#probably because of all that blasphemy i did lmao

[nanami-is-nanamean]

for literal years (i have no sense of time, its honestly probably just half a year but i could be horrifically wrong—i blame covid for destroying it), i have had this... au. where i just. put nanami. in hsr.

like—instead of caelus or stella being the mc, nanami is and thats whats hes been doing all those years when he was away from sorcery. i do hc that he spent at least one year as a salaryman to get that signature "my soul has been sucked out by capitalism" look and "we should reform society to be better" mindset lmao

i imagine that like—the way it works is that everything happens roughly the same in the main story, its just the little minute differences that change kinda like how everyones playthru of hsr is slightly different because we chose diff dialogue options or whatever

so like—he goes thru belobog, goes thru the xianzhou, goes thru penacony, and then all the side quests, and thats when he decides to go back home (did i base it off my own hsr progress? haha... yeah. lmao)

i dont know who exactly he goes down back to earth with but i do have this one scene in my head where he meets up with himeko. and as much as i like the idea of him going down alone, i dont think the express is gonna let him lmao. best i can imagine is march and welt. welt because this is the most similar to his old home of hi3 (which i want to play so bad but alas i have a life), and march because she serves as a nice contrast to the low energies of nanami and welt AHAHA

i did consider benching her since shes been going to expeditions nonstop but like—the contrast gotta b there honey, thats what you call good writing and good character dynamic lmao. but yeah—he goes down, calls up gojo, and welt and march go off to fuck about.

i imagine that gojos fuckin stunned to see him after so many years because like—he was working a dead end job and then one day he fucking disappears. and it would scare gojo too since like, his entire thing is being able to see things, to percieve things, and as op as gojo is, im p sure he isnt able to see far enough to find nanami in the cold and dark depths of space. all he knows is—he was there, and then, his cursed energy disappears like a candle that went out. all he can assume is that he died or some curse users got to him. but if he died, a sorcerer of his caliber would produce a CRAZY curse spirit. and if curse users got to him, there would be some sort of trace or destruction left behind as a trail because nanami wont go that easy and if he did turn into a curse user, he would be able to pick up the curse energy residue.

so now here he is, back infront of him like some kind of disappearing act AND with some strange and crazy energy inside him. like a fucked up star or black hole or something. somethings obviously happened to him, and if the weird disappearance and reappearance or the weird-ass thing inside him didnt clue him in—he would rip out his own eyes. and he KNOWS that is this nanami because the Six Eyes never lie. (hehe kenjaku prison realm moment)

so now hes tasked with figuring out what the fuck happened to nanami and what the fuck that pulsing thing inside him is—but hes conflicted about it because jesus christ, it was just him and ieiri for so long and theyre both so desperate and so happy to see an old friend again and—and they don't know if they can disregard whatever the fuck happened to him and if hes a threat, because god they missed him so much (hehe geto moment)

MEANWHILE march and welt are snooping around and they find a curse, which they easily defeat obviously and welt has... a WEIRD feeling about these "curses". like hes experienced facing this kind of energy before... so they go curse hunting a little bit more and holy shit. thats when welt realizes.

the reason why the curses and curse energy is so familiar is because he REALLY DID face this sort of energy before—and he faced that energy in the form of rAIDEN MEI WHEN SHE WAS WAVING AROUND HER NIHILITY ABILITIES. so now the express HAS to start meddling because the fucking NIHILITY is HERE and this world has been drowning in the powers of the nihility for actual fucking CENTURIES and at this point, and its going to be too goddamn predictable if theres a fucking stellaron causing it. (there isnt but theyre so used to it at this point lmao)

so yeah! thats my setup for an hsr x jjk crossover lmao

oh yeah its totes nanago AHAHHAHAHA—its implied but idk if it got thru KJHDFJLGkHSLK

[toffeebrews]

tell me your Ink headcanons NOW 😼😼😼

You're... giving me permission.... to share my ink headcanons.

well get ready

Talked about this one already but I'll share it again: I think Broomie is semi sentient. I like to think at first Ink didn't know that though, but still talked to broomie anyway. So, regardless of this fact Ink probably would've talked to broomie.

He's good at encouraging people but not comforting people. If that makes sense? (projection much pfttt)

If you ran your hand over the "tattoo" marks it have a slight divot in it. Like a crack in a road. Probably because... in my hc they're literally semi healed cracks.

They're is talented in many types of art not just one. Hes talented in singing, dancing, fashion design, mechanics, and architecture! Really the only one he struggles with is well... cooking. Do NOT let that man in a kitchen (I mean he's immortal why would he not learn multiple artistic skills?)

Y'know how canon!swap climbs on people because hes insecure about his height? I think Ink does the same thing.

(More yappening under the cut)

Deep down he feels like something is missing... what he doesn't know is he's missing his home, his AU. Sometimes hes goes on a search universe to universe in search of "something important he can't remember" but can never find it. Until he gets bored, forgets what he's doing or gets preoccupied with something else.

He likes switching up his looks so he may give himself a tail or paws or claws with his brush. Maybe he even changes the color of his limbs sometimes (that's more a crack hc though). He gives themself a new outfit at any chance he can get. (Edit: I actually imagine one of the reasons he would get excited for multiverseal events is mainly because he gets to show off a new outfit for that event. He goes ALL out)

Due to his dulled sense of pain often he isn't aware he's injured unless it's pretty severe. So he may just go about their day with injuries they don't know about. Typically Dream or Swap have to be like "dude you have a crack in your skull."

After that one comic with Swap and Ink, Swap bandaged up his skull despite Ink insisting he didn't need it. Mainly because Swap didn't know Ink could heal themself and just thought Ink was being humble. Everytime he went to go take it off, Swap would freak about it hasn't had enough time to heal. Until Ink did a more through "I have a brush bro chill" (not ink accurate dialogue).

He's super flexible!! like contortionist level of flexibility.

Oddly specific but I think they're the type to consume all sorts of fan content and enjoy it. Completely ooc and fanon stuff too. He would be the type to read a fic and go "I would NOT say that" with a giggle and write a heartfelt comment anyway.

If you know homestuck... Nepeta has a shipping wall. I think Ink would have something similar (projection?? blasphemy!). Maybe in his sketchbook or smth. I mean do you see how he reacts around his dads smh 😔😮‍💨. He doesn't take it all that seriously though... LMAO. But I feel like he would be like "🏳️‍🌈?" y'know? Is this making any sense? I hope LMAOOO

Ink knows being called "child" annoys Dream so when Dream's like "I'm not a child I'm 500 years old" he just uses different synonyms of kid " heya youngster" " hi boy" stuff like that to annoy him. Just to mess with him.

He loves "aggressive affection." Like he bites people. He also likes to be bitten (not in a sus way but like in a cat like way). He loves bear hugs. Stuff like that.

He loves being drawn on, like literally. He loves the sensation of art supplies on his bones. Particularly the texture of paint and pencil are the ones he enjoys the most. He draws designs and stuff on his bones sometimes.

He has that cartoon ability to walk on walls or the ceiling and completely defy gravity. How? Cartoon skelly powers ig.

[gojos-thot-patrol]

🌶️

A priest gojo

I don't care anymore if I'll burn in hell for this request but I am craving for IT

I can't get it off my miind

Those "Forgive me Lord", "fuck, your pussy is so good for me" has been haunting my ass for ages. I'll give you my house, my cat ⁿᵒᵗ ʳˡˡʸ, my keychains??? and a kiss on your forehead

I sat on this ask for a few days trying to figure out how to go about it. Mostly because well, I've had a priest Geto in the works for about a month now LMAO.

I figured this was my sign to make it an series!! We're going to do a one shot of each of the men as fucked up priests. AH IM EXCITED!!

Now Presenting, Part One in Sins of the Church...

Starring Corrupted! Priest Satoru Gojo

Satoru saw hellfire in your eyes. He saw damnation and eternal torment. He saw his destruction. And he wanted all of it. He could feel his soul burning out of his chest every time you batted your pretty eyelashes at him, feel his morals weaken whenever you smile, and feel himself lose control every time you stood next to him.

And then he had to remind himself that all of those thoughts were borderline blasphemy. He was a member of the clergy for christ sakes, he shouldn't be thinking of a member of his flock like this. He shouldn’t be fantasizing about you bouncing on his cock while he fucks his own fist. No amount of repenting could remove that sin from his soul. But no amount of denial could remove his desperation for you either. He had never been a phenomenal priest, he was a drinker, took the lord's name in vain, and was far from celibate. But he was trying to do better. He was trying to remove those vices from his life. But you brought out the sinner in him. And if he was going to be a sinner, he might as well win with you. 

This is what ran through Satoru’s head as he sat in the confessional booth, bored out of his mind. He knew it was important for him to be available for this service from 6 to 9 everyday, but it didn’t mean he liked it. He checked his phone. It was 7:30. Fuck. He was about to text one of the other clergy members to see if one of them would take over for him (probably not) when he heard the church doors open. He suppressed a groan of annoyance as he waited to get this confession over with.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned. My last confession was…I don’t think I’ve ever confessed, actually.” The sweet voice rang in his ears. Ho-ly SHIT Satoru knew that voice! It was the voice he had imagined moaning and desperate under him. “Y/n.” He thought to himself.

“Worry not my child,” He said, desperate to hear what you were sinning about. You were the star of his parish, what did you have to confess? Did you say Heck? “You’re at confession now. Confess, and we can go from there.”

“I’m afraid I’ve been having..impure thoughts Father. Thoughts about someone I should not be thinking of in this way.” Jealousy shot through Satoru like a bullet, ripping through his very being. Someone else had caught your eye then. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected anything else. Still, The knowledge that you wanted someone other than him left him seething with rage. He had to know who took his angel from him.

“Who are you having these thoughts about my child?” Satoru asked, knowing you’d answer. You were a good girl, you never said no. But, you did go quiet. Satoru didn’t like that. He was about to prompt you again when you broke the silence. 

“I’ve been having thoughts about Father Gojo. In my dreams he comes to me and I see him in, well…pornographic ways. I know I shouldn’t have these dreams, or think these thoughts, but I can’t make them stop.” Motherfucker, maybe there was a God. Satoru found himself pressed into your shared wall of the confessional, hanging onto every word you said. Your small, desperate tone went straight to his dick, and he felt it twitch with every word you said.

“What happens in these dreams?” He asked. He had to know. He wanted all of the details. He wanted to know if you were as desperate for him as he was for you. How graphic was your imagination? 

“I find myself with him alone in the church. He puts his hands on my waist and lays me on one of the pews. I feel him kiss my jaw, my neck, my breasts..sometimes he puts his fingers in me, other times he just, well…has his way with me. And in the dreams it feels so euphoric, like a blessing from the holy father himself, I-” NO no, keep going! He didn’t stop you! “He always finishes inside of me. The dreams are so vivid that when I awake, I can still feel his seed seeping out of me.” 

Satoru’s cock was impossibly hard and he was struggling to keep his breath even. The passion of damnation burned through his veins. He wanted nothing more than to make your dreams come true. “Have you ever been with a man in this way?” He asked, bracing himself for the answer.

“No father,” You said, shaking your head even if he couldn’t see it. Good girl, he knew you were saving yourself for him. “It’s why these dreams are so odd to me,” you continued, “I’ve never experienced these things when I’m awake, but when I’m asleep it feels so real and vivid I sometimes wake up thinking it might have been real.” 

God Satoru wished it was real. If he closed his eyes he could feel your pussy quivering around his raw cock, hear you begging for him, feel your nails in his back. Shit. He palmed himself through his black slacks, trying to relive some of the pressure you had put him under. He tried to remind himself that he was a fucking priest Goddamn it! But he was a man first. And he needed some release. “I see. Well my dear, your sins are great. And as you know, the penance you must pay has to be greater.” He said, trying to sound as composed as he possibly could considering how desperate he was. 

“I’m willing to do anything father.” You said, all too eager. “Fuck don’t say that.” Gojo thought. It was the last thought of doubt that ran through his mind. He wanted to see just how far you were willing to go. 

“Come here my dear, meet me at the pews.” He said, giving in to the devil on his shoulder. You were a little shocked. As far as you knew, the priest wasn’t supposed to see you at all during confession, it was anonymous. You must have done something truly terrible that the priest had to see you to absolve your sins. Shame filled you as you exited your booth, followed by the most intense embarrassment you had ever felt in your life when you saw Father Gojo sitting in a pew.

“Father!” You gasped, as you rushed over to him. You didn’t even notice how flustered he looked, nor the darkness in his eyes as he stared at your chest. “I-I’m so-”

“On your knees child.” Gojo said, cutting you off before you could start rambling. You paused for a moment, before obeying. He was a priest after all, he had to know what he was doing. Maybe this was all a part of your penance. Gojo placed a gentle hand on the side of your face, and you instantly melted into it, bringing a smile to the clergy member's face. You really did have an angelic face.

“You’ve committed the sin of pleasure my dear.” Gojo cooed, “And to absolve yourself of that sin, you have to give pleasure.” Oh, so this was a part of your penance! 

It was also complete bullshit, Satoru knew that. But fuck, your lips were so pretty. He wasn’t trying to think of any smooth plausible reason for this to happen, he just wanted to make it happen. “Undo my belt.” He instructed, and you did so with only a slight moment of hesitation. “Atta girl, keep goin’.” He instructed, watching as you unbuttoned his slacks and pulled down his zipper. You paused, looking at the way his cock strained against his boxers. You had barely even kissed a boy, and yet you were about to be face to face with a cock that belonged to your priest. 

“Don’t get shy on me now Angel,” Gojo said, gently tangling his fingers into your hair. “You weren’t shy in the booth. This is what you want, isn’t it?” That was a wonderful question actually. This part never happened in your dreams. And honestly, the thought of putting someone's privates in your mouth was disgusting. But, some dark, gruesome part of you did want this. You wondered what he would look like, what he would taste like. You bit your lip and freed the fathers dick from his underwear, earning yourself an audible moan from him. 

“Atta girl…” Satoru groaned, moving your head to take him in. He grinned as you opened your mouth, and damn near came when you finally put your mouth on him. He wasn’t going to be able to enjoy this for long. He wanted something more than some childish head. Though, it was cute to watch you choke on his cock as you tried to take him all it. In any case, spit made for decent lube. 

He moaned softly, his head falling to the back of the pew as he guided you up and down on his cock. He looked back down at you and fuck. The sight of you looking up at him, tears filling your doe eyes, squishing your legs together to try and quell any arousal as you struggled to take in his cock was far too much for him. You were his ticket to damnation, he knew it. He was going to burn in hell for you.

“You’re so good,” He said as he pulled you off of his cock. He got you off your knees and sat you on his lap. “So good for me.” His words filled your head and turned into arousal. You felt electrified with shame and desire. “Lord forgive me,” You thought as he slipped your panties from under your skirt.“Please, I just can’t stop myself.” 

“Have you ever been touched here?” Satoru asked as he ran a finger up your slit, sending shivers up your spine as you tensed around him. You shook your head no. “Have you ever touched yourself  here?” He asked as you represented the question. The answer was yes, but to little results. When you were a teenager, you were curious, sure. But you never got the Euphoric feeling you had read about, so you stopped. As an adult you hadn’t touched yourself in years. 

“Not often.” You said, giving the father the condensed version. Satoru nodded, taking in all the information you had given him. 

“Do you want me to make you feel good Y/n?” He asked into your neck, his nimble fingers finding your clit and massaging circles into it. You yelped with shock. Your entire lower region had electricity pulsing through it, and you swore you felt your pussy clench. You nodded desperately. Satoru stopped moving.

“Not good enough Angel, I need you to use your words.” He said. He knew he was already putting you in a fucked up situation for his own pleasure, he wasn’t about to make it worse by not being 100% sure you also wanted this. 

“Yes, Father, please, I want you to touch me so bad it hurts!” You whined out for him, needing this more than anything. Satoru hummed his approval as he went back to rubbing your clit with his thumb. His fingers now had a new goal in mind. He probed at your weeping pussy. 

“You’re so wet for me angel..” Satoru hummed into your ear, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a slut.” He whispered to you as he slipped a finger into your aching cunt. Slut. That word sent a flurry of emotions through your chest but the main one being desire. You wanted to be his slut. You wanted him to fill you up, to use and abuse you. You wanted to be Father Gojos fucktoy.

Those were thoughts you’d unpack later. Right now, The father had slipped another finger into you, and you were focused on trying to accommodate the stretch. It felt so good but you wanted so much more.

“Father please, I need more.” You whimpered out, shooting lightning through Gojos head. “I need you, Father, please. F-fuck me.” you were so unsure about saying fuck but you were absolutely possitive you needed a cock in you right at that moment. 

Satoru couldn't believe what he was hearing. A part of him thought he might have died and gone to heaven. But, he knew that probably wasn’t the case. Heaven was sinless and pure. There was nothing pure about you in this moment. You were the embodiment of sin and he wanted nothing more than to drown in you. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely, who am I to say no to my Angel?” He purred as he ripped off your blouse and skirt, leaving you bare and exposed to him. He had to take a moment of pause. You were divine in every sense of the word and he needed to take a moment to drink it all in. He found his new religion and it was you. “Lord forgive me, but lust calls to me,” he thought. 

He lined you up and slowly began to lower you onto his cock. You yelped softly, digging your nails into his shoulders as he stretched you out in ways you had never been before. It burned like hellfire but you were too lost in the pleasure to think about the pain. Somehow though all the discomfort you still felt a euphoria like no other.

Satoru couldn’t take his eyes off from where the two of you were now connected. He watched his cock disappear into your tight, weeping cunt, a droplet of pink blood flowing down as a sign that you were now tied to him forever. It was nothing close to what he could have fantasized of, it was so much better. He knew you’d feel good, but he couldn’t imagine how good. 

“Your pussy is so good for me.” He moaned as he bottomed out, pulling you into a passionate and intense kiss. Your head was filled with cotton, you felt yourself lose touch with everything that wasn't Gojo. Gojo, Gojo, Gojo, Your body craved him in ways you didn’t know possible. This was as close to God as you had ever been in all your years as a devout catholic. Your lower waist exploded as he bucked into you, a string of whimpers and moans leaving your mouth as you clung to him. Every stroke of his thick cock pet your g-spot, making you see stars and hear angels singing. “How could something so sinful feel so right?” Was your last coherent thought as Gojo fucked you into oblivion. 

