and your Lord was good and forgiving, He had to have seen how faithful you were.

The man’s eyebrows raised before he let out a small chuckle, shaking his head slightly, “My dear, this was only your confession. The truest and purest form of confession.” Your smile dropped. You looked at him as he made his way closer to the wall, where he stopped in front of the crucifix that had observed you as you worked on yourself. His chin tilted up as he looked at it, before his head slowly turned to look at you, “But confession is not enough for this type of sin, sadly; you must also be cleansed.”

You sat up, your brows furrowed, watching as the man stepped closer to you. He stood in front of you, his right hand coming to rest on your thigh, just above your knee. His touch was warm and inviting, but you still wondered what his words meant, so you asked, “Cleansed?”

His thumb stroked your skin as he hummed and brought his other hand up to your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it, “Yes, dearest, cleansed. Your body was defiled by evil, it must be purified. You’ve shown our Lord and Saviour how, and now He shall reclaim your body as His’.” You looked at him, your eyes round and big, trying to make sense of the words that had just been spoken. A small pout appeared on your lips, and the tall priest bent down, his face now closer to yours as he said, his voice slightly louder than a whisper, “You are so easy to read, you know? But to ease your confusion; I shall represent our Lord and make you pure again.”

You froze, the realization of what the man meant hitting you just like David’s stone had hit Goliath. You gaped at him, your mouth opening and closing, searching your brain for the right words to speak, afraid to insult God and the man who stood before you. You gulped and said after taking in a deep breath, “Our Lord… I cannot think of mentions of this procedure in the scriptures,” you blinked, your eyes shining as you looked into his’. “Father, has this procedure been tested before? Where does it come from?”

His long fingers dug into the fat of your thigh as you saw the muscle of his jaw clench, a small whimper leaving your lips at the feeling. He kept squeezing, his creepy smile growing, “Are you implying my authority was not given to me by our Lord? That my will does not stem from His’? That I would go against scriptures, something I have devoted my life to?” You shook your head quickly; you had messed up. You were to never question the words of a priest, for he was much closer to God than you were, and you had done just that. This evil needed to leave; it made you do, think and say things that would only make you unworthy of Heaven.

“Father, do forgive me! This evil, it has taken control of my body and sou-”

“There’s no need for that. I shall make your sins a purest white than Abraham’s sacrificial lamb. You will be reborn a new woman, utterly sinless,” he inched his hand higher on your thigh, “That is what you want, isn’t it? To let your God make you pure again?” You gave him a slow nod and his smile widened as he brought his free hand to his face, removing his glasses and putting them on the altar next to you. He nudged your knees open and settled between them, sliding a hand against the back of your head as he sang praise to you, “What a good girl you are, ma chère.”

His lips smashed against yours and you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to follow his lead. The hand resting on your thigh slid to your waist and forced you to get closer to him, his chest pressing against your naked breasts. You moaned into the kiss, pictures of your dream flooding your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around his tiny waist and arms around his neck. You ran your fingers through his hair, letting the man run his tongue along your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly in response. His kisses travelled down your chin, to your throat, his teeth nipping at your skin as you let your head fall back, giving him better access.

His mouth slid to your chest, and you lowered your chin to look down at him as he wrapped his swollen lips around your left nipple. You grabbed a handful of his hair and pressed him closer to you, arching your back slightly. His eye shot up to look at you, humming against your skin, the vibration leaving you a whimpering mess. He separated from your pink, wet bud with a last lick, smiling as he flicked your other nipple with his thumb, “So eager for absolution, aren’t you?” Your soft pants were interrupted with a small gulp as you nodded once again; there was nothing you wanted more. He ran a hand up and down your thigh before grabbing it and removing it from his waist, doing the same motion with the other one a few seconds later. You silently watched as he kneeled, his face a few inches away from your exposed core. The sight made your heart skip a beat.

Something caught your eyes on the wall, and you looked up, seeing a rainbow light up the crucifix hung on the wall; the rain and thunder had dissipated as suddenly as they had appeared, and sun rays were beaming through the colourful tainted glass of the rose window at the entrance of the church. A small smile tugged at your lips, this had to be a sign you were on the right path. You bit down your bottom lip and gazed down, seeing the priest eyeing your womanhood, a hungry look on his face. Your cheeks reddened as you waited for the man to do something.

He slowly inched closer, and let his nose nudge your puffy clit, causing you to gasp softly at the feeling. You felt something warm run up and down your slit, your grip on his hair tightening as he flattened his tongue against your entrance. Your brows knitted, a small noise leaving your lips as he started to move his wet appendage up and down, moving his head slightly as he did so to get his nose to bump against your clit with each lick. His hands went to your ass, and he brought you even closer to his face; you wondered how he could even breathe.

Your mind started to wander as pleasure slowly took over your limbs; was the man between your legs mistaking you for a wine-filled chalice? The slurping noises his mouth was making against you travelled through your body and rendered you dizzy. You pushed his hair back from his forehead and his eyes shot open to look up at you as his fingers dug into the fat of your ass. His pupils were dilated to the point that you could barely see his iris and there was wetness spreading on his cheeks and nose. Lips parted, you sighed and slightly scratched his scalp with your nails, leaving the man groaning as his stare was still fixed on your face. One of his hands made its way down your thigh and disappeared from your view before it reappeared; a dainty wooden-beaded rosary was dangling from his fingers.

The priest took his mouth away from you, a wide smirk painting his lips as he grabbed your wrist and dropped the prayer beads in your much smaller palm. His other hand came forward and started stroking the skin of your inner thigh as he wrapped his long digits around yours, forcing you to hold the rosary. He licked his bottom lip before speaking up, “You know how this works, don’t you?” His smile grew as he watched you nod, “Perfect. Recite them in your head, except the Five Decades; you must recite those aloud. It’s Thursday, so Luminous Mysteries. Whatever your Lord has planned next and does to you, you must keep going, understood?” You nodded again but he shook his head, “Use your words, dearest.”

“I understand, Father,” you said, your voice small.

The man hummed and let go of your hand, dropping it to your other thigh, massaging the skin there as well. His gaze dropped to where your thumb moved to make the Sign of the Cross on the small crucifix pendant. You closed your eyes as you started reciting the Apostles’ Creed, surrendering your body to the faithful man kneeling before you. His lips pressed against you as you finished the first prayer, your finger moving to the first bead. He fell into a now familiar rhythm, leaving you incapable of staying silent as you breathed out soft moans. Something prodded at your entrance and slowly slipped in as you fell back against the altar with a thud. You arched your back as it kept going, much deeper than you had reached with your fingers. It pumped in and out a few times before the man added a second finger, the pressure and stretch making you whimper.

His tongue kept alternating between sucking on and flicking your clit as you busied yourself with prayers. The priest hummed against you before removing himself; you opened your eyes and lifted your head from the wooden surface, eyes widening when you saw blood on his chin and bottom lip. He removed his fingers from you and showed them to you; they were bloody too. You stared at him silently, uncertain of what to say, but he broke the silence, “See what the evil has left in you? Aren’t you so lucky your Lord is ever so forgiving? That he’s cleaning you up to make you free of sin?” You nodded and bit the inside of your cheek. His eyes were gleaming as his fingers went to your lower stomach, smearing the blood on your skin, which made goosebumps appear.

You studied his face, his sharp, dark hooded eyes were staring at you under his defined eyebrows, his plump lips were stretched in a smile; his tanned cheeks and chin were coated with a sheening coat of your wetness and blood. His hair was now messy—your doing—and his fingers were slowly making their way back to your slit. Without thinking about it, you reached out and cupped his cheek with your free hand, rubbing your thumb against his bottom lip. His tongue darted out to lick your digit as his fingers sank back in you, knocking the breath out of you. Your eyes closed shut as you gasped, your hand falling from his face to rest on your hip. You heard him laugh under his breath before the warmth of his mouth was back on you. Your mind reminded you of the rosary you were holding, and you started reciting the Hail Mary.

As you neared the end of the Glory Be, you felt the man add another finger, the stretch making your eyes tear up as you mewled weakly. The words of the prayer passed in your mind, disappearing as he started to thrust them in and out. Your walls clenched tightly around his digits as your chest rose and fell quickly, panting as your body tried to get adjusted to the burning feeling.

Your fingers landed on the first Decade, and you gathered all your strength to start reciting the prayer, your voice shaky, “Then Jesus came to Galilee to the Jordan to John, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying ‘I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?’ But Jesus answered him, ‘Let it be so now; for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.’ Then he consented.” You were interrupted by a yelp as you felt the priest’s teeth grazing your clit, your free hand landing in his hair, gripping it. Your hips kept twitching as you kept going, stuttering through the words, “And when Jesus was baptized, he went up immediately from the water, and behold, the heavens were opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and alighting on him; and lo, a voice from heaven, saying, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.’”

The drag of the man’s fingers had turned pleasurable, and you felt your muscles tense up, the feeling in your lower stomach rapidly growing. You pushed on the back of his head, searching for more friction, and you moaned out loudly when he started mumbling against your clit as his fingers kept moving, “Oh my Jesus, forgive me of my sins, save us from the fires of hell; lead all souls to Heaven, especially those who have most need of your mercy.” You could not register the words but the movements of his lips on you made you come undone, your back arching from the altar as your thighs trapped his head in place, your hips lifting to follow his fingers and urge him to press his tongue harder against you. Your every muscle tensed up, crying out as the waves of your orgasm hit you just like the Red Sea had crashed into the Egyptians as He closed its parting. You spasmed around him, your walls trying to push his fingers out, and you felt wetness drip down your ass.

He separated from your clit, kissing it softly as he removed his digits from you, slowly standing up as you cracked your eyes open, your body still jolting randomly as it calmed down from your high. The light coming from the rose window had moved, and from your angle, it looked like a halo surrounding the priest’s head; a breathtaking sight that had you gape in awe. You watched as he tugged at the collar of his shirt, taking his Roman collar off and letting it fall to his feet. Your wetness was dripping from his lips which were harbouring a soft smile, his hands moving unhurriedly to unbutton his cassock. His eyes travelled up and down your spent body, then to the rosary you had forgotten you were still holding; you clenched your fingers around it and moved to a new bead, your lips moving silently as you recited the Hail Mary in your mind.

You kept your eyes on his hands as they reached the last button, the man shrugging off the black piece of clothing, revealing he was wearing a white tank top and black pants underneath it. You gulped at the true size of his shoulders; you had thought his cassock gave the illusion he was large, but even with it off, he looked huge. The smallness of his waist only accentuated how massive the built of the priest was. He had muscles but they were lean; despite it all, he looked strong and exuded a masculine aura that had you squirming in place.

Your observations were interrupted by his voice, “Do you feel like the weight of your sin has lessened, ma chère?” You dipped your chin once; you did feel lighter. The man grinned wider as his hands wrapped around your waist, bringing your torso up effortlessly so you were now sitting. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning over so his lips pressed against the shell of your ear, whispering, “You did so well, dear, you’re almost as pure as the day you were born. There’s only a step left in this procedure, but it will hurt at first.” He pressed a hand on the back of your head and pushed forward, forcing you to bury your face in the crook of his neck. You inhaled and felt his fingers massage your scalp gently.

He smelled so intoxicating; a mixture of moss, rain, coffee, tobacco and a hint of something floral emitted from his skin. You realized you had pressed your lips against the man’s neck when you felt him tense up, his hand stilling in your hair. You backed away slightly, blushing so brightly you were grateful he could not see your face, muttering an apology. His body relaxed again, and he hummed, “There’s no need for apologies. Bite down my shoulder—don’t be scared to bite hard—it will make you focus on something else.”

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant but pressed your lips together when you heard a zipper, followed by the shuffling of clothes between your bodies. You brought your hands to his chest, the rosary still in your hand, fingers fidgeting with the beads as you felt one of his large and cold hands spread your thighs a little further apart. You felt his fingers run up and down your slit and you gasped at the feeling, your nails slightly digging into the muscles of his chest. A wet sound travelled up to your ears and you closed your eyes, a shiver running down your spine when you felt a hand drop to your hip, kneading the fat there, and his voice, now a low murmur, “Bite down.”

You barely had the time to process the words that you felt pressure against your entrance which ceded, your walls wrapping around something so thick you shrieked before sinking your teeth into the man’s shoulder. It felt like you were being split in half; the thickness slowly forced its way inside you as tears gathered at your lower lash lines before they dripped down your cheeks. You bit down harder and pulled away quickly when you felt iron-tasting warmth coat the inside of your mouth, but the hand still in your hair pushed you against the bleeding bite mark, the priest almost growling, “Bite, and drink. At this moment, I am God; I am Christ. His blood is mine, and my blood is His’. Savour, dear one, and let me cleanse you inside out.” You let out a shaky breath before sinking your teeth back in his flesh, your brows knitting as he pushed his length an inch deeper inside you, “So obedient.”

You let the blood fill your mouth and swallowed, cringing at the taste but unwilling to go against Heavenly orders. Your arms snaked around his waist as he kept slowly pushing himself into you. The pain was unbearable, but your mind went to Christ, and how much he had suffered for the sins of all; the ache between your legs was a pinch compared to what he had endured, so you toughened up and let your tongue lap at the blood. Your brain felt foggy, and you could only take it as a sign that it was your body reacting to being filled with the divine energy pouring out from the priest. His length reached deeper than his fingers had, and you wondered how much of it you had left to take in.

You soon had your answer, the man stilling as his pelvis pressed against yours; he was so deep in you, stretching you so wide. Your mouth detached from his neck, and you pressed your forehead against his skin, panting loudly as you tried your best to relax your walls around him. The hand that was in your hair made its way to your waist, squeezing gently as you felt his lips press against your ear once again, “Your Lord is so pleased with you; you’re taking his cock so well. You’ll be redeemed in no time.” He slowly pulled out, leaving only his tip in, before thrusting in you at a medium speed, leaving you sobbing against his neck. It was overwhelming, the feeling of his length rubbing your inside and the warmth spreading in your chest, God’s love making you burn up. The feeling started to transform from pain to pleasurable pressure, your pained cries turning into needy moans.

You had managed to reach the tenth Hail Mary in your mind, your fingers reaching the second Decade. You whimpered out the beginning of the Second Luminous Mystery, “On the third day there was a marriage at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there; Jesus also was invited to the marriage, with his disciples.” The priest started moving faster, his hips meeting yours at a much quicker speed; you whined as his tip hit a certain spot inside you, the rosary dropping on the floor as you dug your nails into the man’s shoulder blades. You could not concentrate on anything other than the drag of his length against your walls, panting and gasping each time he bottomed out.

He slightly pulled away from your body and looked down at you, his hips still moving as he brought a hand to grab your jaw from under, forcing you to look at him. He eyed you before crashing his lips against yours, moaning as he tasted his blood in your mouth. You slid your hands up to his hair, tugging at it and scratching his scalp as your teeth clashed together, tongues dancing. You pressed your chest closer to his’ and sighed as your nipples rubbed against his tank top, the feeling sending electric shocks to your core. You parted away from his lips, catching your breath, and your eyes opened and landed on the crucifix watching you; you smiled softly—oh how good was His clemency. Your gaze went back to the priest who was slightly panting, his lower face covered in blood—just like yours— as he smirked at you, sliding his hand to your cheek, stroking the skin tenderly.

In half a second, he pulled out and manhandled you, so you were now bent over the altar, your breasts pressed against the wooden surface as your feet dangled in the air, his large hands holding you up. His knee nudged your legs open wider and you felt him slip back inside you, the new position bringing a different sensation. His hips met your ass, and he started thrusting into you eagerly, loud smacks echoing through the church. You held yourself up on your elbows, holding your head up as you looked at the front door; if someone were to walk in, they would see the priest cleansing you, a Godsent blessing.

Your elbows started to tremble, and the man noticed; he slid a hand below your stomach and hoisted you up against his chest, your back pressed against him. He held you up, his arms wrapped around you as his pelvis smacked against your ass, your feet dangling one foot above the floor. He slid a hand down, his fingers running down your slit, groaning as he felt where you two were connected. He ran them up again and pushed his middle finger against your puffy clit, gently rubbing it as he kept working himself in and out of you. Your head fell back on his shoulder, and he took the opportunity to attach his lips to your neck, kissing and nibbling at the skin.

You truly never had felt anything like this; if you had been a fool, you’d have thought you were glowing from how fulfilled you felt. The familiar tension grew in your lower stomach, lewd noises leaving your mouth as the man dug the fingers of his other hand into your flesh, holding you closer to him as his movements became erratic. His groans and grunts were sending shivers down your back, only adding to the multitudes of sensations you were currently drowning in. As if he could feel you were close to reaching your orgasm, he mumbled against your neck, “Let go, ma chérie. Let evil leave your body, let God replace it with goodness.”

Your breath hitched and with a few more nudges on your clit, the pressure building inside you snapped. Your vision went white as you came, the feeling different from your previous releases. Even through the waves of pleasure, you could feel something drip down your thighs and could hear squelches as the priest kept thrusting his length in you. Your mouth was open, silent cries leaving your throat as you clenched tightly around the man. You felt his lips move against your neck, but you were too lost in feelings to understand what he was saying.

Your tensed-up muscles slowly relaxed as the remains of your orgasm washed over your body. You whimpered as the man kept moving, your core feeling overstimulated by his length still burying itself inside your sensitive walls. He quickly pushed your front back against the altar, grabbing your hips as he moved both his hips and yours in sync, your nails digging into the wood as your ass smacked against him. His thrusts were harsh and fast, leaving you breathless; tears were streaming down your cheeks at the delightful ache.

His hips stilled, his length buried deep inside you, as he groaned lowly. You felt your inside be flooded with warmth, whining as you dropped your forehead against the wooden surface, the cold of it grounding you. You were panting, the warmth creating a pleasant pressure inside your core as the priest rubbed his thumbs over your Venus dimples. He stayed inside you for a few more seconds, before easing out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He once again manhandled you so you were now sitting facing him, holding your limp body up as he dragged a hand up your moist thigh, grinning, “See this wetness? It was the remains of evil leaving your body.” His hand reached your slit and he gathered a sticky white substance on his fingers, bringing his hand up close to your lips, “And this is goodness. Do remember, my dear, your sins are scarlet and they shall be as white as snow.”

You gaped at him; he truly was a man of God. He pushed his fingers past your lips, and you let him, wrapping them around his digits as your tongue licked at the goodness. The taste was bitter, but as your eyes met his’, all you could think about was how caring and selfless the man standing in front of you was. You had come to him, worrying about your purity, and he had completely cleansed you of sin and given you his own God-gifted goodness, not asking anything in return. He removed his fingers from your mouth and brushed your cheek with the back of his index, his smile not faltering, “What is this look you are giving me?”

You blinked a few times, your cheeks flushing as you realized you had been staring, “Father, I must thank you. My body and soul were barren, and you made them anew again. I do not know how I could ever repay you.” His eyes narrowed at your words, his hand reaching to grab his glasses before he put them on and ran a hand through his hair. It dropped to your thigh and drew shapes on there, his gaze not leaving yours.

“Alastor,” he said simply before stepping away from you and bending down to grab your clothes. Your expression turned to a confused one as you watched him slip your underwear up your legs, your skirt following. You let him dress you, his fingers skilfully clasping your bra behind your back before he motioned you to lift your arms so he could slip your shirt back on. Once dressed he let his hand lay on your thigh again, before he spoke up, “My name is Alastor. Call me by it and your debt is repaid.” He grabbed one of your hands and dropped the rosary in it before grabbing your waist and helping you down the altar, “Keep this, use it whenever you feel evil is near.”

You nodded up at him and smiled, your grin faltering for a second when you saw that the crucifix on the wall had detached and was now hanging upside down. Oddly, you thought nothing of it and you looked back at Alastor, your smile spreading wide, “Thank you, Fa—Alastor.” You squeezed the rosary between your fingers, watching as he bent down once again, but this time to grab his cassock and Roman collar. You stood silently as he buttoned it up and placed the white collar around his neck. He straightened the fabric with his hands, before meeting your eyes.

“You look quite a mess, dearest, you’d better go home and clean yourself.”

Your hand flew up to your face where dried blood was caked on your chin and around your mouth, and you felt a blush creep up your neck at his words; he did not look any better. Despite it, you nodded, shifting on your feet as you thanked him once again, “I cannot express how thankful I am, Alastor, truly. You, uh, you should probably get cleaned up too; people would probably wonder why there’s blood smeared on their priest’s face.” The man chuckled and nodded before bending down to grab your coat, handing it to you once he straightened up. You took it and quickly slipped it on, putting the rosary in one of the pockets.

You clasped your hands together and bit down your bottom lip as the man put a hand against your back and urged you to walk with him. You walked down the main aisle silently, stopping once you had reached the end of it. You turned to him and opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it, “Go, now. Enjoy your newly found purity.” You smiled and dipped your chin once; he grinned back, “I will see you tomorrow, though I am hoping you will not walk back in here with that same pitiful expression you had earlier.”

You let out a small laugh as you gestured that you agreed before giving him one last glance and turning around, walking towards the door. You could feel his stare burn holes in your back but ignore the feeling, pushing against the door and stepping outside, the sunlight momentarily blinding you. You sighed loudly, looking around to make sure no one was close; the last thing you wanted was someone seeing you limp, your face bloody. You began to make your way back home, ignoring the way your thighs stuck together from your and Alastor’s bodily fluids. You thought about his words, and strangely, you found yourself disagreeing; you hoped the faceless man would come back. You had tasted true goodness, the powerful and unconditional love and mercy of God, and you wanted more of it.

[forbidden-sin-bin]

Sex and Filthy Smut headcanons

(Eminem x F!Reader Hc’s and drabbles)

Rated: E for explicit… no wait, this needs an X rating for possibly being the filthiest thing I’m gonna write in my life. God save my soul (probably not but hey at least I asked)

Warnings: I mean… look at the title. Need I say more??? Smut. Sex. Lovemaking, Intercourse. Whatever the hell you wanna call it. The whole 10 yards is here. It’s porn, not gonna lie at all.

Tags/Keywords: Smut, Heavy Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, fluff, fluff and smut, Pre-established relationship, Sexual Content, Kink, Overstimulation, Dom/Sub, BDSM, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Oral Sex, Giving/Receiving, Healthy Relationships, Feel Good, Everything sinful under the sun is found here, Author is going to hell, anyone who reads this is coming with me

A/N: Yes yes, ain’t no fuckbuddies or friends with benefits headcanons here, sue me. There is NO angst or sadness here. None, zero, zilch. Those kinds of relationships almost NEVER end well 98% of the time. This is all about you and him ONLY. Give it up for romance y’all.

Not gonna lie, there might've been more I wanted to add to this hellfire list of headcanons but once you've seen how much stuff there is below I hope you'll forgive me for finally putting this out here.

I hope by reading this, will provide you with comfort and satisfaction.

VERY special thanks to @smutty-books for beta reading and feedback along with helping me with this monster of a list! Please check them out and show them some love! (Seriously thank you Smutty for the additional ideas and content. you made this Hc's list a million times better and twice as much content included.)

(WARNING: Past this point is VERY EXPLICIT CONTENT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.)

General HC's:

Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy ohhhhhh boy.

You want sum fuk? You got sum fuk and way more.

As long as you’re his s/o, congrats on your sex life being absolutely demolished and rebuilt by this man. You’ll probably never find a better person in the bedroom for the rest of your life. It literally doesn’t matter if he’s your boyfriend or your husband, sex is a staple activity in your relationship that you both enjoy.

Fast and rough? Slow and steady? Maybe a little bit of both? You bet he’ll be saying fuck yeah to all of those.

His sex drive has always been relatively quite high, even after all these years. Being 50 and counting ain’t gonna stop him anytime soon.

Can, and will, want to fuck you on any and every surface of the house.

Living room couch? Perfect spot for bouncing in his lap or to blow him hard.

Dining room table? He’ll have you either bent over and railing you from behind or sitting on top while he devours your dripping wet pussy.

Taking a shower? You’ll be saving water if you do it together… yeah. Definitely not because of at least a half dozen things you can do in there with soothing hot water pouring down your bodies.

In the studio?…

Okay maybe not the studio he’s gotta work without getting distracted and lord save you two if anyone finds a sliver of evidence that you two fucked in there-

Not a PDA guy much, which also extends to any sexual antics outside. He won’t be taking any risks getting the two of you caught lacking

As long as you two are in the house, it’s free game

His views and methods of sex vary depending on which era we’re talking about

If he were in his 1999’s/2000’s era, then yeah, absolute horndog. He’s constantly so busy and on the move, sex would be a quick trip and onto the next. It would’ve scratched the itch, but arguably wouldn’t have sated his appetite for long. If he ever had a chance to have a good, drawn out sex session, it’ll leave him looking like he had a serious hangover but he’ll be waking up so relaxed.

Him being quick to fuck around and quick to leave was his style pre-Relapse. It’s a common thing you see around music artists in general and he was no exception. That doesn’t mean he was closed off to finding an actual solid relationship, it just becomes that much harder to find someone genuine. Most of the time though, he was busy putting out albums and producing music with a 9 to 5 regimen.

Post-Relapse/Recovery Em had insane stamina due to the excessive amount of exercise he put in. Call me insane, but I have a feeling this may be the time where he had the least amount of sex drive-

NOW HOLD ON HEAR ME OUT

He was starting out his sobriety around this time, I’m no expert but I would have to think that he hasn’t fucked or hooked up with anyone since then cause sex may have been a risk or his body was recovering, therefore most likely putting sex as a low priority. That isn’t to say he wasn’t busting a nut oh no, he probably became best friends with his hands again.

The time between Rap God/Monster Era was slowly building back up his drive, transitioning him to the Revival/Present Day era where he’s back on his blue-balling bullshit. Mans been practically putting out mating calls in his music and in interviews I mean COME ON HAVE YOU SEEN IT

He’s wise enough to not be caught slipping with hoes cause he won’t be caught with those hoes. At all. He’s not a hoe fucker no more. You heard him.

Finding an actual healthy relationship with one person? Someone give it to him, now.

(Anyone who remembers that one shot in that Rainy Days behind the scenes video where he points the camera to his crotch and says “EVERYTHING is for sale.” If that isn’t a man in heat I dunno what is; And that’s just one example out of many lemme tell you)

THE POINT IS, HE CAN GO FOR ONE ROUND, OR MANY, MANY MORE.

He’s determined to make you feel good more than him, but he’ll absolutely be having fun with how you’re gonna come. He’ll love exploring your body, finding out every little spot that gives you shivers down your spine.

Oh yeah, did I mention that he's got a big dick? He's got a big dick.

Don't try to deny it when you can't help but glance at his crotch all the time. It might be bias, or it might be fact that you can see the bulge in his pants.

Dom/Sub Roles:

He’s a dom, no question about that. Most of the time he’s a soft dom, not overwhelmingly asserting himself over you but firm enough to have you listen to him. Of course, he’ll be praising you a ton if you’re doing good and listening. But if you’re acting a little bratty, a little petty… yeah, he’ll make you behave, let’s just leave it at that.

Enjoys having you bent over his knee while he fingers your pussy, making sure you’re all nice and ready for him to enjoy.

If you squirm too much, expect a light spanking and a firm reminder to behave.

Again, not over the top with his dominance, cause at the end of the day, he wants to take care of you, to make you feel comfortable and show you how much he loves you. So praising isn’t just a dom thing, it’s genuinely how he expresses his affection to you.

If you insist on it, he can go even harder as a dom, upping his antics and getting off on seeing you beg for relief. Punishments will be even meaner and if you slip up even just a little, looks like you’re gonna have to start all over. No amount of pleading, teary whines from you will get him to change the cold, hard look in his eyes as he’s watching you.

Absolutely insistent on a safe word, no matter the situation.

Marshall’s immediately shifting to a protective, nurturing caretaker the moment your safe word leaves your lips and making sure your needs are met, completely understanding and shushing any apologies that threaten to leave your mouth for ruining the moment. You come first and foremost.

Amazing with aftercare. Will make sure that you’re okay and well taken care of after a session, praising you lovingly as he holds you close. If it was particularly intense, he’ll be checking in on you for the next day or so whilst feeling quite proud of himself that he can reduce you to a begging, dripping mess yesterday night. But he's by far more proud of you for trusting him and letting him experience you in such a vulnerable position.

All it takes is for him to say: "Such a good girl" and you're all his. (Can't blame you honestly-)

He'll be using your petnames even outside of your passionate sessions, even if it's just coming home to greet you after a day of work or passing by each other in the house to do something, a quick: "Hey peaches" or "How's my babygirl?" never fails to want to leave you smiling shyly, even after a bad day.

While being a sub is not what he would usually do at all, it’s not impossible. Once he’s far into a relationship with you and fully comfortable, he might actually give in to your insistence.

He has a need to feel like he’s in control, like he’s leading; Being on the opposite end is a big deal for him, so if he ever subs it’s a huge fucking compliment and privilege that shows how much he trusts and loves you to bare himself to you.

He’ll definitely be grumbly about it tho, and probably trying to act all teasing at your attempt to dominate him. But once you get past that first phase and he lets himself relax and give into your control… he doesn’t want to admit it, but he feels so fucking secure with you.

When he fully gives in, he’s preening and leaning into your touch. He’ll be such a good boy under your lavish praise and having all of your attention on him.

It feels almost foreign, not being the one in charge and making all the decisions for once. But once he gets used to it, he'll be doing whatever he can to receive your approval.

Seeing him at your mercy, letting you take the reins, makes it your priority to see him come undone by your command, holy shit, it's fucking beautiful.

If he's up for being a little more bratty (not unlike he's been on his petty shit for decades as his core personality trait let's be real here) and expecting to be punished and/or your dominance be harsher, the thought of pushing you to your limits with how much you're willing to keep up with him makes him really, really excited on the inside.

It’s both of your secrets, so don’t fuck it up, a'ight?

Teasing/Body Parts:

Speaking of secrets… he’s incredibly private, but at the same time, don’t be surprised if he ends up writing lyrics that may or may not allude or be inspired by your sex lives. You swear this man will be the death of you, smug bastard.

If you’re ever turned on by listening to his music or his voice, it’ll be such a massive ego boost for him, holy shit. No need to feel embarrassed, cause he’s fucking flattered.

Even tho his residence is far from any neighbors (and definitely soundproof), he’s got a playlist for your ears to get aroused to.

Imagine Marshall whispering in your ear or talking in that low voice of his and well damn now you’re horny is an understatement of the goddamn century.

And it’s not just you! Marshall gets off hearing you moan like crazy, another sign that lets him know he’s doing a damn good job. Hearing you whimpering gets him going, but making you scream? Jackpot.

Unsurprisingly to a lot of y’all, but he loves tits. He loves ass for sure, but feeling your breasts is just- Yes.

