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little-diable · 9 months ago

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Who prays for Satan? - Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

This isn't our usual dark!Tom, he's still fucked up, but not as dark as the other priest fics. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Priest Riddle is the reader's theology professor, a man she has always found herself interested in, but things escalate when she joins his church for her internship.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, guided masturbation (f), spanking, forced confession, smut in a church/in a confessional, choking, degrading, unaddressed age gap, power play, professor x student, religious connotations

Pairing: Priest!Prof!Tom Riddle x fem!student!reader (about 3k words)

"Please remember that you only have time until Friday to tell me, where you will do your internship. Have a good week, and don’t forget the essays, please.” The sounds of students hastily rising to their feet echoed through the room, but while some were desperate to leave, getting away from the professor who looked like God’s finest creation, but spoke like the Devil himself, others were desperate to catch his attention with bland questions he found himself annoyed by.

“(Y/n), do you have a moment?” His voice drew her closer, past the group of students who looked at her with hate swimming in their pupils. She didn’t look at them as she walked past them, coming to a halt in front of the tall man with a soft smile glued to her lips. “Walk with me.”

Neither of them spared the others another glance as he strode out in the hallway, expecting her to follow him. It wasn’t the first class of his (y/n) was visiting, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, as she found herself awfully drawn towards the priest, who had taken on a few theology classes at their university. Something about him was different. Something she couldn’t let go of, no matter how hard she tried to.

“I knew you’d turn in your essay days before the others would even begin writing it, but I was pleasantly surprised by your work this week. It was smart of you to use the famous Mark Twain quote: “But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?” It always stuck with me.”

“Thank you, Professor Riddle. You once told me how much you think of this quote, so it only felt right to use it for this week’s focus on sinning.” The throaty chuckle rumbling through him left her feeling surprised, not used to seeing him this giddy. His smile didn’t waver, not as they came to a halt in front of his office, not as he guided her inside, not as they plopped down on their designated seats.

“Your essay isn’t the reason for this chat, though. I was thinking of what you said to me, and I decided that you can join my church for your internship. But I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell others I’m allowing you to do this, I never give out internships, and I’m only taking you on because I know how dedicated and smart you are.” Heat rose in her system, crawling up her throat to force (y/n) to avert her gaze. She had been desperate to find a church to join, not wanting to spend her internship as a simple office help, she needed practice, something to help her figure out what she actually wanted to do with her life.

“I highly appreciate this, thank you, professor. I promise, I won’t make you regret your choice.” Her eyes flickered back to his piercing ones, instantly sucked into his mesmerizing grasp. He was like a siren, luring her into his trap to feast on her darkening thoughts – thoughts she hadn’t been able to shake ever since meeting the tall priest.

“I know you won’t, (y/n). You will start Sunday morning to join me for the first service of the day, and then we can go through your task for the upcoming two weeks.”

……

“Professor?” Her voice hallowed through the empty church. It was still dark out, an early morning she had struggled to adjust to, and yet her nerves had managed to get her out of bed, finding her way towards these holy halls. Her sneakers met the ground as (y/n) walked up to the altar, letting her fingertips dance over the cold marble, appreciating the grounding sensation she was instantly taken over by.

“You’re early.” Professor Riddle's raspy voice made her jump, she had been too distracted by her surroundings to hear him approach, slowly turning towards him with wide eyes. He was wearing his black signature suit, paired with the white collar she’d see in her darkest moments, making heat pool between her thighs.

(Y/n) clawed her fingernails into her palms to rip herself out of the hazy fog calling for her, needing to stay focused before she could do or say something that would end her internship right there and then.

“I thought you may need some help preparing for the service.” A sickly sweet smile tugged on her lips, forcing his teeth to rot from the mere possibility of tasting her. He took a step towards her, with his hands clamped together behind his back, giving him an extra authoritarian touch. But while her body screamed at her to take a step back, to find shelter behind the altar, her mind murmured to (y/n) to hold still, not daring to give in to his intimidation scheme.

“I certainly appreciate your help, (y/n). I knew it was the right choice to pick you for this internship.” He towered over her, staring down at her with his gaze reminding her of a snake, ready to pounce, to sink its poisonous teeth into her quivering body. At that very moment, she was Eve, tempted by the eternal sin, and he was her downfall. She stood closer to him than ever before, front about to touch his, seeking the warmth he emanated in a place as cold as this church.