Gojo was absolutely intoxicated by your warmth. He tried drugs before, but none of them could compare to the way your pussy pulled him in. The way your body molded itself to his, the way your breathing fell in perfect timing with his. He didn’t give a shit anymore if he was going to be damned for eternity, He found heaven already, and it was you. 

You felt a sting start to tightly coil inside of your stomach and your legs stiffen. The sparks in your lower abdomen were becoming full on fireworks. “G-Gojo, I think I’m c-clo-!” You didn’t get to finish that sentence before the string snapped inside of you. Your brain released all of its dopamine and ecstasy reserves into your bloodstream, and your vision went white with pleasure. You felt yourself scream out for God, or Gojo. You weren’t sure exactly which one, but you knew that in that moment there really was no difference to you. 

Satoru wasn’t far behind you at all. The moment your cunt began to constrict around him he knew he was finished. A few more thrusts and he was cumming deep inside you, biting your neck to try and keep his volume down. He for sure left a bruise. You both sat there, him clinging onto you like a drowning man clings to a life preserver, you hanging limply off of him like a used doll, both of you trying to catch your breath. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck FUCK. All at once it hit Satoru what he had just done. Shit. he could feel his soul burning in hell already, everything about this felt dirty. He never should have touched you, he-

And then you sighed softly, and slightly readjusted yourself to be more comfortable in his arms. You were so small compared to him, so delicate. It made his heart swell. Nothing involving you could have been dirty, he decided. It was just the catholic guilt talking. He finally lifted you up and pulled out, chuckling softly at the little whine you let out.

“Come on angel,” He purred, “Let’s get you dressed and get you home.”

[tadpolesonalgae]

cbmthy 5 is so good, you never fail. i'm so happy to see reader fight with eris word for word i just wish she did the same with azriel. if she hit azriel with that "not everyone wants to waste their life being miserable and bitter" he would probably cry lmao. no but he's actually starting to get me mad because he did good in coming to talk to her after the shit show but then i realized he wasn't even going to apologize, it was just to try to know more. are you planning on writing anything from azriel's perspective at all? i just feel like at this point him being so dismissive of her feelings is weird since i feel like in the books azriel is a good listener and he understands other's feelings well (we can tell by how he saw nesta in acosf) so it would make sense that he's not trying to be mean here but just keeps saying the wrong things unintentionally, it would also help him to not come across as irredeemable tbh because right now (and i cant believe im saying this) eris is being better with her than azriel. though i think part of that is that she doesn't like eris like she does azriel so she just doesn't care about what he has to say much.

i think it's also a testament of how azriel jusr doesn't really take notice of her that he thinks she can't comprehend why eris is dangerous or whatever, like he genuinely never paid attention to her to know she's actually smart and since he has shadows and all that to tell him these things, he really just never gave it a thought lol she should slap him like she did eris

i hope we get to see her more with the ic though, like i like the eris thing she has going on and it would be fun to see them more but if the endgame is for her to stay in the night court i hope we get to see her more with them, especially with the last part where she doesn't even like saying they're her family (even if it's partly because of her wanting to sit on azriel's face). i think it would be good to see her ask feyre or even rhys the same question she did eris, or other things she doesn't understand well and i dont know what you're doing with her powers but i wish she'd show them instead of them finding out because i can see how they would feel a little betrayed that eris knows but not them and at some point her not telling them makes it feel like she doesn't trust them and like i said if she's supposed to stay in the night court i hope they're good to her. speaking of powers i can't believe eris' bitchass figured it out and didn't tell her (yes i can, the little asshole) but im so excited to see what they are. she glows like starfall and eris connected the dots when she was talking about the mother 🤔

it's also interesting how you bring up the science being a blasphemy thing into it because i never even thought of it since for us science is the real thing and there's no proof god is real but for them the mother is definitely real so i get that science could rub some people the wrong way. it would be fun to see her with helion since there's so many scholars in day court and it's something she likes but i feel like we're more focused on eris here

Sorry for taking so long to answer this 🫠

I’m completely with on you anticipating the beginning of reader managing to stand up for herself! Also getting to see how Azriel will respond when she starts vocalising her emotions, because at the moment she really doesn’t know how to even start on that when it comes to him 😬😞

Her communication skills really 📉 when Azriel.

With Azriel not really taking notice of her, I suppose it is partly that he was more focused on Elain in the past, but reader definitely has some reclusive tendencies (she really loves her books—though at the expense of social interaction, sometimes😭) that I’m not sure I’ve properly highlighted, so I’ll work on that because it’s an important part :)

Honestly the Az pov is a really good idea, since it would help clarify why he’s acting so strangely in Reader’s pov, so thank you for that!

‘(even if it's partly because of her wanting to sit on azriel's face)’

😭😭😭 no you didn’t—

For real though, she’s a bit confused about her sexuality and the idea of being a woman, give her a moment to figure herself out—human society wasn’t exactly encouraging about women enjoying themselves or having any agency/autonomy 😞

Definitely agree about having more IC content since the most they’ve been in CBMTHY is the bday part where their image was a little conflictive? I think it’s important to show how various misunderstandings have happened over the years, and how strange behaviour kind of slipped by because that’s the only way they’ve known her :/

We’ve already seen in acotar that attitudes toward women differ depending on where you are, so I don’t think it’s unreasonable that in places like the Night and Day Courts that attitudes toward science would be more modern, whereas Autumn’s pretty set in its ways 🍁

[meowmeowmessi]

and they're trying to take away from AlbicelesteTalk's credibility now just because they can't accept it 😭 like frst of all, it's not even their info, they're only reposting from the interview??? second, what did they expect lmao? yk that one cmvnga or whatever acc that's always posting shit about messi despite the 50 diff players in his carrd? they're the ones obsessed like be fr now. if your fave really is the best (lol) then why are you getting so worked up? reeks of insecure imo. i KNOW it's the face card more than anything (which i rly dont see im sorry but to each their own 😭😭) bc how can you genuinely look at both careers even only up to 24 and decide messi isn't better... don't even get started on the actual playing like??? he's not real and no one will ever compare, least of all someone who declined his 'dream club' for psg's bank account and look where that got him 🤥. also about the rent-free thing,,,,, he was asked in an interview and actually spoke pretty well about m*appe (i dont wanna potentially get jumped 😭) and y'all wanna pretend he insulted him or was salty just because he didn't say he's the best?? which he isn't???? again: reeks of insecure.

HE DID SPEAK WELL ABOUT MBAPPE gosh i totally forgot to mention this in my previous response shsjdjsk like of course he brought him up they were literally teammates back in PSG 😭 he literally said mbappe is a good kid why are yall acting like he murdered your dog be serious now 😭

i actually don't know who this cmvnga person is (and judging by what you're telling me maybe that's a good thing lmao i do appreciate retaining my braincells) but yeah i'm going to keep saying what i've always been saying: the recency bias regarding mbappe is insane. like, comparing mbappe to any version of messi is the closest thing you can come to blasphemy in football i think, or even sports in general, but especially if you're comparing him to what messi was like at his age: messi had FOUR ballon d'ors by the time he was 24. FOUR. and he won them back to back to back to back. i don't think people realize just how absolutely ridiculous that is. it's a record that's probably never going to get beaten in the history of football ever.

moreover, after his loss in the 2014 wc final, messi was an absolutely demon at club level- like a man on a mission. meanwhile this is mbappe after the wc:

(the 10 rating was in a match against psg ultras 😭 his own fanboys 😭)

face card aside, i do think another reason people latch onto mbappe is bc there hasn't been a black "it boy" like him in football? (do tell me if i'm wrong, though!) his fanbase has a noticable split (on social media at least) between ronaldo stans who jumped ship after his "fall from grace" (so to speak) and tiktok girlies who take the kpopification of football a bit too far 💀💀

bottom line is- messi's comparison only exists in pelé and maradona, and i think these weird fangirls and media outlets with their agendas aside, most people have actually accepted this fact now. and we can all thank la scaloneta for that. they actually saved football tbqh

[my-my-my]

Do you have some meta hcs on Aizen?

Ugh yes, I love me some meta HCs!

The way Aizen ruled Las Noches would be similar to how he would rule once he became the Soul King. Beings would be given rankings based on their strengths, but it was still equitable (i.e. The Espada were ranked, but they had their own "kingdom" that were fairly equal in size/capacity between each of them).

I think he did this because he hates the concept of the Great Noble Families that reside in Soul Society. I think he's someone who despises nepotism, and the Great Noble Families are living proof that nepotism rules.

Aizen misses teaching. I saw some people remark that maybe "he likes the sound of his own voice", but I disagree. I'm of the opinion he liked imparting knowledge, and he wanted to get more students to critically think about Soul Society. I don't think he met many students in this regard though, because a lot of them fawned over him for superficial reasons.

I'm putting the rest behind a cut because it'll get too long otherwise!

In a way, the way Aizen wanted to speak to Ichigo, and just Aizen's rebelling/criticisms of Soul Society, remind me a lot of Socrates. There was even this whole thing with Socrates and "corrupting the youth" that he was charged with. Shunsui and Urahara didn't want Aizen to speak to Ichigo at the end, and I like to believe it's because they knew Aizen would tell Ichigo about the corruption Soul Society was built upon. Can't have the hero learn that he was working for a morally corrupt institution, can we? 🙃

Going back to the Trial of Socrates and Aizen's own trajectory, there are some similarities:

They both committed "blasphemy" (Socrates didn't believe in the Greek gods, Aizen disregards the Soul King).

They led their "followers"/"students" to question the basis of their society (corruption of the youth). It's good to note that Aizen wasn't totally successful with this, only Tosen and the Espada were followers, Gin was following Aizen for his own revenge.

Both of their trials were held with majority, if not all, male-led jurors (Aizen and Central 46) who decided their sentencing.

Both condemned to death (in Aizen's case, because he's immortal, 20,000 years but that might as well be death...)

Both could have escaped and dodge their punishments, but opted not to. Socrates was given an out, but took his death penalty. Aizen was temporarily exonerated for wartime service, and willingly went back to serve the remainder of his time.

In one of the novels (I think Spirits are Forever with You), Shinji and Momo talk about how Aizen probably wasn't lying to them as much as he wanted them to believe, and I would agree with them. Yeah, Aizen is a master manipulator, but he probably said a lot of "half truths" rather than full-blown lies. It's easier to manipulate someone when there's some semblance of proof to work from.

I'd like to think that at the end of Bleach, Aizen doesn't have the goal to become the Soul King anymore, but he does want change to happen in Soul Society. It's whole existence is based on a lie, and Aizen wants to see its reform. My own headcanon is that once that happens, I think Aizen would want to die - and since the hogyoku is tied to him, it would take away his immortality.

Again, a lot of people see Aizen as a narcissist, but I don't see it. Aizen wanted to be Soul King because he saw everyone else being unable to take a stand. He literally followed the quote "be the change you want to see in the world". He fully acknowledges that Yamamoto is stronger than him, Urahara is smarter than him, but those two refuse to do anything to fix the system. It's why he can acknowledge them, but can't respect them. Why have all that power and not try to change?

Last one lol: I'm of the opinion Aizen likes bullying Hitsugaya lmao. The way Aizen just reads him so easily and doesn't care to fuck around with him. A part of me thinks it stems from jealousy towards Hitsugaya for having people care for him. Another reason is that Aizen doesn't think Hitsugaya is the prodigy everyone else claims he is. Aizen just cuts him down in true "is this your MAN?!" fashion lol

Thanks for this ask!! I hope this is what you wanted in terms of "meta" lol

[cinnamonest]

A lot of people asked for continuation of the idol girl post and I intend to make a full length continuation eventually, but brain had some random modern Albedo and idol girl thoughts:

- Albedo sets up a motion sensing camera in his bedroom to keep an eye on idol girl that she doesn't know about, one day it starts going off like crazy so he "???" and checks the feed on his phone.... Starts grinning like an idiot because she's practicing her old dance routines, bouncing on the bed, jumping off of it onto the floor like those higher levels and lower levels of a stage. Poor thing is that bored. He doesn't mention it because then she'd stop, so he just watches her do it every day from then on.

- modern Albedo being 100000x more insufferable in terms of subtle pretentiousness because in every argument you have he always whips out the "wEll i hAvE a DeGrEE" and thinks it's the ultimate power move (it's not) even if the subject is something completely out of his field

- bastard gets ahold of her high school transcripts so he can know how badly she did in hs (even if she really didn't do badly, he's just "hm, only A/B honor roll, not A honor roll, huh... no wonder you never went to college with that SAT score...") Also finds out the classes she took, internally gets happy if they were easy classes or just not honors or ap so he can further his superiority complex. Also if she leaned heavily towards practical skills classes or home related classes rather than sciences, he internally kinda thinks it's adorable (aw, cooking class? Home ec? Those health classes that make you take care of a fake baby? Good to know you were thinking of a fitting future and not being like all those girls in his PhD program that so foolishly choose to pursue STEM careers, which is clearly an terrible choice since it leaves them *shivers* self sustaining and financially independent...)

- idol girl's disappearance is a popular topic for a few weeks, even reaches mainstream media for people who know nothing about the industry... Someone in his grad student lab is like "yeah did you hear some psycho kidnapped a girl? Well at least he took the worst one lmao" and he has to grip the table to keep himself from getting up and decking the guy in the face, not for insulting him by calling him a psycho but for the absolute blasphemy that is suggesting darling was anything but the absolute top member who carried the whole group. Smh some people have no taste

- Darling trying to subtly have the "hey have u ever considered... Hear me out... That you're crazy and need professional help" conversation but like in nicer words. Nonetheless he just goes on a tangent about how actually, oh you poor, dumb, ignorant little thing, his actions are very normal and good. You see, there's this thing called evolution - wait, you probably don't know what that is... Oh you do? Huh, surprising - and, well, not only was flat out kidnapping girls totally normal among the cavemen and thus a natural human instinct, BUT technically, the fact that he successfully pulled this off and will... Eventually procreate, that technically means he is the fittest for carrying on genes because of his intelligence, therefore, he is basically furthering humanity this way. You look confused, that's ok, he wouldn't expect you to understand something so complicated.

- Darling gets really pouty and bitter at him one day, mad and wanting to do something to get back at him... So she "accidentally" ruins one of the reports he has in a back closet... For an experiment he's been working on for a month. She realizes it might have been a bit too far seeing his eye twitch. Darling becomes very well acquainted with his belt that day. Hasn't even gone near the reports since then.

[archived-kin]

solomon deserves a husband so i'm giving him one (it's you)

note from kin: i don’t know HOW i’ve managed to get this out so soon after my last piece but i do know that it is a miracle (now watch me disappear for like a month lmao)

anyway there’s a severe lack of content for the boys in this fandom and therefore i am here to try to mitigate that!!

(as a heads up, this is sort of an au version of obey me’s story?? there’s no exchange program, and the general human world doesn’t know about the devildom or celestial realm, apart from sorcerers and similar special cases. solomon and simeon both still visit the devildom, though - solomon because he has a sort of job at the r.a.d., and simeon as an ambassador sort of thing for the celestial realm. the r.a.d.’s also less of a school and more of an organisation?? i haven’t really fleshed it out haha)

fandom: obey me!

character(s): male! reader, solomon, mammon (briefly), simeon (briefly)

pairing(s): solomon/reader

warning(s): blasphemy??? solomon disses god really briefly and that’s about it

genre: fluff!!!!!!!!!

As a general rule of thumb, Solomon doesn’t believe in destiny.

He’s lived long enough to know that, no matter what he does, the universe does not care about him, much less have some sort of plan for his future. The course that the world takes isn’t affected by some grand puppet master pulling the strings; one has to force the so-called path of fate in the direction they want it to take if they want something. Solomon knows this better than anyone.

It’s as much a downfall as it is a strength - as much as power as he’s amassed over the countless years, his constant need to challenge the universe’s power has lead him down a path far from humanity. There had been a time when he was like every other human on the Earth, when he was still young, full of hope and determination and promise, believing earnestly in some God high in the sky who would guide him through his life.

He shudders to think what sort of insufferable fool he’d been back then. An almighty God? Don’t make him laugh. The ruler of the Celestial Realm is incompetent at best, and a downright childish brat at worst. He doesn’t know how the angels put up with him - though he supposes his realm-smiting power is part of it. Why the universe chose to place such power on such a being’s shoulders will always be beyond him.

Long as it has been since he had been so naive, Solomon has learnt his lesson, to say the least. He’s seen people come and go, witnessed kings and queens reign and fall, watched on as friends and family live and die. It’s a truth that he’s been forced to learn across the years of his long, long life, a curse that he brought upon himself the moment he gave up the purity of his soul in pursuit of magical arts. 

He supposes he’s always had an insatiable thirst for the unknown - to play all his cards out front, to tempt fate’s hand, to jump into the void and hope to find ground beneath his feet when he lands. It’s that sort of reckless abandon and hunt for knowledge that has led him so far down this path, through so many years, across so many sleepless nights. The world continues to swirl around him, always changing, but Solomon refuses to be swept away. Because, even in the tumultuous movement of the universe, there has always been one constant that keeps him anchored - you.

The night he'd first met you isn’t as clear in his mind as he would have liked. He wants to be able to remember everything - the way the soft blue light of the will-o’-whisps had lit up your eyes in the dark of the night, the way that your hand had felt in his as you greeted him with a handshake, the way that you had said his name for the first time - in sharp detail, but Solomon knows better than to hope to recall something so long ago so perfectly.

He’d still been relatively new to a sorcerer’s life at the time - excited and determined and a little too full of himself. You… well, he doesn’t remember exactly, but he does remember thinking that you must be the most handsome being to exist. The you of today would probably shake your head and dismiss the past you as an obnoxious high hoper, but Solomon has loved you for so many years that he’s never been able to think of you as anything less than perfect.

There are times when he wondered how he managed to stumble upon such luck. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Solomon has has had truly insufferable periods over the years he’s known you, and he’s always considered it a miracle that you still chose to stay. Even through all the restless nights and the exhausting trips, even after all of the clashes and vexation, you have refused to give up on him.

He had asked you once, in the aftermath of an argument spurred by his inability to confide in you and your own frustration with his refusal to communicate. He remembers that night so vividly that it might well have happened just yesterday - the frustrated shouts, the shattering of glass, the warmth of your arms around his shoulders as he finally collapsed on himself. He doesn’t know what your face had looked like as he stuttered the question out in stuttering breaths, head buried in your shoulder in an effort to conceal his tears, but he imagines that it had been soft.