Love fondling them, licking, biting, sucking, you name it.

Now do the same for him-

OKAY OKAY HEAR ME OUT HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN’S PECS

MAN’S GOT HUGE FUCKING HONKERS. HOLY SHIT.

(No wonder he’s such a titty guy-)

But seriously, play with his chest and he’ll be moaning and writhing under you. Music to your ears.

Rest assured your ass will not be forgotten or neglected. No fucking way he’ll ever leave any part of you un-worshipped. Even when you’re just passing each other around the house he’ll playfully slap or squeeze your ass with a smirk. Cheeky fucker.

May or may not prompt him to just throw you down and pin you against whatever furniture is closest and have his way with you right then and there.

Or it could be the other way around! You can't help but give his sexy behind a mischievous swat or grab, or his pecs. He'll probably pretend to be miffed but you'll be catching him returning the smirk you have on your face. Oh, by all means, have your way with him right then and there as well. Equal rights, equal sexy times.

Grabbing your backside and pulling you closer to him, pressed against his chest and his growing bulge in his pants oh sweet Jesus-

Will for sure spank you while you’re riding him or he’s railing you from behind, the sounds of skin slapping against skin while he sees your ass jiggle with every thrust is just so fucking hot

He wants to reach deep down, as far as his cock can reach, nothing in the house is safe from him pounding your pussy and giving you a creampie.

Speaking of that, He LOVES to come into you or on you. It gives him a feeling of claiming what's his. Anytime he sees his cum dripping outta you or running down your skin, Marshall’s ready to go again.

Or he could use a sex toy, making sure his cum stays inside and your pussy ready for him in a few.

Kinks

We’ve already covered the dom/sub parts, but there is SO much potential for other kinks that you and him can get into so let’s get right into it

Breeding Kink:

I mean how can we not start this off without mentioning that

Can, and will ram you harder and faster than a piston AND make sure you both cum multiple times

If you’re walking the next morning, that means he failed the assignment so now he’s boutta rectify that

Dirty talk is cranked to a hundred as he’s growling in your ear on how much of a slut you are for his seed, how he’ll fill you up and make sure your womb is carrying his baby, how gorgeous you would look with your belly swollen with your little creation, etc.

Even if he’s sure that he doesn’t want anymore kids (given his age or experience, which is understandable), imagine the baby fever he gets when he sees or imagines you with kids

He’s perfectly happy with just you and him, but the possibility of you, him, and maybe a little one you made together from your love? His pupils are dilating like a cat getting ready to pounce

Even if the possibilities are extremely unlikely, the mere thought of it and he’s giving you the 🥺 eyes. (Every time you see him make those eyes at you, it’s probably cause he’s feelin the breeding urge)

If you're not able to, that doesn't change a thing; he wants to make you feel like you're his no matter what, and you are! He loves you for you.

Obsessed with coming inside you after railing you into the mattress, filling you to the brim with his seed

Loves giving you a creampie and then watching it leak out of your pussy, might take the initiative to stuff his spilling cum back into you

Or he could just fuck you at multiple different times during the day like the stud he is

Hell he may as well just not pull out and you’ll both be falling asleep still connected

You'll be waking up with his member engorged and slowly thrusting in you while he nuzzles into you, taking in your scent, kissing your lips so softly until you both cum. After that he takes you to the shower and you both wash each other

Loves marking your skin with his mouth, letting anyone know that your his and his only

Your cunt and everything else is thoroughly satisfied every time the breeding kink comes on don’t you worry about that honey

Size Kink:

Hey don't judge his 5'7 ass. Marshall's got other big things minus his height; Big hands, big ears, HUGE CO-

If you're smaller than him: He praises you for taking him in so well, whispers words of encouragement with every inch he pushes into you until you can feel his tip brushing against your cervix. Doesn't want to overdo it in fear of hurting you, but with your insistence he'll be going all out in due time

If you're taller than him: He LOVES it. No cap you being taller or bigger than him is so fucking sexy. Makes him more eager to make you come and more confidence in exploring different ways to do so

Takes a hand in yours and guides you both to press against your stomach, feeling for his cock thrusting into you

Praises you constantly as he feels your walls stretch around him so perfectly

Once you feel like you can take all of him, all of his restraint is gone as he pounds your sopping wet cunt relentlessly

Body worshipping is a must regardless of size

Feral/Primal Kink:

You know how possessive he can be, and that still translates to the bedroom. Even when he knows you're his, he can't help but feel turned on by his possessiveness for you.

And when you're all his, he can go fucking. Crazy.

It's also the dom feeling in him as well, but he has a need to claim you: Not out of insecurity, but out of his desire to make sure you know how much he loves you.

Likes biting your ear as an affectionate gesture. Sometimes he enjoys lightly tugging as a playful gesture to get you riled up.

Marshall thinks the growling thing is dumb as hell but if you're into that he'll try to give you some throaty growls in your ear, but expect him to start cracking up at his attempts until he's used to it

He thinks he can't do it yet he doesn't realize the low rumble in his throat whenever he gets a jealous streak

Voice/Audio Kink:

Well, well, WELL. Someone's ego is about to be stroked harder than his cock for once

He’ll absolutely be moaning and grunting more often when you guys have sex

Jokingly asks if you want to put some music on before you start fucking though he probably cringes listening to his own music during sex

Definitely ruins the mood for him when he hears someone that collabed with him on one of his songs or if any of his lyrics mention things that he doesn't want to think about when horny

Whenever he asks what you're listening to and hears one of his songs, he can't help but inwardly smile or smirk with pride. "Good choice." He nods, keeping his face unreadable.

If he catches you listening to FACK he just starts dying with laughter and dying on the inside simultaneously

No but seriously, he's super fucking flattered knowing how much his music or just his voice turns you on

Whispers in your ear during sex, either praising, teasing, or telling you what to do

He'll be observing which tone provokes the biggest reaction out of you so he can remember it for future reference

(People working with him in the studio are gonna be wondering why he's so close to the mic while recording recently)

Might record something just for your ears to listen to when you guys are apart ;)

Sex Positions

Missionary:

Ah, the OG.

Ranging from being the most vanilla to literally breaking the bed and making the house shake. Most people’s go-to position and Marshall is no different.

He’s got full access to your face, neck, and breasts while he pounds you into the mattress, absolutely loves it and it’s no surprise.

Is eye contact a kink? He’ll be wanting to look you in the eyes no matter the pace you’re going. Additionally may often include forehead touching and/or nose nuzzling. Incredibly hot and intimate.

If he’s feeling extra curious or dominant, he might even push your legs back and over his shoulders to reach even deeper into you. (In other words, putting you in a mating press.) You ain’t walking for a few days after this. Catch his freaky ass all smug n shit.

Slow and intimate in this position is SO fulfilling. It’s like baring your souls to one another.

Going fast and rough is just straight up a joyride and a half. It feels carnal in the best way possible.

Overall you can’t fuck this up really. It’s missionary for crying out loud.

Doggystyle:

*clears throat* Ahem. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF

If you haven’t seen my fic Heat yet, it’s basically me writing smut for the first time in this position but taken to the next level. Should hint at a lot on what imma bout to say tbh

YES. HELL YES. PLEASE LET HIM RAM INTO YOU FROM BEHIND. HE’LL BE POUNDING INTO YOU SO FUCKING HARD

If you go face down on the bed, ass up? Holy shit

Expect bruises on your hips the next morning… also a very horny man ready to go again or to absolutely worship the fuck outta you for taking it so fucking amazingly

He'll be running a bath for you, being extra doting and attentive, the whole nine yards while also feeing that masculine satisfaction™ at the fact that he's able to get you to that state of bliss.

By far the most feral position. If he’s got a breeding kink I wish you luck on how many times you’re gonna come and he’s gonna come

If you’re also into taking it in the ass I respect you 👀 kinky motherfucker would love to explore some new ways to fuck

Pronebone is also basically the same as mentioned above, but it’s got that intimate feel, you get me? He’s closer to you whilst also able to attack your neck and shoulders, maybe even have a hot make out session with you while he continues to pound your pussy or ass raw.

As long as you love taking it from behind he’ll be on his knees for you. And on top of you.

Cowgirl/Reverse Cowgirl, You On Top:

Ride him. That’s all I gotta say.

He wants you to ride him. Fuck him silly. He’ll lose it.

It’s a perfect demonstration of him still being the dom. You may be on top, but he’s the one in control.

Might tease you by making you work hard for a reaction outta him. He’ll be pretending to be unimpressed or smug while you bounce in his lap but in reality he’s trying so hard not to break

Either that, or he won’t be holding back on how good you make him feel. Mouth open, quietly moaning, grabbing your ass or your hips.

If he can't take it anymore, he pulls you down to him and holds you tight while he starts bucking his hips, pounding up into you like a piston

Even once you both come he starts back up again before you've even calmed down

Oral (Giving and Receiving)/69:

I mean… are we really gonna question it? Yeah you better give this guy some head he is a slut for it

Give him a blowjob and he’ll be the happiest man alive

You watching his expressions as you’re sucking him off

Might take some practice to take all of him into your mouth cause this man is BIG

Even when he’s got loose sweatpants on you can still see his bulge AND IT’S NOT WHEN HE’S HARD AND HORNY. MARSHALL’S PACKING.

I wish you luck in trying to deepthroat this man

When it comes to oral, he definitely prefers receiving rather than giving

But don’t you DARE underestimate this man’s tongue cause holy fucking hell he’s feasting on your pussy

PLEASE let him suck on your clit while he’s eating you out. That man’s mouth is amazing in many ways for a reason

Imagine having to go out after and if anyone asks him if he wants anything to eat he just replies: “Nah I’m good. I had something earlier.” And then GIVING YOU THE SIDE EYE LOOK-

BEARD. BURN.

Let this man bury his face in between your thighs and imagine the friction of his beard brushing against your skin. If that doesn’t make you cum then him lapping you up will guaranteed

69 turns into a competition to see who can get the other to cum first, or a comforting session of tasting each other

Standing:

Y'all know he can do it pinning you against a wall. Thanks 8 Mile

As hot as it is, take care as not to have your head or back bang against it

Great for quickies but probably not for a long time; You gotta give his back a break lmao

Hugging your waist from behind tho :eyes:

Add a mirror on both opposite ends of the wall and you can watch him thrust into you

He's holding you real tight and close, making sure to hold you up so your legs won't buckle

Spooning:

Feelin real cozy

It can be lazy morning sex; Intimate and gentle as he places kisses behind your ear and buries his face into your neck while he does long, deep strokes in and out of your walls

Or it can be rough: Holding your thigh up while his hips violently thrust into you, only stilling when he comes after you

Another way is his cock slipping between your thighs and humping you eagerly, or his cock rutting against your ass

Push your hips back in time with his thrusts for deeper penetration or the sound of your skin slapping against each other

His hands clutching your hips or grabbing your breasts as he moans in your ear, feeling his cock twitching with his release

- - -

ALRIGHT TIME TO STOP HERE I’VE BEEN KEEPING THIS IN MY DRAFTS FOR MONTHS Anyways hope y’all enjoyed this and then some <3 I might come back to this and and more so who knows? If you enjoyed let me know your feedback and if you have any suggestions!

[bpcr3yes]

Hello again, lately I've been obsessed with Valeria Garza and I decided to write some headcanons about her because I'm tired of only talking to bots 💀

VALERIA GARZA HEADCANONS (realisct maybe?) (a little subjective??? I don't know)

She is a woman with a strong personality, fearless, focused, stubborn, arrogant.

She is el sin nombré, owner of the biggest cartel in Latina America, she certainly had many women. She has a preference for chubby women, she likes to squeeze, you would probably be an anti-stress ball for her.

I have a lot of doubts about her being bisexual or lesbian (or straight if we could even add that option) but I believe she is a lesbian, a furious one at that, about her relationship with Alejandro I believe she used him (she appears to have a personality narcissistic and manipulative) she used him to get information so her plan could work.

I believe that when she was a soldier in the armed forces, she was totally confident and determined, many men were around her because she was beautiful (and hot) so she had a razor instead of a tongue I believe, she was always shouting insults or belittling men, only with her commanders she was more... well-behaved.

In the interrogation part, we see her tell Alejandro that she didn't take orders anymore, but then you can understand that he was her commander, and she was certainly angry with him.

After she became owner of the cartel, her life became extremely stressful, she doesn't trust any of her men (I think Diego was an exception) she believes if something needs to be done it's perfectly fine to have a woman do it because she thinks men they don't think.

I like to think that she has a trophy wife that she only takes to events like parties, bars and meetings. The wife's only job is to stand there being pretty and not say a single thing.

Now let's talk about this truly passionate woman of ours.

If you are in a long-term relationship (5 or 3 years) she would be completely in love with you. The type of wife who comes home and gives you a long kiss and hug, to make up for lost time.

Every month you go out to eat at a fancy restaurant and then spend the night together. (a long night I can say)

In public, like at events or on the street when you go out together, she rarely shows any type of physical touch, she prefers to remain secret. When she's in the Cartel it's totally different, she makes a point of kissing and grabbing you in front of everyone without caring, she would probably touch you sensually in front of her men but if someone is bold enough to think they can have fun together, She shoots twice. One on the head and the other on the penis.

She is a possessive woman, she would politely (not so politely) ask you to have her initials tattooed on your hip. She would also have a tattoo about you on the back of her neck.

about Family, this part is a little confusing when I create the headcanons. Most of the hcs I read said that she had mommy issues, I believe she was a daddy's girl, while her mother was narcissistic to the extreme, always belittling her for simple things.

Her mother probably had a lot of problems with medication. I also think that Valeria always had an attitude, never lowering her head to anyone. No matter the occasion.

Her family on her father's side loved her and disliked her mother, she probably had kind and caring grandparents and aunts. I like to think that she spent a lot of time with her grandmother, cooking, helping her with everything.

She must have had cousins too, she and them would turn the house upside down.

There's a part in the interrogation scene where Alejandro is saying that she ruined the army and he says "and your brother too?" It makes me think that Valeria joined the army to prove that she had the same value as her older brothers (to prove to her mother that she was capable too)

I imagine her brothers being strong, big and courageous lieutenants, she could be close to one of the two, while she didn't even make a point of saying good morning to the other.

that's it for now ♡

[obae-me]

A Taste Of His Own Medicine- Full Revised Masterpost

No one asked for it, but I wanted it, so here it is! I was going through some of my old stuff, particularly this series because it was a personal favorite of mine. And boy oh boy did I feel like it was outdated. Partially because of nightbringer, but also because my writing style has changed a bit over the last few years. So, I figured I'd go through it all, edit a few things, take out a few bits I didn't agree with character wise, and add some details here and there to make it all flow a little better! Lucifer's chapter especially got a chunky overhaul (yeesh that one made me cringe). The changes aren't enormous, but just enough to make a difference I think. And now I get to put them all in one nice little post! I'll still be keeping my older versions on my masterlist. It'll be kinda neat to have both there for comparison's sake. Plus I added a little bonus scene at the end that's... a teaser of things I have planned. See if you can guess what it is. Oh, and if you're new here, hi! Enjoy a silly fic I made!

Anyways, enjoy!

Warnings: Sickness, fainting, blood mention, gagging, fighting, medication use, brief taking of double doses. General sickfic things.

It spread as a rumor first. The halls of RAD were always abuzz with the latest news; the newest trend, an upcoming event, what Diavolo was having for lunch. However, lately the only thing everyone seemed to be talking about was a new airborne virus. Students clustered less frequently in the halls, sharing hushed whispers on who had been most recently afflicted. You had been assured that humans should be immune to this particular strain but to still err on the side of caution. Take the proper steps to keep yourself in good health. Waves of sickness like this always came closer to the wintertime, much like the human realm. And while the air in the Devildom carried a general sense of anxiety, no one in the House of Lamentation seemed worried in the least.

“We’re technically fallen angels, not demons.”

“Psh, you think a little virus is enough to affect us? No chance!”

“There’s no way any of us will get sick. Don’t worry.”

Pride was rampant throughout the House. So…perhaps it was only fitting that Lucifer was the first in the household to catch it.

He had shown symptoms a few days before, beginning with not having the energy to scold Mammon. Then it snowballed from there. Almost losing his balance while going up the stairs, putting too much sweetener in his coffee, failing to focus over relatively mindless things, it concerned you. Everyone else didn’t seem to notice…or perhaps they were pretending not to, taking advantage of Lucifer’s odd state and doing whatever their sinful little hearts desired. No one thought it could be that serious, otherwise they might’ve done something about it. Kept a closer eye on him… But this was Lucifer after all. He got like this sometimes, they all claimed. He was simply working himself too hard again. But…even so…you knew something was off. This was more than just your typical burnout.

Did you dare risk damaging his pride to ask? You weighed the outcomes in your mind, deciding in the end to go check on what was wrong that night. Hoping to appeal to him, you had even made some of his favorite tea. You’d even prepared a second cup for you, secretly wanting to maybe share a moment of time together… Stepping slowly to ensure you didn’t spill a single drop, you went straight to his bedroom, knocking on his door exactly twice in even beats. No answer. His study then, perhaps. So you headed there, passing the shelves of dusty tomes to see that the bookshelf which served as his secret entrance was wide open.

“Lucifer?” you called, holding yourself back on worried feet. Waltzing in unannounced did not always grant you the warmest of receptions. He preferred to have some sort of warning. Although, this time there was no response to your announcement. “Lucifer?” you asked again, your voice slightly louder. Still nothing. You couldn’t hear any music… and he wasn’t often known to wear headphones. Just a peek couldn’t hurt, could it? Just to make sure he wasn’t inside. You stepped forward and poked your head through the doorway.

At first glance, the office appeared empty, his overly grandiose chair devoid of its demon. However, after a better look, you noticed that he was inside, just not how you expected him to be. The Prideful Lucifer was crumpled on the ground, surrounded by what should’ve been a stack of papers, but now was just a scattered mess on the floor.

The heart in your chest nearly stopped, your mind jumping to various grisly conclusions. Somehow you managed to put the teacups aside without dropping them like one might do in a dramatic soap opera episode. The musical sting was audible in your mind. You rushed to him, moving him with a strained grunt so he was flat on his back. You shouted his name in an attempt to wake him, checking for wounds. “Lucifer!” He didn’t move. Not even a twitch. Burning crimson cheeks flushed brightly on skin as white as a sheet. You checked his breathing. Constant, luckily, but shaky. There was a faint tremble throughout his body. Your hand drifted down to his cheek as you caressed his face. To say he looked terrible was an understatement.

You fumbled for your D.D.D. desperately hoping that someone would pick up quickly. But who to call? Your mind ran through everyone you knew. Mammon? Barbatos? Diavolo? Perhaps Beel was your best bet. He was dependable. You didn’t want to risk anyone else taking advantage of him like this. Besides there was no way you could drag Lucifer up to bed alone, and Beel was easily as strong as three of you.

You dialed Gluttony, doing your best to not bite your knuckles in worry. Each echoing ring felt far too long… Pick up… Pick up! “Oh, MC, you called at a good time.” The breath that came out of you was almost a gasp. “I’m getting ready to order food since the kitchen is empty. What do you want? I’ll get it for you?” Beel sounded like he was still in the middle of chewing, which probably meant he just now emptied out the kitchen. Now wasn’t the time to worry about that though.

“Beel- Beel! I… I came into the office and… Please come down to Lucifer’s study, I- I need your help! Lucifer- Lucifer he’s…not well.” Your voice shook, doing your best to form comprehensive words aside from the panic. You’d hid the fact that he collapsed to save some of his pride. Even though it would be fairly obvious once Beel got here…

Beelzebub’s tone went more serious. He swallowed whatever food he had left before speaking again. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up.

Now that Beel was coming to help, you felt a bit more relaxed, but not by much. You put your D.D.D. back into your pocket and knelt beside Lucifer’s body. His head was lifted up with your shaking hands, letting him use your lap as a pillow. You brushed away the hair that was now starting to stick to his skin. You’d never seen him like this before, and you were certain that Lucifer would rather die than be discovered like this. Nevertheless you couldn’t help but pet his head.

It wasn’t too long before Beel came in, messy crumbs all over his shirt as he left in a haste. Once he saw the state Lucifer was in, he scanned back over his shoulder. “Mammon is busy arguing with Levi, Belphie is taking a nap, Asmo’s out, and I’m hoping Satan is in his room. Let’s get Lucifer to bed quickly.” He came over and quickly lifted his elder brother up off the floor. It didn’t matter how long you had been around him, any time Beel was able to show of just how strong he was, it left you in awe. “Why don’t you go ahead of us and meet me in his room?” Beel asked. For a second, you blinked in a stupor before you quickly nodded, bolting as fast as your feet would take you up the stairs towards the second floor to his grand master bedroom.

Careful of potential eyes, you looked around for anyone before opening the door. As Beel said, you could hear Mammon and Levi going at it, but they were a few rooms away. You invited yourself inside, leaving the entrance open just a crack so Beel could easily come right in. Now to prep Lucifer’s bed. It was extremely large, entirely unnecessary for one person, but a perfect fit for the Demon of Pride. You took one corner of the silky sheets and folded them aside. Then you waited. And waited. And waited. After what seemed like eternity- but was realistically only a few minutes- both brothers entered the room. You got up and quietly shut the door behind them while Beel placed Lucifer on the bed.

“What do we do now?” you asked. “Should we call a doctor?”

Beel’s mouth tightened. It was obvious he was worried, but he shook his head. “We… can’t. We leave him alone and he’ll probably call someone when he wakes up.”

You stood there, jaw open, not able to fully process the words. “��We can’t?’ W-What do you mean, ‘we can’t’?”

“It’s sort of an unspoken rule… If Lucifer ever gets sick we have to leave him alone. Even just the fact that we brought him up here might get us in trouble.” Beel looked a bit downtrodden.

You stammered over your words. “I- but- we can’t- That’s the most ridiculous and hypocritical rule I’ve ever heard! If it were someone else, Lucifer would have everything covered as soon as possible!”

“It’s mostly to keep Satan and Belphie away… and to make sure Diavolo doesn’t find out. He tends to be a worrier.” Beel explained. He shrugged, glancing over at his brother for a moment as he thought. “I’ll go keep watch over this room. Maybe if you take care of him, he won’t be as upset. Please…take care of him MC.” With that he left, however you could still hear him outside the door, already munching on something as he stress ate.

You nervously paced. Taking care of him sounded easy in theory, but in actuality you had no idea how to take care of a demon. Would it be the same as a human? Probably not but that was all you knew how to do, so it had to be better than nothing, right? So you left the room for just a moment to grab a few things. A glass of water so he could stay hydrated and a bowl of cold water with a soft rag to bring down his temperature.

When you returned to the room, you froze. Lucifer was sitting up slightly in bed, looking disoriented. A relived sigh released all the built up tension in your lungs. “Oh, thank Diavolo… Lucifer, are you okay?” His head swung around at you, eyes a bit wide. He didn’t notice you had entered. “MC… what’re you doing in here? I--” He cut himself off in shock as you placed the cup of water in his hands and the bowl on his nightstand. You got the rag damp, wringing out the excess.

“Do you not remember?” you asked him, raising a hand to put the rag against his face. Embarrassed and clearly overwhelmed, he swatted your touch away and forcefully put the glass back in your hands.

“Enough of this fussing! There’s no need for it.” He scowled, but his dry lips were a bit poutier than he intended. “I don’t know what’s gotten you to believe you needed to come in my room, but I don’t remember inviting you. It’s about time you took your leave.” His tone was stern but his words didn’t have the usual sharp impact they normally did when he was upset. They just sounded tired. Strained. You frowned. You couldn’t tell if he was unaware he collapsed or just glancing over the fact he did. Either way he was clearly lying about being alright. You decided not to bring up the study situation for his pride’s sake, but even with your two fully ordinary human eyes you could tell that he needed to be looked after.

You’d defied him before and hadn’t died yet. Sure there had been close calls, but… what was going against him one more time going to do? “I’m not leaving," you told him.

Lucifer disapproved. His eyes went narrow and air around him grew even hotter. A few more red splotches showed up on his face… “Would you like to say that again? I hope for your sake I misheard you.”

“I’m not leaving you right now, Lucifer.” You stood your ground. Sometimes stubbornness needed to be met with more stubbornness. Lucifer clenched his jaw and stood up. Too quickly. He lost his balance and fell to his knees, clutching tightly the only thing keeping him from falling over. You. He had his face buried in your shirt, his breathing now ragged. Seeing him like this was torture… although there was something about seeing Pride be humbled that gave him further access to your heart. He wasn’t some untouchable distant concept. He was a person who got sick sometimes, just like you. Once more, you ran your hand through his hair, tender fingers rubbing at the pressure points on his scalp. Even him just being this close made you hot. He was a burning furnace. “You’re not well, Lucifer… And I know you won’t ever admit it so you don’t have to say anything, you don’t have to ask, I’ll do the begging, just please let me take care of you. You take care of everyone else, so when you can’t even take care of yourself let me take care of you. Please.”

He didn’t respond, just kept his face hidden. For a second, he motioned as if he was going to push you away… but he pulled you closer, his grip on your clothes getting tighter. Acceptance… You bent down to grab one of his arms to help him get to his feet. His throat cleared as he sat on the edge of his bed. It was clear he had a lot to say, but he kept everything to himself. Lucifer’s eyes wandered, looking at everything in his room except for you. Slowly, you reached towards his neck, taking the stuffy tie off of him. Kneeling down, you removed his dress shoes, tucking them aside. He loosened a few of his own buttons, already looking a little better without so many unnecessary layers. Finally, you took both his hands in your own, feeling the curves of his palms before stripping his hands of their gloves. When he got back inside his bed he turned away from you. Sulking and feeling thoroughly defeated probably. Flustered, if you could allow yourself to think so. You tried hard not to smile. He would absolutely kill you if he knew you thought he was being cute.

With a hand on his shoulder, you urged him to lie on his back. Once he begrudgingly did, you pulled the blankets up to his neck and had the rag in hand again. You ran the cool fabric across his cheeks before folding it up and settling it across his forehead. Then you went over to one of his record players, scouring through his large collection until you found the record that he told you was a favorite of his. And not one of his cursed ones. You placed it on the player, making sure the music was loud enough to be heard but not enough to keep him up. It started with a soft piece, something calm and hauntingly beautiful. Hopefully it would help him relax.

Lucifer already had his eyes closed again, the red in his cheeks gone down from cherry to coral- in other words, just a touch. However, it was enough to make you feel less antsy at his condition. You had been so close to contacting Diavolo, but now it seemed as if you didn’t need to. Since you had just had your hands in the water, they were cool to the touch, so you gently brushed them against his cheek again. This time he moved his head to melt into you. A soothed hum left his throat. He grabbed your sleeve, now looking up at you with an expression entirely different than just a few minutes before. “Please…don’t leave tonight.” His voice was soft and hush, almost as if he didn’t want to hear his own words. You rubbed his cheekbone with your thumb. A shiver ran through his body and it was hard to tell if it was from your touch or from the fever.

“Don’t worry, I won’t. Sleep now.” He shut his eyes and with a large shuddering sigh, he seemed to drift back to sleep. You took the rag, it already warm, and you touched your forehead to his. “Sweet dreams.” You whispered.

Lucifer recovered fairly quickly. What had left lesser demons bedridden for a week or so only had the eldest brother recovering for a handful of days. Now, he had done his best to keep himself isolated, but once his siblings eventually learned how bad off he had been- despite your best efforts to keep it a secret- they all came in on their own time to check on him. At the end of the day, even if they often had each other by the throat, they cared for each other deeply. You had to wonder if the extra unexpected TLC was part of what got Lucifer back up on his feet so rapidly.

Mammon was in and out of Luci’s room pretty frequently. Despite yours and Pride’s warnings, he was determined to do his duty as second in line and take care of his sibling. So, no one was all too surprised when Greed fell ill not even a single day after Lucifer was symptomless. But, what did catch everyone off guard was that Mammon was not the only one who got suddenly sick. Out of every other brother, Satan was also next to fall ill to the Devil’s Cold. Lucifer commented proudly that Wrath had been excellent in his service, bringing him specially crafted potions to lesson pain and bringing him up special meals to restore his vigor. All was revealed much to Satan’s dismay. Apparently it was meant to be a secret. He tried to twist it into some sort of reverse psychology prank, but everyone knew Satan was acting out of worry. So, a proper deed was returned in kind, Lucifer looking after the both of them to the best of his abilities. Such a doting older sibling through and through. Although, despite the rare opportunity to have Lucifer wait on them hand-and-foot, Mammon and Satan were both acting strangely difficult. Satan’s denial of Lucifer’s fussing made more sense, strained relationship and all, but Mammon’s sudden cold stubbornness was rather uncharacteristic. So, while the eldest was busy finishing the two extra workloads of Student Council business, he asked that you check up on the second-eldest.

You eagerly agreed. For not only was Mammon being reserved towards his siblings, but also towards you… It was a sensation you weren’t used to, him being so close to you and all. This would be a good excuse to see him. Approaching his room, you knocked on his door, pressing your ear against the expensive looking wood only to hear a groan from inside. It wasn’t what you would define as a dismissive groan, so you let yourself in. Overhead completely off, extra light from his displays all dimmed, you were left stumbling around in darkness for the light switch. Once you flicked it on, the pained moan you heard before returned, albeit louder this time. Seemed he was sensitive to light at the moment. You bit your bottom lip and flicked his light back off, opting to use the glow from the screen of your D.D.D. instead.

The faint light gave you enough vision to spot giant lump under the covers of his bed. Not a single part of Mammon’s body was exposed. He was all bundled in a ball. You came over, a nice hot drink in your hands in a shiny golden-colored mug. Lucifer had told you that the concoction was good for demons, and among that one of Mammon’s favorites. To you, it just smelled like cinnamon and milk.

You gently pressed your hand over the bed lump, shaking it slightly as you announced your presence with a soft voice. “Mammon, it’s me… Lucifer sent me. I have something for you.”

The blob of blankets shifted, little chirps of discomfort making their way to your ears. He scuttled away from you at first, the blanket pulled tighter around him. It required several minutes of coaxing for him to come out. The covers fell away as he finally sat up in bed, hair sticking up every which way. His black tank-top was sticking tight to his torso, his face devoid of the normal vibrancy it usually held. Not only that, but it seemed the exhaustion had him stuck halfway between his demon and human form. His body marks were present across his body, but they were very translucent. His horns were absent from his head, but you could see his wings tucked against his back. His nails were the sharpness of talons. Normally, his eyes shined at you, little flecks of gold floating in the seas of blue. Now his color was dulled. But at the sight of you, a bit of him perked up. You were a much needed presence. Even if he talked up a big game over text about ‘not needing to see you’, at the end of the day, having you at his side was what he wanted most of all. You could read from his expression that he regretted not having you come in sooner.