“So, what should I do?” (Y/n) needed to get away from him, no longer trusting herself with ignoring the shameless whispers ringing in her ears. But the tall man didn’t back off, he kept watching her with that smirk that told her he knew exactly what she found herself bothered by. A losing game (y/n) had never been destined to win, burning out like a cigarette setting a petrol station ablaze, destined to burn to the ground.

“Why don’t you choose this morning’s prayers?” He reached for the Bible resting on the altar, way too close to her. His front brushed hers as he leaned forward, reaching for the leather-bound book before pushing it into (y/n)’s grasp. Their eyes kept holding contact, even as his hand disappeared inside the pocket of his jacket, pulling free a black rosary. “Oh, before I forget. Here, I want you to have this.”

(Y/n) didn’t get any time to react or to ask questions as he pushed the rosary over her head to let it rest on her chest. His hand kept holding onto the dangling cross, while his eyes flickered back to her confused ones. “They will know you belong to me, wear it whenever you are working here.”

……

Her eyes were focused on the bright laptop screen as she was typing away her notes for this day, promising to give them to Professor Riddle before leaving. Even though her thoughts were still all over the place, (y/n) found herself growing more comfortable around the tall man most students were scared of. He treated her kindly, and yet something was hiding behind his words and expressions she couldn’t pinpoint.

“Are you done with your notes?” Professor Riddle’s voice filled his office as he stepped inside. (Y/n) didn’t lift her gaze at first, hastily trying to type the last sentence before she gave in and dared to look at him.

“Just finished, should I print them?” He didn’t reply to her question, eyes fully focused on her upper body, trying to locate the missing rosary. With her breath hitched in her chest, (y/n) watched him approach, rounding the desk to find his way towards her. (Y/n) struggled to breathe as the scent of his expensive cologne clashed against her frame, forcing her to get lost in his darkening eyes.

“Where is the rosary?” She knew that she had forgotten it at home this very morning, too tired to care about any rules and regulations, but her hand still snapped up to her chest, trying to find the missing piece.

“I’m sorry, I forgot it at home.” He didn’t give in to the soft smile (y/n) shot him, didn’t pick up on the exhaustion dripping from her words, solemnly focused on the way she had gone against his rules. His tongue kissed his teeth before he took a step back and stretched his ringed hand out for her to take. “Where are we going?”

“I wanted to go over this with you tomorrow, but it seems like tonight is the perfect time to do so.” (Y/n) was led out of his office and down the hallway towards the dark nave. They walked up to the confessional, and as he opened one door for her, he shot her a look that made her tremble, letting any protests die on the tip of her tongue.

“Have you ever confessed before, (y/n)?” She was engulfed by darkness, and could barely see her own hands, let alone the man who was sitting close to her, behind the wooden construction keeping them apart. The scent of incense hung in the air, sticking to her like a second layer of skin, a reminder of their sacred surroundings.

“No, professor.” (Y/n) had been addressing him as “Professor” for the past days, not daring to use any other title, let alone his first name. But the second she used this very title to address him, (y/n) could tell that it would be the last time she’d call him that tonight, a shift was happening, something she was now taken over by.

“It’s Priest Riddle to you.” The barely audible gasp clawing through (y/n) left him chuckling, followed by the sound of him shifting around on the bench, making himself comfortable as she grew more tense. “You sinned, you went against my rules. I must punish you for that, (y/n).”

“Punish me?” She hated that his words pushed excitement through her, forcing her to sit even straighter as if he could see her. Her fingertips began to tingle, her legs were quivering, unable to hold still as something she had only dreamt of slowly began to unfold right at that very moment.

“Honesty will be the price of your foolishness, (y/n). I notice the way you look at me, how you seem to long for something you aren’t allowed to even reach for. Tell me, (y/n), what is it you so desperately seem to want?” Embarrassment flushed through her, followed by anger she couldn’t shake. How dare he ask something like this? How dare he try to embarrass her for a simple mistake? She should have left the confessional, stormed out of the church, and reported the man for overstepping. And yet she didn’t, already stuck in the trap he had laid out for her months ago.

“I don’t know.” It was the truth. She didn’t know what she wanted from him if she was merely longing for his touch, or if something even more desperate was guiding her on. She didn’t know if she wanted a simple taste, or to be swallowed wholly by him. She simply didn’t know.