“I’m not going to leave you to yourself,” You had told him matter-of-factly, stroking his hair with such fondness  that it still sometimes brings a tear to his eye when he remembers it on particularly long nights. “And I’m not giving up on you, either - not now, not ever.”

Solomon had been unable to speak, too choked up by his feelings and the sudden, overwhelming love spreading through his entire body to reply. He’d only sunk deeper into your embrace, wishing that the moment could last forever.

I wonder if he still remembers that…?

“...lomon! Anyone home?!”

He jolts up from the table he’s sitting at so abruptly that he nearly knocks his head right into Mammon’s chin. The Avater of Greed, however, reacts quickly, and hops back before Solomon can break his jawbone.

“Jeez, you’re off on a different planet today,” He comments, setting his hands on his hips as Solomon shoots him the sort of look that tells him that he’s not particularly enthused about his presence at the moment. “What’s up with ya?”

Solomon isn’t quite sure how to answer. Sorry, I got distracted thinking about how perfect and lovely my husband is and how I’m the luckiest man in the entire world - nay, the universe - to have him. He nearly physically shudders at the thought of how much teasing he’d receive if he answered like that.

Instead, he chooses a much safer and still technically true option. “Just thinking about going home today.”

Mammon nods in understanding, pulling up a seat next to him and throwing himself down into it without much grace. “I feel ya. S’ been a long day.”

“You’ve barely done anything today,” Solomon quips flatly, not particularly impressed by the demon’s attempt at… empathy? Relatability? Either way, it isn’t working. “I doubt it’s been that hard.”

“Now, now, Solomon, let’s not be rude,” interjects a soft voice from behind them. Simeon is still dressed in his fancy envoy cloak - the one so long and heavy that it trails along behind him like a bridal train, decorated with a number of elaborate golden charms that jingle as he moves.

Solomon attempts to shoot him a slightly annoyed look, but it’s kind of hard to stay irritated by one of the literal embodiments of holiness and light, even if he wakes you up at very unholy hours of the morning to help him figure out how to answer an email. Solomon isn’t ungrateful for the new age of technology descending on humanity, but he’d like it a lot better if it hadn’t somehow reached the angels as well. The amount of times he’s had to tell Simeon that he needs to actually turn his D.D.D. on before he starts calling someone is… embarrassing, to say the least.

“You’re back in the Devildom, I see,” He observes as the angel pulls up a seat and sits beside him. “Did Michael send you down again?”

Simeon nods with a smile. “There were some arrangements that needed to be made with Lord Diavolo. Naturally, I volunteered.”

“Naturally,” Solomon echoes, raising a brow at his friend. “I don’t suppose your biases had anything to do with your decision?”

“Well, they may have had some effect,” Simeon answers with a shameless smile and shrug, beginning to undo the tassels of his heavy cloak and draping it on the back of chair he’s sitting on. He’s still wearing all of his regular clothes underneath it - including the other, much smaller cloak. Solomon wonders how he hasn’t somehow melted in the heat.

“When’re you gonna start heading home, anyway?” Mammon asks, beginning to pick at a loose thread on his jacket sleeve. “It’s gettin’ late.”

Solomon blinks and looks up at the clock. “...ah, you’re right. In that case, I'll get going now.”

Mammon shoots him an odd look as he pushes himself up from the table and reaches for his bag, managing to hoist it onto his shoulder with some effort. He’s never been particularly good at heavy lifting - you’re usually the one helping him carry everything around the house.

“Oi, oi, what’s the rush?” the demon asks as Solomon adjusts the weight of his bag and starts heading for the door. “You on a timer or something?”

“I promised [Name] I’d be home earlier tonight,” is Solomon’s slightly absent-minded reply as he fiddles about in his pocket to find his transportation charm, nearly losing his balance and dropping his bag in the process. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Mammon watches him in clear confusion for a moment as he pats down his pockets, mumbling a quiet curse under his breath as he realises that he’s left his charm at home again. How many times this month does that make it now...? He supposes that he could always perform a teleportation spell, but knowing his luck with those, he’ll probably end up somewhere in Morocco again.

“Oi, Simeon,” Mammon hisses to the angel, who cocks his head slightly to the side and leans over so as to hear him more clearly. “Who’s this ‘[Name]’ Solomon’s talkin’ about?”

“You don’t know?” Simeon blinks at him in blatant perplexion - as if he can’t even fathom the idea that Mammon might not know who Solomon’s talking about. “He’s talking about his husband.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then—

“Solomon has a HUSBAND!?” Mammon practically shrieks, completely flabbergasted. “I thought he was totally, like, the forever alone type!”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed?” is Simeon’s bewildered response. “Who do you think Solomon is always talking about buying groceries for?”

“I thought he was just buyin’ them for himself!” Mammon fires back, looking far more ruffled and shocked than he probably should be. He whips around to look at Solomon, who’s flicking through the little packet of blank charms he keeps on him at all times in an effort to find the right one to create a temporary transportation charm. He’s had to do it so many times this month that he’s already beginning to run out. “You’re married?!”

“Of course,” Solomon answers vaguely, briefly raising his left hand, allowing Mammon to spot the soft glint of a ring around his fourth finger. “You’re not?”

“Wh— ‘course I’m not!” Mammon exclaims, positively scandalised by the very concept. “Why would I get married, huh?! It’s a waste of time and a waste of money!”

“Think whatever you like,” Solomon dismisses him easily, which only seems to irritate Mammon further.

Finally having found the right blank charm, he plucks it out and begins carefully tracing patterns onto it with a single glowing finger. He’s dimly aware of Mammon furiously whispering to Simeon in the background, with the angel responding in kind, most likely sharing some exaggerated story from back when the three of you had worked together - when Solomon had accepted a job from the Celestial Realm. The details of the whole thing are a little fuzzy to him now, long as it has been, but he’s almost completely sure that Simeon somehow still remembers the whole thing flawlessly.

“How old even is he?!” He hears Mammon hiss.

“I’m not so sure myself,” Simeon replies, placing his chin in a thoughtful hand. “Let’s see… their two millennial anniversary’s coming up in about two years, and I remember Solomon saying that they got married when he was around two hundred or so… which means he’s about twenty-one hundred years old.”

“Holy shit,” Mammon mutters in disbelief, turning glance at the sorcerer as he starts folding down the corners of his charm into the right shape. “Humans aren’t supposed to live that long. How’s his husband still alive, then?”

“That isn’t really a question for me to answer,” Simeon shakes his head slightly. “I suppose you can always ask him yourself if Solomon ever brings him to work with him.”

“I doubt it,” Solomon speaks up for the first time since announcing his departure. “He’s usually busy during the day. Besides, transportation charms make him queasy, and I’m not making him walk all the way down here.”

“Aren’t you a wizard?” Mammon asks, scratching his head. “Just do one of ya fancy teleportation spells. Why d’you need a charm?”

Solomon sighs. He hates to admit it, but he can’t be bothered to make up some other reason to cover up for himself. “I’m afraid that teleportation spells aren’t actually particularly accurate. We could end up somewhere in the Pacific if I’m not careful.”

Mammon looks thunderstruck. “Then what about all those times you’ve teleported us?! Don’t tell me we coulda ended up in, like, the Archaic Pit or something?!”

“Well, it was always a possibility,” Solomon shrugs in reply, finishing the charm with a deft flick of his hand. “You’re a demon, I sure you could have handled yourself.”

“But…!” Mammon crosses his arms and turns away like a grumpy child. “Hmph…”

“Do say hello to [Name] for me, will you?” Simeon requests as Solomon turns to open the door, ignoring the sulking demon sitting beside him. “We haven’t been able to talk for a while.”

“You text him every day, don’t you?” Solomon asks, shooting him an unimpressed look. “I’d say that’s conversation enough.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to be stingy,” Simeon countered with a smile, tilting his head slightly to the side and leaning forward. “Besides, one misses the presence of an actual person after a while of nothing but electronic communication... especially texting is so difficult. Tell him he’s always welcome to come around for some tea - Luke would be happy to see him.”

Solomon shakes his head, but makes a sound of affirmation nevertheless. You had mentioned that you’ve missed seeing Simeon since he’d started the whole negotiator businesss, and he isn’t the sort of person to deny you the company of a friend. “I’ll let him know. Anyway, I should really be going now…”

“Have a safe journey!” Simeon calls after him as he swings the door open and sweeps out. Solomon waves a hand over his shoulder in response, then disappears down the corridor, most likely to a quiet spot in the courtyard to use his charm. He’s been banned from using them indoors ever since he accidentally shattered one of the fancy artifacts in the assembly hall and sent hundreds of shards flying everywhere. Apparently Barbatos is still finding tiny pieces of glass in the crevices of the floor.

“Why didn’t Solomon ever say anythin’?” Mammon asks Simeon after a moment of quietude. “Seems like the sorta thing you’d mention.”

“Solomon’s a private man,” Simeon says with a shrug. “Besides, he and [Name] have made plenty of enemies over the years, and you’d be shocked by how quickly names and locations can spread…”

“Does he mind us knowin’ about it, then?”

“Well, personally, I’ve known for a while,” Simeon answers, “And I’m sure the others will have worked it out by now - Solomon’s always finding ways to mention [Name] in passing. But no, I’m sure he doesn’t mind. He’d say something if he did.”

Mammon nods and goes silent for a little while. Then he asks, “What’s this [Name] like, then? Must be some guy if Solomon liked him enough to put a ring on him and keep him for that long.”

“Well, let’s see…” Simeon drums his fingers thoughtfully against the tabletop. “He has quite the penchant for raising deadly plants, he hasn’t gone more than a full month without exploding something or another for about five centuries, he takes clocks apart in his spare time, he likes his coffee with a touch of vanilla, he collects cursed books, he makes a lovely butterscotch-cinnamon pie, and he works as a curse breaker for hire.”

It takes a moment for Mammon to process all of the information that’s just been dumped on him. “...sounds like the kinda guy Satan would get along with.”

“I thought so as well,” Simeon agrees. “Their house even reminds me of Satan’s room, in a way… [Name] is quite the avid reader.”

“What, you’ve been?”

“Only once,” Simeon’s eyes flutter closed for a moment as he reminisces. “Quite a long time ago now. I wouldn’t know where to find it even if I wanted to go again, though - it’s always moving.”

“Do they move house a lot, then?”

Simeon shakes his head. “Oh, no, no. They’ve lived in the same house for centuries - it’s the house that moves itself.”

Mammon pauses. “...what?”

“The building,” Simeon clarifies. “They’ve got an enchantment on the whole thing that makes it change locations every couple of weeks or so.”

“But… why?”

Simeon shrugs. “[Name] doesn’t like staying in one place for too long.”

“Still, isn’t that a bit much…?” Mammon pulls a face. “They could always just travel, ya know…”

“As Solomon said, transportation talismans make [Name] feel queasy,” Simeon explains. “And he prefers not to use teleportation spells when it comes to him, just in case they end up somewhere dangerous.”

“And he doesn’t care about the rest of us ending up somewhere dangerous?” Mammon huffs and collapses forwards onto the table.

“Well, you can’t really compare the two,” Simeon says patiently as the demon continues to mutter indignantly under his breath. “He’s his husband, and we’re essentially just his friends from work.”

Mammon opens his mouth to make a rebuttal, then thinks about it for a moment and changes his mind. After a moment, he comments, a little less resentfully, “Well, you’d think he’d at least introduce us.”

“He’s been planning to for a while, actually,” Simeon tells him. “Give him some time and he’ll probably bring it up on his own.”

Mammon nods. “He’d better!”

“I’m home.”

You look up from the book you’re reading and hop down from your seat on the roof just in time to see Solomon emerge from the back garden, looking noticeably dishevelled, with leaves decorating his head like some sort of fancy accessory.

“Welcome back!” You greet him happily, setting the book aside and moving forward to start picking the leaves from his hair. Solomon smiles softly at you as you take his bag in one hand and start pulling him to the front door with the other. “You forgot your talisman again, by the way.”

“I noticed,” He laughs, gently removing your hand from his upper arm and wrapping his fingers around it instead. “Why else do you think I ended up in the hedges again?”

“It’s a wonder that you’ve had to make these temporary talismans so many times and you still haven’t gotten one right yet,” You tease in reply, nudging him in the shoulder. “How many points is that on the tally now, then?”

“Ten for the basement, seven for the roof, and eleven for the hedges now,” He answers with a small pout as you laugh. “Honestly, you’d think I would have learnt my lesson...”

“You never do, love.” 

The door creaks as you and your husband enter the house, only to immediately be greeted by a bundle of scales hitting you head-on. You manage to keep your footing and steady yourself on the doorway; Solomon isn’t so lucky, and ends up laying spread-eagled on the floor with about two hundred kilograms of excited adolescent dragon purring on his chest.

“Looks like Triton missed you,” You comment with a bright smile, setting Solomon’s bag down beside the umbrella rack and leaning over to give the dragon a scratch behind his left horn, just the way he likes it. He rumbles happily and jingles the little bell around his neck at you. “Isn’t he getting big?”

“I saw him this morning, [Name],” Solomon wheezes from his position on the floor, somehow managing to reach up and tickle Triton’s chin with one hand despite the dragon’s weight. “He can’t have grown that much in ten hours.”

“You never know!” You tell him, reaching up and wrapping your arms around Triton’s neck. He coos in a delighted fashion and raises his head, setting it heavily on your shoulder. Solomon uses the brief lightening of the weight on him to take in a deep breath as you allow your dragon to nuzzle furiously into your neck. “Dragons are unpredictable, you know.”

“Believe me, I do,” He sighs tiredly as Triton blows out a pleased puff of hot air and knocks the clock off the wall again. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, Triton, I’d quite like to get back up again.”

The dragon blinks and raises his head from your shoulder, glancing down at the sorcerer that he’s crushing under his weight. Then he huffs and turns away again.

“Oh, you—!” Solomon curses as the dragon seems to press even harder into him. Your laughter rings out across the hall, and while he’d normally take a moment to admire the sound, he’s a little preoccupied. “[Name], stop laughing and help me!”

“He’s like a rebellious teenager!” You splutter helplessly in reply, voice still trembling slightly out of mirth. Triton makes a happy noise as you reach up and rub his scaly cheeks, his ears fluttering slightly. “Awww, you’re really growing up, aren’t you, baby? Your poor dads are really going to have their work cut out for them, huh?”

“Hey,” Solomon calls reproachfully from beneath Triton’s enormous chest. “Your husband’s still being crushed down here.”

“Oh, right!” You click your tongue and give Triton a meaningful look. He grumbles but obeys nevertheless, hopping off of Solomon (though not without knocking all the air out of him by using his chest as a launchpad) and scampering off, most likely to go play with the salamanders that have set up shop in the storage room again.

“I’ll never understand how you manage him so well,” Solomon sighs as you bend down to pull him to his feet, rubbing at the sore spot on his chest. “He never listens to me.”

“Aw, he loves you, really,” You reassure him, taking his hand and pressing a comforting kiss to his knuckles. “He just likes roughhousing with you.”

Solomon shakes his head, wanting to complain further about the big lizard that the two of you had adopted six months ago after the last one grew up and flew the nest, but then he sees the smile on your face, and he feels the flicker of irritation in his chest die down almost immediately. It’s at times like this that he’s really reminded of how absolutely worth it all of the nonsense he has to put up with at work is - because, at the end of the day, you are here, with your warm eyes and your lovely smile, with your comforting hands and your warm embrace, and there is no road too long to walk if you are waiting for him at the end of it.

“I know,” He sighs, tugging off his shoes and stepping into his favourite pair of slippers - the ones with the little cat faces printed on them that you’ve charmed to always maintain a perfect temperature for his feet. He glances at your own feet and notes that you’re wearing your matching pair as well.

The two of you have long since set up a routine for this sort of occasion, and you both fall into it with unconscious ease. Solomon changes into something more comfortable while you put the kettle on in the kitchen, and the two of you inevitably spend so long snuggled up together on the largest armchair in the living room, unwilling to leave the warmth of each other’s presence, that the water cools down, and you end up having to put it back on again. Then you sit together at the table, you with a coffee with a dash of vanilla and him with his favourite chrysanthemum tea that you always brew just the way he likes it. Sometimes you’ll sit side by side, shoulders pressed up against each other as you show him the specifics of your latest curse-breaking commission, and sometimes you’ll sit across from each other, holding hands across the tabletop as he tells you about his day.

Today it is the former, but Solomon can’t help but zone a little out of the detailed deep-dive you’re giving him about the intricacies of the spell that’s cursed this teapot to shoot its contents at anyone who attempts to fill it. It isn’t that your explanation is boring - quite the contrary, in fact; Solomon could probably listen to you describing the most mundane or trivial of things on loop for the rest of his life and be perfectly content with it. No, it’s more to do with the fact that this is the first time he’s been home before dark in a long while, and he can’t help but revel in the fact that he can spend time with you like this again. Of course, there’s something wonderful in coming home to be able to collapse into bed beside you and bury his face in the crook of your neck, drifting to sleep as you burrow closer to him even in your sleep, but Solomon can’t run off of that forever - he needs to see you with your eyes open as well, after all. 

“You’re not listening to a word I say, are you?” You ask as you note the far-off look on your husband’s face. You’re not offended in the slightest by the way he starts at the directed question, evidently guilty, but you are a little puzzled. “Is there something wrong?”

Solomon’s mouth falls open slightly, then shuts again. There’s something about the way you’re looking at him so earnestly that makes his heart stutter like nothing else. Honestly, you’d think he’d be used to this after nearly two thousand years, but it seems that he’s still as weak for you as he was on the very first day of your marriage. “...I suppose I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“You always have a lot on your mind,” You counter softly, giving his hand a brief squeeze. “Come on, you can tell me.”

He laughs quietly, bringing your linked hands up to his face and gently holding yours to the side of his face; you, in turn, unfurl your fingers from around his and rub his cheek affectionately. After a moment, a fond smile pulling at his lips, Solomon replies, “I’ve… missed you a lot this week.”

You pause in mild surprise, but it quickly turns to endearment as Solomon presses his body even closer to yours. The hand that you’re using to hold your mug of coffee moves to settle on his shoulder as you pull him closer. “Really now? What a coincidence. I’ve missed you lots as well, love.”