You held out the drink for him, and he reached for it with shaking hands. Worried he’d spill it, you cupped your own hands around his, giving him the added support as he brought the rim of the mug to his lips, taking mini sips while giving himself breaks to breathe in-between. You frowned… He was barely able to hold and consume his own drink. When he was done drinking it, you put the half-empty mug aside on his nightstand.

“Th-ank you, huma-hu… MC,” he croaked, his eyelids fluttered and he fell back onto his bed, his face buried in his pillow. He let his hand dangle over the side of his bed, his fingers almost grazing the floor. Your heart ached seeing him in this position… but you secretly had to admit, he was being awfully cute. His tsundere nature was gone, you only wished he didn’t need to be this far gone to be sweet with you. You ran a hand through his crazed hair. A little greasy. He would need to wash up. You’d let Lucifer handle that one. Mammon turned his head slightly, just enough to see you with one eye cracked open. You saw it glisten with tears for a split second before he turned back into his pillow. Lucifer was probably caring in his own demanding way, but you wanted to bet he’d never been treated like this before.

You shook your head a bit at that thought and went about rummaging though his clothes to find a cleaner outfit for him to wear. Lucifer could help him get changed out of those sweaty things later. You folded up a suitable replacement and placed it on his couch, pushing aside empty shopping bags. Then you sat beside Mammon on the mattress, reaching for the rag Lucifer had brought to him earlier. Mammon must’ve been tossing and turning for a while, seeing as it was at the end of his pillow case, threatening to fall to the floor. You dipped it in the bowl of cool water that was left on the nightstand, feeling the feverish warmth dissolve out of it.

“Mammon…Mammon, turn your head,” you asked. He raised up his dangling arm to reach for the covers…and pulled the fabric over his body with a huff. You had been wrong, apparently. There was still a twinge of tsundere left in him. It was comforting, at least, knowing that he still was the embarrassed little demon with that playful attitude you adored. You covered up a small smile with your hand. “Mammon, please. Pretty please? Pretty please with Grimm on top?” You pleaded with him, leaning on him with your own body till he squirmed under your pressure.

“Oi…” he croaked. “Fine…” He shuffled around under his sheets before showing just the upper part of his head, his gaze plastered on anything other than your face. You tried hard not to chuckle, you really did. He was being so stubborn about this. You placed the cool rag on his forehead and heard him sigh. You used a finger to pull down his blankets so you could see his features. You cupped his chin to move his head and guide his gaze towards yours. You stroked his cheek and watched a twinge of color return to his cheeks as he blushed.

“Do you need anything else, Mammon?” You asked him gently. It was a bold move to ask Greed what he wanted. You could only begin to imagine what he’d ask for. Cold cash? A new pair of shoes? A car? At the moment though, you didn’t care what he asked, you’d get it for him if it was within your power…and your budget.

To your surprise, he frowned at the thought of being pampered, apparently. He licked his cracked lips and shook his head. “N-Nah…you can…go.” Had hell frozen over? Was this why Lucifer had asked you to check on him? Was he so miserable right now, he couldn’t even turn to his sin? Or was there something more to it?

“Mammon… you’re not being greedy by letting me help you. I can grab you whatever you think you need. Hell, I’d go fishing in Lucifer’s wallet if I thought it would make you feel better.”

The second-born tried to laugh a little but just ended up coughing. After he wrestled control over his own lungs, he blinked a little, thinking. “Can I…have some water, maybe?” He talked as if this was a new sensation, as if he had never coveted anything in his life.

“Of course. Anything else?” If you managed to poke and prod a little more of his sin to come out, you’d feel a little better.

“I…don’t know…” Poor Mammon seemed pretty out of it, like he was dangerously close to falling asleep, but being forced awake by the sheer discomfort in his body. If you could help him out, he might stop tossing and turning.

“Okay,” you nodded, a little idea illuminating in the back of your mind. If he couldn’t be greedy, you’d be greedy for him. “I’ll be right back with a few things, okay?” His fingers snagged onto the end of your sleeve, upset at the thought of letting you go, but his hand dropped back to the bed. With an assuring squeeze to his shoulder, you left his room.

A quick text was sent to the other residents of the House, requiring a quick meeting in the common-room. You tried hard not to pace as you waited for each brother to trickle in, a curious look on all their faces. Lucifer showed up last, his arms folded but appearing more concerned than frustrated. “I’m assuming this has to do with Mammon,” the eldest chimed in before anything was said.

“Exactly.” Turning your head, you gave each brother a determined look before setting your plan in action. “We’re all putting together a Get-Well-Basket for Mammon!”

A sleepy voice raised a little. “Huh?… A Get-Well-Basket?”

You nodded. “Yeah, you know, like a little assortment of gifts to show someone you care. It doesn’t have to be much, but just grab things you think would make him feel better! Oh, and he likes words of affirmation, so you all have to write a nice note!” A few of them tried to groan, but you were hearing none of it. “Go on! Right now! The master of your pact demands you! Don’t make me use ‘stay’.” The grumbles turned into quick agreements as the able-bodied set off in their quest to prepare their brother a basket. You hurried off to your own room, grabbing an open Akuzon box off your floor, a set of pens and a stack of sticky-notes off your desk. Then you looked around for something to give your precious demon of Greed. A lot of the things you owned… had been bought by him. You guessed you hadn’t realized till now how much he bought things for you. He deserved some nice things back… Not wanting to leave Mammon waiting too much longer, you snagged a nice pair of socks and a crystal you’d bought at a nearby magic shop. They got thrown in the box as you went back to the common-room.

A few other brothers were already there by the time you returned. Pleased with them, you set the box on a nearby coffee-table and handed each of them a pen and a note. “Now, your little letters. Make them nice or I’ll force you do them again!”

Dramatic huffs and puffs were made for the show of things, but they all seemed to really think about something nice to say. “How’s he doing, by the way?” Beel wondered aloud, speaking as he recently entered the room. Different eyes flickered down to the floor. Seems they all were wondering the same thing but none of them knew how to say it.

“Not the best,” you admitted, taking a few of the brother’s gifts and settling them in the reused box. “Which is why I thought this little pick-me-up would do him some good.” The rest of the demons fell silent, finishing their notes and attaching them to their gifts.

“Tell him- Tell him I said to feel better,” Levi sighed, giving you a little wave before returning to his bedroom.

“Yeah! Tell him that if he misses out going to that party with me next week, I won’t ever forgive him!” Asmo’s eyes narrowed at nothing in particular, kissing his note before putting it with his gift. The other siblings had similar sentiments, their well-wishes eventually compiled into one box. You found yourself smiling. This would help for sure. With the box and the water he originally asked for in hand, you returned to his room.

Mammon was sitting up again when you came back, his knees tucked against his chest, his finger tugging at a loose thread on the hem of his blanket. The soft light coming from a book lamp on his nightstand helped you keep from tripping on the floor. When you walked in through the door, you could’ve sworn you saw him smile. His eyes took turns observing you and the curious box in your arms. “Wha’s that?” he wondered, his words slurred slightly.

“It’s for you.” In a few steps, you were back at his side, giving him the water first for him to drink before settling the Get-Well-Basket at his feet. “From me and all your brothers. To make you feel better.”

It was clear he was confused for a good while. “For…me?” But then, that little glimmer in his eyes returned as he started to rummage through the box. He read a few of the notes, scoffing and tossing most of them aside. Whatever they all had wrote had clearly touched him and made him embarrassed. It seemed as if this idea of yours was a success.

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

The demon of greed had to think deeply again before putting the box of gifts on the ground near his bed. He sighed a little, letting his legs leave his chest and go flat under the covers. Mammon hesitated before holding his hand out. “Y…Yo…” Even if he hadn’t fully said it, it was clear what he wanted in his time of need. You.

Something in your chest squeezed. You took Mammon’s hand and pulled him towards you, embracing him in a hug. His weary head rested on your shoulder, his shoulders relaxing, the tension leaving his body as your hand found it’s way between the joints of his wings. “You didn’t have to ask. I’m here whenever you need me. It’s not selfish to want someone by your side when you don’t feel well. And I want to be here...with you.” You could hear his little gasp as you held him, his breathing eventually becoming slower, calmer. With you at his side, he finally had enough peace of mind to relax. “Get some sleep if you can… everybody is waiting for you to get better…”

Mammon was now well on the mend thanks to your efforts. Sprung up like quite the spring chicken with you doting on him. He got his energy back faster than Lucifer did, but his symptoms lingered longer. It was rather amusing actually. Hard to steal stuff while your sniffles give away your location sneaking through the halls. Although, even with two counts of demon-caretaking under your belt and a self-proclaimed gift of healing, you had yet to check up on Wrath. Not to say you didn’t want to, you just… couldn’t. Banned, in fact. Deterred by Lucifer himself. But you just wanted to help. Lucifer was constantly busy, not to mention that his knowledgeable yet vengeful younger brother was expending all his strength that he should’ve used to recover busting the house to pieces in several fever-fueled rampages. It had seemed like the logical choice, and rarely did Lucifer prevent you from keeping an eye on his brothers. So why now of all times?

“He’s being…unreasonable,” was Lucifer’s answer. Out of all the possible reasons, this seemed among the most pathetic. A rearranged ‘because I said so’ with some vagueness sprinkled in. Disappointing.

“If I remember correctly, you were also pretty unreasonable,” you stated, trying to hold back a smirk steadily curling across your lips. He just scowled, glaring you up and down, trying to decide if he abhorred your backtalk or found it endearing. He leaned back in his cushy seat in his study, placing down his much too expensive pen by the pile of work he needed to finish by tonight. Another lecture on getting better rest tickled the back of your throat, tempting you. Recovered or not, he needed to give his body proper sleep lest he fall into another bout of sickness…

“And if I remember correctly, we agreed it would not be discussed again.” His sharp expression softened just a touch, a light shade of pink gracing his cheeks as he recalled how you took care of him in his weakened state. Before he thought about it too hard, he cleared his throat. Staggering hairs were brushed away from his forehead as he folded his arms in front of his chest. It heaved in a sigh. “His body and mind have been considerably weakened, therefore he has little to no control over his anger. He is Wrath, and I shudder to think what may befall you should you try to talk to him right now.” He peered deep into your eyes, taking note of your unwavering stance and stern composition. “And yet I suspect you’re going to go see him anyway.”

Bingo. Your hobby of thrusting yourself into dangerous situations formed another greying hair on Lucifer’s head. With a look equal parts exhaustion and worry, Pride lifted his hand and snapped his gloved fingers. Something in the house shifted. The magical lock placed on Satan’s room was broken for you. Although, Lucifer had to go over some rules, ensuring that, at the very least, Beel would be just outside should anything happen. You were to be whisked out of there at the first trace of danger.

The demon’s door was right in front of you now, and for a second you hesitated. You took a deep breath, clutching to your chest some medicine and a hardcover book from the human world containing old fables. Knowing him, he’d probably read it already, but it was worth a try. You knocked on the door, glancing a look at Beel before loudly stating your presence to the inhabitant of the room. Pushing the door open, you were pleased to find that so far you were unharmed, which was admittedly a great first step.

However, you quickly found yourself awash in a sea of books. A mess in Satan’s room was pretty normal. But this… was on a new scale. Honestly, you were almost impressed. Books and scrolls were haphazardly stacked, covering the floor, basically everywhere. You couldn’t even see his bed, it was hidden somewhere in this labyrinth of tomes. You held your breath, not even daring to breathe for fear everything around you would come tumbling down. The last thing you wanted was to be crushed to death. If the books didn’t kill you, you had a wary feeling Satan might for disturbing his ‘organized library’. So, you carefully weaved your way through slender passageways in the piles before you found, what you assumed, was Satan’s bed.

The reason you could only ‘assume’ is because at this juncture in time it hardly looked like a bed at all. Just a quick glance and it would’ve blended in with any other heap in this room. It was camouflaged with more books, torn pages, binders, pamphlets, a few cat figures, dioramas, etc.. Self reminder to check to see if there were any shows on demon-hoarders in the Devildom…

A jagged green-tipped tail dangled from beneath the bed-pile. It twitched and flicked, sending some novels skidding across the floor. You inhaled deep through your nose.

“Satan? It’s me.”

Satan’s tail whipped across the space between you and the bed. It struck one of the impossibly high stacks of books, sending it teetering and tottering threateningly before it crashed down. If you hadn’t taken a few steps back, you would’ve been one with that pile… You huffed to yourself. Rude… You wanted to help him and this was how he was treating you?

“Satan, please.” A book whizzed past your head and you winced, the sting of a little paper-cut blooming across your cheek. The air in the room was suddenly noticeably hot. You knew these were demons. You knew they were capable of destroying you in seconds, but that didn’t stop your stubborn nature from feeling absolutely offended. And so, as if you had a death wish, you scolded him. “Satan!” You strutted over, throwing the covers back and sending even more clutter to the floor, but at least you could look at him. But a part of you wished you couldn’t.

Teeth were bared as his mouth formed a menacing scowl. Hair was messy and untamed. His eyes were glowing an unnatural green, a lens behind his irises reflecting back at you like a creature in the shadows. A deep resonant rumble emanated from his chest. He looked absolutely feral, but it wasn’t till he pressed himself into the corner of his bed and the wall, knees close to his chest, that you put your fear beside yourself. Yes, at first glance you may have been entirely convinced he was going to tear your throat out, but then you ran your gaze over him a few times… His face was covered in patches of crimson. He was only wearing a green long-sleeved shirt and stripped boxers covered in kittens wearing top-hats. There was a sheet of paper skewered onto one of his horns, and he now was curled up protectively against the wall in a little ball. He was scared.

“Get out,” he demanded. It would’ve been threatening sounding if his lungs didn’t sound as if he swallowed a squeaky toy. He was wheezing, fingertips shaking, his tail protectively curled up against his legs, the tip of it quivering.

To be honest… you wouldn’t leave this room right now for all the Grimm in the Devildom. “I’ll leave after I’m done helping you out a bit,” you assured him, but he didn’t want that answer.

“Get out! Out, out, out!” He clutched another book in his hand and chucked it in your direction with a shout, this time missing you by a mile. You blinked. Was he…having a meltdown?

“Satan, throwing stuff at me isn’t going to make me leave any faster, so cooperate and I’ll be out of here as soon as possible.” You smiled softly at him. Wrath had no retort nor nearby ammo left, so he tucked his face into his knees, letting you get to work. It would take you hours to clean the room, but you did what you could for the moment, tidying up at least the chaos surrounding his bed. How he would’ve slept with that mess on him was beyond your understanding. Or maybe that was one of the reasons why he was being so cranky. Books aren’t exactly great nest material.

You shook off his blankets, puffed up his pillow, and then took a hesitant scan at the medicine you’d put on his nightstand. Lucifer had told you where to get it. Supposedly a powerful medication that tasted as bad as the one taking it felt. It was also administered as a liquid, because for all their power, demons hadn’t made capsules a widespread thing yet. You had no idea how you were going to get Satan to take it.

Maybe being sweet first. “Satan,” you cooed, sitting yourself beside him on the bed while he remained curled up in a tight angry ball. “I have some medicin-“

“No.”

Figures, you were reaching with that one. Maybe begging? “Satan, please, please, please, pleaaaaase take-“

“Bite me.”

You scoffed aloud. He was absolutely, without a doubt, being a brat. On par with Belphie right now. You took a moment to recall how you convinced Lucifer and Mammon. Lucifer was only won over when you stood your ground and told him what to do for a change, challenging his pride. Mammon, you went out of your way to get him things, stoking his greed. With wrath…did you? Time to indulge in a little more sin.

“Satan, I swear to the Father above and Diavolo below, if you don’t quit fighting against me when I’m trying to help you, I’m going to shove this entire freaking thing down your throat till it’s the only thing you can taste for decades!” You raised your voice, shouting at him with a fury in your chest you’d never used before, ever. Especially not against Satan. But, against all odds, you were alive, and instead of smoke coming out of his ears, Satan looked up at you from behind messy bangs. Shocked beyond belief, his mouth slightly ajar, he uncurled himself from his position and sat up slowly, his head looking down.

“Tch.” He puffed air through his teeth, giving in finally. Your attempt, while perhaps mediocre without any demonic snarling and mysterious fog, was successful. You hummed to yourself in glee, taking the cap off the bottle and pouring in the medicine. It smelled God-awful, and you felt sympathy for him, but if it was going to make him feel better, he needed it. You held it up to his lips. He growled in frustration but then parted his mouth to let you pour in the foul mixture.

Already pale skin turned even ashier as the glop slid down past the lump in his throat. He looked like he was going to be sick. He slumped his posture and began to release shuddering coughs that nearly turned to gags. You instinctively put a hand on his back, rubbing up and down along the ridge of his spine. Once he was done with the episode, he sat back up, swaying in his seat back and forth until you held onto him, gently bringing him back down onto his pillow. You moved the hair out of his eyes and sighed in relief. Thanks to whatever magic Devildom medicine had, his redness had already gone drastically down, and he looked fairly calm for now. Mellowed out. Some strong stuff…

His eyelids couldn’t decide if they wanted to be open or shut, struggling to fight sleep. “Rest,” you whispered, getting up off his bed, pulling the covers tighter around him, urging him to go to bed. After you helped him, then you would leave him alone, that’s what you promised… even if you desperately wanted to stay. With a little turn, you picked up the book you had brought with you. He grabbed your wrist before you could even attempt to leave. A tilt of the head, and he sleepily read the cover before letting his hand drop back onto the mattress.

“I bought that…for you,” he mumbled. With a grin, you nodded. He had bought it for you during the adventure to London. It was filled with old fairytales and fables, the authentic gruesome kind, not the kind human kids grew up on. Both had their perks in his mind, but Satan seemed particularly fond of the ones that broke free from the stagnant ‘happily ever after’.

“I brought it here for you to read, but you need sleep. Besides you have plenty of other books here…” Your voice trailed off as you reached for his horn that still had the paper stuck to it. You yanked it free with a light chuckle.

“But…” He wanted to argue, but had no energy left to. “Will you…” Satan started, gripping at his own sheets so tight you thought he would rip holes in them. “Read…to me?” Your heart soared so fast you almost went lightheaded. You sat back down on his bed, fussing over him just a bit more, fixing his messy hair. He groaned as you did but let you do it anyway.

“Of course! I’ll read for you whenever, Satan. Whatever makes you feel better.”

“You…” He almost sounded frustrated, like he couldn’t comprehend how you could be so kind especially after the mood he was just in. Then he settled as you flipped the book open to the first page, recounting terribly sad events with a terribly soft voice. Every so often he’d correct you if you fumbled on a word, or correct the inaccuracies of the story itself, but eventually he went to sleep. His eyeballs moved frantically under his eyelids as he slept. His voice would squeak out some incomprehensible word while he dreamt, his fingers twitching in random increments. You noted that his tail that was draped off the side of the bed was now gently curled against your leg. His demonic appendage was rough, sharp in some places, and yet you could hardly feel it with the way he was holding you now. He was comfortable around you.

You used the stray paper that had been on his head as a bookmark, placing the book back on his nightstand for later. “I guess they all get to live happy ever after this time,” you whispered to him in his unconscious state before you pressed the back of your hand against his cheek. Your knuckles tickled his jawline, making his face twitch closer to your hand. “Sweet dreams, Satan. Feel better.”

Lucifer and Mammon were now considered fully healthy and back on their feet with Satan not too far behind them. For a few days, there was hope that the worst was over. It wouldn’t spread any further. The sound of sniffles and the scent of disinfectant wipes would finally dwindle. But, whenever you hope too hard, things always seem to go in the opposite direction. Hopes were dashed when two people were absent from breakfast one morning, and not too long after Satan had finally returned to the table. The twins had never come down from their shared room. For Belphie, this wasn’t something to stop the presses for. Sleeping in and skipping the morning was his whole shtick. His brothers were usually more concerned when Sloth did show up for breakfast. For Beel, however, to miss any sort of meal? Something had to be wrong.

Putting your fork down, you offered to go check on them. After all, morning breakfast was not the same without the two of them. Lucifer was somehow already out of his chair, gently pushing you back to your seat with a single hand on your shoulder. “Please, let me. If they are sick it’s hard telling how they’ll react. They could just as easily be oversleeping.”

You had wanted to protest, but Lucifer was nothing if not the voice of reason. He was right. You had seen Beel’s hunger-driven rampages before. Demonic destruction wasn’t something to sneeze at- no pun intended. Plus, Lucifer was their brother first-and-foremost whilst you were still just some human that had the luxury of living in their home. That fact and the kinder eyes and soft touch Lucifer had given you had won you over to his words. You could trust him to handle this one… He ambled away from the table, and with a few long steps, exited the room.

Asmo was squirming uncomfortably, audibly whining, clearly disturbed. “I was stupid to think this sickness thing was over! With Beel eating everything down to all your leftovers, it’s no wonder he caught your ugly germs! Then he gave it to Belphie, and next you’ll all give it to me!” He pushed his plate away from him, only having a single bite taken out of his meal.

“You don’t know that they’re sick yet,” Mammon rebutted. “And what do you mean my germs are ugly? Everyone’s are!”

“The likelihood that both of them are ill is high.” Satan sighed, putting down his book he had brought with him. After doing his best to tune them out, it just wasn’t working. He still was weaker than he’d like to be, not to mention drained, but a doctor had confirmed that he was no longer contagious and could continue attending his classes at RAD. “The fridge has been abnormally full and I heard plenty of coughing from Belphie the other day.”

An alarming banging sound came from above their heads, little specks of dust from the ceiling floated down, only just visible in the direct light. As if this proved his theory, Satan gestured towards the noise with a raised hand. He held it up for a moment before his arm dropped into his lap. Another loud crash sounded from above, Satan’s eyelid twitching as Lucifer’s booming voice could be heard throughout the house.

This was enough for Asmo to get up from his spot, shaking his head profusely. “I swear if I catch this thing, all of you are absolutely going to have it, you hear me?!” He choked back a sob and went to leave the room, pulling his sleeve down over his hand as he touched the doorknob.

“Oi, where are you going?” Mammon called after him.

“To take a nice hot sanitizing shower!” The demon of lust slammed the door to the dining hall as you watched more dust sprites dance down from the air. They twirled and pirouetted right over Levi. His nose twitched and he raised his elbow to cover his face as he let out a sneeze.

Levi, the only one who had been quiet this far, finally let out a long groan. He glanced down at his hands fearfully, as if they had been covered with blood. “No… No! No, no, no, I’m sick, I knew it! Of course it would be me! I’m gross and miserable and… do you know how long it takes to fully clean a keyboard?!”

Satan rested his head back in his chair, closing his eyes in annoyance. The ruckus upstairs had gotten worse. It was difficult to tell just from audio alone who Lucifer was wrangling. Maybe both Beel and Belphie at once?… Normally, Satan would work on figuring the little mystery out, but it seemed as if he’d met his limit already. People were fist-fighting, two people were having meltdowns, and it was only breakfast. The intellectual usually had no problem going to classes, enjoyed them more than others actually, and yet the look on his face screamed truancy. “Levi, I doubt you’re sick, you never leave your room,” Satan reasoned.

“I told you all, I think he snuck into my room a little while back! One of my figures was moved! I bet Mammon got his sticky fingers over everything! He gave me the cold!”

Add accusations onto the daily list. They all might end up going though their daily atrocities before lunch today. Now the only three brothers left at the table were verbally sparring, one tense word away from physically— You frowned as your food ended up on the far side of the room along with the table. You thought too soon. Unfortunately, this sort of scenario happened often. So, you excused yourself, knowing none of them were listening, expertly dodging a plate as it whirled past. The dish struck against the wall a few inches from you, luckily not shattering. It clattered to the floor as a waffle slowly slid downwards. While you were still unharmed and food-free, you left the dining room. After wandering the halls trying to find a safe and silent place, you sat yourself on the stone steps of the entryway. You’d just wait for the multiple battles to die down. There was screaming downstairs, crashing upstairs, the whole house in chaos once again.

“Demons…” you sighed. --

Lucifer confirmed it. Beel and Belphie…both of them had caught the cold, and the eldest had spent the past hour or so attempting to force them into taking some medicine. He had succeeded naturally, and you shuddered a bit to think about the sort of tactics he employed, but when all was said and done, he had taken the time to seek you out. It was clear to you that even with all his power and prowess…he was exhausted. With Beel’s physical power and Belphie’s cunning, it seems even Pride had broken a bit of a sweat. There was still plenty of Student Council catchup to be done too… and now he had the twin’s work to start on. He needed a helping hand, and while he didn’t express it bluntly, he did ask for your assistance.

Apparently they were calm now, the medicine lulling and sedating them, so you could see them freely without worry of them tearing you or the house apart. Lucifer still addressed you with a bit of concern. “You’ve been on the brunt of all of this.” On one hand, he appreciated the work you had done. On the other… “I’m concerned for your health. Diavolo was fairly confident you couldn’t get infected, but we still don’t know for certain…” His voice drifted, slightly disappointed in himself, feeling like there was more he should be doing. “Regardless, the last thing we need is for you to fall ill as well.” You persuaded him that if you hadn’t gotten sick yet, you were sure you were immune. You’d been in direct contact with nearly all of them and hadn’t so much as sneezed. Lucifer wasn’t entirely convinced, obviously mentally preparing for the worst of outcomes, but he let you do what you needed to do. And that was taking care of the two youngest.

Homemade soup; the medicine for the soul or so people said. Something comforting and filling yet easy for the stomach. With Satan’s assistance, you concocted the most soothing meal you had ever made. Two steaming bowls were settled on an elegant silver tray and brought it up to the twins room. The door to their bedroom had a golden emblem ingrained in the wood. A moon encircling a sun, resembling the same individual symbols above both their beds. You carefully balanced the tray on your hip for just a moment as you softly tapped your knuckles against the smooth wood. Unlike the other brothers you had cared for so far, someone actually opened the door for you for a change.

Beel looked down at you, eyes heavy and slightly reddened. He was wearing a faded orange t-shirt and some black shorts. Heat radiated off of him in nauseating droves. If you had thought the other brothers had burnt up, nothing compared to Beel’s temperature. Even just standing beside him made you dizzy. As if hellfire was roaring through his veins. His shirt stuck to the skin around his torso, sweat beading down his forehead. His abs and muscles were clearly shown through the fabric, but he didn’t seem to mind. He rubbed one of his eyes with a hand, not even focusing on the soup bowls. “MC, what’re you doing here?”

You lifted up the tray with both hands and presented the meal you made with him. The creamy broth with hearty vegetables and noodles would surely make him feel better. “Soup!” You exclaimed quietly, feeling a mite proud of what you’d created. “You never came down for breakfast so…” You must be hungry, you kept the last part to yourself.

He frowned deeply, being rather dismissive. “I’m not hungry, and Belphie’s asleep.” A simple glance past Beel’s body confirmed that there was indeed a lump in Belphie’s bed. Many lumps in fact. There must’ve been plenty new additions to his pillow collection. “I’m sorry you went through the trouble,” Beel sighed, his arm raised to shut the door. Your attention snapped away from Belphie, back to the demon at hand. Was he shutting you out? Really? He had never done that, ever. All of his other brothers, sure, but him? He always had his door and his arms wide open for you at all times. Your leg served as a quick wedge, feeling your knee temporarily painfully pressed between door and frame. As soon as he realized he was hurting you, the door was thrown back open.

“Beel wait, please, you haven’t eaten all day! How are you going to give your body enough strength to heal if you don’t give it any fuel?” You looked up at him expectantly, trying to convey the care and worry you held for him through your eyes. Beel always advocated for taking care of your body. Those words you shared were the ones he had used on you once before. He was somehow always aware of what you had eaten and when. Same for his brothers. Sure, his sin might take over and he might accidentally eat your food, but he still determined to make sure everyone he cared for was well fed. It was about time you returned the favor.

“But the medicine…” He pressed one hand to his gut, his nose wrinkling up at the mention of food. His normally sturdy legs wobbled as he stumbled a bit, gripping the end of the door-frame for balance. The usual glow in his countenance had gone dull. It broke your heart. Beel seemed to always be strong, always be positive, always have a smile on his face when it came to food and family. Now, he just seemed out of it, eager to head back to bed with both you and proper sustenance on the other side of the door. Curse this tray for occupying both of your hands. You wanted to go wrap him up in your arms and make him feel protected and cared for… even if he was much bigger than you were.

“The medicine might be why you feel sick to your stomach in the first place. You didn’t happen to eat anything before Lucifer gave it to you, did you?” Your words brought his eyes up from staring at the floor and back to you. Orange strands of his hair were freed from the skin on his forehead as he shook his head to your question. An answer wasn’t quite necessary anyway, from the fighting you heard and Lucifer’s brief description, the older brother forced the medicine down both the twins throats before they had a chance to protest. You lifted the tray back up near Beel’s face. The contents of the bowls sloshed enough to almost drip over the edge. “You might feel better if you eat. Even just a little? I… made it for both of you.”

It wasn’t often you attempted to employ the puppy-eyed look. However, it seemed necessary in this instance. All these demons were weak to you, and you knew it. You could only hope it was enough this time… Beel was stuck having an intense internal debate. The door in his hand was creaking open and shut while he decided if he wanted to let you in or not. If he wanted to eat or not… Your heart sank as he seemed to come to the conclusion to prevent you from entering, the door almost clicking back into place to leave you in an empty hallway. If this was what he wanted, could you really change his mind? Just as you were about to leave, the door was pulled back wide open, his eyes a little watery as he made it up in his mind that he could never shut you out like that. Your chest swelled as he let you in, shutting the door quietly behind you.

The room was almost consumed in pitch darkness as soon as the entrance closed. The only light source seemed to be coming from Beel’s side of the room emanating from the screen of his D.D.D. on his nightstand. Crossing the room, you waited until the demon climbed back onto his mattress, sitting up while he pulled the covers over his legs. Not wanting to speak as to disturb Belphie, you extended one finger from the tray handle and pointed at his bed as a question. As he nodded, you settled by his hip, placing the tray on his lap. His blankets were soft, and with a stroke of your hand, you smoothed out some of the wrinkles.

The sight of the soup made Beel grimace at first. He was hesitant, but it was clear he was starving. His sin was tearing him up inside. He was only prolonging the pain. “Is my cooking really that bad?” You frowned, embarrassed, unsure if his reaction was towards your talents in the kitchen or the state of his sickly body.

“No, it’s not that. I just…” Gluttony couldn’t quite find the words to describe what he was feeling. But you understood well enough. You’d been sick before in your life. You knew what it was like to feel the hunger pains alongside the nausea. Eating made you feel worse. Not eating made you feel like hell. He must be miserable. This was probably a rare feeling for him.