“How far are you willing to go, (y/n)?” Her mouth felt dry, unable to swallow as his words began to sink in. (Y/n) was grateful that he couldn’t see her, the way her pupils were dilated by the lust flushing through her, the goosebumps covering every visible part of her body as if she was engulfed by an icy wind.

“Farther than I should.” A part of her expected him to break the spell they were now connected by, to pull her out of the confessional and scold her for giving in this easily. But the priest didn’t move, and neither did (y/n).

“Spread your legs, I want you to touch yourself like I bet you keep imagining me doing.” With her heart in her throat, (y/n)’s hand disappeared beneath her skirt, slowly pushing her damp panties aside. A soft moan clawed through the student, grateful that the others had left the church hours ago. “Good girl, fuck yourself with your fingers.”

Another moan left (y/n) as she pushed two fingers into her tightness, spreading her walls as if she was preparing herself for his cock, desperate to take every inch. She kept moaning for him, choking on her sounds that grew heavier with every passing moment.

“I can hear how wet you are, I bet you taste so sweet, like the forbidden fruit.” His words guided her on, ringing in her ears as if the Devil was calling for her, wandering through the darkness to reach his open arms, getting lost in his sweet promises. “I should imprint my palm on your skin for going against my rules. You promised you wouldn’t disappoint me, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry.” Her needy whimpers left the priest chuckling, sounds that almost managed to drown out the ones clawing through (y/n).

“I’m sure you are, (y/n). Stop touching yourself.” It pained her to pull her hand away, she had been close to giving in, ready to call out his name as her orgasm clashed through her, seconds before she could have reached paradise. The sounds of Priest Riddle leaving his side of the confessional echoed through the evening, followed by the sounds of him opening her side and stepping into the small space.

She was pulled to her feet and tugged in for a kiss that left her moaning. (Y/n)’s arms found their way around Priest Riddle's neck, trying to pull the tall man even closer as if she were addicted to him. He broke the kiss to turn her around, pressing (y/n)’s front against the wooden wall separating both sides of the confessional. His ringed hands felt cold against her body as he shuffled her skirt up to her waist, letting her panties drop to the ground seconds later.

“I hope you prepared yourself enough for this punishment.” His ringed hand came down on her behind, forcing a yelp out of (y/n) who pressed herself further against the cold wood. Pain stretched itself through her, an unfamiliar kind of pain that made her ache for more. Once again, his palm met her warm skin, knowing that she’d struggle with sitting for the next few days. “I can’t wait to finally fuck you, make you pay for all these times I felt your eyes on me like a needy whore who doesn’t know when to stop.”

(Y/n) couldn’t protest, she couldn’t speak up to beg him for any kindness he wouldn’t offer. Only as she felt him pull away for a moment did (y/n) allow herself to breathe, blinking away the tears that had welled up in her eyes.

“What do you want, (y/n)? And don’t feed me another lie. I want your honesty.” Chills ran down her spine at his dangerous tone, shaking through (y/n) like an earthquake set on ripping her off her feet. She had to deeply inhale, had to heavily swallow before she managed to put her longings into words, needing to break out of his trap.

“I want your cock, fuck me, please, Priest Riddle.” A satisfied hum left the man, followed by the sounds of him ripping open a condom, prepared for his very punishment. It didn’t take long until she felt him at her entrance, slowly pushing into (y/n) with a heavy groan that dripped with need and lust clawing through him.

It felt as if they had been created for his moment only, bodies made to fit.

“I should tell you to never sin again, to stay true to your promises. But you’ve turned me into a sinner as well, no promise could keep me from you any longer.” His words left her gasping, walls clenching around this twitching cock. He fucked her with urgency, set on proving to (y/n) and to himself that she was his, his to guide, his to punish.

“You take my cock so well, I bet you dreamt of being fucked by me in a holy place, didn’t you?” His warm breath clashed against her tingling skin as he spoke his words, drawing a heavy sob out of (y/n) as she lost her grip on their surroundings. Tom’s hand moved like a snake, slithering back up to her throat to hold onto her, letting go of a raspy, “Speak when I ask you to.”

“Yes, I did. I dreamt of it.” It was a simple reply, yet it was just enough to make the priest hum in approval. He twitched inside of her as he could tell that they both were ready to let go with their hearts pounding and their limbs aching. (Y/n) struggled to breathe on as he tightened his grip on her throat, forcing her head to rest against his broad chest. The priest stared down at (y/n), her lighthouse in the darkest nights, the burning bush to rely on. An anchor of safety.