He chuckles a little bashfully, his cheeks flushing. It seems that your ability to fluster him hasn’t declined even a bit over the years. He’s still well and truly besotted.

You can’t help but find it rather amusing that, despite already having spent a good hour and a half or so in the living room, bundled so close together in the blankets that you could feel his breath on your skin, the two of you are still nestling so close together now. You suppose it’s the effects of a week with much less contact than usual.

You lean forward and press a kiss to his jaw before pulling back again, reaching for your coffee and taking a sip. Solomon exhales softly, pulling his own drink towards him and draining the last of the tea in a single mouthful.

“You know,” He says, setting his empty cup down on the table. “One of my coworkers was asking about you earlier.”

“‘Coworkers’,” You snort at his choice of language, earning a reproachful poke in the side as punishment. “Come on, just admit that they’re your friends.”

“Fine,” He sighs. “One of my friends, then - Mammon, the one that Lucifer’s stringing up all the time.”

“The one with white hair?” You recall, thinking back to the group photo that Simeon had sent you a while back. “He’s the Avatar of Greed, right?”

“That’s the one,” Solomon nods. “Apparently he never noticed that I was married.”

“Well, you can’t really blame him,” You say, giving him a playful nudge. “Honestly, the way you keep your mouth shut, you’d think I was some shameful secret or something.”

Solomon looks scandalised by the very idea - it had only been a little joke, but his eyes flash with such affront that it’s almost as if someone has genuinely called you such a thing. “Of course not! I’d never—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I was joking,” You cut him off before he can get more riled up. Solomon calms down quickly once you set a comforting hand on his knee, though he still looks a little indignant. “I know why you don’t like talking about us much, but really, it’s okay. They’re your friends, aren't they?”

He hesitates, then nods, releasing another deep sigh soon afterwards. “I suppose. There isn’t much I can really do about it at this point anyway… according to Simeon, most of them have somehow figured it out already.”

“They’re probably a lot smarter than you give them credit for, Sol,” You hum, reaching up and brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes for him. “They’re demons, after all. They’ve lived even longer than us.”

“Believe me, they really aren’t.” Solomon shakes his head, a frown pinching at his brow at the very memory of the amount of things that his coworkers have done recently - some of the most notable being Diavolo setting an entire flock of geese free in the courtyard for an ‘experiment’, Levi quite literally throwing himself out of a window just to win a bet against Mammon about who could get down the stairs faster, Asmo causing a stampede in the main hall by dropping and shattering a bottle full of a powerful aphrodisiac potion that became even more powerful once released into the air, and Lucifer accidentally breaking one of Solomon’s favourite cauldrons when he’d transformed into his demon form and inadvertently smacked halfway across the room it with one of his upper wings.

“I’d really love to meet them some day,” You sigh, swirling the contents of your mug around. “They sound like fun.”

“Trust me, the trouble isn’t worth it—” Solomon attempts to reason with you, but he gives up laughably quickly as you pout at him in protest. “Oh, fine. But don’t blame me if you get sick because of the charm again.”

“We don’t have to use the charm,” You shake your head. “Just do a teleportation spell!”

“You know that that’s risky,” Solomon sighs, chucking you under the chin and leaning forward to kiss the tip of your nose. You laugh as he draws back again, a pleased smile rising on his face at your reaction. “We could end up anywhere.”

“You’ve teleported them a bunch of times, though, haven’t you? And you haven’t ended up in Texas or the Sahara Desert any of those times!”

The resemblance to his earlier conversation with Mammon and Simeon is almost uncanny. “That’s different. I was still teleporting them within the Devildom, not across an entire realm barrier… and besides, I can afford the risk with them. You’re a different story.”

You pout again, shoulders dropping in defeat, though it doesn’t escape Solomon’s notice that his sentiment seems to have appeased you at least a little. “...guess we’ll just have to use a transportation talisman, huh…?”

“That’s your only option if you really want to visit, yes.”

You go quiet for a moment or two, nose wrinkling and face scrunching as you think it over. Solomon doesn’t mind the lack of conversation - he entertains himself by studying your features, wondering for perhaps the millionth time how he managed to find someone like you.

Finally, a determined look rising on your face, you nod and proclaim, “Then I’ll do it!”

Solomon cocks his head slightly to the side. He can’t say he’s surprised by your eagerness, but he had expected it to take you longer to make up your mind. He opens his mouth to say something, but tou answer his question before he’s even asked it, a skill that you’d managed to pick up within the first year or so of knowing him.

“I really wanna see what you actually get up to when you work,” You explain, looking a little sheepish. “You’ve had a job there for nearly two years and I’ve never even said a word to the people you work with.”

Solomon laughs. “It isn’t usually a requirement in the workplace. Wear appropriate uniform, bring any equipment you need, introduce your husband to your coworkers within the decade…”

“Still, I’d feel bad if I didn’t at least meet them,” You say. “Besides, I want to see Simeon as well. You said he’s working down in the Devildom for a bit as well, didn’t you?”

“Why are you so eager to see him, huh?” Solomon’s tone is light and teasing, so you know not to take him seriously as he puts on an hurt expression. “I’m offended. Your dear husband’s right here and you’re thinking about some angel.”

“Oh, stop it, you,” You shake your head in slightly exasperated amusement as he runs a finger down his cheek in lieu of a tear. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” He pulls an exaggeratedly petulant face and pretends to turn away like an upset child. “Sometimes I feel like you love him more than me.”

“Simeon’s a lovely guy, but you’re still the only guy for me, you doof,” You tell him, tapping fondly at the cheek he’s turned to you with your free hand. Solomon obligingly turns back around to look at you, a grin pulling at his mouth. “Why would I marry you and then stay here for two thousand years if you weren't?”

“I guess I always assumed it was out of pity or something,” He jokes in response, leaning forward and briefly brushing his nose against yours. “And, just so you know, you’re the only guy for me as well.”

“I’d better be,” is your lighthearted reply as he pulls away. After a moment, looking at him expectantly, you begin tentatively, “So…?”

He sighs, but gives you a smile nevertheless. “I’ll ask Diavolo. He probably wouldn’t mind if I brought you without asking first, but Lucifer definitely would.”

“What’ll we do if they hate me?” You ask. “Do demons actually eat humans?”

“They wouldn’t dare,” He replies firmly. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Besides, they won’t hate you. I doubt anyone could.”

You laugh and drop your head to rest on his chest. “You’re too nice to me, love.”

Solomon turns to wrap both his arms around your shoulders, setting his chin on the crown of your head. You smile into his jumper, looping your own arms around his waist and pushing yourself closer to him.

“I’m not just being nice. Honestly, [Name], you’re kind of the most perfect man in the universe.”

[cryinginthebackseat]

initials t.c.

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x MC

Words: 7.299 (I’M SO SORRY)

Summary: Tobias Carrick makes Claire an offer she can’t refuse.

Warnings: 50% plot, 50% smut, swear-a-thon, blasphemy

Author’s Note: when the book first introduced us to tobias carrick, the first thing that hit my mind was “okay, but that dude is like the carbon copy of jesse williams and that’s hot” but then, once it reveals who he is and what’s his role in the book i went “interestinggggggg” cause you know, i’m a sucker for morally grey characters and all, and i’m not even ashamed to admit it. also, carrick is shaping up to be such an interesting character with each chapter and maybe one day- okay, maybe this sounds like a pipe dream- but one day, i hope he can be a li (let a girl dream plz) lmao

also if anyone’s interested, i made a PLAYLIST to accompany reading the fic.

the title is inspired by serge gainsbourg’s initials bb

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Cast down off heaven Cast down on my knees I’ve lain with the devil Cursed god above Forsaken heaven

To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey

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Whenever Claire thinks about Tobias Carrick, admittedly, unfortunately, tragically, she always thinks about his eyes first before remembering what a colossal pain in the ass he is.

It always comes in that order. Like the number 3 always comes before 4, like the seawater dragging back from the shoreline before a tsunami occurs, like pouring milk before the cereal (she honestly didn’t get what the fuss is about until one day Elijah cried ‘oh, hell no you don’t, satan!‘ one morning and proceeded to give her bullet points why pouring the milk before the cereal is considered a sin and more of an abomination than Nephilims’ existence and that there’s a higher probability that she’s a psycho for being a ‘milk first’ kind of person). So apparently, Claire’s a psycho now which explains so many aspects- but she digresses and the point is, the reaction is uncontrollable and she high-key hates how she can’t control her goddamn mind most of the time.

The point is, she needs to stop thinking about him to begin with. 

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Claire Castelnuovo was born in the summer, under the sign of Gemini. Marilyn Monroe once said that stands for intellect, being a Gemini, but she was too blissfully unaware of this guerdon that she devoted her adolescent years to being outdoors instead. Too many days she spent trampling along the cornfields with her cousins until the skies faded out with brilliant purple-tinged amber and she was carrying a piece of the sun in her skin and smelled like one, stuffing wildflowers inside her boots as she walked around the neighborhood with her dad’s old stethoscope, napping in a hammock with Oasis’ All Around the World on repeat. By the time she hit 15, her black strands had turned brown from repeated sun exposure. She loved it.

But it was a different time, a different place. Somewhere that only exists on the margins of her memories, lost and hidden.

Now, Claire prefers the night.

It’s 9:30 pm when she arrives at a hotel bar in downtown Boston. A newly christened establishment which has somehow become a regular spot for Hemingway’s enthusiasts once the Boston Globe wrote an article about their Hemingway Daiquiri and how, as they wrote it, ‘probably the only place that’s brave and crazy enough to adhere to the 1930s original recipe’ and bourgeois party birds at wee hours during the weekend.

Her eyes are gritty, dry and strange. Her mind’s much worse for the wear- she feels like shit, like in the middle of watching that scene from The Green Mile shit when all is hopeless and you feel like walking out of the theater, but you’ve spent your last savings just to buy the ticket, so you decide to stick through it.

Claire makes a beeline for the bar, tries to flag down the bartender. She orders an Old Fashioned, making sure to specify to double it because she’s not a regular here and he’s not Reggie and that’s how she’s been taking her drink for years.

She knows well deep in her bones that she should be somewhere else. Somewhere more familiar, somewhere where Tim Mcgraw often plays from the subpar speakers, and the rustic wooden bar countertop is gouging and discoloring from the cheap household cleaners and alcohol stains, and her friends are cramming together in the same booth in the back, reveling and laughing until they close the bar down and make a mess all over. Perhaps it’s a mistake coming here, where no one’s a familiar face and the drinks are a tad overpriced for her budget.

But then, perhaps this is exactly what she needs; the unfamiliarity, the visceral feeling knowing that she doesn’t belong here, where no one knows her name and the huge deal of weight she’s currently carrying on her shoulders. Perhaps, she can’t face her friends after what happened, after what Esme has done. Shit, how could any of this happen? Claire knows this all on Esme’s, but her guilt has grown hopelessly tangled with her anxiety. She’s her intern, for fuck’s sake, Claire’s supposed to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Man, where’s Declan Nash when she feels like punching someone in the face?

Claire makes the mistake of drinking her drink too quickly, because it hasn’t been ten minutes and she’s drained half of the content. Then she reaches for her phone in her bag, fiddles with it, absent-minded, equal parts bored before then settles on watching the band performing Art Pepper’s You Go To My Head and immediately thinks of that time she accidentally dropped her brother’s saxophone in a moment of her rather graceless, wine-soaked self with the whole family present.

Someone plops down on the empty stool next to her. Claire’s now scrolling through her phone- again, bored. Sienna commented on the post Elijah shared to the group chat with a few unnecessary-yet-totally-necessary emojis to the already convoluted series of texts and Claire only reads them in silence, not only because her friends’ texting behaviors are too chaotic for her to follow sometimes but she’s not really feeling like talking to anyone right now.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Famous last words.

Claire freezes in her seat. Her phone’s still glowing in her hand, alighting her features. She recognizes that voice- too well, that is and it’s enough to set off her flight-or-fight response.

She glances up from her phone, preparing for the worst.

Well, what’s presented before her is literally the worst.

“Of all the gin joints…” she says once her eyes find Tobias Carrick sitting next to her, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled-up, a few buttons undone, reeking of smoke, soap and antiseptic with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

She should have gone to Donahue’s instead.

“Evening to you too, Castelnuovo. Drinking your dinner tonight, I see?”

“What, this? No, this is breakfast. 100% daily value of alcohol and pretty much nothing else. I mean, it’s not the weekend without a bad case of hangover and an aspirin snowglobe in the morning, am I right? You know, like a glass of aspirin? Not a literal snowglobe?” she blabbers, realizing just so by the time she hears him snort. Claire chokes down another sip to shut her mouth up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m about to commit first-degree murder and burn this whole place to the ground,” he drawls, the ever goddamn sarcastic. “What do you think? I’m trying to get dru-”

“No, I mean what are you doing here, of all places? Can’t you get drunk somewhere else?” she interrupts, her midwest accent does funny things to the vowels and consonants- something that only happens whenever she’s in distress, or at least according to Jackie.

“Last time I heard, this joint’s still owned by the Hilton, not a certain junior member of the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook hospital.”

“Dude, what do you think of the H in Claire H. Castelnuovo stands for?” Deadpan, trying to keep up with the rolling sarcasm, she retorts. He smirks.

“Horatio?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she mutters, mid-eye-roll, mid-snickering.

He chuckles, his voice rich and smoky amidst the late-night swing and distant chatters. Carrick doesn’t leave, of course, typically him- if those anecdotes Ethan told her has taught her anything about his character, that is- defying everything, scheming his way to the top, the embodiment of ‘those devilish boys with their heavenly eyes’ type your mother warns you about.

Not that the latter is relevant.

“Or what?” His mouth twitches but there’s a hard, challenging light in his eyes that she knows too well by now.

“Or I’m leaving.“ She shoots him a glare. He’s testing her patience- again, like it’s his finesse. Some things never change, it seems.

“Come on, Castelnuovo, don’t be a sourpuss. The night is young and I can promise you, the last thing I am is a horrible drinking buddy.”

With a touch of irony, she replies: “I’m sure. I bet you asked your friends to fill out a questionnaire every time you went out with them, did you?”

Carrick hums.

“You’re funny.” But he says it in the same tone that someone might say Jesus fuck, you’re probably one of the most frustrating creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also, because the next thing he says is: “A little rough around the edges, but funny nonetheless.”

“That makes one of us then.”

Carrick frowns, which is kind of a surprise because she’s half expected him to flash her that signature cheeky grin of his.

“Listen, I’m just trying to make a friendly conversation here. I know we haven’t really seen eye-to-eye with each othe-”

Claire snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “That, doctor, is an understatement of the fucking century.”

“Okay so, we’re like Tom and Jerry but sans the background music and a naive little duckling running around calling one of us his momma, but I feel like now’s the time to call out a temporary truce between us.” A beat, then: “I heard about what happened with the intern.”

Something flashes across her face- and Carrick must have noticed it, because his face does this odd thing- it softens, even for a moment. She hates it. He’s not supposed to be looking at her like that, not supposed to see her at her weakest state or saved her ass- And Jesus, why does she have to be indebted to Tobias Carrick, of all people- But god forbid, the last thing she’ll ever do is crying in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, barely audible, trying to temper her fluctuated emotions.

“Then don’t. We can talk about anything else or fall into some sort of endless, meaningless platitudes. Whichever will work.” As if sensing Claire’s lingering hesitation, he adds. “Tell you what, to sweeten the offer, your next drinks are on me.”

She assesses him for a long minute, eyes narrowing. She’s shaking her head, but her mouth, as if against her will, instead says: “Careful, Carrick, there’s a chance I’ll be abusing that offer and run you dry.”

"Hey, if you want to butcher your liver so bad, don’t stop on my account,” he says. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make sure to save your ass again this time around. Pro bono.”

Claire looks as if she’s just swallowed a dead rat. “Thanks, but no thanks. Death seems more like an appealing choice.”

“Well, I stopped death from interfering then, I’ll stop it again.” Carrick winks, she pretends to gag again yet remains still in her seat, so Carrick waves at the bartender for their order- she orders for a refill and he, a martini and Claire is this close from asking 'shaken or stirred?’ but then remembers who he is and immediately washes the question down with her drink.

“You know, if anyone told me weeks ago that I’d be having a drink with you tonight, I probably would have socked them.“

Carrick is in the middle of lighting his cigarette, but laughs instead. “The Times They Are a-Changin’, as Bob Dylan said.” A puff of smoke escapes his mouth, curling around his fingers. Claire instinctively looks away. “Which reminds me of that one time your mentor sang Ballad of A Thin Man on the fucking subway when we were 20.”

She swivels her head to his direction, on the verge of choking on her drink. “Hold on, hold on, Ethan Jonah Ramsey sings?”

“Give him a dare he couldn’t refuse and a few shots of whiskey, and I promise you he’ll sing like Sinatra on crack.” He grins, his eyes are all crinkled and bright; she thinks that means he’s genuinely amused. “Ah, good times. We were like- wait, who was it he’d like to say we’re like again?”

A small smile pulls at her lips. “Bert and Ernie.”

“Jesus, he really fucking compares us to some Sesame Street characters, huh?” She laughs at that, loud and bright. He does the same. “Personally, I’d always say we were like Butch and Sundance back then- rebels with a cause, a band of misfits, trying to leave our marks on the world. You know those types. We were young, we wanted so much- I still do. I mean, let’s be real, whoever’s wanted to be defeated at their own game?”

A crease forms between her eyebrows, not quite a frown.

“Nobody,” Claire concurs, hating herself for it. “But was it worth it? Betraying the closest thing you had to a brother or a lover…” Carrick coughs on his smoke from the latter. “or whatever in the process just to get what you wanted?” Claire was obviously aiming for that brash, hard-hitting jab, but it lands gloriously too soft.

The bartender finally places their ordered drinks down on the bar. Carrick reaches for it, taking a careful swig, then sets his glass down. He takes a deep breath.

"It’s nothing personal. It never was. I never considered him as my rival.”

“Yeah, but by doing whatever you did, you’ve made an enemy out of him,” she counters. “Look, Carrick, I know we live in a dog-eat-dog world and I know being good sometimes doesn’t get the job done. Perhaps Machiavelli was right. Perhaps, when necessary, you have to be ruthless, dissembling and manoeuvring- what did he say again? ‘The end justifies the means’? But if any worthwhile end can justify the means to attain it, if everyone outright surrenders to their darker side, then what’s left of our humanity?”