“Take it slow,” you whispered, your hand coming up to rub his shoulder.

After taking a minute to mentally prepare, he took your advice to heart, starting with a simple spoonful. He blew away the steam and took the smallest bite- or slurp- you’d ever seen him have. He chewed on some of the softened vegetables before swallowing. There was no need to ask how it was. His head raised back up, small tears making their way down his cheeks. He leaned in towards you, his chin almost resting on your shoulder. “It’s…so delicious. May I…eat it?”

You chuckled, grinning with relief as a little bit of color came back to his face, his expression not looking so pained. Sounded like he was already breathing easier too. “Yes, Beel, I made it for you.”

He sat up away from you, the happy glow returned to his eyes as he went to work not only downing the bowl for him, but the bowl for Belphie as well. You made a mental note to come take care of the other twin later. Hopefully he wouldn’t end up sleeping for days on end like he’d been known to do a few times before… With one of the twins looking already worlds better with some warm food in his stomach, you went to go stand up to leave, but two big arms wrapped around your body to hold you in place. The hot skin on Beel’s cheek pressed against your forehead as he sighed in relief.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

You rested your head against his chest as he held you even tighter. “You’re welcome, Beel. I’ll be your personal chef till you feel better.”

With a contented sigh, Beel buried his nose in your hair, his hands gripping your shirt. He leaned back against his headboard, bringing you along with him as you almost laid on top of him. It didn’t seem like he was going to let you go anytime soon. He closed his eyes and with one hand he flipped his D.D.D over so there was nothing but blackness in the room. Relaxed lungs brought in deep even breaths. He was still ridiculously hot, but not unbearably so anymore. His words devolved into sleepy mumbles. “You’re so much better than any food in the world…”

The twins were sick, Lucifer was working himself ragged, and the rest of the brothers were avoiding their siblings like…well…like the plague. You never initially intended to become a nurse, but how could you sit by and do nothing while the demons around you that you had come to care for suffered? And, if you were being honest with yourself, you were thankful that there was something you could do to help around for once. It wasn’t often at all where you were put in a situation where you could be the protector, the helper, the one they relied on. However, as much as you liked that feeling, you hoped this spreading sickness would end with Beel and Belphie. The constant care you were dishing out was starting to leave you more exhausted than normal.

Telling anyone about your state though would most likely end in immediate termination of your new career in demon caretaking. So you kept it to yourself. These brothers were now leaning on you harder than ever, including the ones who had already been sick. Just the thought of all their faces, pale and sick in bed, lighting up at the sight of you entering the room as you pet their heads sent tingles down your spine. You wanted to take care of them…all of them, forever.

You violently shook your own head as you gripped the handle to your bedroom. What am I thinking? Is the Florence Nightingale trope really true? The door gently creaked open as you stepped inside.

Eternal moonlight had it perks, but being able to tell time was never one of them. What hour was it now? Your day had been occupied fulfilling several requests from the many members of the household. The typically hungry demon would now only eat food you made for him, and while you did promise to be his personal chef, it was beginning to overwhelm you. Not only chef, but you’d been hired in several other new ‘departments’. You’d become the new mailman, bringing packages from the front door to the otaku with severe hypochondriac tendencies. The librarian and storyteller for the bookworm who was milking his symptoms for as long as he could, partially because he truly enjoyed your company, but also because he enjoyed his brother’s complaints as he kept you to himself. The beauty product tester and fashion assistant for Asmo who refused to let any of his brothers touch him with a ten foot pole. The lawyer for Mammon who was apparently determined to get himself into trouble more so than not lately. And also Lucifer’s new temp secretary. You had so many reminders set on your phone for things he needed to get done. But the eldest was determined not to let things fall apart just because a few of his brothers were ill.

Should you be getting paid for this?…

Tired feet were dragged across the floor of your bedroom as you made your way towards your bed. It called to you; a sleepy siren’s song. The blankets reminiscent of a sweet melody, the pillows the alluring notes. With the last of your energy, you swiftly kicked off your shoes, letting them roll and settle crookedly on the hardwood floor. You let yourself fall face first onto your bed, the springs bouncing you up and down gently from the sudden impact. A moan escaped your lips, one you never had the intention for, but your body betrayed you. Laying down felt nice… Rain and wind outside started to kick up, the sound brushing and pouring against your window. It was like the night was comforting you, the weather speaking to you softly. It’s okay to get some rest.

Without bothering to change into pajamas, you crawled under your covers, pulling the blanket tightly near your face. Muscles and joints in your body started to ache, and you furrowed your brows as you shut your eyes. Had you really worked all that much? What exactly did you do that forced your body to feel this sore? You let out a sigh and brushed your cheek against your pillow. Already, the back of your mind was buzzing with sleep, and even if you tried to come up with some specific answer explaining why your body hurt in places you didn’t even know existed, you wouldn’t be able to. This would probably been the fastest you fell asleep in a long time, conking out without a second thought. —-

Fire haunted your dreams that night, the heat making you lightheaded. Your subconscious body struggled to navigate the obstacles of this place. The House of Lamentation was on fire, by reasons unknown, as dreams often do. You were frantically looking for the brothers, your mind thoroughly convinced they all still resided inside. Lips moved as you could’ve sworn you were screaming their names, but the roaring sounds of the flames muffled your voice. No matter how hard you squeezed your lungs, no sound came out. You felt yourself collapse to the ground, unable to move. You were hot. Too hot. You-

A low scraping noise shocked your body awake. It took you a moment to reel in reality, to settle yourself back into your senses, the dream drifting far behind you now. A squeak sounded. A harsh squealing grind of two hard surfaces rubbing against each other. It left a strange feeling in your teeth and pumped your mind with adrenaline. You sat up in bed immediately, the alarm for danger blaring on high alert.

It was hard to see through all the darkness. Clouds had covered the moonlight, leaving little to no light to guide your way. The only thing you could see with your adjusting vision was a shadow creeping around your room. It staggered. Drifting around as if searching for something, a deep inhuman growl rumbling through it’s disfigured body. Your fingers trembled as the sound echoed in your mind. How had it gotten in the house? There were no distinct features you could make out, the creature didn’t have any limbs. It was one giant blob, dragging itself across the floor, moving and knocking over the chairs in your room as it did so. That must’ve been the cause of the sound that woke you up. Was it hunting for something?…

A few options for survival bubbled up in your mind. Screaming for help wasn’t a smart decision. One loud noise, and the creature would more than likely beeline it straight for you. Besides, with the demon brother’s sporadic schedules, you weren’t sure anyone would hear you anyway. Your room was all the way down near the kitchen…your roommates blissfully asleep upstairs. You had half a mind to text someone to save you, but if you got caught in the light from your screen, that might also cause an instant game over. However, that did remind you to lean over to put your device on silent. You would not be that stupid survivor in the horror trope that got killed due to a notification. Oh, if only you had given in to Lucifer’s odd request to install some sort of security system. You had denied it. Said it sounded more like a baby monitor than anything else. Now look where it got you.

The intruder seemed distracted and confused, just as blinded as you were in the darkness. Maybe you could make a run for it… it seemed rather sluggish. But assuming things could get you killed. But what other options did you have?… Right now, the thing was finally drifting away from the table and towards the middle of the room, inching ever closer to your bed. The luxury of time was not something you had. It was settled. You’d book it out of here and run to someone else’s room… Just look for an opportunity… The wailing mass was getting closer. Just a few more seconds. Your heart was rattling harder than the wind against your windows. Just a little bit farther! Heat was waving off the creature and onto you, reminding you of your dream. It moaned unnaturally, shuffling slowly, wandering without a purpose. You quietly swung your legs over the end of the bed so you could finally make your dash to freedom. The blood pumping through your head was deafening.

A thud reverberated throughout the room, making you jump, freezing your body in place. The creature had collapsed on your floor. It slowly squirmed, writhing, it’s shape melting away before a humanoid hand poked out of it’s frame.

“O…w…”

The familiar voice washed over you in a refreshing shower of familiarity. You pressed a hand to your chest as you took in a deep relaxing breath. Although you didn’t waste too much time before rushing to the floor, kneeling beside the shape. The shell it had shed felt soft. You grabbed the surface with both of your hands, peeling it back to reveal a confused disoriented demon.

“Belphie…” You nearly went off on him, ready to spend the rest of the night giving him a Lucifer-style lecture. But, too tired to do something like that, you simply wrapped your arms around the seventh brother. Eyes rolled in your head, embarrassed and annoyed by your own paranoia and stupidity. Although that sort of paranoia had let you live in the Devildom thus far. That and a ridiculous amount of luck… Though if the other brothers found out you mistook Belphie and a puffy duvet for some sort of lumbering undead slug-monster, they would never let you live it down. Speaking of which…you suddenly remembered that he’d taken quite a tumble. “Are you okay?” He never answered, but you quickly found the source of his fall. The shoes you had left haphazardly on the floor. You bit your lip in a bit of shame. Before they could claim another victim, you snagged your shoes and tucked them away in a not so trippable place. Then you returned your focus near the lump. “Belphie? What’re you doing here?” You placed a soft hand on his shoulder, although as you did, you nearly reeled back. Sloth was burning up.

“…anna…o…ome…” He mumbled, not focused on you at all, his eyes were even still closed. Chipped nails clawed at your rugs, pushing himself on his arms just to collapse again. Your chest squeezed as you grabbed his arms. Convinced he was still asleep, you tried shaking him, feeling the palms of your hands tingle against his unhealthy and infernal temperature.

“Belphie!”

None of your attempts to wake him up were working, so you turned your attention to the only thing you could do. Bringing his heat down. The blanket you had tried tugging off of him was somehow twisted around his limbs. After turning him on his back, you worked on unraveling him, feeling his hands paw at your body. He was deep in some fever dream, one bad scene away from thrashing… Frantically, you plucked a pillow from off your own bed and tucked it under his head. You brushed sticky strands of hair off his forehead, watching him mumble some more.

“..illith…Beel…”

Might as well have heard your own heart crack right then, but you couldn’t let it get to you. Feeling against the walls, you moved around your room till you found the light switch. Once you could see, you went right to work. Thankfully, due to your efforts before, you now kept extra medicine and supplies in your room. It was actually Satan who suggested it, and while you thought it had been a silly idea, now you were grateful.

When you returned to Belphie’s side with all your items, you almost regretted turning the light on. Panting, his mouth open to try and breathe, lips so dry they were nearly bloody. His skin was covered in splotches of color, sweat dripping from his forehead, yet he couldn’t stop shivering. You placed a bowl of water, rags, medicine, bottles of water, and a glass of only ice beside you on the floor. As soon as you returned to his vicinity, his limbs moved to get up again. You settled a rag in the water then gently pushed him back to the floor with a single hand. He contorted and attempted to roll as you quickly wrung out the rag, pressing it against his forehead, keeping him against the ground using your own body. In only a few seconds, the cloth was completely warm. You dipped it back in, feeling a bit of panic rise in your lungs as Belphie continued to pant.

“Breathe…Belphie, breathe.” You rubbed his chest as you held him down, cooling off his face and neck with the damp cloth. You didn’t know how long you kept up this motion. Comfort, dip, cool. Soothe, wipe, cool. Over and over as the fire in him refused to leave. He needed to wake up to take the medicine, you weren’t sure you could get it down his throat in this condition. You let your hand drift from his chest for just a second to check your D.D.D. It was now four in the morning. A full hour of this, by your estimations. Should you text someone? Were you doing the right thing? Were you just making things worse? You fought with yourself and your emotions for a few more minutes, but then felt your worry assuage. It seemed as if he broke though the worst all in a second. Belphie’s breathing wasn’t as ragged as he no longer gasped for breath. He was still moving a bit though, wearily and weakly.

“Ahh…haah…” He wheezed, and for what felt like the hundredth time, you rubbed his cheeks with the wet fabric, brushing your hand back and forth across his chest. He raised his arms and grabbed your shirt and sleeve, trying to pull you close in his sleep.

“Shh, it’s alright.” His hands were trembling against you, but finally, he seemed to hear your words. The smallest slit of his eyes was visible as he did his best to open them.

“M…C…”

Overjoyed tears stung your eyes. The rag in your hand dropped to the floor as you caressed his face with your hands. He still wasn’t quite awake or aware, but he was attentive enough to try to pull himself up, still clutching tightly onto your clothes. The first thing on your mind was medicine. You filled up the measured cap and brought it to him, tilting his head back with the brace of one of your hands. Thankfully--or perhaps worriedly--he took it without questioning it. He grimaced a little, but the bitter and awful taste of the medicine brought him more into reality.

“Where?” He released your sleeve as he rubbed his eyes.

“That’s not important right now, can you stand? We should get you to bed.” You stroked his head, but he didn’t even seem to notice. He just nodded, and with your assistance, he almost managed to fully stand. To keep from falling over, he leaned his body against you. It was all you could do to keep from collapsing yourself. Fortunately, your bed was right here, and you let him plop into your space. A sigh left his shallow lungs.

With what little energy he had left, he practically clawed himself towards the far side of the bed turning in several agonizing increments to face you. He held out his hands and squeaked out your name. “MC…”

Your emotions hitched in your chest as you watched him beg for you. There was still a mess on the floor… but you left it where it was as long as the universe was done sending demons tumbling through your room. You rushed over to the light switch and turned the brightness off. You slid into the extra space Belphie left for you, taking him into your arms and feeling him immediately get comfortable. At least he was no longer boiling. He was a little too warm, but nothing life threatening.

He curled up by your side, as you pulled up the covers over both of you. With a few sleepy nudges, he had his head tucked under your chin. You could hear air rattle around in his chest, so you reached around his body and rubbed his back, and in return, he squeezed you like one of his many pillows. All at once, the adrenaline and panic left your body, leaving you winded and exhausted. You were unsure if it was Belphie’s Sin or simply your body at it’s breaking point, but you couldn’t keep yourself awake any longer. Before you could make sure he fell asleep first, your eyelids crashed closed as you passed out next to him.

Normalcy slowly began to trickle back into the House of Lamentation. The twins were feeling better, most everyone was returning to classes, routines were falling back into place. Everyone was finally convinced this was all over. Even Lucifer, who liked to account for the worst, was acting rather optimistic lately. Although you yourself, who had loved soaking up every sickly cuddle and embarrassing (and rather blackmailable) favors, was secretly a bit disappointed. It was great that they were all doing better! But…perhaps part of you liked feeling needed.

Lucifer, Mammon, and Satan, were all well past this illness, and with Levi and Asmo doing everything they could to avoid their siblings, it was assumed that this misadventure had burnt itself out with the twins. Although, one person in the household was determined not to let this go. Levi was doing his best to convince everyone that he was extremely ill.

“I searched my symptoms on SpiderWeb MD! If I’m not sick I’ve been cursed and I only have a few days left to live!” he would complain. His siblings were all convinced that Envy had caught nothing but a terrible case of hypochondria. At one point, he’d even sent his last will through the group chat should he perish an untimely demise. A lot of his stuff went to you, which was deeply touching considering he had a hard enough time letting you look at his stuff much less touch it. Music records would go to Lucifer, manga to Satan, cosplay outfits to Asmo, his special snacks to Beel, and his body pillows to Belphie. Nothing was left for Mammon, which caused a small riot in itself.

It had been several days since anyone had seen or heard any trace of Levi. Everything he needed could be ordered on Akuzon, and he’d been taking classes exclusively online. It got to the point where everyone had been certain he’d never leave his room again. Of course, the eldest had checked on his little brother regardless, but he’d been written off with a clean bill of health. After that, Lucifer had been convinced he was just craving attention. Levi would hole himself away over the vaguest sign of symptoms and not come out till he was ready. No one believed him. For a while, they had you convinced as well, assuring you that he hadn’t been sick for centuries. There was nothing to be worried about. However, you still carried that worry with you, that infuriating kind of angelic trust that drove the brothers crazy. But ‘what if’, you wondered, what if he’s sitting in his room right now with no one to help him?

The only semblance of interaction you’d had with Levi in the past week was dropping off his Akuzon packages to the front of his door. You’d knock, be forced to ramble off an impossibly confusing password, and then leave for him to drag his packages inside. The first time you’d done it, you’d waited, only to watch him pop his head meekly out the door. Upon seeing you, he squeaked and promptly slammed the door shut. Now he would wait for you to fully depart before grabbing his loot. But today, you were determined to see him. Sure he was a demon, sure everyone had promised he was fine, but something left you uneasy. You needed to see with your own eyes that he was okay.

Making your way down the hall, continuously shifting your arms to keep things balanced, you approached Levi’s room with several packages in hand. The number of items he purchased was getting larger and more concerning with each delivery. Seeing as your hands were occupied, you gently kicked his door three times with the tip of your shoe. You crouched down low near the floor, placing his items neatly in a pile. Stiffly, you uttered the strange password Levi encouraged you to memorize to confirm the drop-off and assure him there was no one else in sight.

“The water dragon, caretaker of the mystic lakes, looks up to the heavens…” You paused, waiting for his response. A few seconds. Then a minute. You couldn’t help but raise a brow as a little jolt went through your chest with worry. Typically by now, Levi would be in the middle of his segment of the password. This all was routine. Taking a few steps forward, you pressed your ears to the cold wood of his door. All was silent. From the top? You walked a few steps away just to round the door again, making your footsteps heavier, louder. Then you attempted the entire process again. Using your fist this time, you knocked loudly against the entrance to his fortress of solitude. Uttering the incantation once more, you found yourself almost shouting the code phrase. There was still no response.

Throwing caution to the wind, you gave yourself access into his room. You winced once the light from inside hit your face, expecting some sort of curse or hex to flood your body. Air soothed your lungs when you discovered you were relatively unharmed. It didn’t require any amount of searching to locate the demon. Curled up, in demon form…at the bottom of his fish tank. Of course, you knew these people were not quite people, but that didn’t stop your stomach from flipping and your human brain to somersault over itself in panic. That wasn’t normal! You stammered over your words, dashing forward to press your palms against the glass.

“Levi! What the-” You cut yourself off as you looked around for anything that could assist you with this…emergency. Underwater! He was underwater!

How many times have you been scolded for acting before thinking? Too many to count, especially down here where the wrong misstep could kill you easily. Did you still end up jumping into the fish tank? Yes. Yes, you did. Using Levi’s desk and shelves, you climbed up, throwing your body into the water. It wasn’t as cold as you expected it to be based on how chilly Levi kept his room. It was a bit nippy, but nothing terrible. You sunk down, grabbing the horns sticking from Levi’s head. God, how were you going to pull him out of here? This tank was the size of his wall! As soon as you began to tug on the horns, Levi’s eyes snapped open. His tail wrapped around your waist once he recognized your face. You ended up getting flung out of the tank, dangling in the air a few inches above the ground as the chill of the oxygen on your wet skin formed goosebumps all over your body. Levi gripped the edge of the glass.

“What?! I-I- that was totally- MC! I can’t believe-” He settled you to the ground as he climbed his way out of the water, almost slipping and falling from the tank. A large pool formed on the floor beneath your feet. As he tried to find his words, gasping in shock at finding you in Henry 2.0’s tank, he started coughing. He bowled over, his arm covering his mouth as his lungs squeaked and wheezed as he seemed to cough uncontrollably. Levi’s chest began convulsing so painfully, tears started speckling from his eyes, only to get swept up into the moisture already streaming down his face. His tail, still around your body, clutched to you tighter, like an involuntary form of comfort for him.

“Levi…” You approached the demon of Envy, both of you dripping wet, and you pressed your forehead to his. Despite having soaked in water for however long he had been in there, he was burning. His little gasp at your form of contact drove him further into his coughing fit. You apologetically rubbed his back, helping him catch his breath while you scrambled around to get dry clothes, nearly losing your footing on the wet tile.

“Don’t!” He pleaded with you as you pulled open his drawers.

“You need dry clothes, you’ll get even sicker if you’re soaking!” His face started to flush as some color came to his cheeks. He had yet to relinquish his tail from around your person, wrapping around you tightly like the firm squeeze of a hug, following you around like a drenched puppy. “Why in the world were you in the fish tank anyway?!” A proper scolding was in order. After all, how ridiculous had that been? “I was worried you’d drowned…” You muttered that last part to yourself as you plucked out a t-shirt with the decal on the front from some anime you couldn’t recall. A random pair of shorts was added to the mix, throwing the dry outfit to him alongside a much needed towel. Clutching the articles of clothing to his chest, he blushed even harder. The muscles of his tail forced you to turn with your face to the wall as you felt the soft scales finally slink away. You could hear him stumble around as he struggled to get himself dressed. He wasn’t acting like normal.

At that moment, all the guilt that had been building up these past few days washed over you. He really had been sick after all. How long had he been here alone, taking care of himself because no one would believe him enough to take care of him? But Lucifer had said he’d been checked… Did he get sick after that? Or was there something someone missed? Although, the when didn’t quite matter now. No chance fretting too much over something you couldn’t change. You had the chance to help him now.

“I was hot…” Levi answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then next time hop in the bath! Don’t go scuba diving in a fish tank! A fish tank, Levi!”

It was as if you could feel him wincing at your firm words. It wasn’t often you raised your voice at them. Envy wasn’t taking the tone too well, shuddering as he inhaled broken quivering breaths. He didn’t have an answer for you on why he made the decision he did. Rationalization probably went out of his mind once the fever set in. Had he really been that hell-bent on not leaving his room? “You can…look now.” Turning away from the wall, you found yourself tutting. Levi had put the clothes over his wet form, the towel simply lying on top of his head, the horns holding it comically up away from his body.

“…I should’ve been here to help you.” You placed your hands over the dry cloth, getting it away from his branching horns, gently rubbing into his skin. Too weak to shoo you away or say anything about it, he simply covered his face with his hands as you used the towel to dry him off. “But I’m here now…and you don’t have to worry as long as I’m here. I’ll take care of you.” You started with his hair, working your way down to his arms. Your gentle motions, your soft tone, your overall comfort, it was enough to weaken his walls of anxiety. A few steps and he was right next to you. He slumped, letting his head fall into the crook of your neck. Your skin was still cool from the water, and he sighed as his forehead came into contact with it. His tail ended up curling around you once more, clutching your torso tightly as he gripped onto your clothes. “Come on,” you urged him, leading him over to his bedding. It was better than the fish tank only by a small margin, containing a ton of pillows and several plush blankets to act as a cushion inside. At least it was dry…

“Sorry…” Levi gasped, as he lifted himself into his nest. The tickle of his word turned into more harsh coughs. You leaned over the porcelain walls of the tub to pet his head. He nearly melted into your hands. He curled up, nestling further into the cushions as you pulled a blanket partially over him.

“Don’t be sorry. I should be sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted you, I should’ve been by your side by square one. That’s what people who care about you do…” You gave him a sweet smile as he teared up a little, pulling a body pillow close to his chest as he covered his face. He simply gave you a hum in response. “I’ll go get some medicine and bring in those packages for you, and then I’ll be right back.” Taking a step back, you felt the tail wrapped around your body gripping you tighter. “Levi,” you cooed, petting the smooth scales with your hand. “I’ll be right back, let me go.” He reluctantly complied, silently pulling his tail into the tub with him, curling around his own body for support. Running your fingers through your still wet hair, you went back out to the hall, dragging Levi’s packages into his room before setting off to grab some medicine. A quick sneeze shuttered your body, leaving you lightheaded as you leaned against the wall to keep yourself upright. A chill ran through your spine. Shaking your head, you picked up the pace to your bedroom to change into warm and dry clothes.

As soon as you were no longer dripping, you grabbed the medicine bottle from off the table in your room. Collectively, the household had almost gone through the entire container, leaving only a few servings left. You bit your lip and then briskly headed back to Levi. In the short amount of time you’d been gone, it seemed as if he already drifted off to sleep. You shut the door behind you as softly as you could manage, then came over to the sleeping otaku. All these demons, you recalled, claimed to be so scary and intimidating, yet all of them managed to look something like this. Levi was clutching his tail, his forehead pressed against the coolness of the side of the tub. It felt like a crime to wake him, but you brushed your hand against his cheek anyway.

“Levi… Levi?” You called, watching his eyelids flitter as they slowly opened. “Here, take this, it’ll help you feel better.” You held a capful of the remedy to his lips. A flicker of stubbornness and defiance flashed in his eyes, but he knew he couldn’t say no to you, especially with how nicely you were treating him. He’d take it with a smile if you had asked him too. Placing the medicine aside, you turned down the lights in his room, watching the reflection of the water dance across the ceiling. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Levi?”

You heard him squeak before he spoke. “You cuddled with each of my brothers…”

Stifling a chuckle, you merely blinked at him. “You want me to cuddle with you?”

He used his arm to cover his eyes. “Y-you said it, not me!”

“Move over then,” you grinned, lifting your leg over the lid of the tub to make your way in. It was a bit awkward, being a bathtub and all. There wasn’t as much space as you expected. The sloped sides guided you into Levi’s body, where you could feel every muscle inside him tense. “Alright, here we go, sleep will make you feel better.” You rested your head right next to his, noses almost touching. His lip twitched in embarrassment, but once more he pressed his forehead against your neck, exhaling deeply as he allowed his body to relax. “There you go…” You rubbed his back as he got in close. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Time as Levi’s nurse passed fairly quickly. Apparently regular doses of constant attention was the best kind of medicine for a touch-starved demon. He was still weaker than anyone would enjoy, but he was back in front of his screens in no time. Although, every so often he’d give you a side glance and rattle his body with a loud cough. Sometimes he would do this and cause the other previous afflicted to do the same. You’d even caught Lucifer clearing his throat in your vicinity once. They were all milking this to the last drop. Aside from the pseudo-symptoms, at last, it was all over. Surely, tonight you’d finally let your sore exhausted body get some rest with the relief in knowing that whatever demon illness had been plaguing the brothers was finally gone… Even cases in the Devildom were dropping. The whispers at RAD were returning to normal discussions. The worst was over.

That was… until everyone in the House of Lamentation was awoken one night to a blood-curdling scream. You awoke in a sweat, hair on your arms standing up on end. Before you could comprehend anything, you dashed out to the hallway, apparently the last to join the stunned members of the household. Mammon was still attempting to find balance on his feet, cursing about one of his legs being asleep. Levi rubbed his eyes, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He was supposed to be regaining his strength. Satan looked more intrigued than anything. Beel was ready for action, but, surprisingly enough, Belphie looked more awake than anyone before you. These were his hours, you supposed. Lucifer was a strange combination of furious due to having his rest be interrupted--he barely gets enough as it is--and concerned.

“MC…” The eldest instinctively took a step towards you. “Oh, thank Diavolo,” he sighed, pressing his hand to his forehead, quelling the stress headache, thankful you weren’t the cause of the haunting wail. “We’ve got…” He began the head check, ushering his brothers closer to him much like a teacher making sure the whole class was there for the field trip. The realization hit you at the same moment it hit him. “Asmo.” No one hesitated in dashing to his room, the adrenaline pumping in you more as the sound of shattering glass and splintering wood reached your ears. Worry clamped your throat shut, forgetting how to properly breathe as the group sprinted down the halls.

Mammon was the first to reach the door, throwing all caution to the wind as he immediately kicked the wood in. The entrance hit the floor with a loud bang, coming clean off it’s hinges, and you attempted to peer in. A firm hand grabbed you by the back of the collar and yanked you back. Lucifer pulled you behind his body. Just in time too, for just at that moment, an entire dresser launched itself from the bedroom, smacking against Mammon, pinning him against the back wall of the hallway. Every square inch of you was desperate to scream, to run to Greed, but the demon of pride had you held tightly against his body. Mammon got up off the floor, shaking his head. There were no visible injuries, in fact, he was barely even bothered, just frustrated.

“For the love of... Asmo!” The second brother growled, and another shriek echoed through the halls, shaking the windows. You brought your hands up to cover your ears, and Lucifer quickly handed you off to Levi.

“What’s happening?” The strength of your legs began to waver, and, for a split second, the eldest’s eyes grew wide at your distress. Of course you wouldn’t know, how could you? Sometimes he forgets you’re only a human.

Placing a gentle hand on your head, he let out another sleep-deprived groan, pinching the bridge of his nose whilst his siblings dashed into the chaos. “It’s what we all feared. Asmo has fallen ill. It happens once every few centuries, and every time it happens, it gets—“ Something else broke to pieces, shrapnel embedding itself in the door-frame. A mess. “Stay with Levi. We’ll work on calming him down.” With that, he turned and swiftly joined the fray. A swirl of blue magic surrounded the door, lifting it from it’s position, settling back against the frame to shield you out while shouts and bangs rattled the ground. All you could do was blink in frightful awe and flinch at every awful sound.

“C-come on, it’s best if we go…N-now. Like, right now,” Levi breathed, his voice shaking with terror. You raised an eyebrow, trying to piece together why he sounded as if he was in danger.

You didn’t have the time to question why. The wall separating the room from the hallway nearly crumbled, bricks and rubble coating the floor. Peachy eyes glowed harshly against the dark of night. “Levi…” The figure growled maliciously as the dust settled. “You did this to me…you all did this to me!” Ah, right. Of course the blame would lie with the most recently infected. And now you were standing right next to the target.

“Oi!”

In a swirl of motion, demons rushed to tackle him down, but not before the person behind the destruction began to lunge in yours and Levi’s direction. The third-born twisted his body, beginning to pull you behind him to shield you, but your body moved almost on its own. Tugging yourself out of Levi’s grip, you moved forward with an outstretched arm. “Asmo!” The palm of your hand came into contact with his chest. You felt the frantic beating of his heart. Everything seemed to stop all at once. The rampage put itself at pause as Asmo looked at you with wide eyes, his hands still raised, razor sharp claws atoms away from brushing against your skin. With your hand on his chest, you could tell that he’d stopped breathing. You took this moment to observe his face. Nose red, eyes puffy from angry tears, overall looking drained, missing vibrancy. The glimmer you so often associated with Asmo was gone.

The demon of lust took one last moment to recollect his thoughts, gathering back his composure before giving a loud horrified gasp of a breath before his knees gave out, his body collapsing to the floor.

--

“Absolutely, positively, one of the worst decisions you’ve ever made!” You’d beg to differ, there was a list of misadventures you could bring to the table, but now was definitely not the time for that. “Did you even think?!” You tried to open your mouth but were cut short. “Don’t answer that.” Good call. Lucifer looked beyond frazzled, and as you watched him pace back and forth in front of you, you wondered if those were new grey strands in the fringes of his hair or if it was simply your imagination. He’d been stepping back and forth for so long, you’d almost gotten dizzy from the motion. Perfectly on beat. A living pendulum.