“Let go, (y/n), be honest once again.” She came with a gasp, with her eyes squeezed shut and her lips parted. A sight so ethereal, the priest followed her moments later, letting his teeth graze his lower lip to draw some blood. He pulled out of her all too quickly, to turn her back towards him with his bloody lip finding hers, “Now you’re truly mine, bound my blood.”

And who was she to deny a sinner a wish this pure? At least it was on them to pray for Satan that night, since God no longer would pick up on their calls.

#Tom Riddle smut #priest fic #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle imagine

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harunayuuka2060 · 11 months ago

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Queen Rose: Today's event has brought me satisfaction. May we have the pleasure of repeating such an occasion upon your next visit to Devildom.

MC: I'm looking forward to it. *smiles*

Queen Rose: Ah, I mustn't overlook this: I am eagerly anticipating the moment when I shall address you as "Your Majesty" upon our next meeting.

MC: Of course. I'm glad to- Huh? Can you repeat that, Your Majesty?

Queen Rose: *chuckles* I will leave the explanation to Diavolo. *disappears*

MC: ...

Ace: YOU'RE GOING TO BE A ROYALTY?!!

Deuce: From being a prefect of Ramshackle dorm to being a professor of Night Raven College, and now-

Solomon: A deity.

MC: Me becoming a demon noble doesn't mean that I'll be a deity, Sol.

Solomon: But it's the truth.

MC: ...

MC: That can't be.

Solomon: Thirteen confirmed it. You are now a deity.

MC: ...

MC: No.

MC: Nonononononono-

Simeon: Solomon, you scared MC.

Solomon: Haha! My bad!

Vil: Why are you so against becoming a deity?

MC: I promised my wife that I would give her my soul when she asks for it someday.

Vil: ...

Vil: What?

MC: And becoming a deity would mean beefing with Michael.

Simeon: *chuckles* Oh, yes. That will surely happen.

Leona: This "Michael" doesn't like you?

MC: You could say that.

Riddle: I see. Well, it seems that's your only concern and not the fact that you will be marrying Diavolo.

MC: Why would I be concerned about that?

Leona: Wow. So if I ask you to marry me, you wouldn't mind?

MC: ...

MC: It depends. You like kids?

Vil: Pft-

Leona: ...

Riddle: One way to deter Leona-senpai.

Satan: MC, there was a fairy who handed us this piece of paper.

Belphie: *yawns* I think it's some letter of some sort.

Satan: And it's addressed to you so we didn't open it.

MC: Oh. Thank you, Satan, Belphie.

MC: *proceeds to open and read the contents of the letter*

MC: Ah. It's an invitation from the Queen of Briar Valley.

Belphie: Malleus's grandma?

MC: Yes. Queen Maleficia. She wants me to visit right now.

Satan: Eh... But you said that you are going to spend time with us.

Belphie: *frowns*

MC: I'll be back before this evening, I promise.

Belphie: Evening.

MC: Yes. Evening.

Satan: Still, be careful. Summon us if you encounter any problems.

MC: Sure thing.

Maleficia: What do you think?

MC: *looking at a wedding dress* It looks great.

Maleficia: Right? Malleus's future spouse will be wearing this.

MC: Eh? You have found a partner for him?

Maleficia: Yes. *then proceeds to stare at them*

MC: ...

MC: Do I know this person?

Maleficia: Yes. You know them very well.

MC: ...

MC: Your Majesty... I am... the worst option.

Maleficia: But think about it, Malleus will be your only husband here in Twisted Wonderland.

MC: Ma'am, I love your grandson. We're friends. But spare him. Please.

#twisted wonderland #obey me mc #twst mc #twst ace #twst deuce #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #twst vil #twst leona #twst riddle #obey me satan #obey me belphie #twst maleficia #obey me queen rose #twst x obey me

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temis-de-leon · 11 months ago

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Love potion and OM! Brothers - Part 2

Characters: Satan, Asmo, Beel and Belphie (x reader, separately)

Intro , Part 1 , Part 3

Masterlist

CW: fluff, a tiny little bit suggestive, Belphie's a brat (aren't we all surprised), brothers crushing hard and MC implied to be crushing hard too, pre-established relationship

A/N: Just like in other posts, I can't seem to be able to properly tag some of you :(

Satan

How could he see the cat from his seat by the window, Satan didn’t know, but he would be crazy if he ever let go of the opportunity to pet one. The only thing he could think of before rushing out was grabbing you and some treats and hope the kitten was still there by the time you arrived.