For an interminable moment, there is only silence. He simply stares at her, as if she’s a walking, talking Rubik’s cube he can’t solve or a book that he has opened and now he’s got to know so much more and she feels pinned under those warm irises, uneasy.

Suddenly, his mouth begins to take shape; the corners hike up, stretch and then he does the unexpected.

The bastard fucking laughs.

“Excuse me?!” she spits, white-hot anger lacing each word. Carrick laughs harder- the audacity- despite Claire’s growing razor’s edge stare. “Did you just laugh at me? I was being fucking seriou-”

“Sorry, sorry.” Wiping an imaginary tear from his left eye. “I was just remembering Harper’s words. She’s right, you really are on the side of the angels, aren’t you?”

She points at him with her glass, snarling. “And you, mister, are the devil himself with a medical degree and an egg head- and I don’t mean the slang for a highly academic person.”

“Ouch,” Carrick says out loud, still kind of laughing, borderline frowning. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Damn straight. Though you have a lot to apologize for.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about that one patient I stole under your nose?”

“The North remembers, ser,” she says, mean-spirited.

“Then does the North remembers that I saved her life?”

“Oh, so you’re discrediting the efforts of the other doctors that helped you make the cure?”

“Alright, alright. You win.” Carrick holds up his hands, the universal gesture of defeat and takes one final drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out, all the while keeping his gaze on her.

“So, how exactly can I make it up to you?“

Claire blinks- once, twice, thrice, realizing his intent. His voice drops an octave and he’s leaning in, close enough for her to notice the constellations of freckles splaying across his face and the way his brown eyes glinted like two shots of whiskey under a stream of light, intense and all-consuming. She feels her mind races, her brains feel as if they underwent a short-circuit and get caught on fire, and the fact that her mind’s on the precipice of exploring the idea is not helping.

A burst of laughter erupts from her throat, not that it’s funny- there’s nothing funny about the situation, but someone ought to diffuse this shift of tension between them, or that was her aim, at least.

“What, you wanna pay me back?” she asks, trying to keep her voice from cracking but failing miserably. Fingers trembling against her glass as she chugs nearly a quarter of her drink in one go.

He notices that.

"A Lannister always pays his debts, does he? If you think that I owe you one, then I’ll gladly pay.” His eyes flick back to her face, searing into her. The air crackles between them. The band is playing a different song now, a sound that only exists on the margin of her attention. If they’re in, say a mid 2000s rom-com movie, someone would probably interrupt this moment and save her from this. But this isn’t a movie.

Claire licks her lips, a candid reaction which encourages him to inch closer- or is it her? She can’t tell anymore. Tracing odd patterns on the palm of her hand with his finger and oh god, this is Carrick, the bane of her fucking existence, she’d shoot him first before she kisses him. But something about the prospect of fucking this bastard twists her insides deliciously into a confused mess.

“How? By fucking me?” she inquires, feigning scandalized- all that Catholic guilt bullshit.

He grins, all-teeth and wolfish and shrugs as if they’re talking about his life insurance policy or shit. “Well, that’s the idea.”

“But you don’t even like me.” It should come out as I don’t even like you, but even she knows that’ll be just another lie she tells.

“On the contrary, I enjoy our rivalry far more than I should, Castelnuovo,” he purrs and places a hand on her knee. Her throat bobs. She’s wearing a skirt, it didn’t seem important then, but now his hand feels warm against her skin, dangling on the edge of impropriety. Like gravity, all it takes is a little push for him to cross that line.

“I should be disliking the way you talk to me, challenging me and putting me on the back foot every goddamn time. I should be focusing on taking you down a peg, but the more I see you, the more I realize you have an attractive kind of power. And I’m just one man. And if there’s anything I learned, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”

But then his movement suddenly ceases. Claire almost asks why.

"However…”

“What?” she stares up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching.

“However if you only accept alcohol as the currency for transactions, then I’ll tell the bartender to get us another round instead,“ he tells her, offering her one last chance to back out from this, from making this mistake with him.

Claire stares into her drink, actually mulling this over. Her mind tells her no, but the other part- the alcohol-infused part of her mind- whispers otherwise. She imagines if Ethan or any of her friends are here, they would probably grab her shoulder and shake the living hell out of her for even reconsidering his offer.

But then again, intelligence, alcohol and desperation have always had a bad history of getting along together.

“What about June?” Claire asks against her better judgement, after a long, considerable pause. Carrick raises a confused brow.

“What about her?”

“I thought you guys…” she trails off, makes a face, feeling all-kind of flustered and aroused and wow, she’s really doing this, huh? “I mean, I don’t know- I don’t wanna get in between you guys.”

“Nah. It was only a three time thing, but there’s never been anything between us.” He chuckles at Claire’s askance look. “If you don’t believe me, you can fact-check it with the woman herself,” Carrick adds, looking at her dead-on with his eyes like he wants to get the message across.

She regards him silently for a long second, and maybe she’s a touch drunk now, maybe the bartender put something in her drink, or maybe she just needs to blow off some steam after what’s been happening in these past few weeks and Carrick happens to be a decent warm body for the occasion, but Claire finds herself shifting closer.

"Then I want you to pay me back.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she answers, more sure this time, more determined.

Her nose bumps his, his breath fanning across her face all the while Carrick’s slightly pushing her skirt up, letting his fingertips travel higher. His eyes keep darting back and forth from her eyes and lips, checking for her reaction. There is no inhibition here, not anymore. People might be watching- heck, they could be already watching and it terrifies her that she doesn’t give a damn about it.

“But if you tell anyone about this, I swear to god… ” she warns and a shadow of mirth passes across his eyes, making her almost regretting this. Almost.

“Claire, darling.” It’s the first time he’s ever said her name and her stomach does a tango. “Your secret is safe with me.“ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

He gets them a room in the hotel, it’s on the twentieth floor. Carrick handles the accommodation- he can afford it, apparently, which is not really surprising and the nuisating check-in procedure while Claire only waits in the lobby like a beautiful, agitated china doll amidst the turbulent sea the whole time until he comes back, flashes the room key at her and beckons her to follow.

She goes ahead of him, but he catches up. His body heat sends her anxiety rocketing sky-high through the roof as they walk next to each other, hands briefly brushing against one another but she ignores that (or at least she tries).

They are silent in the elevator, they are silent even once they reach the designated floor and walk down the hall to their room where the dim and shadowed lights follow their steps like vultures.

Carrick holds open the door for her and she enters, taking in the windows and the striking view of Boston skyline peeking behind the curtains, the TV and the queen-sized bed. The latter does nothing to assuage the anticipation that’s bubbling in the pit of her stomach, by the way.

Claire hears him shut the door, locking both bolts. She peers at him over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. Their eyes meet, neither speaks. He’s taking off his black peacoat, back against the door, he’s looking at her as if wanting her is his full-time occupation and the realizations comes in like a mule kick, how that tiny voice inside her head, the one that tells her that this is a bad idea and she’s better off leaving never comes.

The room is not considerably huge (with $110 per night, you would have expected you’d get a bigger room), he could easily have her in six large steps, yet he stands there. Sizing her up, smirking rather devilishly, handsomely as if challenging her to make the first move. It’s another fucking game with him. A display of power, waiting who would fall first.

Claire finally turns around to face him. With a renowned determination, she removes her coat, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor. Her blouse follows next and her skirt, which she tugs it oh so slowly down her legs.

Carrick’s eyes widen, if she doesn’t know better, she thinks he’s speechless. He takes a deep breath, his gaze religiously following every movement as she twirls around once more to unhook her bra. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s having a hard time keeping himself in check which she takes an immense pleasure in. Claire just wants to see the man squirm for a change, even if she has to shed every article of clothing she wears.

By the time she slips off of her underwear, she is breathing raggedly. He hasn’t yet approached her so she crawls onto the bed, lying on her back with one elbow props her up, legs crossed. She kicks off her heels, rolls down her stockings with a bit of that noir come-hither, Lauren Bacall-esque heavy bedroom eyes.

Finally, Carrick steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away, like a target, filling her line of sight. The tension in the room is hot enough to send the thermometer reaching its maximum limit and she’s burning, burning, burning right through the core.

Claire cranes her head up to meet his gaze, noticing the way he’s drinking in her body like a pirate ogling a bottle of rum. High-strung, tense, Carrick lowers his head to her, his fingers carding through her long hair. Dimness consumes him raw, his silhouette is starting to find its place amongst the shadows except for his eyes. Never does the fire in his eyes falter, merely alight.

They are already nose-to-nose when Claire suddenly raises her hand over his lips. He withdraws from her, looking confused and hot and bothered.

“Take a seat over there, will you?” She motions to the settee near the bed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

He smirks, but she can see his bravado if faltering. “Ordering me around in the bed now, are we?”

“Didn’t you say tonight is about you making it up to me?”

“Touche, touche.” Carrick straightens his posture and makes his way to the settee across from her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat given the growing issue in his pants.

With eyes still trained to his, Claire cups her own breast, fingers pinching her pebbled nipple before the same hand travels lower down her stomach, her thighs. Carrick leans forward in his seat, obviously liking where this is going before Claire slowly and teasingly part her legs for him to see.

A surprised groan escapes him.

“Jesus, Claire,” Carrick hisses. “Fuck, I didn’t know you’re a goddamn tease.”

She doesn’t bother replying to him, but a winning grin finds its way across her face as she lays on her back, her shame and modesty are distant, knees pulled up so he can have a clear view of her. With two fingers, she runs them along her folds, dragging them slowly up to her clit. Claire imagines they are his fingers- which once upon a time would have horrified her, but tonight, as she repeats the motion over and over, knowing that he’s sitting there, watching her without being able to get his hands on her, she decides to submit to this newfound fantasy.

A rustle pulls her back to reality. He’s undoing his own pants, palming his cock, runs his fingers over the leaking head.

A low moan catches in her throat at that, her gaze snapping up from his erection to his face where his irises have darkened and pupils dilated. He wants to show her, that’s he’s as depraved as her when it comes to wanting, that he fucking wants her and in spades and she fails to think like a normal human being anymore.

Claire uses that image to work on herself harder, faster, feeling the intense pressure beginning to build beneath her fingers. She’s so wet now, despite him being able to see that, she wants him to hear it as well as she uses her idle hand to tap against herself. Carrick growls, his pace matching the rhythm she’s setting.

She slips her fingers inside her, drops her head back against the mattress and bites a loud moan that threatens to escape her lips. Flushing scarlet all over her abdomen, her breasts and up to her neck. Her blood thumping louder than bombs in her ears, her breaths begin to come in gasps.

Another fast and hard thrust from fingers, and Claire finds herself sighing his name.

“Tobias…”

And every last bit of his self-restraint snaps.

In just a blink of an eye, Carrick is already on his feet, grabs her waist, harshly, and tugs her down onto the edge of the bed where he’s now kneeling before her. He doesn’t bother with the teasings or soft kisses or caresses, and even before Claire has the time to register what’s happening, he crushes his face between her parted legs and eats her out.

She gasps, high and fleeting, twisting the bed sheet between her fists while his tongue flicks over her, moving back up, back down, lapping along her folds in the same motions she showed him with her hand, how she likes it. Claire forgets how to breathe. It just occurs to her just how arousing the sight of him on his knees like this, sending her mind hitchhiking into outer space.

“Oh, fuck.” She breathes, back arching on the bed with a drawn-out moan. “Fuck, Tobias!” Her hips gyrate over his mouth and she presses her heels against his shoulder blades. She’s so close. All she needs is a little push to send her careening into oblivion and it seems that Carrick can sense it because he brings two digits to her entrance and slides easily inside her, setting a ruthless pace.

With her hands reaching out to the back of his head, Claire cries out his name and trembles violently. Encouraged, Carrick curves his fingers inside her, hitting that exact spot that finally undoes her as she comes, long and hard, around his mouth and fingers- the kind of orgasm that you can feel deep in your bones- and watches as fireworks dance behind her lids.

When she finally comes down from her high, everything is hazy. It’s like waking up from a deep slumber after a decadent soak in a scented bath and she loses all orientation, until she feels him nipping the inside of her thighs. She hisses, glances down, heavy-lidded eyes finding Carrick is leaving bruises after bruises all over her skin like some kind of a lewd memento of his work, like he wants her to remember this the next time she wakes up in her own bed and he’s not there.

"Are you trying to turn me into a Na'vi, doctor?” She asks, still kinda breathless, feeling surprisingly conversational despite having just experienced, if not, one of the best orgasms in her life. He smiles against her thigh and withdraws from her, only after her thighs are sufficiently bruised enough, licks his fingers clean and stands up at the end of the bed.

“Maybe. You’d make a cute blue extraterrestrial creature, though,” he replies cheekily, then undoes the button of his shirt, showcasing his naked torso.

Claire feels her cheeks heating up again, but forces herself to stare; eyes following his pectoral muscles, down to the toned lines of his abdomen while he slides off of his pants. The man is one fine specimen, alright, and he knows- smug bastard- and she thinks it’s such a shame that Carrick is… well, Carrick. If the man learns how to shut up for one minute or avoid trying to sabotage everyone’s career at Edenbrook altogether, maybe, just maybe, she’d consider him.

“But honestly, I just wanted to hear you say my name again,” Carrick continues, crawling his way up to her, pulling her out of her musings. He settles between her thighs. His lips finding her ear and nibbling at the lobe while his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipple. Claire shivers. Nails scraping along his skin, raising angry marks that would certainly be there tomorrow.

When they kiss, it’s so good that she can’t help but curl her toes. He kisses her like he’s trying to steal her breath or her name. She can taste herself in his mouth, which sparks so many feelings inside her. Her mind’s foggy, sweat pooling on her forehead. Carrick is but shoves his tongue into her mouth, lapping at her, biting, sucking and she leans hard into the kiss, retaliates by scraping her teeth against his bottom lip. It spurs him on. Making his cock twitch against her thigh and Claire decides she can’t wait anymore.

Claire rolls her hips at him. He takes the hint and rolls over to grab a condom from his pants. Then he’s back on top of her, his weight and heat crushing her most deliciously and brings her body further up the bed with him; she drapes her legs around his hips, hands gripping his arms. Her lust and anticipation collaborate to the point of near madness.

Carrick nips the taut line of her jaw and drives himself into her.

They both groan in unison.

“Oh, fuck.” Carrick mumbles between shaky breaths, his face pressed against her throat. “Fucking hell, Claire, you feel so warm.”

Claire, on the other hand, goes rigid under him. Her mouth hangs open and her world narrows down to the feeling of his cock inside her and the pleasure that builds up again in her abdomen.

This is happening, she thinks, he’s inside her and it feels so amazing. She might as well be crazy for agreeing to do this with him in the first place, but the promise of the thrill beats the doubts.

He starts slow, just the smallest fraction of hips, gently thrusting back and forth in shallow motions. She whines, frustrated and impatient, raising her own hips to meet his, but Carrick’s weight pins her onto the mattress and she can’t fucking move.

“F-faster,” Claire stammers, her molars grinding like toothache.

The bastard smirks, like he’s been anticipating the word coming out of her mouth.

“Beg for it.” His words are punctuated with every unhurried stroke he’s giving her, teasing her and if she’s not in the middle of being fucked right now, she would have kicked him in the balls.

Growling, she swallows her plea by pulling Carrick down for another kiss. This time, she’s the one who does the biting and the sucking, making sure he’s distracted enough and then just like with all the things she does in her life, she takes the matter into her own hands.

With all her strength, she scrambles up, pushes him off of her and knocks him onto his back flat on the bed. When she swings her legs to straddle him, his eyes pop.

“Holy shit, you are feisty.”

“Only cause I’m angry and horny,” she bites off. Angling herself above him and with one hand, guides his shaft back to her opening. “And you- you weren’t doing a proper job fucking me.”

He smirks. “I was trying to wind you up.”

“Fuck you.”

She lowers herself and sinks back onto his cock, relishing in his moans and growls.

“Baby, you’re doing it.” His hands curling around her waist, his head falls back onto the bed, exposing his throat and Claire is so hard-pressed not to bite him there.

Claire ignores his smartassness, naturally, and lifts herself, drops back down. Slamming her hips into his until she’s bouncing on him. Nails clawing at his chest. Finally be able to set a pace she desperately craves for, finally wiping that smirk off of his face.

Under her, Carrick is biting his lip in an effort to not to lose control. His hands are everywhere now; her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her cheeks. Leaving fire on its wake. She might still hate him after this is strange, little arrangement is over but at this juncture, he’s exactly the remedy she needs after everything.

Then Carrick wraps his arms around her and picks up the pace, thrusting into her hard and fast. Claire shakes. She can’t catch her breath, her forehead pressed on his shoulder, her teeth latching onto his skin. Breathing a string of 'fuckfuckfuck’ while he squeezes her ass and continues to fuck her with careless abandon.

"Tobias.” Her moans amplify. She’s close to climaxing again, her legs quivering. Eyes wide shut. “Please, please.” So much for not begging.

He pulls her to him so their foreheads meet. Their lips brush against each other, but they aren’t kissing, merely trading breaths. A hand touches her cheek and her lids flutter open, finding his eyes- those depthless, amber eyes that pretty much lead her to this point, are watching her, pulling her in.

“Say it again,” he encourages darkly, face twists in pleasure. “My name. Say it again.”

She does it again, it comes out as a groaned whisper, repeating it over and over again like a sacred mantra.

Her second orgasm sweeps through her, making her spine arches, it tears a winded moan from her throat and it’s more than enough to trigger Carrick’s own release; fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, groaning gutturally.

Panting, sore but sated, Claire collapses on top of his chest, his arm still drapes around her. The rise and fall of his breath lull her to sleep. Before she knows it, he gently rolls her to his side, pulling the covers for them and kisses her on the shoulder, which comes out as… odd for her.

The bed moves and she feels him leaving.

He’s leaving.

He’s leaving.

She doesn’t know why it stings, but it does. But also Claire opts not to pay no mind to it and forces her mind to surrender to sleep that once again tries to take hold.

Claire wishes she doesn’t dream of him that night, but she does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s way past midnight when she wakes up. The room is dark. The curtains are closed. She’s still naked and sore under the covers, mind reeling in from what has just transpired.