But Lucifer wasn’t the only one here to…critique your…survival response--or questionable lack thereof. “What do you do when you see an angry demon? Hm?” Real rich coming from Wrath. Satan’s eyebrow was twitching, but he was doing his utmost best to stay calm unlike his older brothers.

You lowered your head. “You run.”

“What do we not do?”

“…Confront them.” The blonde nodded, leaving it at that for the time being. With a quick scan around the room, he tilted his head and sat in a chair, biting back one of his usual retorts. Typically, he wouldn’t hesitate to be snippy, especially considering his sibling’s current behaviors, but he didn’t have the heart for it. Not right now when he was focusing hard on suppressing the bubbling rage of what he’d just observed. Levi was a dazed mess, sulking at his failed job as a bodyguard, slung over Beel’s shoulder, muttering endlessly. The demon of gluttony himself had yet to peel his sight from you since you’d been dragged back to your room. Had he even blinked? It was as if he was wary that, should he look away, even for a moment, you’d do something reckless again. To be fair, logically, what you’d done had been a rather idiotic move. In your defense, it was also dipping well past the early hours of the morning. It all still felt like a dream. They couldn’t hold it against you for not being at your peak… But, they were right. Had Asmo not been able to stop himself, who knows what the outcome would’ve been. You still weren’t quite sure of everything that had happened, but something had moved you, convinced you that if you just…reached out to him…

Turning your head to the side, you brushed your hand over the bump in the blankets where his arm was. As soon as he’d collapsed, both you and Asmo were briskly brought to your room. You’d been able to assist in tucking him under your covers for only a moment before being scolded six different ways. Belphie placed a fresh cold rag over Asmo’s forehead, meeting your eyes for just a second before snapping his head to look away from you with the slightest hint of a disappointed pout in his lips. Even the bratty youngest sibling was chastising you. And Mammon…Mammon was…dead silent, still as a stone, back turned to you as he pressed his face against the wall. If anything, that upset you the most.

Speaking loudly as to regain their attention, you apologized. “I’m sorry! I know it was dumb of me, but…” Asmo’s eyebrows scrunched, a painful moan rumbling in his throat. You adjusted your seated spot on the bed, sitting closer to his body, settled by his thigh. Placing your hand over the comforter covering his chest, you stroked up and down in a slow soothing rhythm. His head moved to find a cooler, more comfortable spot on the pillow, and with the comforting motion against his body, he went still with rest again. “He sounded heartbroken.”

The room fell silent, Lucifer stopped his pacing. Everyone’s shoulders slumped, and then finally Mammon spoke up. “Heartbroken?! That scream meant nothin’! He’s just being dramatic over his dumb face! Losing control like that…almost hurting you because he doesn’t look photo-ready… Nothing’s worth getting yourself killed over! Nothing!” Mammon’s words… sunk in the deepest. Or his tone did at least. He was truly upset with you. Lucifer raised his arm a bit towards Mammon, signaling to settle down. Mammon scoffed and turned again, letting it go.

“Okay… I get it… but enough worrying about me, you should be worried for your brother.” The fire of conflict was quickly snuffed out by your shining eyes and Asmo’s little whimpers.

Lucifer rolled his head around his shoulders and then rubbed away the little pang behind his temples. “I’ll go let Diavolo know of the situation. I’m sure after the last few weeks he won’t be surprised…” He grumbled something under his breath one last time before he left the room, D.D.D. in hand.

“I suppose I can do my best to help clean Asmo’s room. He might recover quicker in a familiar environment.” Satan got to his feet, stretching, cracking an eye open to look at Mammon before grabbing him by the back of his shirt. “And you’re going to help me.”

“O-oi! Why me?! Hold on! I haven’t said everything I needed to yet!” But his cries were ignored as the demon of wrath dragged him down the hallway.

Now you were left with the afflicted, the twins, and a still sorrowful Levi. They might not listen to you at the moment, but you had to try. “Beel, can you please take Levi to his room? And Belphie can you please make sure he goes to sleep?” The fiery-haired sibling nodded, shifting his older brother to his other shoulder. Belphie still had his head turned away from you. Your heart fell a bit. “Pretty please?”

He made the mistake of getting a quick peek of your pleading face. “You have to come with us.”

“But, we can’t just leave him.” You brushed the back of your hand against Asmo’s cheek, reeling back as the heat from him almost burnt you. Demonic bodies could reach some serious temperatures.

This only convinced Belphie to squint harder. “He’s dangerous.”

“You’re all dangerous and yet apparently it doesn’t seem to phase me anymore.” At times like these, you found standing your ground and just being stubborn was enough to win you plenty of debates with these eternal beings. Although you didn’t want to push your luck too much. They could physically remove you from the room if they so desired. Luckily, Belphie was much too tired to continue bickering.

“Fine, but you owe me.”

You beamed, coaxing a touch of pink in his cheeks. “Thank you!” He slinked away, his twin following after him with Levi in tow.

A frown stretched over your face. With the added noise gone, Asmo’s shallow wheezing breaths were all too apparent. You got to your feet, flipping the rag draped across his head to the other side, then padded over to the cupboard settled against the far side of the room. It opened with a slight squeak, causing you to wince as you glanced back over your shoulder to make sure your patient was still sleeping. Luckily, he didn’t stir, although for this to work, he might have to. You gripped the medicine bottle in your hand, giving it a slight shake. There was enough for perhaps one or two more administrations. Before you dealt with that issue, you quickly went to turn off the overhead light in your room, simply turning on a side lamp, a soft glow illuminating what you needed it to. Your eyes thanked you for the lessened strain. As you turned on the pads of your feet, you noticed Asmo was now on his side, facing away from you. With a few quiet steps, you were back at the bedside. “Asmo?”

Your fingers outstretched, reaching for his shoulder, but he would not let you near him. “Don’t look at me!” The voice was strong enough to push you back, falling back onto the floor. A high pitched noise caught your attention. The glass in your hand as well as your mirror on the other side of the room had a new thin crack in it.

The heart in your chest was pounding, but you tried to shake out of it. “Asmo, fighting me is taking up your strength.” Cradling the medicine bottle against your chest, you got back to your feet.

Asmo pulled the covers up over his head. “Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me!” You’d shifted your stance beforehand to keep your balance, the wave of magic wobbling you, but not knocking you over. The lights flickered, and with it, you caught an idea.

“What if I turn the lights off? I won’t look at you, okay? I just want to help you feel better.” Keeping your sight on him, you walked backwards. As your hip met the furniture, you swiveled to turn the lamp off. It just so happened to be cloudy tonight, the dark clouds coating the moon, again, much like the night Belphie had sleepwalked into your room, only now you were the one stumbling towards the figure in the bed. You walked forward slowly until your knees came into contact with the mattress. Even here you could feel the rolling waves of heat come off of him. “I can’t see a single thing, I swear. Not even my own hand in front of my face,” you whispered to him, your arm waving in the air till you found his body. He was letting you touch him, that was a good sign. It took a moment before you found his shoulder, gently guiding him to lay on his back. You trailed your touch up to his neck before coming up to lightly touch his face. Hot moisture coated your fingertips. For a second, you thought it was sweat, but then you heard the demon take a shaky inhale as his body hitched. Panic struck your body all the sudden, your thumb brushing just under his eyes. “Are you crying? Asmo, no… No, no, no, it’s okay.”

He whimpered, leaning into your touch. “I- I- I- I’m sick and- and unsightly--”

“Hey, hey,” you cooed. “Take a deep breath.” He followed your advice, his chest shuddering. “I’m sorry you’re sick…but we can’t change that now. We just have to focus on getting you well again.” Reaching around to support the back of his head, you helped him up into a slouched position. Although, you struggled to find his hand. When you did, his fingers instinctively went to curl around yours. You hated to disappoint him by replacing your grasp with the medicine bottle. “This should help. I’d, uh, take about half of it.” He took it away from you, and you assumed that he’d brought it to his lips. It was a few seconds before the smooth glass touched your skin again. Taking it back in your possession, you discovered it was a lot lighter than you expected. Moving it around in your hand, you felt no liquid slosh inside. “I said half, Asmo!”

“There was hardly anything in there and I need what I can to go back to my beautiful self!”

“That’s not how--” You sighed, letting the empty bottle settle on the floor. “No one is pretty when they’re sick, but that’s okay. It’s alright to be unsightly sometimes.” The mattress bobbed as Asmo laid back down, getting as close as he could against your body. “But even so, you’re pretty all the same.”

His hand smacked against your knee as he tried to find you, his touch searching for yours. “I can’t be both…am I beautiful or ugly?” He really couldn’t understand what you were trying to say. Maybe one day you’d be able to convey your thoughts properly.

As soon as you touched his wrist, he slid his fingers up to weave through yours. “You’re always beautiful, Asmo. Always. A little sickness won't stop you. But for now, your beautiful body needs some beauty sleep.” You squeezed his hand. “I’ll be right by your side.” The medicine seemed to already be working. Double the dose meant double the drowsiness, and you pinned it in the back of your mind to tell Lucifer about his mishap later. He curled into a tighter ball, snuggling up against your legs.

“It’s not…fair,” he whined, voice almost slurring with sleep. “I don’t…deserve this…I wish I was…as beautiful…as you.” Your chest tightened, but you kept your mouth closed. His grip had already slackened, and you could hear the deeper slower breaths as you came to the conclusion that he had fallen back asleep.

Feel better, Asmo. I’ll be here till you do.

“I tried warning them fallen angels or not, they were still in the demographic to get sick.” Solomon sighed wistfully, but the whole time he never lost his smile. As you recounted your encounters over the last few weeks, the sorcerer giggled. “What I wouldn’t give to see some of those scenes.”

The angel across the little table from you had to agree, although he looked a lot more sympathetic to the brother’s plight than the human did. “I’m really glad they’re all feeling better though. I bet you’re enjoying your newfound freedom, aren’t you, MC?”

You settled down the mug against the tabletop, sitting back in your chair, basking in the ambiance of Purgatory Hall. The House of Lamentation really had been come to feel like your home, but a change of pace was so refreshing at times. The angel’s dorm was so much brighter, quieter. No shouting, no nagging, no chaos. You could sip on a warm beverage in peace. “It’s nice knowing they all feel better,” you stated, having to admit to yourself that your termination of demon-nurse was doing you some good. Retirement life was nice. “No more worries.”

Both men agreed, Simeon pleasantly humming to himself. “Still, you could’ve asked us to help out. I bet it was difficult looking after all of them.”

“Can’t be much different than usual, can it?” Solomon interjected, laughing to himself.

They both were right. But, it’s not like you had hated it. You all felt…closer now. They had allowed you to see a part of themselves no one else got to see. That made you feel special. But being able to kick your feet up and get some much needed sleep was what your doctor ordered. You picked your mug back up and finished the last of your drink. The warmth of it spread throughout your body, seeping down to your toes and fingertips.

When Simeon noticed your cup was empty, he stood, holding his hand out. “Here I can take that for you.” You didn’t really want to impose, but you were the guest, and it did feel nice being taken care of today. They’d pampered you nicely. Taking your jacket at the door, leading you to the living room where you were given sweets and treats handmade by Luke and Simeon. You got more comfortable on the couch and gave the angel a thankful nod. Simeon turned away from you and Solomon, his steps halted as a high-pitched squeak filled the room. “Oh, sorry.”

Your head tilted a bit. “Sorry for what?” Had he stepped on a loose floorboard?

Solomon held himself back a bit before clapping in a bit of glee. He seemed endlessly entertained. “Doesn’t Simeon have the most petite sneeze? Bless you.”

Simeon looked back over his shoulder, actually looking a bit embarrassed over it. “It’s quite a normal sneeze thank you…” He shot his roommate a little look before leaving the room. You watched him go, a sensation of familiarity bubbling up to your mind. This felt… no, it couldn’t be. You were over-thinking things. There was absolutely no way it was happening again. Nope. You would refuse fate itself. Simeon took good care of himself. You couldn’t assume every sneeze was a sign of illness.

There was no one left to get sick. The story was over! The series had come to an end! All wrapped up in a pretty bow and everything!

No one else needed a taste of medicine.

Or did they?…

[hugshughes]

Casual J. McCarthy

JJ McCarthy x fem!reader

synopsis - Although your relationship with JJ has always been categorized as no strings attached, the way he makes you feel is anything but casual.

wc - 4.6k

contains - she's angsty :( takes place in a universe where JJ and Katya broke up during like spring 2023!!! friends with benefits but more!!! "casual" relationship that acts like more, cursing, kissing, making out, reader's not great family life is mentioned once or twice, sex references (no elicit smut!), caught feelings, arguing, misunderstanding, shouting, eating, crying, hurt with comfort??? i think that's it!!! lmk!

an - wowwwwww this oneeeee. this took me so long to write like SO FUCKING LONG. started it, got sick, got better, wrote some more, got sick again, got better, THEN FINALLY FINISHED! ummmm idk... OH! i was surprised with tickets to Olivia Rodrigo and flew out to her Charlotte show A WEEK AFTER I COME BACK FROM THERE FOR SPRING BREAK to go with my favorite person ever! and Chappell Roan is her opener currently and SHE PLAYED CASUAL AND I CRIED.

-

my friends call me a loser, 'cause i'm still hanging around.

You often got shit from your friends over your relationship with JJ McCarthy. If you could even truly call it a relationship. The two of you had gotten "together" around the beginning of the school year. He'd followed you on Instagram after meeting at a party. How romantic?

He and his long term girlfriend, Katya had broken up about 6 months prior and the boy was not ready for another true commitment of any kind. You'd also gotten dumped by your boyfriend of over two years over the summer, so honestly neither were you.

You two were strictly casual. Just two not quite friends but also definitely not dating kids who made out and fucked, but also cuddled and kissed each other with no sinful intentions. He took you on dates but God forbid you call him your boyfriend.

i've heard so many rumors, that i'm just a girl that you bang on your couch.

You knew people talked about you two. Girls at parties and in random classes in hushed conversations while they glared into the back of your skulls.

"No, she's not like his girlfriend. She's like his no strings attached side piece or something."

Your eye twitched when you heard it whispered all too loudly behind you in a marketing class. You sighed and shrunk into your chair, reminding yourself that you were gonna private your Instagram.

JJ treated you like his girlfriend, point-blank. It wasn't even like a switch from in private to in public. He always did. But nevertheless he always said that it was all informal. There had been many nights where you stayed up questioning it all. Was you falling sleep on his chest while he played with your hair and kissed your head just another Saturday night for him?

i thought you thought of me better. someone you couldn't lose.

JJ made you feel special, like you were special to him. Special was something you didn't feel often, not after how your ex treated you. You were lucky to even get the bare minimum from him, yet you stayed because he made you believe that was what you deserved.

You and JJ both truly cared about each other. Even though you two were not together, you guys did everything two people that were together did. You went on dates, went together everywhere, cuddled, kissed, had long conversations. It was hard to not imagine how it would feel for him to really be your boyfriend.

You remember the night JJ unknowingly broke your heart. You were at a party, and you'd left to get drinks for the two of you. You were walking back over when you heard one of JJ's friends ask a stupid question.

"Where's your little girlfriend, Jay?"

"Oh, we're not together."

you said "we're not together". so now when we kiss, i have anger issues.

He laughed awkwardly as he said it, rubbing the back of his neck. You turned around and explored the rest of the party for a little while before going back over to JJ. When you returned and stuck a can in his hand, he pulled your arm towards him and kissed you deeply. It was a good kiss, all kisses with JJ were, but it left you hurting.

you said, "baby, no attachment",

It was always the same with JJ. There would be a long while where you and him were in a blissful and amazing haze of acting like a couple without having to be one. Then someone would ruin everything by asking if you were together, causing you two to realize you acted too much like a couple.

You and JJ trusted each other entirely. You'd seen every inch of each other. Helped each other through the bad days, all of it. You'd held him in your arms while he cried over the pressure he felt because of football. You cheered him on at every game. You spent countless nights in each other's beds. He listened while you talked for hours about problems with your family.

but we're... knee deep in the passenger seat, and you're eating me out.

You'd done stuff with JJ you'd never have the heart to repeat to anyone. You got closer to each other than you'd ever been with anyone else, and still there was a strict separation between you.

Your head often drifted to one of the many nights you spent in intimacy with JJ. Flashes of you in the backseat of his truck, in his bed, his shower, all of the above. You never let the words JJ said to you while he groaned above you in bed get to your head. You wanted to believe them, but knew you were better off to not. He made you the happiest you'd ever been while also making you completely miserable sometimes.

is it casual now?

Over the winter JJ had even brought you to dinner with his family. You'd met his parents, and his sisters, and they immediately fell in love with you. They assumed you were his girlfriend, though he never actually said that. They were so glad to see their boy so incredibly happy after being in the dumps over Katya all summer.

You remember at that same dinner freezing in your seat when his mom had what she felt was a bright idea.

"Oh, JJ, she should come to the beach this summer!"

You had to awkwardly laugh it off, throwing a joking 'Maybe!' out as his sisters boasted about how that was a great idea. JJ smiled uncouthly, laughing and carelessly nodding his head. You knew that topic would never be brought up, JJ would definitely not be asking you to spend the summer with him.

two weeks and your mom invites me, to her house in Long Beach. is it casual now?

You liked to pretend he was your boyfriend, it wasn't that hard most of the time. You were exclusive with each other, that was made clear at the beginning of your "relationship". JJ said something about how he wasn't the type to see more than one girl, and that you were that girl for him.

You were the one with him when he won the National Championship. He'd invited you to sit with his family. Like, what the fuck? How were you supposed to not be in love with him?

You knew JJ only wanted something casual. You tried not to think about how he was probably just with you to get over his ex. He told you about her, sometimes. He said how he thought he was gonna marry her, but she didn't want that. You couldn't imagine why. JJ was everything you'd ever need in a man. He was stable, and loyal, and made you laugh so hard you cried. He cared for you, no matter the status of your relationship.

i know what you tell your friends. it's casual, if it's casual now. but baby, get me off again. if it's casual, it's casual now.

What you had going on with JJ was great, and you were in no position to ruin it with your stupid feelings. You didn't really care what you were, as long as it was with JJ.

Now you were getting ready to go over to JJ's apartment for the night. He invited you over a couple hours ago, telling you he wanted to watch some movies and hang out with you. Of course you said yes, how could you not? He'd just finished up with the NFL Combine a couple days ago. And spring break had just ended so you hadn't seen him since before then, you were excited.

You adjusted your hair for the fourteenth time before you were satisfied. You would only be going from your place to the car to JJ's apartment. You still wanted him to think you looked good, good enough to be more than just his fling.

You grabbed your small overnight bag filled with the barebones of your necessities and left your apartment, swiftly locking the door behind you.

You listened to low music while you drove lowly through the college town. It was only a seven minute drive, so you got there right away. You parked your car and sat for a second as you were overcome with a random wave of dejection. You took a deep breath, your brain reminding your heart not to get too excited. You shook off the feeling, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat and exiting your car, locking it behind you.

You knocked lightly on the door you'd walked through all too many times. Barely ten seconds passed before the door opened, a bubbly dirty blonde with the cutest smile you'd ever seen standing opposite you. JJ immediately grabbed you by the hips, pulling you to hug him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking your head into his shoulder. You let yourself believe all the stupid fantasies for just a second.

dumb love, i love being stupid.

"Missed you, gorgeous."

dream of us in a year.

You shut your eyes, squeezing him. He giggled, turning his head to kiss your neck. You felt his smile against your flushed skin.

"I missed you."

He held you tighter, pulling away to kiss your forehead and grab your hand. He shut the door behind you and pulled you further into his apartment. He led you to his bedroom before dropping your hand, turning to go back to the front of the apartment. You dropped your bag next to his bathroom door before taking your shoes off and tucking them just underneath his bed so they were out of the way.

maybe we'd have an apartment. and you'd show me off to your friends at the pier.

"How're you doin' pretty?"

JJ's voice echoed from the kitchen, you could literally hear his smile.

"'M doin' okay! Nothing new, y'know."

JJ heard something different in your voice. Something other than happiness, which obviously concerned him. You sat back on his bed, sighing.

"What's wrong? Sure you're good?"

"Yeah, it's fine! Some shit happened over spring break so I've just been a little out of it is all. Don't worry!"

The blonde came through the doorway again, this time holding a plastic bag with a logo you knew all too well. You gave him a smile that didn't aid his now worried mind.

"What happened? You could've called me."

"Oh come on, Jay. You were literally at the NFL Combine. I was not about to distract you with my stupid problems."

It's not like I'm your girlfriend. JJ shook his head as he sat the bag next to you, turning to open his closet door and rummage through his clothes.

"You can always call me. I wanna hear about all of your problems. You're my best friend, y'know."

i know, "baby, no attachment." but we're...

You winced, fuck. The man you were certain you were in love with just 100% friend zoned you. Just his best friend that he kissed, laid skin to skin with, told his family about.

knee deep in the passenger seat, and you're eating me out.

"I know! But still, you're Mr. National Champion and I'm not gonna bother you with dumb things."

"You're never bothering me. You don't bother me."

He came out of his closet, now shirtless and in new sweatpants. His eyes found yours and he raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to agree with him.

"Okay, okay, whatever. Come eat."

He climbed over you onto "his" side of his bed. You ate while asking him about the combine, as if you hadn't watched the videos of JJ's performance. You definitely appreciated how he looked in his tight red shirt.

"It was fun, nerve wracking as hell though. Kinda like made me realize that like I actually am going to the NFL. It's a lot closer than it feels."

He could say that again. You knew your time with JJ was coming to its end. Whenever he got drafted to an NFL team he wasn't gonna keep wanting a random girl from his old college. Not one that wasn't actually his girlfriend or anything. He'd find another one very quickly, you knew it.

"That's so scary. I couldn't imagine that. Having so many people depend on you for their happiness is too much. But you're good at it."

He threw you a smile, moving closer to you.

"I just love it. It's so fun for me. Obviously not like losing but having so much support is actually really nice sometimes."

You nodded, trying to fathom how it was possible for the boy to be so positive always. You both were done eating so JJ took all of your trash and threw everything into the garbage. When he came back he pulled you closer to him, your head on his shoulder and your back to his chest.

"But enough about football. How was spring break? D'you have fun?"

"Um, yeah! For the most part it was really fun. Florida was fun but when I went home for the last three days it was honestly the worst. My mom was so mean for no reason the whole time, I don't know."

He ran his hands over the tops of your thighs before wrapping his arms around your hips. He kissed the side of your head sweetly, not moving as he spoke into your hair.

"'M sorry baby. Y'don't deserve that."

"Eh it's whatever. I'm used to her not being my biggest fan at this point."

JJ felt so bad. He couldn't relate to you on this level. He'd never know what it feels like to not have good parents.

"Well if it helps any, my mom's your biggest fan, to be completely honest. She keeps texting me to make sure you know you're invited to the beach this summer."

two weeks and your mom invites me, to her house in Long Beach.

It comforted and hurt you all the same. There's no way you could accept that invitation, no matter how sweet it was. You couldn't survive a week with his family while still only being casual. No way in hell.

"That's really sweet, Jay."

You shifted in his arms, turning so your cheek laid against his bare chest. You smiled and lightly kissed his pec.

is it casual now?

"So, what are we watching, Jay?"

"Whatever you want."

It was just another small thing that made you fall harder for him. You didn't know how much longer you could pretend like you didn't want him more than physically.

"How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days?"

"Are you plotting or somethin'?"

You can't lose something that isn't yours. Your smile faltered but you let out a forced giggle, telling JJ to just play the movie. You watched the majority of the movie in silence, answering JJ's questions whenever he had them. At some point the movie got boring, you'd seen it a million times before. You started running your nails over JJ's pec, unknowingly distracting him. He traced his hand up your back and to your hand on his chest, interlocking his with yours.

i know what you tell your friends. it's casual, if it's casual now.

You leaned away from him just a bit to look him in the eyes. You stared at each other for just a few seconds, just until JJ took his hand out of yours, grabbing ahold of your jaw. The thoughts filling your mind seemed to quiet down as JJ kissed you. The kiss quickly grew hot as JJ's hands traveled back down your body. Your tongue hit the seam of his lips, a downright immoral sound leaving his mouth.

You shifted onto your knees over JJ, the connection between you persistent. Your hands ran through his hair, tugging slightly at the dirty blonde locks.

but baby, get me off again. if it's casual, oh, oh, oh.

Your chest pressed against his as he pulled you closer, leaving no space between you. Every move of JJ's mouth and hands cushioned your spiraling thoughts, muting them. Your could focus your thinking on nothing but the physicality of the situation. Until JJ shifted his hands to the curve of your ass and gentley moved so your back was flush with his comforter, the quarterback kneeling over you. It was the position change as much as what he groaned out when your lips parted for just a moment that had you stopping in your tracks.

"Fuck, my girl."

His girl. His girl? How could you be his girl? You didn't mean to hesitate in your kiss with JJ but you did, pausing for just a second. Though it was long enough for JJ to notice and immediately grow concerned. He pulled back from you, his eyes full of worry. Did you not want this?

"Hey, what's wrong? We don't have to do anything, you know that. Right? Sorry I got carried away, baby."

He comforted you immediately, like a man who loved you would. Not like a no strings attached fuck friend would. It soothed you but also made you ache even more. Why did he have to act like he cared? It wasn't fair.

"No, Jay. Sorry, it's fine. I just,"

You trailed off, wanting to hide from his concerned blue eyes. You kind of wished he'd get pissed off that you were hesitant, asking 'The fuck is wrong with you?' instead of being the most gentle and loving person you'd ever known.

"Hey, it's more than okay. Alright? Is something else wrong?"

Yes. Something else was wrong. You're in love with JJ but he's unattainable. You wondered if he knew, if he knew and was still treating you the same just to keep you loyal. Your silence proved JJ right, something was seriously wrong.

"Talk to me, okay? I wanna make you feel better."

You finally looked into his eyes. He was now next to you, laying on his side, confused and concerned.

This is where it ends, you told yourself. There really wasn't a way around telling him, and all you could do was imagine his reaction. You sat up, crossing your legs and looking down at your hands. How the fuck were you supposed to start this? Do you just break it off with no explanation, or let him do it after you tell him you're in love?

"Well I just, I don't know if I can do this anymore, JJ. And I'm sorry, I really-"

"What? That's really not what I thought this was about."

He was shocked, his chest tightened as he leaned away from you, moving off the bed to stand. He crossed his arms over his chest for some comfort.

it's hard being casual, when my favorite bra lives in your dresser.

"JJ, I'm sorry, really. I just, we're supposed to be strictly casual and it's honestly kinda hard when we're so close to each other. Like a quarter of my clothes are in your closet! It's just kind of a lot."

You too stood from his bed, now standing on opposite sides. You didn't want to hurt JJ, but it would only hurt you worse and worse in the end if you kept letting yourself indulge in him.

"Baby, what changed? I thought everything was fine the way it was."

it's hard being casual, when i'm on the phone talking down your sister.

"Jayj, it's just kind of a lot of pressure. Like, we FaceTime your sister when we hang out! Your mom invited me to your summer vacation! Like how is that casual?"

JJ stood there, astounded. He was shocked you felt this way. He thought everything was better than okay. He would've never guessed it all felt too relationship-y for you.

"So, what? Are you like breaking up with me, or?"

"That's exactly my point, JJ! What do you mean by breaking up? There's nothing solid in between us! Our quote unquote label is 'friends that fuck but also sometimes just lay skin to skin and talk for hours on end'. That's fucking confusing JJ! I don't get you!"

and i try to be the chill girl, that holds her tongue and gives you space. i try to be the chill girl but, honestly, i'm not.

Your volume rose as felt tears pricking behind your waterline. You brought your hands to your eyes, rubbing aggressively with the heel of your palms. JJ was so hurt. He didn't think of you as just something casual, not since the very beginning had he thought you two were just random and informal. He knew you two weren't a couple, but he didn't think of you as anything near just his fuck buddy. Watching you, obviously distraught, almost crying in his bedroom over him being too much of a boyfriend had JJ rethinking himself.

"Am I too much? I thought we were more than that to you. I thought I was more than that."

"You are! You are and it's ruining my fucking life!"

knee deep in the passenger seat, and you're eating me out. two weeks and your mom invites me, to her long beach house. i know what you tell your friends. baby, get me off again.

You shouted, tears starting to fall down your face. You tried to wipe them away as you hiccuped, cutting JJ off before he could respond.

"You tell me all you want is something casual so that's what I give you! I was there when you needed it, I left you alone otherwise. But then you just didn't let me go! You make me feel important! And like I'm special to you, then I hear you tell your friends we're nothing serious! I met your family, I went to your championship game and sat with them! Do you know how fucked that is? To tell a girl that is obviously invested in you that she means something to you then doing that! I just- I really wanted you to like me, for real. And you act like you do! But I know you don't really care about what we are. I can't pretend to not like you more than that, JJ. It's not fair anymore."

i fucked you in the bathroom, when we went to dinner.

Holy shit. You'd just practically told JJ you were in love with him. He was even more confused now, was this a joke?

your parents at the table, you wonder why i'm bitter?

"What are you talking about? This hasn't been casual to me since fucking October! I do this shit because I like you! Like, I really like you! You know, before I got broken up with in February last year, I thought I was ready to fuckin' marry her. And then seven months later you come into my life, and you're supposed to be this girl that I'm not really committed to, and that distracts me from how hurt I am. But, I'm more in love with you than I ever was with her! And I thought I would spend my entire fuckin' life with her! Do you know how scary that is? That someone I've known for barely seven months is making me feel more than the girl I dated for years! I'm terrified, it fucking sucks!"

bragging to your friends, i get off when you hit it. i hate to tell the truth, but i'm sorry dude you didn't.

Your mouth fell open, pupils constricting under the haze of tears. JJ just told you he was more in love with you than the girl he thought was gonna be his wife. His tears were flowing by the end of his emotional outburst. He buried his head in his hands, turning away from you.

You couldn't believe what you'd heard. The boy you were convinced didn't want you enough to really have you had just poured his entire heart out over how much he loved you. You were in love just as hard.

You moved slowly around his bed, watching for signs of him shifting again. You gently grabbed his wrists, urging his hands from his face. You jumped to throw your arms around his neck, wrapping him in a hug. His arms wrapped around you so tightly, he cried into your shoulder.

i hate that i let this drag on so long. now, i hate myself.

"I'm sorry."

"'M so sorry."

You both let out your apologies at the same time, causing JJ to let out a wet giggle into the crook of your neck.

"I just love you so much."

Your heart squeezed as JJ spoke into your shoulder, teary and sweet. You loved him just as much. You couldn't believe what was happening.

"I've been in love with you since you took me to the lake."