He could feel his excitement buzzing in his chest when he knocked your door, but no sound came in return. He sent you a message, growing impatient and pacing in the hallway until he entered your room with determination.

“MC! Cat alert! I need help to sneak him in!”

Your smell was strong, but you didn’t seem to be in the room. Weird. However, it didn’t take him long to realize it was actually coming from the cauldron.

Satan got closer, temporarily forgetting about the cat while he studied the glittery liquid or, rather, holographic. He moved the spoon, humming when it reflected the warm light of the candles in a fluid motion. The smell was delicious, but it didn’t resemble any food he could think of. Actually, it reminded him of the Royal Library and the cat café you both visited after your study sessions.

Soft, shimmering, appealing.

A love potion? What were you doing, MC? Trying to enchant somebody?

He could tell you had left before finishing your project, otherwise, the essence would be stronger. Satan wondered if whatever you smelt reminded you of him in any sort of way. Maybe his cologne? Or the smell of treats and old books that plagued his room?

The brief thought of adding a strand of his hair crossed his mind, but he quickly erased it. He loved you and he wanted you to love him, yes, but he’d be damned if he forced those feelings. You taught him love and affection, allowing him to experience every word he’d ever read in his romance books and picturing you as the main character’s love interest.

Satan had no doubts. If you were to reciprocate his feelings, he’d prefer them to be real.

Asmo

“You won’t believe it, MC!”

He gained one thousand followers in Devilgram in just one night! Sneaking out and going to that party with Mammon was totally worth it! They both had to kneel before Lucifer for three whole hours and Mammon was hung upside down, that was true, but still, totally worth it!

Now, where were you? Your phone was charging on your bedside table and only half of the candles were lit, pictures of the family and various trinkets decorating the branches of the tree. He could see all the skincare products he’d ever recommend and bought for you on the table, but he frowned when he hold a bottle in his hand and felt it was almost empty.

Why didn’t you tell him? You could use the opportunity to go on a shopping spree with him! But… ooh, what were you making? It looked like the face oil you just finished! Silky, golden and glittery, almost odourless if not for the faint smell of your lip balm and flowers; roses, like the ones in his room.

Were you trying to replicate the product? He could understand why, it was a little expensive after all, but it wouldn’t achieve the same results as the original. Natural ingredients had some limits, after all. But hey, it could be fun! You had some great ideas, MC; although it was a pity you didn’t want to share them with him.

Or, maybe, you wanted to surprise him! A fuzzy feeling covered his heart at the thought, like bubbles in a sugary drink, and he had the sudden need of sitting down next to the cauldron with mixed words stuck in his throat. The oil changed its appearance from that perspective, the golden colour turning hot pink with red swirls.

Asmodeus stared in amazement, wondering what type of ingredients you used to create such a hypnotizing concoction. Could you share the recipe with him? It would be your little secret! He already had some ideas for the next one, like a soft baby pink or a shimmery white that looked and smelled like frosting.

Or, perhaps, if you were keen on the idea, you could come together to create a new smell that would only belong to you. Something that he’d never share with anyone else and could never be duplicated.

Like all the love he felt for you.

Beel

Forgive him, MC.

It smelt too good.

Like cheeseburgers with fries and pizza with sodas and raw cookie dough with marshmallows and ice cream and chips of every flavour… Everything he had ever eaten with you, especially during that movie marathon weekend.

It had been a consolation price for losing his last Fangol game, something that hardly happened and left him with a sour taste in his mouth, broody and frustrated, so not like him. He’d been hungrier than ever then and, if not for Lucifer and Lord Diavolo, he would’ve eaten half of the coliseum. Thankfully, you had a whole stack of food ready to be taken in the kitchen.

Beel knew you probably bought it all thinking he would win the game, but, hey, food is food. He’d never think of complaining, especially when it came from you.

He didn’t remember what you watched and he already apologized for it a couple of times, but he wasn’t really bothered about it. After all, he’d spent the whole weekend cuddling you, crossing the wobbly line of friendship you’d both established long ago, and eating everything you had for him. Only when the week began again he realized he hadn’t been left entirely satisfied and he deeply hoped you felt the same.

Should he had kiss you? Distract you from the movie and confess under the blankets, smelling you amongst the sugary and savoury food?

He wasn’t sure at the time, but Belphie’s teasing was encouragement enough for him to leave his bedroom and rush to yours.