One might ask in which universe does Claire Castelnuovo agree to sleep with Tobias Carrick? Well, apparently they did it in this one and oddly still, she doesn’t regret it. Though she’s still low-key sad that he left her straight after sex, but hey, what can she do about it? This arrangement itself is nothing but a means to an end, anyway, a perverse alternative for him to pay back what he allegedly owes her, she shouldn’t be surprised if he left after the ‘debt’ is paid.

Feeling her mood somehow takes an unexpected dip, she gets us from the bed and gathers her clothes on the floor.

She’s in the middle of zipping up her skirt when the bedside lamp flickers and comes on.

Claire turns around. Carrick, rousing from sleep, looks at her, rubbing his eyes and stifles a yawn. His lips still tinged from her kisses and bites.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep and Claire thinks her mouth is hanging open, standing rooted to the spot like a spider on an icicle; frozen in time.

For a moment, she does nothing but stares at him, being rendered speechless. For many times, Tobias Carrick never fails to surprise her. Just when she thinks she has him all figured out, he comes sneaking in through her windows like a thief in the night and it just strikes her, how he really is an uncharted territory for her. Despite her having him pinned under her, exploring the hard planes of his body under the touches just a few hours ago.

The man is like a fucking myth, at this point. She knows him only from stories and her limited time around him, but who is exactly Tobias Carrick? Is he the competitive doctor at Mass Kenmore, the Machiavellian asshole that severed his friendship/relationship with Ethan for the sake of his greed and ambition? Or is he, Tobias Carrick, the man who saves her life, makes her laugh and kisses her shoulder in the afterglow?

She’ll probably never know.

“Yeah, my roommates will probably deploy a search party if I don’t come home tonight,” she replies, distracted, finally finding her own voice back. He nods, feigning disappointment- or is he not? She clears her throat and continues putting on her clothes. “I thought you left.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of her deduction. “And without saying goodbye?” Carrick rolls off of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s already wearing his pants- thank fuck for that- and approaches her. “I may be an asshole, Castelnuovo, but just so you know, my mother raised me better than that.”

So they’re back to their usual last name basis perimeter. That’s good, right? After all of this, she thinks a little familiarity would be nice for her sanity.

“Good to know, then.”

Silence encompasses the room. It’s awkward and overwhelming and it throws her a little off-balance. At the bar, they seemed to know exactly what to say to each other- especially him; but now, even she can sense the hesitation in his gait, at the way he’s looking at her and a faint alarm is trilling her head. Because if he’s making this awkward, she can do a whole lot of worse.

"Oh, before you ask, that makes up for pretty much everything, yeah. I mean, it’s alright.” You fucking dumbass, she thinks to herself, averting his gaze while a smile blooms on his face.

“Good to know, then.” He parrots her words and she huffs a laugh, freely and sweetly, like she’s currently not knee-deep in her problems or she’s just fucked the most incorrigible man that ever exists. He does too, but his gaze lands on her mouth before going back to her eyes.

Another silence passes. It’s time to go.

“I have to go now.”

He nods mutely and moves away so Claire can step past him.

She wears her coat. In the mirror, she still looks thoroughly fucked; her hair’s dishevelled, she smells like him now, but she really needs to go. She promises herself that this will be a one time thing because, Jesus fuck, she’s supposed to be smarter than this. She’s not fifteen anymore, and this is not the summer where she can watch the sunset from the cornfields with her cousins even though his eyes possess the same color.

Yet she walks toward the door in a daze, like she’s forgetting something but can’t pinpoint what it is.

“Can I-”

“Hey, do you-”

She stops, mid-turning, and closes her mouth. She doesn’t realize she’s interrupting him.

“Oh, sorry,” Claire says, embarrassed. “You go first, it’s alright.”

“Can I have your number?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant.

She thinks he’s joking or maybe he’s just feigning interest, but one look at his eyes and she can tell that this isn’t smoke and mirrors.

The eyes, chico. They never lie. It’s dumb, but that line from Scarface is the first thing that comes to her mind. That’s why when she hands him her phone, her hand is shaking slightly. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning like a maniac.  

Claire takes a cursory glance at her phone once he returns it. He saved his number solely as t.c. with the water drop, the syringe, the ghost, the eggplant, the firework emoji and she chuckles endearingly, questioning the universe how he can easily get both a rise and a laugh out of her.

“I’ll text you?” Carrick asks again and she nods a little too enthusiastically at it, but what the hell?

“Sure.”

“Alright.” He takes one look at her, steps closer and for a moment, she thinks he might be going to kiss her.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Carrick says instead and she nods, admitting the fact that he’s not going to do it.

“Goodnight to you too, Tobias.” Then pauses at the doorway, feeling surprisingly bold. “I gotta give it to you, though, for someone who’s become the bane of my existence for months, you’re a damn good lay.”

He barks out a laugh, obviously, that Claire can hear all the way down the hall. And she thinks she can get used to the sound.

                                                         fin.

Tag list: @villain-fuckarooni @beckaroo @arfeiniel​ @this-person-is-busy @colossalpainintheass​ @drethanramslay @hatescapsicum @theeccentricbibliophile

[dramallamadingdang]

You may want to remove the permanent hiatus notice on yer blog! I got scared lmao that you were gone!

Well, I am mostly gone, especially in terms of TS2. I haven't played it in three or four years now. And now I've got a zippy new computer that my hubbo built for me, and I haven't installed TS2 on it. Frankly, I'm pretty sure I'm never going to install it on this machine, partly because I don't want to fight Windows 10 (which I had to have for some of the hardware in this machine as well as for some of the software I want to run on it) to get it running, but mostly because...I think I'm just done with TS2.

I did relatively recently set up an attempt to play a mods-but-no-CC TS2, and once I got things set up (which took a long time because TS2 is a pain in the ass when it comes to that), I played it for an hour or two and found myself thoroughly bored. So, it appears that twelve years of playing TS2 was enough for me. If I get the urge to play it again, I can hook up my old machine and poke at the game on it, but I don't know that I'll ever do that. So, I guess everyone who reads this can consider this my official goodbye to TS2. :(

Aside from that, a year or two back, I started a phase of just not wanting to have an online presence at all, and that's why I went on hiatus. I'm still in that phase, though I might be coming out of it. Maybe. I don't know. If I do come out of my phase...

Well, I'm a TS3 simmer now because, now that I have it modded out the wazoo, I like it a lot better than TS2. (I know: BLASPHEMY! Go ahead and come at me with the pitchforks. :) There's just so much more to do in it, even without mods. So, now that I have a computer that runs a fully-tricked-out, all-EPs, CC-loaded, NVIDIA-tweaked, ReShaded TS3 with no lag whatsoever and no strain on the computer, I'm doing a CC overhaul, doing some weeding, grabbing new stuff, preg-morphing all the teen/adult clothing, and retexturing hairs and all that jazz. When I get that all done and start playing for real, maybe I'll post stuff online, maybe including sharing TS3 stuff I've made. If that happens, I'll probably use my TS3-dedicated sideblog, since that's already set up and all although it needs an overhaul, too, because then I won't be ticking off people who followed me for TS2 stuff. So, that's where I'll mostly be, should I come back to Tumblr, and if you're interested in what I might do in (and share for) TS3, you might want to unfollow my main account here and follow this side account instead. Or follow both of them. Or none of them. Whatever. :)

[jingabitch]

His Holy Waters

SUMMARY: You need to be punished to atone for your sins.

PAIRING: priest!seokjin x reader

RATING: E

WARNINGS: smut | whipping | paddling | watersports | blasphemy lmao | seriously this is messed up | jin calls her a slut | degradation? | unprotected sex

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

A/N: dedicated to @kpopyandere​ as payment for services rendered. unbeta-ed because i was too embarrassed to send this to any of my betas lmaooo.

“Father.” Your voice was breathy as you knelt, your head bowed. “Father, forgive me, for I have sinned.”

“My child.” The priest’s voice was calm as he rested his hand on the top of your head, his thumb pressing into your forehead. “What ails you?”

“Father,” you said, looking up at him. Tears of distress pooled in your eyes. “I keep having… indecent thoughts.”

Father Seokjin hummed thoughtfully. “That is a sin indeed, my child. Your soul needs to be cleansed.”

Your eyes closed in relief, causing the tears to spill over your cheeks. “Thank you, Father,” you gushed.

The hand on your head travelled down your face, tilting your chin up. His thumb now pressed into your lips, pushing them into your teeth so hard you worried they’d bleed. Silly, really – by the time Seokjin was done with you, that would be the least of your worries.

“I commend your bravery in coming to me, my child. I will help you overcome your sin,” he said, and you were captivated by the benevolent, calm expression on his face, so incongruent with the way his fingers gripped your face hard.

Truth be told, you knew the drill by now. Father Seokjin belonged to an ancient, secret sect that still believed in the old practices like flagellation. And maybe, just maybe, you enjoyed it a little too much, came to church to confess your sins every week like a good girl.

Father Seokjin knew; he could sense a kindred spirit. You enjoyed the blows that rained down on your body as much as he enjoyed giving them, loved when he was rough with you in the name of cleansing your soul. You were sinful, dirty, perverted – but so was he. In a different life, perhaps, where he hadn’t taken a sacred vow, you could belong to each other, but in this one, all you had were stolen, fleeting moments.

“Thank you, Father,” you breathed, your eyes wide as you stared up at him adoringly. Your Father, your savior.

He smiled back down at you, then pushed your face away from him with a flick of his wrist so your head turned against your will. “You don’t deserve to look at me,” he bit out, the strict, harsh tone causing flames to lick at your insides.

“Yes, Father.” Your voice trembled as you righted yourself, looking down at your lap where your hands were fisting in your skirt. You were dressed, as always, impeccably, in one of your favourite dresses today. None of it mattered to Seokjin, though. The expensive clothes and accessories you loved so much were just another sin in his eyes, and if you were being honest, you persisted in bringing your Hermès bags with you to church because you knew it upset him.

“Strip.” His voice brooked no disobedience, and you followed his instructions almost instinctively, reaching for the zipper on the back of your dress. Seokjin watched you impassively, not making any move to help you. That was normal – you draped your dress over the edge of the pew, listening and hoping that he’d have some sort of reaction to the lingerie you were wearing. You knew the sheer red lace set looked good on you, but if he thought so too, he didn’t give anything away.

Finally, you took off the undergarments as well, pouting a little at his stoicism. When you were completely undressed, you returned to his feet and knelt with your head bowed, your hands resting on your thighs, palms up. “I am ready, Father,” you said quietly.

Instead of answering you, he stepped away, to the nondescript cabinet he kept by the altar. All his equipment was there – the paddles, whips, canes. You wondered if his other followers enjoyed this treatment as much as you did. Honestly, you wouldn’t know, but it did seem that you were the one who came the most regularly.

Humming thoughtfully to himself, Seokjin perused the tools at his disposal before selecting a paddle and a whip. When he returned to you, however, he looked at the whip again before dropping it carelessly on the ground. No, he wouldn’t be needing that tonight.

Instead, he stood over you, the shadow from the altar candles behind him casting a shadow that fell over your body. Hesitantly, you looked up at him, not sure whether you were allowed to, and bit your lip at the way he towered over you.

“Undo my belt.” The simple instruction sent a shiver down your spine, and you were sure you were dripping on the floor. With trembling fingers, you reached up to his belt buckle, looking up at him again for validation. A single quirked brow let you know that he wasn’t impressed with your pace, and you swallowed hard as you undid the buckle, the sound of the leather sliding past the loops and the clink of the buckle loud in the quiet of the room.

When you pulled the belt free from the loops, it lay across your palms, looking so innocuous. You held it up to him, unable to tear your gaze away from his cold expression. There must be something wrong with you, you thought, that his judgmental look made you so hot.

Seokjin picked the belt off your hands, holding it near the buckle with his left hand as he ran his right along the leather. Stepping around you and out of your field of vision, you heard and felt him stop behind you, making the hair on the back of your neck rise.

“Look up at the Lord and repent,” Seokjin snapped at you, his voice low and raspy in the instant before he drew his arm back to hit you with the belt. The cracking sound of leather meeting flesh was almost deafening in your ears, and the pain that exploded across the welt that almost immediately raised across your back made you whimper. Still, you didn’t bow your head or close your eyes, your fingers digging into your bare thighs as you focused on repenting for your sins.

Blow after blow rained down on your bare skin, forcing whimpers and moans from your lips as your nails dug into your thighs. Tears filled your eyes but you didn’t move to wipe them away, even as your view of the altar blurred.

Eventually, he stopped – he didn’t want to, loving the way you shuddered and tensed, and the beautiful way the welts rose up across your skin, red and pink, a maze across your back. But any more and you would bleed, he could tell. The thought of drawing blood excited him like nothing else, but the last time he’d done that you hadn’t come back for three weeks while your wounds healed.

“Get up.” His dispassionate tone belied his arousal, and if you turned around, he knew you would be able to tell. His rapid breathing wasn’t just from the physical exertion, and despite having tucked himself into his waistband earlier to hide his inevitable erection, you were familiar enough with him now that you’d be able to read him.

You knew, of course, that he was turned on just as well as he did, but the pretense was part of the game you played.

As you bent over the pew, using your elbows to brace yourself, he feigned obliviousness to the arousal slicking your pussy, sticking to the unwritten script you both knew by heart.

“You know, you wouldn’t need to come so often if you weren’t such a little slut,” Seokjin told you disapprovingly. You dropped your head, pressing your face against your left arm, as you clenched involuntarily. You loved it when he called you a slut, adored the way the word rolled off his tongue with such disdain, like you were dirty, debased, sinful. The double meaning in his words wasn’t lost on you either.

“I’m sorry, Father,” you gasped against your arm. You had barely finished when he brought the paddle down on your ass, and the end of your sentence turned into a garbled cry.

“You have sinned against our Lord,” he hissed as he hit you again. As the wood made contact with your already inflamed skin, you jolted forward.

“Yes,” you said, blinking back the tears, although whether it was in agreement with what he’d said or a cry of exultation, neither of you knew.

As he continued striking you with the paddle, he continued explaining to you all the ways in which you were a filthy sinner, a disgrace to the Lord, and fuck, did you love it.

When he finally dropped the paddle, your ass was a bright, glowing shade of pink, matching the crisscrossed welts on your back perfectly. To Seokjin, this was the most beautiful he’d ever seen you – your perfect, smooth skin marked up by him.

You’d been punished enough for your sins, he declared, and you returned to your original kneeling position as he stood over you.

“My child,” he said in a soothing tone, signifying a change in the mood from earlier, “I will now cleanse your soul with the holy waters of mankind.”

Blinking up at him, you nodded eagerly. This was always your favourite part, where the warm liquid against your skin refreshed your spirit and washed away your sins. He smiled benevolently down at you, his arms hanging, relaxed, by his side.

You knew the drill – your fingers worked dexterously to undo his trousers, sliding the zipper down with a little shiver of anticipation. Seokjin was hard, as he usually was, and you bit your lip as you drew his erection out.

Seokjin smirked down at you. He knew what you were thinking; you were here because of your lustful nature, after all, and he had a nice cock – long, thick, flushed pink and with a pretty network of veins running down it. He’d give you a treat later, probably, but for right now, there was something else you needed.

“Please, Father,” you begged in that cute, broken voice, so desperate for him to cleanse your soul in the way that only he could. You were almost panting with desire, your mouth open and relaxed. Seokjin reached for his cock, stroking it just once as he schooled his expression so that he retained the serene look he always wore during service.

“Shh,” he cooed at you, his other hand resting on the top of your head, tilting it so that you faced upwards. With a beatific sigh, he relaxed his pelvic muscles and began pissing on you, admiring the way it ran in rivulets down your face and over your bare skin. He could see the impact it had on you, your body relaxing like the urine streaming down your body was leaching away all the stress and pain of your life.

It was almost enough to fool him into thinking that this was why he did it – purely to provide redemption for your soul.

You’d texted him earlier today to let him know that you were coming over, so he’d prepared well for tonight, and there was a lot, forming a puddle where you were kneeling. Halfway through, you tilted your head and opened your mouth a little more, and he aimed into your mouth, filling it up.

With the last bit he had in him, he pressed the tip of his cock to your forehead, drawing a cross right in the middle with the warm liquid. You shivered as you felt it, your eyes falling shut as you moaned. “Please…” you gasped helplessly.

“What is it, my child?”

Instead of answering him, you wrapped your hand around his and tugged slightly, pulling his erection down so you could wrap your lips around the tip of it. You suckled greedily, tasting the last few drops clinging to him and relishing the feel of his cock in your mouth, so warm and hard and full.

The hand on top of your head slipped down past your temple, his thumb pressing into your cheek as his fingers cradled your jaw. “You’re such a good girl,” he sighed, and you released his dick with a little pop to smile up at him.

“Do you feel better, my child?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Thank you, Father, for cleansing my soul,” you said, looking up at him with that worshipful gaze, and he felt his cock jump. You saw it, of course, and barely managed to bite back your smirk. He was so predictable sometimes.

Inevitably, you ended up on your hands and knees, still facing the altar, of course, as he pounded into you from behind. This was something he liked to claim was your ‘reward’ for being devout, but you both knew that it was as much a treat for him as it was for you. It was evident in the way he gripped your hips hard as he slammed into you, making the still-tender flesh of your bottom sting with pain that somehow enhanced the entire experience, in the breathless pants and grunts he couldn’t help but make as he fucked you.

“F—Father,” you pleaded, barely able to force the words out. “More, please.” You were so close, you just needed that little bit more to bring you over the edge.

“More?” His voice was similarly strained, the feel of your hot, slick pussy wrapped around him like a glove almost too much for him. Still, he had a role to play. “Greed is a sin, my child.”

“Please, please,” you mewled helplessly, unable to form more articulate sentences as he was fucking your brains out.

He huffed out a halfhearted laugh. “You’ll need to come back to absolve yourself of your new sins, child,” came the halfhearted admonishment. You both knew you’d be back next week anyway.

“Yes, Father,” you agreed eagerly, and obligingly, he reached around to press his fingers onto your clit, rubbing at it just so, his ability to discern exactly what you needed borne out of familiarity with your body.

“Cum on my cock then, you slut,” he hissed, and the dirtiness of his words, juxtaposed against the sight of the altar looming in front of you and how reserved and composed he’d been all evening did it for you. With a garbled moan, you came, clenching down on him repeatedly as you closed your eyes as the pleasure wracked your whole body.