You whispered it slowly, muffled by his shoulder. On that chilly day in November JJ had driven you guys an hour or so to the coast of the nearest Great Lake, Lake Erie. You ate of the sandy shore and watched the water. It was one of the first times you two were together where it really felt like you were boyfriend and girlfriend.

You'd realized he was the sweet and caring one you'd been waiting for for so long. And it ruined you.

JJ squeezed you tighter. A little sob mixed with a giggle shaking through him. He sniffed, kissing your neck gently.

"I didn't wanna believe I was in love with you, as obvious as it was. I was scared of really being in love after what had happened before. You were just so amazing, and kind, and you listened to me. I've been trying to push it away 'cause I didn't think it was how you felt. Which I can't believe you didn't just tell me, by the way."

You giggled now, pulling away from his shoulder to look at him, jaw dropping.

"Alright, Mr. I don't really need anything serious right now I'm still hurt over my ex. Yeah, sorry I never told you I was in love."

JJ just kissed you, and it felt so incredibly right. Kissing the boy you loved, in his bedroom, where half of your clothes lived. The boy who's whole family, including him, loved you and thought you were perfect for him. You smiled against his lips, you just couldn't help it.

"Can't believe you went from friend zoning me to telling me you loved me in two hours."

JJ pulled away from you abruptly, confusion filling his face.

"When did I friend zone you? I didn't do that!"

"'You can always call me. I wanna hear about all of your problems. You're my best friend, y'know.' It wasn't very soothing to a girl who was actively debating telling you she was in love with you."

"Well you are my best friend! But also the girl I want so, two for one."

You laughed, rolling your eyes playfully as you pulled him by his neck to kiss you. You both couldn't help it as you smirked and giggled into your kiss, hands and minds wandering.

JJ pulled back from you for just a second, causing you to groan.

"Can I be your boyfriend?"

Your annoyance was quickly replaced, your eyes widening. You just smiled and nodded pulling him back in.

"Duh."

Your boyfriend squeezed your ass at your playful response, kissing you deeper. Your head was spinning, JJ was finally yours, for real. You were his girlfriend and he was your boyfriend. And one day, you'd walk down the aisle with him waiting at the altar, not that either of you knew that now. So much for keeping your relationship casual?

i hate that i let this drag on so long. you can go to hell.

[angelwhisp3rs]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ man like me

Pairing: RE!2 Leon x fem!reader

Summary: Leon has gone through so much training, life always made it look like he didn't luck out. Always the butt of the joke, he questioned if he would ever be a man. His partner seems to think he is man enough for her &lt;3

Tags: Smut; bj; he cums in her face; slight sub!leon; leon gets called a fairy because he is not considered a "macho man" (i hate m*n)

Notes: First post! I'm so excited, i've been brainrotting for RE for years, and just now decided to add to the community. Love you all! Feel free to give me any tips for my writing or some prompts!

Also, please! If you are a minor, i don't feel comfortable with you interacting with my content, so no minors allowed ok?

Have you ever felt like you weren’t blessed? Well, Leon felt that every day of his life. His parents dying, his rough childhood in the orphanage, he had to work twice as harder than anyone of his peers to achieve anything. Now, as a cop, he believed that this was all in the past - he chose the manliest job of them all.

Oh, well. Turns out that stations were just an adult hangout spot for jocks that never grew out of their high school days.

The women would coo at him, calling him cute and adorable, while the older officers would sneak some comments about him being a “fairy”. Fucking idiots. 

After some months working with them, Leon managed to gain at least some respect among his colleagues - he was a great cop after all, and he even managed to tone down some of the ridiculous teasing (and plain homophobia, if you ask him). 

To the surprise of everyone there, a new recruit would be coming in, making Leon celebrate a little on the inside - maybe it would be his chance to stop being the butt of the joke and finally laugh along with the rest, not being the one laughed at.

He couldn't wait to finally turn his luck around.

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

Turns out he is wrong. Of course things wouldn’t go his way once. The rookie was a girl - well, a woman, and a pretty one at that. 

The men there went ballistic. The single, desperate for attention, and the married, aching for an affair. Used to the calm and pliant women in the precinct, the men didn’t wait for even 5 minutes to let out their disgusting comments, calling her a hot piece of their ass, some even suggesting that they could ‘teach her’ the ways around there.

They were so wrong. Cutting their comments short, she looked at them in disgust, and distributed answers that put them back into their places. Hell, she even dared to ask how the deputy’s wife wasn't arrested for animal cruelty for sleeping with a pig like him.

Leon looked at her with stars in his eyes - she was different from him after all, not letting those idiots run through her. The bigoted idiots decided that as a “punishment” to her, she would be his new partner, matching their work hours and patrolling together. That fact made him excited, but not for long. Unfortunately, his intrusive thoughts began swarming his head: “Do you really think she won’t make fun of you?” and “A woman like her would eat up a man like you”.

The only thing he could do was stand a hand to her, offering a handshake “Hi there, partner. I’m Leon Kennedy”.

She had a predatory smirk on her face, looking at him up and down. “Hi, Leon. I think we’re gonna be great partners”.

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

When Leon thought she would eat up a guy like him, he didn’t think it would be like that. It was way after the time they had to clock out, and they were the only ones left in the station. Leon was backed up in the evidence room, his pants on the floor as her mouth worked around his cock, drenching it with her spit. The only sounds heard were the man trying to drone out his moans with his hand on his mouth, and her gagging as she took him as deep as she could in her throat.

To Leon, this had to be a dream - no way that would ever happen. But as he looked down, her sinful eyes looking up at him, he knew that he couldn’t even dream of something as good as this. He had to be careful not to knock out the evidence in the surrounding files, choosing to rest his hand on her ponytail - quite convenient for the situation.

“You are doing so well, baby. Why don’t you come in my face, and show them that you are the only man able to do that, huh?” She taunted him as she kept pumping his cock his her hands, slick with her saliva and the precum that drooled on his tip

Her mouth returned to his member as she kept her hands going, thriving at his blushing face and his desperate whines. The man was going crazy, it’s been so long since something other than his hand touched his cock, that the 8 minutes of her mouth - which he believed to be 30, were enough to bring him to the edge. Soon, her mouth pulls back as she jerks him faster, angling at her face as he coats it with his pearly cum, hitting her cheeks, mouth and chin.

While he believed that his soul had left his body and come back, she stood up and grabbed some tissues there to clean her face. All cleaned up, she helped him put his pants back on and pressed some kisses to his jaw, whispering to his ear “Why don’t you come over to my place and show my cunt who is the only man to fill it up?”. After that, she left the evidence room with a smirk, looking back at him once and throwing a wink at him.

Well, it turns out that luck was a person, and it finally caught up to him.

[staretes]

finally, before you

synopsis: he's been dreaming about this moment for centuries, but what will happen when he's finally reunited with you? w/c: 0.8k tags: blade x reader, angst, reader was blade's lover when he was yingxing (a bit ooc for blade? idk please tell me if it is) a/n: i posted this by accident twice while it was still cooking in the oven argh. i mostly typed this in school while my teachers were teaching hehe but tbh i think my writing style got alot more loose here which idk if i like... i also dont know how i feel about the flow of this but ack enjoy

blade awakes, face gently cradled by blades of grass. when he looks up, the countless stars glittering in the midnight sky greeted him, just like how they greeted him on those nights when he went to watch the vast starry sky with you. "he didn't come to the luofu to find friends, much less love" he had firmly told himself, but the thought quickly lost itself in you, the stars, and the nights you spent with him. he’d thought he had lost those nights forever.

could it finally be? his heart quickens as he hurried to stand up. the boundless expanse of grasslands that could be found at the edges of the luofu stretched as far as he could see. blade’s scarlet eyes dart frantically across the field, before they landed, with a triumph, on a figure gazing at the stars. you.  blade’s heart leaps at the sight and he hastens to reach you. he could wait no longer, he thinks, for every moment for the last seven hundred years, his heart burned in your absence. he had longed to see the sweet smile on your lips and feel your soft skin on his again. “(name),” he called softly, hoping to finally let his gaze rest upon your bright eyes under the stars once again. startled, you whip around to face him. you stand up, and your eyes search him, and he feels your gaze pierce throughout his body, looking him up and down. “yingxing…” you mumble , not sparing his eyes a single glance. blade opens his arms hesitantly, desperate to feel your embrace again. you jolt back, and your trailing gaze lands on his hands.  his hands. his hands have slain too many, dripping with the blood of so many innocent lives. he whose hands are burdened with the weight of death and violence, how could he even think of touching you, tainting you with his sin? you turn on your heel and run, farther and farther away from him, and he's left standing alone in an empty sea of grass, watching your body disappearing in the distance, with only the stars twinkling at him mockingly.

blade awakes, drenched in cold sweat, chest heaving, gasping for air. it was just a another dream, he reassures himself amongst shallow breaths. just like the dream from the night before, and the night before that, and the many, many nights before. you’ll love him, forever, no matter what, he tells himself, and it’s this faith that relights the small fire in his heart to reunite with you on that fated day in that promised land.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

the moment had finally arrived.

the chains of life that burdened blade for so long snapped, and his body arched gracefully as his body fell to the ground with a soft thud. the raging fire of mara was put out as he fell deeper into the sweet embrace of death. the peaceful silence enveloped him as he seemed to float, float away, higher and higher, transcending towards the paradise that he had longed for for centuries.

… 

blade awakes, face gently cradled by blades of grass. he looks up, and the countless stars greet him once more. on the xianzhou, where death is a distant concept, rumours swirl of the soft melodies heard when one finally finds peace in heaven. blade is sure that it's this tune that serenades him as he stands up slowly, looking around.

he doesn't have to look for long before your figure, sitting on the blanket you once shared with him, watching the stars twinkle before you. you're humming a tune, and he realises that this is the melody that's he's been hearing since he awoke. slowly, he walks towards you. 

before he can call out your name, you turn around and meet his gaze. your eyes light up and a radiant smile forms on your lips. mara-ridden centuries of separation have warped and faded blade's memories, but he's still taken aback at how your beauty far exceeds the many versions of you in his dreams. his heart rate quickens as his parched eyes drink the sight before him. "yingxing!" you beam as you stand up. your voice was still as melodious as ever. the sound of his name forming from your lips was the most heavenly song blade has heard in a long time. it seems, you have been eagerly waiting for him too. you open your arms, awaiting his embrace. this is the moment he’s been dreaming of.

his dreams.

blade tries to move, but he finds that the many seeds of doubt planted in his stomach have emerged. imaginary vines shackles his limbs and he finds himself unable to move. he tries to talk, but the thorny weeds have suffocated his throat, leaving no voice to even whisper your name. 

after everything he's done, he doesn't deserve to even face you. 

so this time, he's the one that turns and flees, further and further away from you. 

[violettaskies]

To Share A Kiss The Devil Has Known

(ch. 1)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x you // Eddie Munson x f!reader // perv!Eddie Munson x innocent!reader

Genre: romance, mild smut, Catholic trauma, religious trauma, friends to lovers, slow burn

Notes: this will have a three installments // this chapter is just the intro honestly lol so sorry if it’s boring build up // Eddie is kinda pervy lol // he’s kinda dark but also not // i tried to write him to be as much of a consent king as possible

Warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY, NSFW // talks of religion, reader goes to confession and her priest is a little mean with his words (at the beginning), slight manipulation, pillow humping, humping, first times, dacryphilia, corruption kink, praise kink // masturbation //please let me know if there should be more added, thank you!

ao3 // chapter two // chapter three // masterlist // series masterlist

-:-:-:-:-

Every other Sunday was for confession. While other members of the family went on Wednesdays or Saturdays, you always chose Sundays since it would start the week off on a clean slate.

Not that there was much to confess about. Oftentimes, you would walk from your house to the church a few hours after mass ended, maybe feeling a bit guilty about your thoughts, rarely was it ever your actions. One day, you came in to tell the priest about how angry you got at your parents when they grounded you for accidentally falling asleep in church. You didn’t lash out at them, of course; but, you did curse them in your head — not honouring thy father and mother very well.

Then there was an instance three years ago at the homecoming dance. One girl had on the most beautiful baby blue dress you had ever seen, while you were stuck with a hand-me-down gown of the same colour. You prayed aloud that night in front of your bed, that you would one day have the opportunity to wear a dress as nice as hers. But the prayer backfired when your mother overheard, then told you to march to the church the following morning to confess how you broke the tenth commandment of coveting thy neighbour’s goods.

As a whole, you thought there were never any major moments in your life where you sinned gravely. That was until you went to your friend’s house for Bible study on Saturday night. She hosted it weekly, and invited all the kids from school. Needless to say, only a handful of people appeared. Not that it wasn’t fun, the six of you would always spend a few hours going over passages, and then eat a nice dinner afterwards. Truly, you looked forward to it since there weren’t other things you were invited to in town.

So when this past Saturday rolled around where the first epistle to the Corinthians was read, specifically the sixth chapter and eighteenth verse — your group started to analyze it as normal. But, little did you know that this was the day your heart would drop the hardest it ever has.

‘The sexually immoral person sins against their own body,’ the people in the room repeated the verse over and over, like a chant taunting you and your actions.

It was the first time you walked into the confessional on a Sunday afternoon with shaky legs and an intensely beating heart. You told the priest what you told your friend, trying to rid yourself of the sins you unknowingly committed. But he stopped you, his voice only getting louder as he gave you guidance on your next steps. ‘Stop doing that,’ he said, ‘God may not be so quick to forgive you if you give into the Devil’s temptations so often.’ Then after he assigned you a penance of five Hail Marys and going through the rosary twice, you were gone.

All you could think as you took your first steps outside, were words that should never cross your mind. Not now, not ever.

If sinning is so bad, then why does it feel so good?

-:-:-:-:-

As the day ended, and a new week of school began — your guilt never went away. Teasing you from the back of your subconscious as you walked home, ate dinner, and failed at doing some homework that was due a few days later.

It had been three days since the last time you unknowingly sinned, two days since you found out what it was, and one day since the priest’s voice scared you to the point of no return. Everything affected you gravely, that even once you walked into school Monday morning, the noises from the other students became a muffled and chaotic mess in your ears. So much so, that as you were shakily getting things out of your locker, you didn’t even notice movement from the one next to yours.

“You look stressed, sweetheart.” The voice startled you, only amplifying your inner-guilt, since you spent the past few moments focusing on shutting the voices up in your head, rather than greeting your favourite locker neighbour.

But what made you feel guiltiest of all, was that he is the one who inspired these sins of yours.

The throbbing ache between your legs felt good, and the way your pillow helped relieve that ache felt even better. If you were able to feel this level of delight every night, then why not think of someone who made you feel the same way? — the question plagued your mind nightly, during the moments you were oblivious to committing a sin.

Little did you know that it was truly sexual in meaning.

There was only one person who made you feel equally as amazing with their words and actions. Your locker neighbour to the right, Eddie Munson.

Several moments replayed in your head. Like the time he kept calling you ‘pretty girl’ because you decided to wear a skirt on the first day of Spring. Then, you remember how his calloused fingers felt when they were so close to your face after he brushed your hair from your neck; making sure to linger on your sensitive skin before mentioning how beautiful the silver crucifix looked on you. There were so many times after that too. From his deep voice whispering in your ear to ask if you needed a ride home while you both were in study hall; to his arms wrapping a sweater around your shoulders during lunch when the school’s heater broke. The Hawkins townspeople claimed him as a spawn of the Devil, but you named him as the only true friend you had. The only person to make the butterflies in your stomach tingle every time he spoke to you.

“I-I’m not, it’s just I can see now why Mondays aren’t people’s favourite,” you responded, still staring into the vastness of your locker. Thinking about how your start to the week wasn't so great as it usually is.

Eddie had opened the metal door completely, removing the barrier between the two of you. “But, Mondays are always your favourite because you get to see me after a painstakingly long forty-eight hours,” he pouted while trying to get you to giggle at his dramatics.

It worked.

“Well, I normally see you around the fourth period. This is the earliest you’ve been at school for a while.”

“Mondays are the worst because my homeroom teacher loves putting tests at the buttcrack of dawn,” Eddie groaned, while holding up the notes you loaned him at the beginning of the year since you already took the biology course before.

“Well, good luck, I’m gonna go—” no matter how much you loved talking to him, and how warm he made you feel, Eddie was part of your current predicament. So seeing him now made your heart ache in the worst way.

As you went to grab the locker door to close it, Eddie lightly grabbed your wrist. “I saw you leaving the church yesterday. You looked so,” he paused, moving his head downwards to meet you at eye-level, before continuing. “Sad, you looked so sad. I even called out your name a few times so I could give you a ride home, but you kept walking, so I assumed you didn’t hear me.”

So it was the Devil’s spawn shouting your name as you made your way home; not the Devil himself making you feel guilty for your actions. It was just your friend who wanted to look out for you.

Eddie continued: “or maybe you’re ignoring me,” he pouted with feign-sadness.

“Oh, uh-uhm it was just a really tiring day and I guess the voices in my head were too loud,” it was only partially a lie.

“If something’s bothering you—”

“Nothing’s bothering me, honestly,” this one was a lie, and it came out a bit too easily. But all you could focus on now was the feeling of Eddie’s thumb stroking small circles on the soft skin of your wrist.

He looked you up and down suspiciously before saying, “you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I do.”

“So whatever is going through your mind, let me know. Who am I to judge anyways?” He winked before letting go of your wrist.

You nodded, seriously contemplating if you wanted to have a confessional with your little Devil. Just as you stared at him with eyes full of conflict, the bell rang. Instead of responding, you softly said your farewell. “Anyways, see you later during fourth period, if you decide to come again.”

It was the only class Eddie had a perfect attendance score in, but he would never let you know that you’re the reason why.

-:-:-:-:-

By the time English class rolled along, you didn’t realize just how much your body was moving itself robotically. Going through the movements you’ve been so used to doing for the years you’ve been in high school. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, thankfully. First period was a calculus lesson, history happened afterwards with a lecture on the French Revolution, then a substitute showed up for geography during third period so that was a boring class. All throughout those hours, you kept quiet; because the wrath of the Angel on your shoulder, condemning you for your sins, was becoming far too much. To even think about answering questions the teachers asked was mentally exhausting.

It all came to a peak once you sat on your chair for fourth period English — the only class you had with Eddie this semester, and of course, the only class everyone sat at long desks that held two people. As you looked out the window to the dark blue skies of Autumn, your conscience kept telling you to be careful. You were about to sit next to the boy who amplified your senses as you sinned. Goodness knows how he’ll react to the news if you told him.

What would he think if he found out you think about his hands helping guide your hips nightly, or his voice telling you ‘you’re so beautiful’ when you finally find the climax of your relief, or his lips kissing your —

“You’re still so tense,” the voice brought you out of your haze for the second time today. But this time, Eddie’s warm hand was on the top of your left thigh; the set of thighs you unknowingly went from bouncing one second to squeezing together the next.

“Just tired, maybe I’ll nap when I get home,” you sighed. Truly, it has been three days since the bane of your guilt was committed. You could barely sleep now that you’ve stopped doing your nightly routine.

“Take a nap in my van, I have cute pillows in there,” he scrunched his nose as he teased you, then released your thigh to stretch his arms in the air.

Thinking of how your class went to the zoo for a field trip once, and Eddie found the scariest-looking bats cute, you replied sweetly: “your definition of cute is not really the same as mine.”

“But, I think you’re cute, don’t you?” Eddie loved to make you blush with his not-so-suave comments. Said it was practice for whenever he goes to the bars and flirts with girls there. But he never was able to make them flustered in the way you always were.

You saw the teacher walk into class in your peripheral vision, and prayed that would mean you didn’t need to talk to your locker and desk neighbour for the next three quarters of an hour. “I’m not,” you shyly say while looking away from The Dealer completely.

“You’re such a good girl too,” his voice was deeper than normal.

He was wrong. So wrong. The guilt in your heart only deepens as his words echo in your ear, along with the voices of your priest telling you need to repent for your sins. If this day couldn’t have gotten any worse, of course the muse of your sinful thoughts believes you’re a good girl when you aren’t.

“I-I’m—” your words are saved by the bell and your teacher’s voice which booms through the classroom. You thought you were safe, thought that until lunch you could get away with not looking at the boy who makes you unknowingly rub your legs together. But no, the day that was going downhill, just hit rock bottom.

“This class is a bit different, it will be a work period since I’m assigning you a small project due Wednesday. That’s not a lot of time, so today will be a work period then tomorrow we will have a lesson. I hope that you all can get the project finished after school over the next couple days.”

Doing a small project wouldn't be so bad, would it? The curiousity sat in your brain momentarily before your thoughts went haywire. The teacher paired you off, specifically with the people you were sitting next to, where each duo would need to analyze and present a different chapter of The Picture of Dorian Gray. So after a beat of silence once the teacher’s explanation was over, the class erupted in murmured voices and squeaky chairs. But you couldn’t get yourself to move to face your project partner.

“Don’t kill me but, we may need to finish this tonight because tomorrow—”

“You have your g-gig, I remember,” spreading out your time with Eddie would have helped your intensifying sinful thoughts subside. At least until you got over your bad habit. But now, you both had to do this for your grades — mainly his — so there was no time to lose. Maybe this could be a positive distraction.

“How about we work on it today right after school so we can get it over with?” he suggests.

“Alright, I guess skipping band practice one time wouldn’t be so bad,” you start shaking your left leg again. If you were a sinner, why not fall down the path of delinquency — your tendency to accept defeat a little too quickly, and then spiral, was catching up to you now.

Eddie notices, and touches your thigh again to calm you down like he has so many times before, even a few minutes ago. Although now, you move your leg away from his grip. “No, no, no, you go be a good girl and head to band practice, then I’ll pick you up afterwards and we'll run to the library,” he says trying not to sound disappointed that you backed away from his touch.

“I’ll finish probably a little after half-past three today since there’s only one song to practice,” you state while opening the book to the assigned chapter. “What will you do while you wait?”

“Oh, you know, maybe do some buying and selling,” The Dealer says nonchalantly.

“Shopping?” you ask innocently.

“Of sorts,” he mimes the act of smoking a joint in your direction, and you look at him curiously before understanding what he meant. You remember your father telling you it’s not a good idea to be friends with your locker neighbour because he’s a sinner who does the Devil’s drugs.

Guess he rubbed off on you, while you rubbed off on something else.

The pang of guilt hit you again. Like a stab to the heart from God himself. Tonight, you’ll do penance until you sleep, before the Devil on your shoulder tells you to commit your sinfully bad habit again. “R-right,” you say quietly. “Let’s get started then, you have to stay focused, Eddie, do you promise?”

“Pinky promise, my dear,” he grabs your fingers that are so much smaller than his, and hooks his pinky onto yours. “Only if you promise to focus too. You’ve been zoning out all day long. When you walk from class to class it looks like you’re constantly about to puke.”

“I do not,” you say in a defiant whisper.

“So do,” he teases. “Listen, if I promise to stay focused the entire time while we try and finish this project, you’re gonna tell me why you’re acting this way. It’s worrying me.”

You pause, looking at Eddie’s weirdly mischievous eyes as he starts to rub the bottom of your back. “There’s nothing really bothering me, though.”

“You’re lying, aren’t you, pretty girl?” his fingers started circling in a pattern that brought pleasurable shivers up your spine. After years of giving you featherlight touches — because that’s what friends do, he said one day — he knew exactly where to grasp your body to make you relax.

“Let me think about it,” you slightly give in. However, you can’t get yourself to admit, again, how badly you want to confess your sins to the one who inspired them.

He notices how you started to squeeze your thighs together again during this class. “That’s all I ask,” Eddie chuckles before moving his hands to your waist to move your body closer to himself. “Now, don’t kill me again, but I didn’t read the chapter. Or the book, so,” he elongated the last word while looking at you with feign-innocence with his doe eyes and pursed lips.

One thing you unknowingly did admit, was just how easily you were able to fall for his manipulative ways.

-:-:-:-:-

As Eddie waited in his van for you to come out of band practice, all he could think about was how strange you’ve been acting throughout the day. You were always one to talk to him in shy tones as he would talk your ear off in any given conversation. Today was different though, and he wasn’t able to place a finger on it. What hurt him most was when you reacted to his touch by moving your leg away — a move you haven’t done in the years you had gotten used to his touch. Then, you didn’t join him for lunch like you did every Monday and Friday, since the other days you would be asked to join the band or church group tables.

Something was off, and Eddie feels like it has something to with the downcast image of you walking through Hawkins on Sunday afternoon. Today, he was going to figure it out.

Ever since the man found out his locker was next to yours on the first day of Freshman year, The Dealer became obsessed with you. Not that you noticed him often — Eddie was notorious for skipping class so much that even though you went to your locker between every class, you would only see him once a day during that year of high school. However, he definitely noticed you: your shyness, the way you kept your head down as you roamed the hallways to the next period, and how you had a tendency of jumping a little every time you closed your locker and saw him standing there at his.

The small silver crucifix that was dangling on your neck was the icing on the cake for Eddie. Realizing then, that you were an innocent Angel who went to Bible study and mass every week. While he could only ask God why He put him in such a shitty place with even shittier parents.

Your innocence astounded him — like when people would joke around about how you didn’t know what sex was, all you would do is blush; or how one time a Senior basketball player walked up to your locker and invited you on a date. He was infamous for keeping a list of all the girls he took the virginities of, and you were his next target. The only thing you did though, was thank him and tell him that Bible study was scheduled to be a long one this week so you would rather go to that.

Something possessive leaped out of Eddie that day as he overheard the conversation from behind the metal door. He had to have you, had to know what it was like to roam your mind. He would do anything to make sure you were his.

So he did. Slowly, as the days passed, he would start talking to you more, trying to get you out of your little shell. You were so quiet that sometimes he would need to get close to your figure as you spoke — not that he minded of course. Eddie genuinely did love your innocence and how you didn’t even realize that he was being a flirtatious pervert when he complimented you. That every time he mentioned you were wearing something nice that day, he would go home and picture fucking you in only that piece of clothing or jewelry. His favourite, being the image of you wearing only that tiny silver crucifix you both loved so much.

Then there were the touches you had grown accustomed to. Eddie would invite you to sit with him during lunch — where he would lightly touch your fingers as he went to steal a fry off your tray. Afterwards, he would take his perverted compliments further, by straightening out the fabric of your skirt or shirt collar for you even if it just came from the dry cleaners. The Dealer would do anything to have an excuse to caress your skin for one moment.

You had asked him one day when you had visited his home to watch a movie: “you touch me a lot, why?”

“Do you not like it? Sorry, I just really enjoy—” if he wasn’t already worried about the fact that you were in his trailer for the first time, his heart dropped at the thought that you might hate him for his touch.

“No,” you would never want to make Eddie feel guilty for his actions. Youth group lessons taught you better than that, since it was only right to be accepting of everyone. “What I mean is, I don’t see many other friends do that with each other and I feel bad for them.”

It was his turn to be curious now. “What do you mean?”

“Your touches are nice, Eddie, so soft and sweet. I wish that all people would feel as nice as this with their friends too.” Look at you being charitable with your experiences — when these touches were only meant for you.

“That’s what friends do, they find ways to make their friends feel good.”

“Do you want me to do it for you too?” you reach out to touch his shoulder awkwardly, but you weren’t one to enjoy touching other people yourself.

“Not if you don’t want to. You make me feel good by being there for me when I need it. While I do the same for you, when you need someone to support you,” it’s true; even through all his indecent intentions, Eddie truly found an innocent and friendly warmth within himself for you, besides his love of wanting to be more than friends.

You look at him with sweet eyes to innocently ask the next question. “Then may you please rub my back like you do sometimes? It makes my heartbeat calm down and this movie is scary.”

“Of course, Angel,” it was right then, Eddie realized how much he loved it when you were needy.

“I wish I could have you do this whenever my cousins want to watch horror movies with me. Honestly, my parents don’t even know I’m here. But I just like your tou–”

“Tsk tsk, so naughty. Where do they think you are?”

“Am not,” you exclaimed and Eddie could tell your heart was beating a lot faster than before so he started to rub sweet circles on your back. “Plus, they think I’m watching a movie at a friend’s house, just don’t know who. It’s not a lie. I’m still a good girl.”

“Yes, you are,” he proclaimed deeply, realizing his rebel tendencies have inspired you. While you nearly moaned as your heartbeat stabilized, his touch and his voice made you feel so much better.

When Eddie was home alone that night, he couldn’t stop replaying the small whimpers of yours he memorized. If it was the hormones, or your innocent eagerness to be alone with him and let him touch you — he would never know which one he loved more.

Eddie was a sinner, he knew that, and was able to empower himself with the label. No matter how many times people around Hawkins would rebuke him as the Devil, or how often he would get stares from kids at school as he started to talk to you more: none of it phased him. What he loved most about you was how easily your innocence became obliviousness when it came to his sins – that you would hear about them and refuse to believe he was such a bad person because he was always so nice to you. Eddie couldn’t seem to understand why.

What he did understand though, was that his biggest sin was that every damn day of his life he was on the path of no return when it came to wanting to corrupt your virtue. To make all of his fantasies become a reality as he wanted to slowly make you addicted to him.

Did you figure it out? Is that why you were so awkward with him throughout the day? Why did you beg for his familiar touch in his memories, but pull away today?

Eddie’s mind moved at a million miles a minute, unsure of what was going on. But one thing was for sure: he was going to find out exactly what was hurting you, and he was going to do everything in his power to relieve that pain.

A small tap on the driver door window brought him out of his overstimulated thoughts. “Are you ready to go?” Your voice was muffled by the barrier, but Eddie was able to hear you before nodding.

He chuckled at your tendency to knock everywhere before you entered. Even with the van, you never approached it first unless he was already in it, or opened the door for you — that was mainly because The Dealer wanted to have some semblance of being a gentleman to you, even if he took that opportunity to touch your back to guide you into your seat.

“So the library?” Eddie asked as he watched you put your bag on the floor and straighten your skirt in the seat, not looking him in the eye as you respond.

“Y-yeah, it probably won’t be crowded since it’s a Monday.”

You were wrong, so wrong. It looks like all of the English teachers assigned similar group projects to their classes, since the library was filled to the brim with students from all grades cooped up at tables. You started to get nervous, the library was going to be your saving grace as you worked on this project.

“Should we go to my place?” He asked while tugging on the strap of your backpack lightly to get your attention.

“No,” you exclaimed a little too loudly, shocking Eddie a bit. “We can j-just go to mine instead.”

If you two finished the tasks at his trailer, then you felt as if it was walking into the Devil’s lair — a place where Eddie sinned like your parents said he did. The memories of the times your friend made you feel warm were enough to commit your treacherous acts; goodness knows how you’ll be when you’re in a room where everything is him.