Seokjin swore as he felt you tightening around him, his rhythm becoming erratic as he chased his own orgasm. “Fuck,” he groaned as it finally crashed over him, and he hunched over your body as his hips worked in half-aborted thrusts to milk out the last of his cum. When it was over, he lifted himself off you and collapsed on the ground next to you, uncaring of the mess he’d lain down in.

“I’m going to hell,” he sighed, looking up at you.

Your lips quirked into a half-smile. “See you there, then.”

[saintandsinnerwrites]

A/N: Saint and I decided to try to write this prompt collaboratively. (Also somehow I managed to delete the ask so here’s a screenshot lmao) I primarily wrote Jan and she did Rosé. It was a fun way to fill this prompt. Let us know if you enjoyed our little collab 😘 -Sinner

CW: monsterfucking, inhuman anatomy, and blasphemy probably

Blacklist tag cwmonsterfucking if you’d rather sit this one out 💖

-

Jan couldn’t deny there was something strange about the sorority house, but she liked the girls so much that she’d accepted her bid and pledged. Education was now over and it was time for initiation.

Jan did think it was odd that the ritual was one at a time instead of all together as a pledge class, but each night at midnight one of the pledges would go down to the basement alone for their initiation ritual and tonight it was Jan’s turn. She had to admit she was a little nervous.

Denali had been in her pledge class and had been initiated the night before and she’d told Jan not to be scared and just ‘let it happen’, whatever that meant.

Jan was dressed all in white as an angel, complete with wings and a halo, her soon to be full sisters all in black as they prepared Jan for her initiation. She held her big Jackie’s hand, waiting for them to tell her it was time.

When it was, she descended quietly to the basement, not sure what to expect. The whole sorority was upstairs. Surely it was nothing too bad? All the girls were nice and sweet. She couldn’t imagine them doing anything bad to her.

Jan looked around the fairly plain basement. Oddly, the only thing down there was a plush bed. Jan looked under it. Nothing. She sat on the side and waited for something to happen...

Rosé looked on from the shadows when the girl was led downstairs for her initiation. An angel costume, huh? Well that was certainly interesting, and she smirked to herself knowing damn well the other girls did that on purpose. Jan was her name as she had overheard Jan's sorority sisters talking about this very day. She knew Jan had no idea what was about to happen, none of them did. They were just led to the bed to await their fate, but all the girls loved every moment of their little ritual. After a couple minutes Rosé decided to speak to her, but still stayed cloaked in the darkness. “Are you excited about your initiation? Anxious? Curious?"

Jan jumped at little at the unexpected voice and then gasped at the owner of the voice. The... creature? Beast? Devil? was completely red, furry in parts with hair horns, large inhuman ears, and long nails or claws, but a still rather humanoid appearance.

Jan was surprised, but the creature was smiling at her. She was pretty, with a curvy figure and a handsome face. “Very curious. Are you the one initiating me?” She had wondered who would do the actual ritual with the whole sorority upstairs. “Who are you?”

"I am." Rosé chuckled, mainly to herself. Bless this girl. She was so fucking cute. “I'm the Devil, baby. But you can call me Rosé"

Maybe it was the years of Catholic schooling but Jan just stared at her. She was so humanoid it occurred to Jan, a theater kid herself, that this was probably an actress in a costume. “The Devil huh? You don’t look like The Devil. The one and only?”

"Tell me, what exactly do you expect the Devil to look like?"

“The most beautiful of God’s angels, Lucifer Morningstar, who became Satan himself, The Devil. You are not he?” Jan looked at her skeptically. “I would have paid a lot more attention in religious studies if the devil had looked like you.”

"I am going to stop you right there at 'he'. God, nor I, the Devil, are men or male presenting at all. But we all know the human men writing everything down hated women, so here we are. With yet another inaccurate portrayal of the divine and the damned. Though, I don't consider myself damned in any way, just a hedonist, babe."

Jan frowned. “Is this part of the initiation ritual?” This actress was really into this role...

"I like to correct those who still believe the falsehoods those so-called churches taught them. But no, it's not. The initiation ritual is much more physical."

“Physical?” Jan stood up. She was a cheerleader and a soccer player. She could do physical. “What do I do?”

Rosé walked over to her and pulled her close, "I can tell you're curious about me. Touch me."

Jan couldn’t lie. She was very curious about this devil. “Your costume and prosthetics are incredible.” She very gently stroked an ear, not expecting it to be warm and responsive to her touch. “Oh!”

"That's because it's not a costume, baby," she said with a chuckle. "Also, it's quite appropriate that you're dressed as an angel. Or maybe it's inappropriate, considering the circumstances."

“Inappropriate?” She asked quizzically. She was starting to wonder if this wasn’t a costume. “What do you mean?”

"Do you realize what being dressed up as an angel means for this initiation?"

“...isn’t everyone?” She hadn’t seen Denali dressed as an angel yesterday. But like her she’d likely arrived in just her white dress.

"No, lovely, only virgins are dressed as angels," Rosé purred.

Jan assumed that was part of the initiation, not realizing fully what Rosé meant. “Oh is that why full sisters wear black? They get ‘devirginized’?” She made air quotes.

"Essentially, yeah, it mainly signifies that their ritual is already complete, but no longer being a virgin is just part of the territory," Rosé explained, tipping Jan's head up to face her. "Do you get what I'm saying, darling?"

Jan studied her eyes and then realized. She blushed deeply. “Oh!”

Rosé pulled Jan into her lap and pressed a kiss to her cheek, "I'll make it good for you, baby. I've always made every single girl I've been with cum fucking hard. I'd never hurt you, I'm only about pleasure."

Jan blushed deeper. “I’ve never even been kissed before,” she admitted.

Her brows rose, "Never? You're too cute to have never been kissed."

Jan blushed. “I went to Catholic school my whole life. This year is the first year I’ve ever been away from home. And I just don’t like any of the boys here?” She blushed. “I’ve never liked a boy actually. Any boy.” She blushed deeper. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” But Jan did feel safe and comfortable around Rosé...

"You're in luck, baby, because this entire sorority is a bunch of lesbians," she cackled. "But I am glad you're opening up to me, I don't like to fuck anyone who I don't get to know at least a little bit."

Rosé gently tilted her head up to look at her again and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. She wanted to rectify the little issue of Jan never being kissed immediately. Her lips were soft and sweet and Rosé knew that kissing her would be blissful each and every time. She understood why Jan wasn't allowed to have any sort of sexual experience, but it was still a travesty in her eyes.

She loved that Jan was getting more comfortable around her, and more comfortable with intimacy in general, but she would still take it slower with her. At least until Jan asked for more, and not to be a little cocky, but Rosé knew that once they got into it, she would absolutely be begging for more.

"Tell me what you want, baby~"

Jan stared at her wide-eyed and innocent. “I don’t know what I want. Isn’t it a set ritual?”

"Right. Catholic," Rosé snickered. "And no, certainly not. The ritual is individualized. Here, let me show you."

She carefully pushed her back onto the plush bed, running her hands down her body. When she trailed them back up, she pushed her dress up with her. Leaning down over her, she pressed more kisses to her jaw and down her neck. She still took it slow, looking for any cues of hesitation, but found that Jan was giving her none thus far.

Jan wore simple white cotton panties under her dress. She certainly hadn’t expected for anyone to see them. But she didn’t feel shame, only curiosity about what Rosé was going to do to initiate her. Her nipples felt sensitive and she felt a heat in her lower belly. This was all so new and unexpected.

Rosé gave her another kiss, one that was deeper, this time pushing her tongue into her mouth with a little more force. Her fingers found their way between her legs, rubbing at her through her panties. Little by little she would bring Jan's arousal forth, making her soaking wet and fucking needy for her.

Jan gasped, knowing this was naughty, taboo and forbidden. Was she going to Hell for this? Absolutely. But Jan didn’t care. It felt so good. It didn’t take long at all for her to feel things she’d never felt before and didn’t fully understand, but she knew that she needed Rosé to keep going and give her more. “Please...” she whimpered. “Please.”

"You're so cute," Rosé chuckled against Jan's skin before she sucked on her neck. She kept rubbing at her, but now her fingers were against flesh and she could feel just how wet Jan was getting. With claws retracted, she pushed one of them inside the blushing girl beneath her. Slowly she'd prepare her, make sure she was fully worked open so she would have an amazing first experience.

Jan gasped as her fingers slid inside. She’d expected them to be sharp, as she’d seen her claws, but they weren’t. There were so many new good sensations going on Jan couldn’t process them all. She bared her neck, surrendering to the experience. Denali had told her to just let it happen and finally she knew what she meant. She whimpered. “Rosé! Please! I need more.”

"Well, someone's getting into it~ But that's okay, I love that you are." She slid another finger into her, fingering her faster and a little harder, maybe she'd make her come on her fingers first. Having a multiple orgasms never hurt anyone.

Jan gripped her furry shoulders. “Please! It feels so good!” Her hips rocked against the fingers inside her, eagerly chasing after her own pleasure. “I never knew it was this amazing.”

"You never got the chance to experience it," Rosé purred in her ear. She worked her deeper, faster, loving that she was chasing her own pleasure at this point. The poor girl deserved it. She also assumed that she had never touched herself so this was the first time she experienced any sort of pleasure like this.

Jan was losing her mind. Why had she be warned away from this for so long? Thank goodness she had great core muscles so she could rock herself onto Rosé’s fingers, because she was desperate for more at this point. “Rosé!!”

"Do you think you can handle a third finger, baby~?" she asked, wanting to be sure before she gave her more.

Jan nodded. “Please! I’ll take anything you give me.”

"Let's just keep it to my fingers for right now, babe." She did add a third one though, knowing that Jan really could take it. She was so wet and so needy, she was well aware Jan's body craved this so fucking badly and Rosé was going to be the one to give it to her.

Jan had never felt like this before. She clung to Rosé like her life depended on it. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the feeling.

Rosé could see that she had reached that intense climax. She fingerfucked her through it until her body slumped back down onto the pillows beneath her signaling that she was fully spent from her first orgasm. Rosé wasn't going to go right into the next one, instead she wanted Jan to come down from this one and relax for a moment. She has never had these sorts of experiences before, and Rosé did not want to overload her.

"Are you doing all right?"

It took Jan a second to regain control enough to nod. Her breathing was ragged, but she’d never felt better.

Rosé pulled her fingers out of her and licked them clean before wiping them off on the sheets. "I take it you enjoyed that~"

She nodded. “I never realized it was like that.”

"Well, now you know, love~"

Jan bit her lip. She wondered if that was it, her initiation complete. She kinda hoped there was more.

She stroked a furry shoulder tenderly. “I do... but I feel like there’s so much more I don’t know...”

"I'm not done with you yet, I just don't want it to be too much at once."

“I’m ready for more, even if I don’t know what that is. Please, Rosé. Will you show me?”

"I love how eager you are now," she murmured against her lips before kissing her. "I'll definitely show you."

Rosé sat up and pulled Jan's panties off. She unlaced he dress and let it fall off her so that she was completely naked beneath her. Gently, she caressed her skin, running her fingers between her breasts right down to her pelvis. Goddamn, she was so gorgeous, she could get lost just touching her, kissing her, so much so that she had to pull herself back down to earth for a second. She didn't want Jan to feel exposed though, and it was only fair that she get rid of her own clothing too. Her garment had a long, full body zipper making it easy to take it off.

Jan hadn’t realized how much of that was clothing as the devil was suddenly naked before her. Jan gently reached out and touched her, like Rosé had done to her. “You’re stunning...”

"Yeah~? Tell me something I don't know, babe." She laughed, "Thank you though, I'm glad you think so. You are too, absolutely fucking gorgeous. I can't wait to ravish you, to have you moaning and mewling underneath me."

Jan blushed, her thighs rubbing together shyly. “May I ask, is it true that if you don’t put it in... the front it doesn’t count?”

Rosé was so taken aback by that question, but didn't show it on her face. God, these poor humans really were fucked when it came to, well, fucking. She hated how taboo sex was in the mortal realm, all because of how virginity was basically worshipped in her adversary's religion. It irked her to no end, because most humans wanted to engage in sex and they deserved to have actual education on the subject so they can keep their sex lives fun and safe.

"That is absolutely false. Anal sex is sex, and it counts. That is just a stupid ploy perpetuated by stupid boys who want girls to sleep with them. It can be pleasurable when done correctly, but for your first time it will feel so much better right here," she said as she slid her fingers down between her legs.

Jan blushed. “Sorry it’s all just so new to me. But I trust you. And I want you.”

"You don't have to apologize, lovely." She kissed her again. "Also, tell me if anything gets too intense, okay. I don't want you to think you don't have a say in your own pleasure."

Jan nodded. “Thank you. Shall we get started?” She didn’t know how to do it but she trusted Rosé.

"Of course, love~ But I will warn you, my anatomy is not the same as yours, or any human's honestly. I mean, I can mimic it to be that way, but normally it's like this," she said, letting her tentadick come forth and rub against her.

Jan gasped. “Oh!” She hadn’t expected it to be able to stroke her on its own. Did men have that in their pants too?? She bit her lip. “Will I... will I get pregnant?”

"No, babe, I'll make sure of that. Magick and all. And to answer your other question, because I know you're thinking it, no men don't have this," she told her with a smug smirk. As if a man could live up to what she was about to give her.

Jan blushed. “You can read my mind?”

"No, not really, but I just knew you were thinking about that." She chuckled a little as she continued to tease Jan. Still rubbing at her, wanting her to be a whining, desperate mess before pushing inside.

"How much do you want this, baby?"

Jan blushed. “Oh.” She rocked her hips, loving how it felt at her entrance. “I want it so badly,” she purred. “I’ve never felt this good before.”

"That's my girl."

Rosé started to enter her inch by inch, making sure she was okay as she gave her shallow thrusts at first. She wanted to make sure Jan could take it before going deeper. Rosé could tell that Jan was already completely hers, and she couldn't help but to let that go to her ego, just a little bit.

"Goddamn you feel so good."

Jan scooted down so that Rosé could get deeper into her, so eager for it all. She felt... full but in the best way possible, loving the sensations of Rosé pushing inside her slowly. “Ohhh you do too!”

Rosé's movements started to quicken, and she gave it to her somewhat rougher, still being careful of the fact that this was her first time. Of course, Jan was doing nothing but moaning her head off and Rosé took that as a sign to keep going, increasing her pace little by little. "I've heard you're quite the vocalist~ Let's see how loud I can make you sing."

Jan wasn’t ashamed of the sounds she made, didn’t even know that was a thing most people would be ashamed of. As an athlete and a singer, Jan had excellent lung capacity and vocal abilities. “You want me to sing for you?” She asked breathily, so caught up in the pleasure of it all.

"I mean, I'm going to make you sing regardless."

Rosé grabbed her hips and started to fuck her hard now that she was worked open and oh so willing to take it all. Watching Jan's eyelids flutter closed, her mouth open with such sweet sounds coming from it, along with her nice tits bouncing with each thrust made Rosé love this even more. She wasn't sure what to expect with Jan being so closed off from sex, and so innocent at first, but now? Now, she was sure she'd end up like Denali and Mik.

Jan raised her hips up to meet Rosé’s thrusts, gripping the blankets as she moaned loudly, trying to sing for Rosé just like she wanted, enjoying every second of it all. Jan vaguely wondered if her sisters above could hear her singing out for the demon.

Rosé reached between her legs and started to rub at her, "I want you to cum for me, baby. I want you to cum fucking hard.”

Jan whimpered. She was close but she wanted more. Jan chased Rosé’s touch, crying out loudly as she squirted.

Rosé grabbed her hips and fucked her through it, groaning as she chased her pleasure this time. She'd make her cum again, she'd make her cum three, four times before the night was through at this rate. She knew she was overly sensitive now and it would be so easy to destroy her completely.

Jan gripped her shoulders, clinging to her, desperate for more. She wouldn’t mind if the Devil turned her over and switched so she could take her from behind. Honestly, she wouldn’t mind whatever Rosé wanted to do to her. She was so utterly hers.

Rosé leaned down and murmured in her ear, "Do you want more, baby~?"

“So much more,” Jan panted. She was energized and greedy for more. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

Rosé knew that all the other girls loved it when she turned them over and fucked their brains out, and so she'd do the same for the cute little Catholic girl who just lost her virginity to the Devil herself. That in and of itself was hot as fuck. She pulled out and flipped her over before sliding back in all the way to the hilt.

"Fuck~" Rosé moaned.

Her lips found her neck, kissing the warm skin and giving Jan a little love bite there, just something to remember her by after the fact. She kissed down her shoulder blade and took in all her cute sounds she was making at all the touches and kisses. Rosé sat back up, grabbed her hips and continued to ruin her, able to fuck her even deeper now.

"Fucking take it, take everything I give you. I know you love it, you little slut~”

Jan moaned her pretty little head off, absolutely loving this new position. “Give me everything, please! I’m yours! I’m your little slut!”

"Damn right you are, you and all your sisters love my big cock inside your tight little cunts," she cackled, giving Jan a spank. "Did those uptight nuns ever spank your cute ass with their rulers?"

Jan blushed. “No, I was a good girl.”

"I'm not even surprised by that, you've been such a good girl for me too~"

“I wanna be the best,” she admitted.

"The competitive type then, I take it?" Rosé chuckled.

“I played soccer for years,” she confirmed. “I always like to win. I have to be the best.”

Rosé couldn't help but to snicker a little, oh playing on her competitive nature would be fun. But perhaps another time, for now she just wanted her to feel good and cum as many times before she was completely exhausted.

Jan had to wonder if Denali had been like this too, as her sister was just as competitive as she was. But she didn’t really want to think about her right now when she had this lovely devil absolutely destroying her in the best way.

“Harder, please!”

She grabbed the back of Jan's neck and shoved her face into the pillows as she fucked even harder, not holding back. She knew at this point Jan wanted every single thing she had to give and that she could take it. It was cute how Jan went from blushing virgin who had never even been kissed to a moaning little slut wanting the devil's cock to destroy her pussy. It was a wonderful turn of events.

Jan didn’t stop to think about anything but the pleasure of the moment. She’d never realized sex could be like this. Why had she been denied this for so long? She didn’t want to give this up.

“Are you only around for initiations?” she inquired.

Rosé snickered, "No, baby, I can fuck you whenever you want~ Well, as long as someone else doesn't have me already."

Jan pouted. She definitely needed to be the best now. She pushed herself back into Rosé thrusts, trying to get her as deep as possible. “But I need you,” she moaned.