While bringing the Devil reincarnate into your home wasn’t the best idea, your house had your Bible and other religious paraphernalia to protect you from giving into temptation. But, that’s also the place where you committed your unknowing sin, night after night — you thought.

These conflicting thoughts were about to be the death of you, as long as the annoying throbbing between your legs and Eddie’s teasingly sinister voice didn’t get you first.

-:-:-:-:-

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — One

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none for this chapter, just Tom being grumpy and hating the world

— WORDCOUNT: 3k

— A/N: This is a fic that was commissioned by @localravenclaw as a gift for @esolean 💕 It's going to be a bit of a rollercoaster, with angst and fluff and smut galore. I plan to post twice a week, Mondays and Fridays. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you will have fun reading it, my dears! 💚

I

Tom was twenty-five. It had been seven years since he graduated from Hogwarts, and just as many since he started working at Borgin and Burkes. Now, he found himself in a sweltering place with the world passing him by. Trapped, for his sins, in a moving metal coffin. If this was hell, it looked like rolling hills, houses nestled in the fog, narrow rows of poplars and puffs of grazing sheep, all set to the tune of clinking chains and carriage shuffles. He hated this assignment.

After taking the train from London to Dover, he caught the ferry that sailed to Calais, and from there took a series of coaches and trains meant to take him on to Italy. To Rome. They had just stopped in Lyon to pick up more passengers, and now they were on their way again.

He had fought with Burke regarding the logistics of the whole thing. Why couldn’t he just use Floo like a normal wizard? But the miserable old stoat said he’d sooner trust muggle transportation than Tom’s pronunciation of Italian or French — and besides, was Floo even networked all the way down there? It didn’t matter anymore.

Tom was convinced it was all done to save costs, and perhaps for Burke to not have to call in any favours. So off he went with one measly suitcase and two billfolds of franks and lira — all of which were merely enchanted oak leaves. They would inevitably transfigure back to their original form in a couple of weeks or so, but by then Tom should be long gone. Who said money didn’t grow on trees?

He tried to distract himself from all this misery by checking his notes again. His little book cracked open, snapping at the spine, and its insides were revealed to him like a cadaver cut through with a black spidery scrawl. It was a list of books and authors, with observations added vertically on the side to save space.

“The Secrets of Wisdom, N. Tamisso 1650 — high priority, any edition. The Lost Word, B. Trevisan 1661 — low priority, optional. Delomelanicon (or The Invocation of Darkness), A. Torchia 1666 — first edition, mandatory.” The latter word was underlined three times. His notes continued with the instructions Burke had given. “Check the rare book dealers, antiquaries, private collectors if necessary. If you can not find it, find out who can. If they will not sell it, take it anyway.”

Tom’s lip curled. Whatever joy there was in being away from the squalor of Knockturn Alley was soiled by what he had to do in Rome. It wasn’t the books he minded, and in fact, he quite admired Burke’s taste in this matter. But to be flung so far away from home on such short notice, and for such a length of time, was pitiful to him. The heir of Slytherin turned errand boy…

“Excuse-moi, est-ce que — Oh, bonjour.”

Tom turned his frown toward the sliding doors of the compartment, between which stood a young man in his twenties. Lanky brown locks fell into his eyes veiling the crinkles of a smile.

“Yes?” sighed Tom.

“I was wondering if this was free,” said the boy. And without waiting for an answer, he dragged his luggage inside — three suitcases, all leather with copper fittings looking ready to burst — and closed the doors behind him.

“I suppose it is,” mumbled Tom. He subtly closed his notebook and tucked it back into the messenger bag at his feet while he kept track of the stranger from the corner of his eyes.

The fine quality of the newcomer’s clothes was somewhat disguised by how carelessly they hung around him. His white and starched shirt was loosened at the top, revealing a hint of tanned skin sprinkled with sparse curls. A golden pin kept a red and blue striped tie affixed to it, and around his pinky finger was a silver ring thickly laid with marcasites and crowned with a malachite stone. His lips were full and purple-stained from wine. His eyes were a bright blue. Judging by his pressed trousers and clean leather shoes, he was a gentleman who had arrived at the station by car — or, at least, he was the spoilt brat of one.

“Clement,” the boy grinned, extending his hand.

“Tom,” he replied, giving him a firm, brief shake.

“I’m on my way to Rome!” Clement sighed, plopping down onto the seat opposite him. Almost immediately, he cracked open a cigarette case and started fishing for a lighter in his trouser pocket. His luggage lay strewn all around the floor, suitcases filled with junk, no doubt. “You?”

“The same,” Tom said and instantly regretted sharing anything at all. With people like these — the overly friendly types — it was best to not encourage conversation.

“Oh, magnificent. Vacation?”

“Work.”

“How sad,” tutted Clement as he popped a cigarette between his lips. He offered one to Tom as well.

“Don’t smoke.”

“Ah.”

He closed the case with a loud click and set it on the table between them. With a smooth, almost theatrical motion, he lit up his pocket lighter — silver, older than him, probably an heirloom, engraved with an elaborate floral motif featuring a fleur-de-lis — and let the flame dance on the tip of his cigarette until he was satisfied.

“Don’t talk much, either,” the boy chuckled. He kept his eyes on Tom as he took a drag, then started puffing away without a care. He attempted to blow rings of smoke but failed. “What do you use your mouth for, then?”

“Cursing, mostly.”

Clement laughed. “The same!”

Tom doubted it.

The compartment soon filled with smoke, and the narrow window open at the top only made it dance around inside. The muggy summer fumes were driving Tom to madness already, and he could only hope the train moved fast enough to clear the air. But as they went further into the rural parts of France, the scent of sheep took over. Maybe it’s not too late to try to Apparate directly at the station, he thought.

“So, what do you do?” asked the French boy, vowels gliding altogether in one breath between his lips. His arm extended elegantly to tap the ash into a cheap tray by the window.

It took Tom a moment to look at him and answer. “I’m in, er, publishing.”

“Truly?” he said, excited enough to lean over the table. “That’s magnificent. I intend to be published too.”

“Oh? What do you write?”

“Poesies.”

“Poetry? Ah, not my area, I’m afraid.”

“But you must know some people…”

Tom wanted to tell him that if he were any good he’d have found a publisher already, but intuition told him to temper himself.

“I might,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’m full up at the moment.”

The boy puffed away nervously as he tapped the round gemstone of his ring against the window, and kept his eyes on him. Tom turned to watch the view rolling past them, seeing without seeing. The sensation of being watched was as familiar as it was discomforting. It crawled down his thin cheeks, his narrow neck, and from there sank into his clothes like sweat. He gazed briefly at the tapping ring from the corner of his eyes in irritation, before focusing away again. For a few moments, he thought he’d successfully ended their conversation.

“Well, I’m in show business,” Clement said instead, grinning brilliantly. There was a gap between his first incisors that made him look boyish and pure. “Theatre.”

“Your parents must be very happy.”

“No,” he laughed. “Miserable. But,” he shrugged, “it is not their decision.”

Tom hummed and said nothing else.

“Your parents are happy with your job, no? You go on important business trips to France, to Rome, and… erm. Well, it is a good job, for sure. Makes them proud, yes?”

Whatever sunshine beamed through the window was chilled and clouded by the glare in Tom’s dark eyes. Why did this bothersome Frenchman have to talk to him? He wasn’t going to keep doing it the whole way to Rome, surely…

“I wouldn’t know,” he finally said. “They’re dead.”

“Oh… Oh, I am so sorry...”

“I’m not,” he mumbled. He didn’t think Clement had heard him, but he wouldn’t care even if he did.

The boy pulled the ashtray closer and put out his cigarette, then leaned his head against the glass. Fidgeting, he held the silver case in his hands and clicked it open and closed, open and closed… He did that for quite a while.

Tom could feel him staring. Could even sense to some extent the messy thoughts inside that head: curiosity, intrigue, and joy.

What could be joyful about that moment?

Well, if Tom was being honest, this wasn’t the first time he’d had such an effect on people. Memories of Burke’s clients came back to him accompanied by the customary shiver down his spine. Clement had the same flippant merriment about him that all the others did, those careless old witches and wizards. That unguarded look of innocence surrounded by the fog of greed. An airy absence of thought and feeling. Must’ve been the side effect of all that money.

Tom had once envied such people. Had even flattered himself with the knowledge that he, however distantly, was one of them. What greater destiny than to be born to glorious old blood? What greater tragedy than to be fallen from it…? He could even remember, with much clarity and shame, how he’d spent several months during his third year obsessing over the Gaunts and Riddles, chasing up on genealogies, and smattering the back pages of his diary with heraldic designs.

But the more he understood the upper classes — their uselessness, their inborn idiocy, their paradoxical sense of superiority which stood impervious to anything reality threw at them — the more he grew to hate them.

“I am sorry if I offended…” said Clement rather softly. “Sometimes, I talk too much.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t notice.”

“No, but I do, I do…”

Tom had overshot his subtleties, apparently.

“So you are not happy with your job? Forgive me for asking…”

“No, it’s quite alright.”

“A pity, you know…”

“Why?”

“To not like it.”

“Oh, it’s not too much trouble most of the time. Why? Do you like your job?”

“But of course!” he said, blue eyes twinkling.

Tom cast a scathing look his way. How strange… He couldn’t imagine enjoying any form of employment — other than the coveted post of DADA professor at Hogwarts.

“Why are you in Rome, then?” Tom asked.

“On vacation. I am, erm, meeting a friend,” he whispered with a grin.

“A girlfriend?” asked Tom with a smirk.

Clement shook his head and giggled. “A boy friend.”

Tom’s brows nearly reached his hairline. He’d never heard of such things being bandied about quite that openly before, at least not in England. Clement seemed not to care. Must’ve been a habit of his, as he seemed to not care about much at all other than enjoying life.

“You have a fun vacation ahead of you, then.”

“More than you know,” he winked.

Tom curled his nose at that and sat back, away from the whole conversation. But Clement leaned closer, arms braced over the table lazily, eyes flashing excitedly.

“We will rob this old fool, and run with his money.”

That captured Tom’s attention again. The boy was waiting eagerly for his reaction, and not a thought ran through his head that Tom might’ve been untrustworthy. Of course, far be it from him to ruin someone else’s fun, but the scenario Clement proposed was too absurd to be believed.

So what else could Tom do but laugh? The sound of it filled the cabin, and so out of use were those muscles that his cheeks began to ache. The sight of it seemed to delight young Clement. He leaned back and gave another one of his brilliant smiles.

“You can join us, if you like,” he offered smoothly.

“Sorry,” said Tom, his cheeks still flushed. “My schedule is full.”

“Oh, pity, pity… You would like my friend, I think. His name is Donatien. He is more serious, like you.”

“Is that so,” said Tom distractedly.

“By the way, what is your hotel?”

II

They entered Rome on a train that ran six hours late, and wobbled on its tracks, and stank of mouldy cheese and wine rust.

Clement talked most of the way there, and seemed to be satisfied with Tom mostly reacting with brief hums and tilted smiles. They even exchanged gifts. The French boy was enchanted by what was, in Tom’s estimation, a fairly average switchblade. He’d only taken it out to peel an orange. It was something he’d bought in London right before his seventh year, and although it was quite plain, it did have some delicate embellishments on its ivory handle of two writhing snakes. That seemed to appeal to Clement, who offered his own blade in exchange — a Swiss army knife that also had a screwdriver and bottle opener tucked in its red body. Considering it a more efficient deal, Tom shrugged and accepted the trade.

Faint details came up now and then about his plans with this Donatien, but most of it was lost in smoke and loud metallic rattles. As much as Tom hated flying on brooms, even he could agree it would’ve been preferable to this…

But at least he didn’t have to fear any Ministry or Aurors in these parts. Not any that were familiar with him, anyway. The Italians had their own Ministry of Magic, of course, but it was all the way down in Mirto, Sicily, and foreigners were a low priority for them. There were so many people from all over the world in Italy those days that it wasn’t worth keeping track of them all, or at least so Burke had told him.

The train slowed and pulled into the station, and pulled, and pulled… It groaned as if in pain. Clement took the jolt of inertia as it all came to a stop with cheerful clapping, and promptly got up to collect his bags.

“So, we are agreed?”

“Absolutely not agreed. Besides, I doubt my lodgings would be to your taste.”

“Ah Tom, you do not know my taste!”

“Very well, but best keep your complaints to a minimum once we get there.”

They struggled to get everything off the train with four suitcases between them. Tom was travelling light with just the one, about which Clement made some snide comment that he soon forgot, but he helped him anyway. His own belongings consisted of plain muggle clothes and some books that Burke wished him to barter with, if it came to that. Between the lines, and between Burke’s sparse and slimy brows, Tom understood he was expected to use his charms to get a bargain price — as per usual — but he did not intend to let some fat old antiquary put his grimy hands on him. Not this time. Besides, conversing with Clement had stained his dignity enough.

Being away on the continent had one advantage, at least: he was no longer under the vulturous watch of his employer.

Tom stepped out onto the platform, muscles sore from days of sitting down, and looked ahead as if he knew where he was going. People were chatting all around him, filling the cool hall with murmurs all the way up to its dome — some in German, some in French, others in variously accented English. Tom wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve and picked up his suitcase to follow Clement, who was hunting for a trolley to load his luggage onto.

As soon as they stepped out onto the street, the heat of Rome in August hit Tom in the face like an oven door and he, frail and pallid thing, was not prepared for it. He squinted in displeasure, to Clement’s great amusement.

“This way, Tom!” he said as he popped on a pair of sunglasses. “I see a taxi!”

Tom had spent most of the journey brushing up on his Italian with the help of a conversation guide he picked up at the Gare du Nord. His extensive knowledge of Latin came in pretty handy. But now that he saw Clement handle things, perhaps he needn’t have bothered. His companion could easily direct the driver to the dingy old hotel Tom was staying at, the Gallienus on Via Domenichino, and chatted a bit more besides.

“Vacation in Rome often, then?” he asked.

“I just know some phrases,” Clement smiled. “You don’t need much with these people.”

The driver pretended not to understand the slight.

“Where do you want to have lunch, then?” Clement asked.

“Lunch? I’m certainly not in the mood, not now.”

“Oh come ooon…”

“You can eat on your own.”

“We can leave our stuff and take the taxi to this place I know on Via della Mercede. They make the best seafood, the best!”

It had not been until now, with this journey to somewhere far away, that Tom realised how limited his world had been at Hogwarts. He’d once felt equal parts ashamed and at a strange advantage next to the other Slytherins, his peers, all purebloods, for knowing both the magical and muggle worlds. Now, exiled for this assignment among strangers, it seemed to Tom as if he were starting life all over again. He looked out the window and everything was new, everything was strange. The buildings, the street, the people, even the clothes were different. The city, like London, was massive, but the streets were broader, blazing white. Some disappeared into little alleyways that slithered like dark serpents. Tom could easily see himself getting lost in such a place.

It was… humbling. He didn’t like it.

[acourtofthought]

Lol you're hilarious. Everything about the story and SJM's recent online activities AND the articles point towards elriel endgame but y'all will only stop when elriel is announced I guess.

Anons like this are always better than a cup of coffee because wow, do they wake my brain up in an instant.

Articles pointing to an E/riel endgame? You mean articles written by journalists who never sat down with SJM and who never even spoken to the author or Bloomsbury regarding the content? Articles that were factually incorrect, one originally claiming that SJM was the author of the Elemental series with a hyperlink to a different authors Amazon page? Journalists who definitely are not more qualified than Sarah's own best friend who is on record as saying she doesn't think E/riel is happening?

Also, if we're really claiming her posts as possible clues of which we have zero evidence they are, those clues suggest Elain more than any ship.

Bloomsbury tweeted flowers and fire (not stars or a night sky). Which actually would hint at Lucien over Az.

She had the book of flowers displayed during her live. It's cute how some tried to claim there was a black bat on the spine of the book but alas, it was a blue petal.

She wore a Bambi sweater with flowers during an IG and yes that sweater was on a black background but only because that's how the shirt is produced. I'm sorry but you can't be so ridiculous as to think that the author would want to wear that particular sweater (something she's owned for years as it was mentioned in another article from way back when) but second guess herself because the black background it was already on might have people thinking it hints at Az.

The Spring story had nothing, NOTHING to connect to Az but if you recall from the actual books, Lucien is permanently stationed in the Spring Court.

Let's break down the Az clues you're so confident in.

She was writing ACOTAR 5 in September. She was already into the process to the point that she was obsessed with the book, that it felt like having a crush, that she was so focused on it she didn't even have time to make a treat for her childs school. So that probably means she was at least a few chapters in? A third in? In February, about 5 months later, she did a fan made bracket (that did not include Lucien). and said Az was someone she'd be exploring more in the future.

She wrote the current version of HOFAS in a month. If she had already been working on ACOTAR 5 and had already spent 5/6 months writing about Az, why would Az be someone she wanted to explore more in the future? Shouldn't she have already explored him in e/riels book?

The post where SJM went up North to draft and stopped in front of a small body of water in the middle of the mountains? Guess what, Koschei's LAKE is hidden in a forest, surrounded by mountains. Illyria is not the only place in their entire world with mountains and pine trees. Also, Vallahan is surrounded by mountains on the map! Places SJM could easily have written about in this next book, places more connected to Lucien, Elain and Vassa. And as mentioned above, she said she was up north to draft. It is now 7 months since she did the Live interview talking about how she was working on ACOTAR 5. Chances are, whatever she was up North drafting is not ACOTAR but her next project.

Onto Guilty as Sin. My point mentioned above twice still stands. Why are you assuming it made her think of a book that's probably already written rather than a book she may be working on? Maybe it gave her the feels for the LoA / Helion's love story as they were forbidden lovers who were not yet lovers in their youth. Sarah has often spoken about wanting to write an ACOTAR book set in the past, maybe it's time for theirs. Mor heard rumors that the LoA waited before agreeing to Beron's proposal, after having met Helion at an Equinox the previous year. Helion claims that he heard her family wanted ties to power. At that time (before they ever had an affair), the LoA and Helion would have been forbidden because he had no real power. If you recall, he only became HL during Amarantha's reign after she killed the HL of Day and most of their family. Or maybe she is writing about the Seraphim from 500 years ago, before the first war. Where Miryam and Drakon fell in love when she was with Jurian.

Would it honestly make sense for her to be excited about a song that she just heard for the first time three days ago over a book that should be finished save for maybe final edits?

I like imagining how these things might hint at Elain and Lucien too, it's fun in this drought of ACOTAR info. But I don't have such blinders on that it makes me unable to consider other possibilities.

Stop claiming you see the whole picture when you are only selecting the puzzle pieces you like best. Trying putting the entire thing together if you want to have a chance at sounding like you know what you're talking about.

You guess we'll stop when e/riel is announced? You mean the ship that ended on Solstice, the ship Elain did not shed a single tear over the way she cried for Graysen (someone we know that she loved)? Elain returned Az's necklace and never once looked like she was struggling with moving on. What kind of Elain stan are you, having Elain daydream of being with the guy who rejected her and couldn't confirm real feelings to his own brother? Are doormats now the rage?

I think I remember the Bryce / Az shippers saying the same thing, how we'd see when CC3 was released, but guess who was victorious on that front? The people who believed Bryce was ending up with her mate.

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: This is my first time ever writing fanfic. I have been reading fanfic on this godforsaken app since I was 12, and have been encouraged blindly by my best friend to post this. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One : Smoke

There was a chill that had come early to Kings Landing this season. The breeze carried a bite to it that most people who were born there had only seen once or twice before. Some whispered that Winter was coming, but the prospects of that happening once more was less than the more unfortunate events happening presently.

In the courtyard of the Red Keep, the cobblestones were freshly swept. The servants having worked tirelessly through the night as to not be seen and ruin the illusion of its perfection and all those within it. That biting wind lifted the soft red leaves from the godswood, making them dance around each other to land softly on the green grass surrounding. Your skirts moved with the breeze, blowing lightly between your legs and making the long sleeves of your gown brush softly against your sides. 

You walked slowly towards the Godswood, looking up at the swaying branches, gazing at the deep cracks and ripples in the bark. The afternoon sun shone gently through the crimson leaves at the top, the warmth lightly dusting your cheeks and forehead.

The Godswood was where your mother Rhaenyra would read to you as a child, softly brushing your locks, and whispering tales in High Valyrian in your ear. Sitting down in your favourite spot, you leant back against the tree and closed your eyes, letting the cooling sun lay a blanket of warmth over you, listening to the soft rustling of the leaves above. 

This was your place, your comfort. Somewhere to read, somewhere to lay, to cry, to laugh or sing. Your special spot was nestled between two large roots that worked as a support for your body like a cocoon.

You sat there silently, thinking of your mother and younger siblings. You were the eldest, and it had been years since you had been back to the Red Keep. The venomous rumours of your parentage were openly whispered by the Queen.

Though raised by the late Prince Laenor, Daemon had always called you his, telling you of a secret visit he paid to your mother when she was still engaged to the younger Prince. 

The rumours of you and your siblings legitimacy were for the most part true. You knew that Sir Harwin Strong was your brothers father, their likeness was uncanny but these, as your mother called them 'vile accusations' did not bother you, for you knew that she loved Sir Harwin and Prince Laenor; just in different ways. Just as you knew that Prince Laenor loved your mother in a different way also.

You knew that the young Velaryon was not interested in the touch of a woman, but he still raised you as his own and was a kind and loving man.

As for your uncle Aegon, all knew that he had fathered many a bastard, perhaps hundreds, and yet he was not looked down for it. Aegon did not face the stares and whispers, the japes and the disgust that your younger brothers and mother face.

Women are destined to carry sins that no mortal man would be made to. That was the reality of it, but most like Queen Alicent let their tongues sharpen the peoples knives.

As you thought more of your family and memories growing up in the Red Keep you felt yourself tire, drifting into a light sleep, the afternoon sun having a soporific effect on you.

A sharp pain rippled up your leg from your foot, the pain jerking you awake. Your eyes snapped open and you peered up to see a dark figure standing in front of you. The moon reflected on long silver tresses of hair, peeking out from beneath a dark hood.

The garden was now dark, except for the few torches lit along the pathways of the stone walls. The warmth of the sun had left, leaving the cold to seep up through the ground beneath you. 

“Mm.” Came a smooth guttural hum from the tall figure before you. Aemond stared down his nose at you, lips upturned in amusement. 

You hurriedly pulled your legs underneath you and stood, one hand reaching back to steady yourself against the bark of the Godswood.

Holding your breath you looked your uncle in the eye, the lost one covered by a dark leather patch he always adorned. The long snaking scar that traveled from cheek to forehead looked more sinister in this light, deeper and more ragged as the shadows fell upon his face from the licking flames of a nearby torch. 

Aemond had become fond of torturing you in many ways. Growing up you had gotten along. As a child he would sometimes read to you or correct your High Valyrian, but now since the loss of his eye and the fraying tension of both of your mothers relationships, his disdain and hatred for you had festered into an obsession. 

Still staring at him you pulled your hand off of the bark to brush down your skirts, pulling them up quickly to step over the root of the tree only to have him abruptly step forward. His cloak swaying towards you to brush against the bottom of your dress, pushing his distinct scent to surround you.

His sharp movement made you step backwards against the tree, foot slipping a little on the root below and replacing your hand back against the bark. His lips quirked upwards into a smirk, a huffed breath blowing out through his nose in amusement. You corrected your footing and stood straight, looking up into his eye.

“What is it, dear uncle?” You asked, sarcasm thick on your tongue as you tilted your head sideways in frustration. 

Slowly he leant forward, eye still staring into yours, searching both of them to seek out your unease. The movement made his cloak gape at the sides, and the soft glint of the hilt of his sword upon his hip caught your eye.

Aemond followed your line of sight, and smirked harder, the corner of his upturned lip stretching further up his face. Leaning back he pulled his body away from you, allowing you to release the breath you had been holding.

“Dinner is to be served soon, and you are to join us, sweet niece.” 

With the billow of his cloak, he stalked back along the stone path, a menacing sway, and into the archway of the building. 

Slumping back against the tree you took a deep breath, pulling up your skirts once more and stepped over the roots. Briskly walking along the cobblestones to the archway, you could still smell the subtle hints of your uncle.

Sandalwood, the soldering smell of ash and fire, and the deep scent of leather. On any other man you would find this combination to be alluring, though from him it made you uneasy.

You hastily walked through the Red Keep to your chambers, mentally preparing yourself for your rapidly crumbling family dinner. 

[undercovercameron]

rendezvous

summary: you and rafe have a secret reunion at a party

notes: rafe dresses a lot better in this one btw... also drug and alcohol use in this one! kinda filthy too because i have a suspicion that barry doesn't wash his sheets as often as he should. prepare yourself for lewd language btw, i thought i'd give a formal warning for the first time: i write smut in a way that i personally find to be less cringey/more straight-up and that also means the words i use are more graphic than some might be used to sooooooo brace yourself if you are new. enjoy! this was very fun to write and i also wrote this like three weeks ago teehee

tags: rafe cameron x reader

word count: 2318

He ducks to enter the doorway, straightening up as he licks his lips and gets a first look at the room. There are people scattered about the couches, slumped in the corner drunk or sucking the soul out of a bowl or pouring fine powder into uniform lines on the coffee table. You’re standing by the open window, a lit joint at your lips that glows red in an inhale when you turn at the opening door. He gives you a long look, eyes following your body as you turn back to the window, seemingly uninterested. 

You blow smoke out of the window, cheeks flushed, and try to be as inconspicuous as possible. 

Rafe was a fantasy of yours in highschool. You saw him around the hallway, wearing those goddamn thin tee shirts and slacks that were tight on his ass. He was in one of your classes sophomore year, but that was before he started smoking weed and going out to Chapel Hill for college parties— when he started fucking college girls. It changed him for the better, dare you say it. He matured after his 18th birthday, and now he was less of a fantasy and more of a recurring motivation to masturbate. He was around town, and at both of your golf caddy and grocery delivery jobs. You caught glimpses of dirty blonde hair in the wind, broad shoulders walking past, and rumors of coke benders on Figure Eight. You even caddied once for him, his dad, and his friends: those golf pants didn’t leave anything to the imagination. You wondered if he even owned boxers. 

Tonight, he’s dressed in dark green slacks and a flannel over his open chest, only a couple buttons fastened. A wet dream. 

And so are you. After making his rounds, slapping handshakes at all his friends and friend’s friend’s, he sits down at a sofa and leans back, elbow propping his head up on the arm rest and just having a nice look at you. You have on this sinful little thing— all black silk and fishnets. Your hair is up, away from that smooth neck, and he can smell your perfume from across the room. Something sweet and deep. Then Barry offers him a line, and then he is ducking to the table, ringed finger pressed to a nostril as the other bumps the white powder. He sniffles once or twice, leaning back into the cushions, and then he needs a drink. He rises to his feet, hands pushing at his knees, and nears the door. 

“Anyone need a drink?” He calls through the room, and is met with a general mumble and groan. That’s a no. He disappears into the hallway, re-emerging with two bottles, and you turn back to the window for fear of being caught ogling. But that isn’t possible— he makes his way over to you, and stands at your side. 

“Lemonade?” He asks, offering you the bottle, and you look up from your smoldering joint. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, putting the joint between your teeth, and take the bottle from him. “Appreciate it, Rafe.”

He pops the cap for you and then his own, bringing it to his mouth. 

“Anytime, sweetheart.” You think he smiles at you, but then the bottle rises to his lips. “I don’t think I caught your name,” he says, ducking close to you so he can hear your response over the music. 

“Y/N,” you say into his ear, following his face as he straightens and has another drink. 

“Mm. Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Your eyebrows raise, incredulous, and you just take a drink. He laughs. 

“What? I can’t compliment you?” His head tilts slightly. You shrug, taking a hit of the nearly-burnt out joint. 

“You can. But I don’t like teases.” You bend to the ashtray, knocking the ash off and rising back up with a smile on your lips. 

“Oh, yeah? You think I’m a tease?” He bows slightly to talk to you, and it makes your thighs clench together. “I hold to my word.”

“Mhm.” You take another hit, ghosting and then blowing the smoke out of the side of your mouth. You offer the amount left to him between two fingers, and he takes it without a problem. It burns a dim red when he takes a long hit, smoke curling out of his mouth and back into his nose. You watch carefully, not sure where to look: his mouth, his body, or his eyes filled with something you can’t place. 

“I think you should kiss me,” he says, flicking the ash off onto the tray and setting the roach down. 

“Oh, yeah?” You say, eyebrow quirked, and take a long drink of your vodka lemonade. “Why’s that?”

He ducks to you, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear, and you feel his breath on your neck. It makes your hair stand up. 

“Because I want it.”

You watch him back away, eyes trained on his pink lips. 

“Do you always get what you want, Rafe Cameron?” Your head tilts, mocking him from earlier, and finish your drink. You set it down on the window sill, and then you’re moving your fingers in a wave, grin playing your lips, and make your way to the door. 

It appears he does, for two hours later he’s got you on your back on Barry’s bed, your legs around him and kissing so furiously at your mouth that you can’t help but sigh into his. His hands find your legs, pushing his fingers through the holes in your fishnets, and he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. His groin pushes between your legs, and then he’s making a noise into your mouth, halfway between a laugh and a groan. His hands fumble with his belt, and you wrap your legs around his back, securing him tightly to you. The belt comes off, and he’s pushing your legs back to your chest and ripping a hole in your pantyhose with his hand. You yelp, pushing up onto your elbows, and watch him fumble to rip them so far that he can slide your panties to the side and get at what he really wants. 

“Those were my favorite,” you huff, eyes rising to his. 

“Like I care,” he breathes, bringing your face to his with a hand on your jaw. You kiss him messily, fingers gripping his wrist. 

A noise like wood creaking makes you two turn your heads, and it’s Barry pushing through the door of his bedroom with a whoop. Your legs fall from Rafe’s torso and you sit up with a sigh. 

“Dude, you have to get some of this.” He swings a little baggie in his hand filled with white powder, and Rafe takes it from him with shaky fingers. “You want some?” He asks you, and you just shake your head. 

“C’mere,” Rafe says, snapping at you and you lean forward, eyebrows drawn. You don’t love being snapped at like a fucking dog, but you’re sort of curious and sort of a pussy. He rips open the bag, pinching the seal into a point, and grabs your shoulder. You’re jerked forward, collarbone exposed, and he carefully dumps a fat bump into the swell of your bone. 

“Get the fuck out, Barry,” Rafe bites through his teeth, and then Barry is raising his hands in surrender and backing out of the room, back to the party. Rafe ducks his head to your neck, and bumps the whole line in three seconds. He backs up, sort of out of it, and his eyes roll with a heavy sniff. “Fuck,” he growls, and his head falls. Your chest heaves with the excitement of the last five minutes, and the fact that he just did coke off of your body, but you have barely enough time to take another breath before Rafe is meeting your mouth in another kiss and shoving you back onto the bed. 