Rosé knew damn well that little quip would bring out her competitive nature. She had to wonder if Jan and Denali would try to compete for her tentadick, that would be amusing to say the least. "Don't worry, baby, if you really think that I can't satisfy you and all your sorority sisters, then you don't know me at all."

“Oh I have no doubts you can satisfy me. Or anyone lucky enough to share your bed.” Jan just wanted it to be her all the time.

"Is someone feeling a little selfish? A little envious~? A little lustful?" she purred in her ear. "That's cute~ Give in to all those feelings, baby."

Jan knew this was a sin... many sins actually, but she didn’t care. She needed Rosé to want her as badly as she wanted her. “Yes. I want you so badly. I don’t want to have to give you up. I wanna keep going as long as I physically can.”

"I can go all night, darling, and you know I will give in to any temptation~" Rosé purred. And she would, she'd give it to her as long as she could stand it, but she knew that Jan was getting to the point of exhaustion just by the energy that vibrated around her.

Jan kept giving it her all, trying to impress the demon with how much she could get it, but she was definitely tired. She’d cum... five times? six? She’d lost count. But she wanted to be the one the demon came to. This was the demon she’d cling to. She’d made her choice. “Rosé!” she cried out.

Rosé had held off long enough and she was full on animalistic, and she grabbed Jan's hips and fucked her hard until she came just as hard inside her. She fucked her through her orgasm until she was completely spent. "Fuck... goddamn that sweet cunt of yours was amazing."

Jan panted, utterly spent. She’d cum so hard when the demon did that she barely registered the words and could only moan in affirmation. She reached for Rosé, for her hand, for some kind of affirmation that she’d done well.

Rosé pressed a kiss to the back of her head and murmured in her ear, "You were wonderful, babe~"

Jan attempted to turn around but she couldn’t quite manage. She just wanted to face the demon and be held by her for a bit.

She pulled out of her and laid down beside her, pulling her close and giving her a kiss on the forehead. Despite who she was, she sure as fuck wasn't going to leave a girl alone with no aftercare. After all, she was a hedonist, she wasn't evil.

Jan snuggled closer, kissing the crook of Rosé’s neck where she’d curled into. She needed the closeness.

"You doing okay babe?"

Jan nodded. “I just need you to hold me for a bit...”

"Of course, lovely. I'm not just going to leave you."

Jan smiled. “That was...” she didn’t quite have the words for it but she offered a soft smile. It was incredible, pleasurable, and so much more than Jan had ever expected it to be. She hadn’t anticipated losing her virginity to a demon... but that was something she’d have to come to terms with later. Right now she just wanted to cuddle.

"Mmm, just rest, baby." Rosé kissed her forehead and trailed her fingers through her hair. She knew this was a lot for the girl, the sexually repressed Catholic virgin at that. Rosé didn't see it as a ruining, she saw it as an awakening. She always thought it was unfortunate that so many women don't have amazing sex, that they settle for mediocre, or even bad sex, that they don't know how to ask for it, or to pleasure themselves. She also hated the fact that so many women didn't get the aftercare they needed after intense sex, but that is exactly why she wanted to open the eyes of these women.

Jan drifted off, feeling safe and cherished in the arms of the demon.

Rosé pressed another kiss to her forehead, letting her rest against her, knowing that she was exhausted after that rigorous session. She was glad that Jan got to experience this, and that she enjoyed it as much as she did. She also couldn't help but to be a little smug about being Jan's first...

Upstairs they got the signal that Jan’s initiation was complete. Denali went with Jackie to go fetch Jan and tuck her in. They took her upstairs and got her into her bed.

Denali climbed in with her and held her close. “I’ll stay with her, Jackie.” Denali couldn’t wait to hear all about Jan’s first time, especially since they’d heard her singing. The story was bound to be good.

[chocolate-parfait]

IM SORRY IN ADVANCE!!! It makes me feel horrible but like... 💀 for Mozart and Isaac... lowkey want Dazai but I think I’d rather die than to see his despair lmao. I hope hope youre well and take your vitamins~~

I'm (kinda) back for now!! Here ya go and sorry for the wait~

(TW; death and mentions of suicide)

☠️ How do they react when they find out their s/o is dead?

Mozart

Natural death:

The void caused by your departure is always there, lingering in his troath like the bitter aftertaste of a terrible medicine. Sometimes this tight and oppressing feeling squeezes his heart as if a sharp string constricting his whole being

The more you love someone, the more you find it difficult to move on one once they're gone. The same way, at least one part of Mozart's mind is always focused on the memory of you, your smile, your scent, the feeling of your touch. When his thoughts start overwhelming him as he's playing the piano, he suddenly changes tempo and transforms whatever he's playing into something more akin to a violent storm. Then, when he's finally relaxed a bit, the tune becomes what one would describe as a soft, light rain with a tinge of sadness underneath

Whenever he's not cooped up in the music room playing, he can be found wandering the empty halls of the mansion like a lost soul in purgatory. He's tired and his limbs feel heavy, and during the first months of his mourning he doesn't even have the force to throw his usual hard stares and harsh words at the other residents. After some time, despite his constant longing to see you, his mood improves ever so slightly, but he knows he probably won't be getting back to his tiptop shape anytime soon, not that he actually wants to. To feel happy without you by his side is almost a blasphemy to him, and this time he's not going to change his mind

Sudden death:

He will never be able to forgive himself for not protecting you. From the outside he's as pale and dull as the ashes left after a fire dies out, but underneath it all, there's a flame hotter than any star in the endless space, a raging storm of anger fueled by sorrow and utter desperation. Though he may not be as expressive, his music speaks volumes. His piano is now the only thing he focuses on, and anyone who passes by the music room can understand how well it must mirror the state of his soul. It becomes painfully clear how deeply affected he is even to Mozart himself when he nearly destroys some piano keys from hitting them with too much force. He doesn't really care, he just wants you to come back, but knowing how unlikely that is, he can do nothing but deal with his emotions in the only way he knows, through music

Once his overwhelming rage subsides, he's left with nothing but a dull ache that spreads from his heart and tightens in the coldest of embraces, the exact opposite of your warm and loving one

Ever since when you're no longer with him, no one has ever heard a happy tune coming from his piano ever again

Isaac

Natural death:

You're the first person who truly loved him, embraced him and supported him unconditionally, and after you decided to spend your entire lifetime with him, saying he feels grateful is an understatement. Of course there won't be a moment in which he won't be thinking of you nor missing you, but after the gloom and a talk with the other residents, he feels confident enough to try and face life again

This does not mean that the process is an easy one, and it takes him quite some time to get used to a life without you. He's so used to holding your hand and talking to you that sometimes he wakes up with the illusion that you'll be there to greet him. When he realizes that you're no longer there, his heart almost stops beating as tears start forming in his eyes

Sudden death:

He cannot forgive himself. Your death causes him to revert to his original hermetic state. His confidence is crushed, his heart hollow and his mind numb. He had always known he wasn't man enough to protect you, and now for his stupid mistake you had lost your life. If you hadn't met him you'd probably be somewhere happily smiling as you enjoy your life to the fullest. Though he feels guilty for doubting your love, his brain acknowledges that it's the very reason why you had to suffer so much

After uselessly pleading Comte to find a way to bring you back to life, he finally surrenders to the utter desperation that angrily whirled between the the walls of his heart. He starts neglecting his research, his job at the university, his own needs and hunger. More often than not he cries himself to a sleep haunted with nightmares and feverish visions of you. With you, a big part of him died, too, and there's no angel nor devil that can make him feel alive him anymore

Dazai

Natural death:

He had always known this day would've come, and surprisingly enough he's way calmer than what he thought he'd be. Maybe his brain hadn't yet fully realized what happened, but mostly it's because you had spent your whole life loving and protecting him from his dark and unhappy thoughts and tendencies, so now he couldn't bring himself to let your efforts be in vain.

Your positive energy has rubbed off on him, but though tries his best to smile it off, there's still a hint of desolation in his golden orbs. He's going to feel extremely lonely without you there, but he wants to try and keep up a front by focusing on the immense gratitude and love left in his heart for you. If he spent the rest of his days slumped over his tear stained pillow you'd probably feel really sad too, right? That's what he wants to believe and it pushes him to at least try pretending he's fine

Sudden death:

How could he be so blind and foolish to crave something so atrociously horrible during his life? Was this the salvation he had so much believed in? Dazai's heart fills with contempt towards life and destiny. All those times you told him life wasn't something that exists for the sake of atonement, he had believed you like a child would with their mother, but the truth was another

You, who didn't have any faults nor commit any sin, why was it you who had to pay the price for something you were not culpable of? But in his heart he knows the answer. The only mistake your pure soul could be accused of was loving him. He, who could not protect you. He, who had wasted an entire life running to reach the end as fast as possible, believing that all his wrongdoings would have been forgiven if he did so

But now what use does he have of all those worthless conjectures? Now that you are no longer there, now that he's left alone in his suffering, now he could perhaps embrace the cold end without the egotistical wish to be forgiven, but to meet you again instead

[artemisia--hq]

Tagged by: @malepresentingleg (Hi!!! It’s been a while 😌 thanks for the tag!)

Name(s): Mia

Fandom(s):

Currently writing for: Haikyuu, exclusively Kagehina. But I’m not as active as I used to since I’m so busy with med school T^T But I do write when I got free time (which is a very rare occasion lol)

That’s it, basically. I’m into other fandoms, but I’m not too invested or interested to write stuff for it sooo, just haikyuu

Where you post: ao3. I do promote them on my twitter and tumblr. I used to post my drabbles first on tumblr, but now I post directly on ao3.

Most popular oneshot (by kudos): Endgame, a serving of a post-timeskip mutual pining Kagehina set after the SA vs BJ match with a smutty side dish. Kudos are a little over 700.

Most popular multi-chapter (by kudos): You Got All The Strings (And Know Just How To Tug Them, a canon divergent, 5+1 thingy (the first one I did) domestic Kagehina. This is probably the fic I’m most known for (along with Sidelines), with almost 1k kudos (!!!!)

Favorite story you’ve written so far: For one-shots, definitely Endgame. And Tangerine. Idk I love reading and writing mutual pining, confession stories. Personally, I feel like I snapped when I wrote Endgame, probably because the manga has already ended then and I want some healing lol. Tangerine is just another 5+1 fluffy thing, but I love how lighthearted and soft it turned out. For multi-chaptered ones, Strings, of course; nothing beats the domesticity Kagehina holds. Oh, and Sidelines! I love, love, angst, and even though it’s been a while since I updated (I’m sorry!) For smut, I’d say Cuddle Weather, because 1) Hinakage, 2) Hinakage, and 3) HINAKAGE

Fic you were nervous to post: Uh, every single one? Sharing your work for the whole world to see and critique is the scariest mf concept.

How do you chose your titles: SONGS. SONGS. SONGS. May it be the title itself or a line from the lyrics. Most of the fics I’ve wrote (and planning to write) are inspired by songs. Sometimes, I go the literal route (especially for the latest one I posted). But coming up with a title is just hard in general like ADSGDHGJKL

Do you outline: Depends on the story. If it’s just a fluffy one-shot or PWP, then I write whatever comes to me at the moment. But for stories that are plot-heavy, I do outlines, but like very vague ideas (hence most of my fics ending much, much longer than intended lol). More often than not, my outlines usually consist of dialogues that came to me while imagining the scene (usually the climax and the ending), and I just build the story around that.

Complete: I currently have 33 published fics in ao3 after almost 2 years of writing; 2 are multi-chaptered WIPS.

In progress: Do you mean the ones I’ve actually started writing or the ones stewing in my head? Lol

Coming soon/not yet started: A commissioned fic about post-timeskip Kagehina dealing with, wait for it, bReAk-uP

Gonna happen:

Definitely more kagehina — may it be fluff, angst, smut, or everything in between

More hinakage because I LOVE it and so should you (I’m just kidding, I know it’s not for everyone xD)

Maybe Gonna Happen

I might publicly open fic comms to help finance my studies since I resigned from my full-time job to focus on academics

I have this very, VERY angsty married kagehina thing that is just pure pain and suffering.

Soft Maybe Gonna Happen (when I get the time):

Uh...finish Sidelines, probably.

Kinda wanna do more AUs, but after I finish the current AU I’m working on (a few ideas I’m playing around with: Dance Partners AU, which has a very loose plot, but would most definitely be smutty af; Eros and Psyche AU, which I’ve been thinking about, for like, since the beginning of time)

Prompts?: Yes, god, yes. But don’t expect me to write it, at like, the very same hour you send one because I’m sooooo busy I barely have time to do anything except study OTL

Upcoming work you’re most excited about: The breakup fic I mentioned. I’m probably committing blasphemy for doings this to my babies, but it’d be nice to do something different once in a while (I say this as if the very first fic I wrote wasn’t an angsty, messy breakup lmao)

I don’t really know who to tag lol all my writer friends are only active in twt OTL But thanks for the tag! I enjoyed doing this so much! 💖

[lvminae]

That's blasphemy and ur going to HECK for having a different onion >:0 but what didn't you like about it in all seriousness? Gib the movie review plz

I don’t remember specifics since it was awhile ago, but I dunno, it just didn’t feel..... right? As a sonic movie? I know it’s meant to be it’s own little universe now, but it just rubbed me the wrong way. Which sucks because I did genuinely enjoy like, Sonic’s parent.

But Jim Carrey as Robotnik for one just completely and utterly ruined any sort of respect I had for it, seeing him in action. I enjoy a good silly eggman, he is silly in his evilness, but Jim’s brand of silly isn’t the right kind for eggman. I respect him about as much as I respect literally any of the boom versions of the characters (aka I Don’t). 

And it just didn’t feel like Sonic to me. I guess that’s on me for being stuck with being attached to the adventure games, and a few other 3d games, and just not enjoying the latest characterization of stuff ever since Boom came out (Forces excluded, but I also enjoy Unleashed and the storybook series of the games, so people definitely will question my opinions lmao). 

There were more things, probably, but I can’t be damned to remember them. It just didn’t feel Sonic to me, just like Boom doesn’t. I can enjoy differences to an extant, but these differences personally didn’t land well with me.

[kingsofneon]

werewolf ace and reaper sabo? *has been playing treasure cruise and died seeing ace*

OKAY this is not technically headcanons or a prompt but like ill forgive you bc werewolves are pretty great and lik e oh my god what the fuck is that giant-hand design???? ace what the fuck??? fire-ass giant hand cOLLAR WEARING FURRY this is hysterical. and yet! no wolf ears, cowards!

also lmao ok i dont play treasure cruise (i literally have no idea what its abt apart from idk, seasonal outfit shit???) and I GOTTA-- sabo wears ugly-ass clothing in canon yet in this app they’re like AH yes gotta make him BANGIN

like look ace has an excuse bc his outfit is sexy-ugly just like the rest of his clothes but SABO is like “yeah im here to kill you” and you just gotta stand there and take it like “okay sir”

apart from that MASK lmao

anyway in honour of ace’s costume choice have an ace/bo that’s basically crack sorry not sorry you’re welcome

OBVI ace/bo childhood friends look i have a type and that type is them being friends and then forgetting/being taken away from each other, so when mr assassin death squad man rocks up with his mask on and his hood up (bc its a favour for some ppl dragon wants on their side), ace is like YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE

“yes that is the point?”

and ace gets his cool ass candy-carrying dog to throw shit in sabo’s face and then bc ace is a fuckhead moron he attacks, gets in close so that scythe is a hindrance, not a help, and uses his FUCK BIG HANDS to break Sabo’s mask to pieces

and then ofc: YO WHAT THE FUCK, SABO?

“.......uh what how do you know me”

“BRO it’s ME bro” bc ace has all the brain cell of a college frat boy when trying to explain himself 

“......... uh yeah okay” says sabo, confused and annoyed at his mask being broken but then ace is like MAKE OUT TIME 

“do you remember tHAT! I WAS YOUR FIRST KISS AND I WILL BE YOUR LAST!”

“UH WHAT” goes sabo but uhh idk i guess this world has magic first kiss powers bc i say so, and he’s like WAIT how do i RECOGNISE YOUR MOUTH

“uh bc i was your first kiss i told you that??”

“blasphemy!” goes sabo and knocks ace unconscious

“fuck why did i do that” goes sabo, two minutes later

“okay i AM taking you alive, get dunked”

welcome to: temporary prisoner ace who’s kinda chill with the scenario bc nobody tries to kill him and they’re kinda nice and also SABO!!!!!

ace absoLUTELY tries to keep chill and unaffected by every time sabo is nice to him his tail starts fuckin THUMPING the floor and they both get embarrassed

BUT SABO CANNOT DENY THE MAGIC OF THE FIRST KISS et all et all and can’t help but fall, but be nice, because he’d already fallen once and the thing that’d gotten between them had been amnesia, not heartbreak

ehhhh a little bit of heartbreak on ace’s side

uh idk they start spending time together and sabo chills with ace in his cell and that leads to “oh well uh- I mean- look maybe we were- prove it to me again.” sabo says stubbornly “prove first kiss” and ace is like u H and kinda flustered but then he’s like OH and realises this is sabo’s way of asking for makeouts because he’s SHIT at feelings

welcome to werewolf/reaper makeouts, ace is basically a firefox motherfucker and hot as shit, sabo’s technically a spirit of the dead and a COLD fuckhead, both of them are like wow look at this tension between us HAHAH NO WE’RE NOT GONNA FUCK WE’RE NOT THERE YET

one time after makeouts ace thinks sabo would have Enough memories back to Handle stuff and he’s like oh man i missed you so much i love u so much, GENERAL SAPPY BS that ace says all the time, like an asshole, and sabo panics bc OFC he doesn’t have enough memories back and i need to move this along

blah blah base gets attacked, ace proves he could’ve gotten out any time he wanted using his scarf which is actually imbued with shapeshifting giant-wolf bullshit, ace saves sabo’s life - and probably a couple of other people idc - annNNNND sabo gets more memories triggered by it + head injury he receives at the end of the battle

He comes to a few days later, (memory returning fault, not injury fault), and ace is by his bedside. professes his regained memories, ace beams and his tail wags like HELLA annnnnnd then ace pouncing on him for excited makeouts turn into sabo being like yep we’re gonna fuck

“on this hOSPITAL BED” 

“yep, pants off, let’s go”

they fuck and live happily ever after the end.