You cry out when he yanks you roughly back to him, muscles stretching at the force, but then he’s pushing your dress up and attacking your chest with his tongue and teeth. Your back subconsciously arches into the sensation, fingers tracking through his hair, as you bare your throat to the air in a groan. 

“Fuck, Rafe,” you exhale, eyelids falling closed, and he hums into your nipple. He pulls back, lips slick, and fumbles to get his pants unbuttoned. 

“Move back,” he tells you, hand at your shoulder, and you scoot back on your hands, frantic to relieve the ache between your legs. He follows you, looking awfully predatory, and you settle back onto the pillows with a sigh. He dips to kiss you, and pushes your panties to the side with two fingers as his thumb brushes against your extremely neglected clit. You jump, fingers gripping his shoulders, and he pulls away to lean down and spit between your legs. You allow yourself one disgusting moan, and then he’s back and rubbing harsh circles into your clit. You reach down and push past his pants to pull his dick out, no underwear keeping him from anything. Just like you thought. He jerks himself a couple times, pushing your hand away, and holds onto your hip as he spreads you open with his fingers and pushes in. 

You both groan at the feeling, sweaty foreheads pressed together as you pant. He bows forward, fully seating himself in you, and you cry out at the feeling. It’s so full, so much, and you pulse around him. He buries his face in your neck, pulling nearly all the way back out and slamming back in. You squeak, gripping tight around his shoulders, and jerk back into the wall. 

“Fuck,” he pants, mouthing at your neck, and you agree. 

“Deeper,” you breathe, urging him on, and he curses. 

“Fucking tight.” He bites at your shoulder, and does as he’s told. You jolt again at the feeling, the head of his dick nearly brushing at your cervix, and your head falls back weakly into the pillows. 

“Yes,” you sigh, grappling for purchase on his back. You scratch at his shirt and take a fistful.

“God, you’re so wet,” he seethes, grabbing a hand at the headboard railing, and fucks into you with such a force that you nearly see stars. The sound of it makes your chest flush, and you wish that you could take a picture of him like this. Sweaty hair, hand on your hip pushing your legs wider. You’re definitely satisfying your highschool wish. 

“You feel so fucking good.” Your voice is high, needy, and your walls squeeze around him at the next bruising thrust. 

“Shit, I’m gonna break you,” he grunts, and with a hard hand at your shoulder, pulls out and flips you over. He pulls your dress up past your hips, squeezing an ass cheek, and slides back in with a sigh. His hips slap against your hips, ringing out the room, and your mouth is so wide in a silent whine that your jaw aches. You grab ahold of the headboard, nose brushing it with every thrust, and it’s so good you nearly start praying. 

“There! Fuck, Rafe, right there,” you cry out, pushing your face into the pillow. He grips at your shoulder, leaning forward, and wrestles a hand in the sheets to get it between your legs. His fingers find your swollen clit, and your stomach coils in the incoming orgasm. “You feel so good,” you breathe, fingers squeezing the pillow, and push back on his dick with all the strength you have left. He grunts, cursing into your skin. His other hand finds your hair, grabbing a fistful, and it’s when your neck jerks back that you cum, squeezing as tight as a vice. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he lets out, voice strained, releasing your hair and pressing a hand flat to your back as he chases his orgasm and fucks into you so hard you feel numb. “Shit,” he breathes, pulling out, and your lower back grows wet as he pumps himself. He pants, chest heaving up and down, and you take a moment to calm yourself. He relaxes, the headboard still supporting his weight, hands pulling at his hair, and just closes his eyes. 

He doesn’t know if he’s ever cum that hard. You don’t know if you ever have either. 

You swallow, pushing onto your elbow, and cast a look over your shoulder at him. But he comes back into consciousness quickly, tucking his dick back into his pants and zipping them up but not buckling. He stumbles off of the bed, disappearing into the bathroom, and comes back with a towel. He wipes at your back, cleaning himself up, and you test out the function of your muscles. 

You shift onto your side and with some help of your arm, rise into a sitting position. 

“Can you kiss me again?” You ask, and he just grins, shaking his head knowingly. He nears you, taking your face in his hands, and presses a kiss to your mouth. You sigh, content, and close your eyes. He pulls away for a second, just looking at your blissful face. So beautiful. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since highschool,” you breathe, opening your eyes, and watch his face contort into confusion. “You walked around in those Dickies—I would’ve dropped to my knees in chemistry.”

He laughs, head ducking bashfully. 

“As good as you hoped?” He dips to kiss you again, and your cheeks flush more than necessary. 

“Yes,” you breathe, lips teasing him. “I might have to retest, though.”

He nods, pink lips pursed.

“Repeatability is important in the field of science.”

“I knew letting you cheat off of me would have its merits,” you muse, head shaking. His eyes stare down at you, slightly mischevious.

“You have no idea.”

[gayerthanevertbh]

say your prayers - one.

pairings | dark!priestess!natasha romanoff x reader

– summary: your school have church service once every week. of course, as a good little schoolgirl you are, you attend to it. which means you always have to see your priestess, natasha, who you are secretly infatuated with. until there was an unexpected turn that made you feel something else other than good. but maybe, even better.  

– warnings: smut/dark taboo themes - 18+ YOU’VE BEEN WARNED! non-con/dub-con, religious themes, sacrilegious acts, blasphemy of religion, biblical references, rough sex, loss of virginity, dark!natasha, oral sex (r receiving), Mother kink, heavily detailed smut, natasha being a creep, and more.

– notes: this was so well written i’m actually kind of happy about this chapter. there will be more in the future, for now this. enjoy! <3

series masterlist | navigation | taglist for this series

I attend the chapel every week. The school requires you to, so I don’t really have a choice. Usually, my choices are: to drop my scholarship and move to a new school so I don’t have to do all the religious routine or suck it up. And mostly, I do suck it up. Mainly because my parents are believers of God and would be a saint when it comes to him. I’m like that too, I pray and confess my sins and sometimes even ask for help when I do need it. I’m a good girl, as they say. And I am a good girl.

It just simply goes away once I see my priestess once a week.

Ruther Catholic College has been my high school life, I��ve been in boarding school ever since I turned fifteen years old. My parents, who are religious people, think that Catholic schools do good for schoolgirls like me. I am a good schoolgirl, I just have issues that I’d rather not talk about. I have never been vocal about it either, not finding a sense in it since I don’t talk to a lot of people. I do have friends, but I skip my time with them so that I could read my books. I’m an aspiring writer, a journalist. I write the simplest stories that are book worthy and it makes me think that I am talented and educationally smart–since I was raised that way. I’m a Rogers, for Christ’s sake. Of course, being academically smart has to be on the charts.

But I cannot shake off my infatuation with my priestess, Natasha, who is twice my age. She has the kindest eyes that I’ve ever laid my eyes on, all my teachers are bastards and have soggy jawlines. But Mother Natasha has a face of a babe with the maturity that comes with it. Her lips are subtle and thick, and her hands are quite long and neat. She wears this attire every Friday and does the chapel, preaches the word of God, and makes us go to the confession room to reveal our sins with no shame. I still have to wonder who was behind that divider, because there are many women in that church that could possibly be forgiving my sins. I’ve blatantly confessed to many women, not knowing who they are.

Anyway, the humanities building is the largest dorm of all in New York. We have our own rooms, our own food too. But we are still required to go to the cafeteria to say our prayers, to bond with other schoolgirls. I, personally, do like having my own space. The context of someone being in your room can be very intrusive, which I am not fond of. I have a desk that has most of my writings, and poems that are short. On the other side, my single bed was there as well as my long rectangular-shaped window. Beside the door are my bookshelves which have the cross of Jesus Christ above the wooden shelf. I’d invite a friend or two to have a book date, but never less sleep there. There would be a couple of nuns on the watch, especially at night. That means we aren’t allowed to even get out of the building without permission and say where we are headed. Only our parents can pick us up from our school.

Today is Friday which is my luck to see Mother Natasha again. I hiked my white long socks all the way to my knees and got into my black shoes that felt hard on my heels. Though, I have no choice but not to wear them. When I was in the hallway, I could feel the cold breeze of the air. It’s September and it’s the start of my year, I turned eighteen a week ago and spent it with my parents. Some of them say I still act like a fifteen-year-old kid, but I don’t think that way. With how smart I am, I felt like an adult once I reached this age. I see Wanda with her hair tied up that shows off her brunette locks, she smiles at me and brings her arm inside mine.

“Guess what?”

“What?” I asked while trying to stop the itch from my feet, making my face scrunched in a weird look.

“I’m getting a laptop soon!” she says joyfully, squealing with her arms tightening around mine. It hurt, but it didn’t matter. I smiled to silently tell Wanda that I was happy for her, truly I was.

“That’s nice,” I responded with a huff because of the cold wind. “I was wondering when I’m going to get mine. I could write better stories there.”

“You’re always writing and reading, don’t you ever get bored?”

“No,” I huffed again. “Not really. It only keeps me away from reality, I get to choose what it feels like to be loved and unloved. I also get to choose whether I’m religious or not.”

I was a good girl but never came to terms with my religion. I believe in God, though. I truly do think he’s capable of all of us sinners and people, it’s just hard to believe when your teacher says something about the world ending. Revelation is not the best chapter in the Bible, it never was. Truly because I think it’s fictional and hypothetical for these things to happen, it has been said for many years. I still don’t see it happening.

Maybe that makes me a sinner of not being afraid of death. I'm not afraid of the underground world once I die, because I know that it’s a place for me and other people who go through my struggle. I’d rather not admit it, it makes me feel ashamed of myself.

When we reached the big wooden doors that lead to the chapel, I gulped. I could feel my throat restraining as if I’m not allowed to talk–which was the case, you aren’t allowed to talk in the chapel. Once it opens, all of us schoolgirls come rushing in quietly. Of course in line. I see my teachers being in the back row while there are a few nuns in the front row, and the section of my class sits in the right row in the middle of the church. So I sat there quietly with Wanda, who had her feet pressed together. A nun was at the altar playing the piano that was ringing in our ears beautifully, and I do find it relaxing. And once everyone was in the chapel, the priestess made her entrance.

Mother Natasha.

I could hear Wanda mumbling, “I wonder if she has a husband. She seems lonely, I mean look at her stance. It screams I want a husband. Do you think she wants one? Or does she have one already?”

I imagine Mother Natasha bringing her husband, who is possibly a priest. And I almost made a grimace look because of that imagination. I’d like to think Natasha is a lonely person who has her personal space and has a wonderful mind. And even if I don’t know her, she radiates that kind of mood. Especially how well-spoken she was, even if they are scriptures from the Bible. I responded to her quietly that I don’t think that she wants a husband, and Wanda just shrugs saying with another mumble: “That’s sad, I don’t want that. I would like a husband someday.”

Why do everyone has to think about marriage? Why can’t we just be happy with ourselves? I do personally think that marriage is a waste and something impulsive to do. There’s nothing forever in everything, even with stupid marriage. The thought of the word forever cringes me, it makes my body feel tingly with that word. I hate it, I hate it more than my dad.

“Please stand up for our prayer,” says Mother Natasha with a broad voice, everyone else closing their eyes. I had to do it as well but urged them to open again just to see her, to take a glimpse of her. After a long prayer, the service began. I was holding onto my Bible while still listening to her preaching, appreciating how there was so much power in her voice. I wish I could easily do that, to attract people with just my voice.

“For rebellion is as the sin of divination,

And insubordination is as iniquity and idolatry.

Because you have rejected the word of the Lord,

He has also rejected you from being king.”

When she says those words with such vulnerability, we make eye contact. It was brief, yet it meant so much to me. She looked at me. And I could see her creating a small smile that was so fainted, you could barely see it. My body tensed from the way her eyes were looking at mine, it was like I couldn’t breathe. My heart stopped. How utterly infatuated I was with something sinful that I cannot despair. She was a woman, a grown woman. I was a kid, practically a teenager still. Yet, she still looked at me without meaning.

After the service, we were asked to go to the confession room as always. It had to take a while since there were a lot of students and it took at least a minute or two. I was waiting in line with my fingers playing on the edge of my skirt. I bit the inside of my cheek, wondering about the possibilities that could happen later once I confess. But mostly, I thought about how Mother Natasha looked at me and almost gave me a smile. Was it sinful enough for me to want it from her?

“Y/N Rogers,” a nun calls me. I lifted my head up in response. “You’re up next. Don’t take too long.”

I mumbled a thank you for being polite and walked inside the small booth, closing the curtains. It felt intimate to be here again, to sit on the warm wooden chair and be faced by a divider. I start by saying with a light voice: “Bless me, Mother, for I have sinned. My last confession was about watching sexual films that my friend and I did, and I have thoughts about it. And for my next confession, I began to research abortion so that I could be prepared for the future. I know that it’s sinful to kill a child inside of your womb, but I was very curious. I will never do something like that again. And for my last one, I’m having an infatuation with someone that they do not know me. They barely made eye contact with me, and I’ve been thinking about them for the longest time.”

There was a short pause until the priestess asked, “Is this person a schoolmate?”

I began to shake my head. Lies, full of lies. I can’t confess something like this, it would be sinful enough to commit to it. It was just a stupid girl crush, no big deal. Wrong, it was a big deal–especially at this church. Homophobia is the real issue here, and they ban any homosexual acts from this school. So, I lied through my teeth.

“No, Mother. Someone else outside of school.”

“By the authority vested in me by the church, I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost. May your confession be a reminder of you, child.”

I then realized how feminine the voice of that woman was. It sounded younger, and not some haggard old voice that you’d usually hear from another priestess. No, this sounded different. It sounded exactly just like Mother Natasha, although more feminine. Much lighter. I overthought this conversation until I made my way back to the room, where I had to do my project in English Class. My teacher, Mrs. Davis, is an outstanding poet. I love learning from her, but she seems too old for me to like. I’m assuming she’s in her sixties or maybe late fifties, but who am I to care about her age? I just simply love her class.

I kiss the small cross from my bracelet as I do a little prayer by the window, apologizing for my sins. It’s a daily ritual, a routine where I knelt down peacefully and talked to God. Whether he’s hearing me or not, I could tell how disappointed he was with my simple infatuation with a woman who was in her forties. I was ashamed, but never truly understood with the exception of being homosexual. Perhaps, I was. But I try my best to push it away, and it’s working.

“Forgive me, Lord Father, for I have sinned today. I know I may have disappointed you, and I will do my best to remain pure to your eyes. In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

                                                       —

Saint as she was on the outside, the devil she was on the inside. Natasha has urges, sexual urges. Maybe infatuation too, but more on the concept of fucking someone has been on her mind. Especially to me, specifically to me. How she’s trying to condemn herself whenever I'm around, how to try not to notice my eyes whenever she preaches. She prays to the Lord every day to push the feeling off, to be a saint in front of his eyes. But her urges continue on as if it was hunting for prey.

Mother Natasha is now inside your room with the door being quietly closed. She holds her clerical collar around her neck, trying to hold off the animalistic self to not grow out immediately. She takes in the coolness of my room, hearing the sounds of the clock ticking as well as the lights outside from the window are yellow. She looks at my desk and places a finger down, swiping across from the wood. She brings her finger to her tongue and licks it–rolling her eyes back at her head at the image of me on her desk. It’s getting worse day by day whenever she sees me by the halls of Ruther College, she wants to bite me. To simply take me that no one else could. Mother Natasha takes a few steps to my bed and simply admires my slumbered body, smiling to herself and whispering: How beautiful you are, my little lamb. How effortlessly pretty you are.

She takes out her hand and ran her knuckles against my soft cheek, afraid enough that she’ll wake me out of my slumber. Relief left her body when I didn’t stir awake and continued her actions. Mother Natasha has always admired me, especially whenever the teachers would talk about me to her. They would say how well disciplined I am and how much they love my writings, saying that some of my essays could be poetry. She admires that very deeply and takes it in by heart. Before she could do further action, she goes to my desk and starts opening drawers quietly. Something catches her eyes, it’s underwear that has never been washed.

“Perhaps this is yours, little lamb,” she murmurs to herself while touching the cloth of my old juices, running her thumb against it. She brings it to her nose and smells it, almost making a euphoric sound out of it. She’s insane, utterly and completely insane to me. “How beautiful you are, how much you make me crazy.”

Mother Natasha shoves the sheer pink panties inside of her pockets and maneuvers toward me once more, looking down at my body. She takes the ridge of the blanket and moves it down slowly, her eyes staring at my face to see if there are any reactions. None. So she continued until the blanket was at my feet. I was still asleep, deeply in fact. My eyes were so shut that I didn’t even know she was already behind me, her hands remained untouched from my hips. It was as if she was afraid to even hold my arms, to smell my neck. Forgive me, Father, she thought to herself and takes a good amount of smell of my hair. Strawberries. She began to be obsessed with me at this moment and thought about numerous acts that she could do to my body.

I was awoken with a strong pair of hands on my mouth, making me scream from the top of my lungs. Above me, there was a familiar sight and I will never forget this day when I found out that it was Mother Natasha who was on top of me. I was bewildered, scared, and distraught. But scarier if that made sense. I tried pushing her off with my hands fighting against her, but she was unbelievably strong. Was this happening? Am I dreaming? I was infatuated with her and wanted her to notice me, but never like this.

“Shh, baby, please,” her voice sounded like a beg, her eyes are now kind but I could see much evil that was inside her green eyes. “Please stop, quiet down. Shh, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I just want a little taste from you, okay sweetheart? Just a little taste…”

Once she put her hand away, I wanted to scream. But her lips were attached to mine and I simply almost passed out because of it. Is this what it feels like to be kissed by your priestess? Her lips were so soft, so plump. My eyes went from terror to closing them, almost giving in to how well she pressed her lips on mine. My hands went immediately on her chest and pushed her as hard as I could, but her hands were caught on my wrists and her eyes are no longer kind. Her eyes were in pure anger.

“Stay down,” she demanded, hovering over my small body as I tried fighting against her. Tears are starting to form in my eyes, but she didn’t care. She needed to let it all out. “Baby, you’re breaking a poor old woman’s heart. Please stay still. I need to take you, I want you so much.”

I wanted to be freed from her arms, away from her lips. I didn’t want it, I told myself not to want it. It was a sin, an awful sin especially when it comes from another woman. Would’ve it been better if she was a man? Hell, that’s even worse. If I do admit that I like it, I might as well be as sinful as she was. Her hands were absolutely everywhere, she was holding my hips with a grip–making me think there would be a mark as well as her kisses on my neck. She was desperate. So so desperate for me. My face was pressed against the soft pillow as she assaulted my helpless body, smiling faintly to herself when I was only wearing a pink tank top along with white cotton panties.

“How beautiful you are, my little angel…” she whispers to my ears and hooks her fingers to my underwear. My eyes bulged out and I was quick to say something before she could even pull them down.

“I’m not experienced, I don’t–can you please stop what you’re doing to me, Mother?”

She clicks her tongue and juts her lower lip as if feeling bad for me. I started to whimper when she shakes her head a “no”. Meaning, that she doesn’t want to stop. She was about to hurt me and I’m going to like the hell out of it.

“Jus’ be a good girl for me,” Mother Natasha mumbled while kissing the corner of my lips sloppily, trying to pull away from her mouth but she makes a threatening voice: “Stop moving or I will hurt you.”

I quivered from the voice that she erupted, I trembled vigorously when she put her hand on my right breast–her mouth near my ear as she shushes me down, threatening me some more. I wanted her to stop, I wanted her to leave. Because knowing myself, I could lose control once she doesn’t stop. I was inexperienced, I don’t know how to touch a woman or even a man. My lips are no longer a virgin, they have been manipulated by her lips instead of a precious one. But maybe, she is the precious one. Maybe, I was just stubborn to realize that.

“Forgive me, Father,” I whispered to myself while her lips were biting on my neck–hissing myself with a loud whimper and immediately covering my mouth once more. From the corner of my eye, I could see her smirking as she whispers hotly on my face: “There’s no Father here, my little girl. It’s just me, Mother. I will take good care of my precious baby.”

She brings down my panties with a grunt, her other hand still on my mouth as she throws the discarded undergarment onto the ground. Mother Natasha quietly gasps to herself as she sees my unshaven core, her mouth-watering from the sight. I could feel more tears trickling down from my eyes as she touches my cunt, knowing how dry it was.

“I’m going to get you so wet, little lamb… You shall see the ecstasy from the Lord. This is his gift, bringing me to you, kitty.”

With those nicknames, it made me wet. Those words are so foreign in my ears like I’ve never heard of them before. And I never did, so the way her sultry voice speaks to me makes me want her to touch my sensitive parts until I was eaten by her. How much I wanted her and how endlessly I denied it. I continued to cry and so on, letting her dominate my poor body while she was smiling at how much has been revealed to her.

“Recite the whole Hail Mary for me,” she quickly says with a domineering voice, turning me until my back is pressed against the mattress. I looked at her and pulled my tank top upwards with effort. “Detka, stop fighting it. Eventually, your virginity shall be mine. We were meant to be this way, accept it.”

I couldn’t. I thought this was supposed to be different, I thought that she’ll only be my priestess and nothing more than that. But I was so driven by her stamina and her harsh kisses that I’m making myself give in, I must give in to not disappoint her. So I did. She smiled widely once I took off my tank top, throwing it across the room and I was fully naked beneath her. I covered my chest with my arms and shyly said, “I think we’ve had enough, Mother. I–I think we should stop.”

“There’s no stopping here,” she harshly whispers and kisses my lower lip; biting it even, which made me let out a tiny whimper. “Give yourself to me, little lamb. I’ll make sure you’ll be filled with so much love from me, I promise.”

She pushed my legs wide and gasped quietly once she saw the full view of my vagina, I could see her hungry eyes far from here. It’s a sight that I’ll never forget, that I’ll imagine once I go to sleep every night. Her mouth lands on my stomach and makes swirling kisses with her tongue, whispering biblical words that I cannot comprehend due to the fact that I’m a mess. Tears are coming out like a river, as well as my whimpers of mercy. She gives open-mouth heated kisses on my pelvis and finally, her mouth was on my cunt. I arched my back in response, my hand went flying to her hair to grip it; she didn’t mind. To her head, she loved it.

“Please,” I begged and took a deep breath, releasing the tension inside of me. “You have to stop, Mother. I–I can’t do this with you, this is wrong.”

She shakes her head in disagreement with her eyebrows scrunched together, but her eyes are still glued to my clitoris. She whispers with a deeper voice: “This is never wrong for the both of us, my child. It’s meant to be.”

Her tongue squirmed all over my folds as I covered my mouth with my mouth, moaning when her lips were attached to my clitoris. She sucks on it, making a sipping sound while her hands are roaming around my stomach to calm me down. Her mouth was rough, as well as her tongue. Especially her tongue. It’s like she knows what she’s doing with it, and I don’t even understand the techniques that she’s releasing from within her. Mother Natasha continued to eat me from down there as I prayed to the Lord for my sins; quietly.

“You taste divine, my angel…” she praises, her eyes closed as she licks and licks my departed folds, the tip of her tongue prodding against my cunt. “So fucking good, this pussy is so beautiful… Want you to shave it for me.”

I still had my hand gripping her hair tightly and let her assault my cunt with her mouth and her tongue that would draw me from my orgasm. She still had her chapel outfit on, which kind of made my body feel hot. I could still see the clerical collar around her neck, as well as her cross necklace that was made out of wood. But none the less, I was in true heaven while she ate me out like a starved animal.

“I’m so–Lord, Forgive me,” I begged, and I pleaded. My chest starts to heave deeper as my pants become more ragged. “Stop, please stop! It’s too much–I can’t take it…”

“You taste so fucking good,” she groaned against my cunt, admiring my clenching hole. “Look at that, you are nothing but my child. I’m cleansing you away from your sins, I’m the one who listens to them. Don’t be a dumb baby.”

I let out a whining moan at the sound of her voice and how she says them with so much sexual power within her body. I began to whine more once I felt two fingers dipping inside of my vagina, and I immediately lifted myself away.

“No, please. Anything but that. I’m saving myself for the Lord,” I whimpered in pleading but she never wavered. She just kept her arms around my hips as her fingers rubbed my clenching hole. I said with a louder voice, “I said stop, Mother! You’re going to hurt me with your fingers…”

“No, no, baby…” she coos, smiling at me gently while still rubbing smoothly against my hole. She could see how terrified I was, could see how pure I was. And she was grown enough to know that she was taking advantage of me. Should I let her? If I was going, to be honest in the vein of the Lord, yes I wanted her to take my virginity. “Don’t be scared, my child. I’m here to take care of you, remember?”

She thrust two fingers inside my womb without warning, making me scream from my hand. It felt like something broke inside of me, like a river flowing out of my vagina. And to my thoughts, it was my juices. She loved the way I screamed, the way my body squirmed to get away from her. But really, I just wanted more. I needed more even though it stings, it hurts.

“That’s it,” she kisses my clitoris again while pulling out slowly to just pump in again, with more force this time. She could see the way my hips arched and with that, she pushes my lower stomach down with a growl. “Be a good angel, little girl. You’re giving yourself to me, what a saint. Beautiful, just like that… You’re so tight.”

She completely lost her temptation over me, she was a whole new person. And either way, she didn’t care. She wanted me as much as I wanted her–now that I have figured that out. She curls her fingers inside of me with a vigorous moan, latching her mouth once again on my clit while flicking that blud. I start praying once again, asking for forgiveness. Telling to God how much I’ve disobeyed him, it was a sin to commit an affair with a woman0–especially a priestess. I can’t help myself, I’ve fully grown to the feeling of her inside of me. I wanted it, even though on the outside I didn’t.

“Stop,” I whined while I still had my eyes closed, trying to get away from her hungry mouth. But her arms were so strong that you’d think twice if she’s a woman. Maybe she’s just a very strong person. “Please stop, I can’t take it! I’m sorry, forgive me, Father… For I have sinned. Oh god, please–I’m feeling so–”

“You’re loosening up,” she chastises, pulling herself up to smother her wet lips against mine. Our teeth clad together and made a clink, which hurt a bit. But I was so lost from the pain and pleasure that she was giving me, that I couldn’t help but let out a desperate moan. She smiles against my wet lips, almost tasting me. “I broke you in, huh? I love your pretty little body so much…”

She gropes my breasts while thrusting inside of me hard, her fingers curling to hit my special spot. My eyes were shut completely as my mouth gaped open, giving her access to kiss me. I could feel her dark redhead locks against my sweaty skin as she pumps her fingers, feeling my walls not as tight anymore. She loved the feeling of her taking my virginity, the one where she gets to taste a girl first. And god, I have made her crazy. Utterly insane.

I moved my head away from her lips and held onto the headboard steadily, almost coming from an orgasm that I’d never had before. She still has that smile on her face, it was as if she had won some trophy. And then I realized I was that trophy, I was her prize. I could feel the cross dangling onto my face as she whispers harshly, “Good little girls like you make me feel alive, lamb. You have no idea how attracted I am to you, how obsessed I am whenever you pass by. I know your little stares, baby. I’m not dumb enough to not see them.”

Immediately, I was embarrassed. But that feeling was at the corner since there are multiple emotions that I’m going through in just one night. I wanted to hate her, to never see her again. She was a saint that I always praised, but a demonic human being at night. Though, I love her. I love the way she manipulates my body, how she could control it–knowing what she wants. I was just some little girl in her eyes and felt innocent. Maybe those were her type, good little innocent girls like me. Except that, I was at the right age. It would’ve been an awful turn if I was a bit younger.

Our kiss was like an unforbidden fruit, like how Eve finds a beautiful apple from the snake. She was Lucifer, I was Eve. She knew how to manipulate me into some kind of sick action that I really loved, and I hate myself for it. I loathe thinking that this was not destiny because it felt like it did.

“I have so much desire for you,” her breathing becomes hard and I don’t know how to respond to her desperation. Her eyes are closed now, but I felt her forehead against mine as she gropes my right breast with a tight grip. “Forgive me, my child. I just couldn’t help myself any longer… I had to take you.”

Come for me, angel. Come around my fingers.

Those words repeat in my head as her mouth latched now on my nipple, sucking it while still rubbing my clitoris with her thumb–her fingers still inside of me. I felt disgusted. Yet, alive. My cunt was now abused with her power and I wasn’t ashamed of it, but I could still feel my tears falling down from my eyes endlessly, it was as if I am truly ashamed of what is going on. Eventually, I came on her fingers and she had her mouth on me to muffle my screams. She knew what she was doing, she damn knew. I was so lost with the feeling, the mixture of pain and pleasure. My body trembles from her fingers inside of me as my body sweats like crazy.

“That’s it,” she whimpers, kissing my lips harder with her rough mouth. “That’s it, come on… You’re so good to me. You’re such a good little schoolgirl, huh?”

I nodded relentlessly and continued to come around her fingers. Once I am done, she pulls out slowly and brings her lips to her mouth–sucking my come with her eyes closed. I watched the way she lathers her other all over her fingers as if she was starved. And truly, I was too. I panted loudly and laid my head back onto the pillows, sobbing after our sinful encounter.

Her eyes soften and touch my cheek with her knuckles, whispering: “You did good, my child. You did very well. I hope to see you again next week. Will I see you again?”

Why was she acting desperate? She knows she has more power over me, why is she giving me the control to see her? Mother Natasha has the willpower to control me, to make me feel like a bad person. It all felt different, too different. But I gave her a slight nod and tuck myself away from her, still whimpering from the sex that we made. I hear her say: “I made love to you, my child. Don’t act like you don’t like it. You came around my fingers, I hope you get to do that with my cock too someday.”

Someday? And what does she mean by that? Was there something else that I did not know? I felt scared now but wanted her to hold me close. Eventually, I felt the bed dip and watched her as she fixed herself, mumbling a few words that I could barely hear. She turns over her shoulder and gives one last smile before she leaves my room, closing the door quietly.

I cried during that night, feeling ashamed of what I’ve felt or thought. I hate to admit that I loved our sex, I loved the way she took me. But it felt so sinful that I could feel my body as a dirty thing; a dirty creature. I never want to show up in her chapel again, I never want to see those eyes.

But I do, so badly that it aches me.

taglist: @blckwidowsbf @olicity-boo @nickalpatel @sayah13​ @inluvwithfictionalwomen​ @daddynatasha​ @natnutkuy​ @mrs-johansson​ @ageofolsen​ @easybxy​ @natasharomanoffswifeyyy​ @ayyy-lety​ @wandsgurl​ @rt--link​ @pancakefan7529 @korekiyoss​ @natash7456574657646645 @riveravalonsage​