But you weren’t there.

And the cauldron smelt so good.

Beel didn’t even have time to check what it was before drinking it all at full speed as if it was a bottle of water after practice. The smell remained only for a couple of seconds, but he didn’t feel any different, maybe a little bit warmer than before.

Whatever.

Where were you, MC? He had something to tell you.

Belphie

He was dreaming of the beach, waves crashing against the sand and warm wind tanning his skin, but you weren’t there. He looked around for a while, finding no one, so, although very reluctantly, he forced himself to wake up.

The attic was empty and without the seawater’s coolness the high temperature in the room left him sticky, tangled in his sheets and uncomfortable. He searched for his DDD, toying with the idea of sending you a message in hopes of sleeping in your room, but he didn’t know how long it would take you to respond, so, grabbing his pillow and his blanket, he got up and went down the stairs.

He hadn’t seen you since last night and you didn’t share any classes that day, hence him not going to RAD despite Lucifer’s complaints. Then, dinner had been hectic with everyone trying to get your attention, so, overall, Belphie didn’t really spend any time with you that day and he missed you too much to sleep properly.

Yes, he blamed you.

And yes, it was a reason good enough to enter your room without knocking.

Disappointingly, just like in his dream, you weren’t there, although it smelt so much like you: your human essence, your body products and your detergent, which he’d stolen multiple times to clean his bed sheets.

Did you do laundry recently? Why didn’t you say anything? Or were you in the shower? In that case, don’t worry MC, he could wait, just not for long; after all, your bed was too comfortable and your room was especially homey that night. He expected you to be already at the beach by the time he got there.

Naked, clothed, in your swimwear, he didn’t care. Belphie just wanted you there with him. Hopefully, forever.

@hello-gloomy @the-sassiest-toaster @hero-nii-blog @yourlocalyin @elaemae @eliciria @darkflowerav @zarakem @yuuvis32 @anxious-chick @commets-space @deepestartisanhumanoidshark @ourfinalisation

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daytaker · 1 year ago

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The Gang React to You Giving Them Chocolates on Valentine's Day

And other Valentine's Day miscellanea. I'm going with MC giving store-bought chocolates. I know in some places, it's more common to give homemade chocolates, but I for one do not have any idea how that is done and it's not something that's common where I live, so I'm going to go with what I know, which is very little. Enjoy! (Mostly below the cut.)

The length of these varies. Some are quite short. I just wanted to put out some sort of Valentine's Day themed Thing, even if I'm almost two days late.

Lucifer

"How thoughtful. I don't suppose there's anything deeper I'm meant to read into here?"

He's so smug. Unreasonably so. More than you would expect. Yeah, guys, he got chocolates from MC. But his pride doesn't allow him to flaunt the fact. He has to just hope and pray people actively ask him whether he's gotten anything or where those not-so-discreetly placed chocolates sitting on his desk happened to come from.

Lucifer is very traditional in his treatment of you. When it comes to events like this, he's almost painfully predictable. He'll certainly have roses for you, and depending on your relationship, he might reserve dinner for two at a high end restaurant. And if your relationship is at a certain level, you can expect a trail of rose petals leading to the bed. It's kind of cringeworthy but he means well.

Mammon

"O-oh... Ahem... Is it Valentine's Day? Ha! I thought I was forgettin' somethin'. Heh, uh... thanks, human."

Obviously he didn't forget; he's been stressing over this day for the past week. He needs to get you something, but it can't be anything that's too cheesy or anything that makes him look cheap, so he's probably broken the bank to get you some sort of jewelry that he'll spend the next century paying off, but it's worth it.

When he gets chocolates from you, he plays it off like it's no big deal, but actually, he's so excited to reciprocate that before he has time to think it over, he's acting like he just so happened to have this expensive piece of jewelry on his person so you might as well take it for him. He spends the rest of the day kicking himself because now how in the world are you supposed to know that this was actually a very tactful and expensive gift from the greatest demon in the Devildom?

That, and he'll probably spend the entire day glaring at his brothers and the dateables from the corner as they shower you with gifts and attention.

Leviathan

"Wh...? For me? This isn't a prank, right? Because I'm not gonna forgive you if this box is full of tide pods!"

It's not full of tide pods, so all is well. He's so embarrassed to have doubted you that he tries to just shove his gift into your hands and push you out of his room, but it won't take too much persistence to get him to back down.

His gift is some sort of merch relating to an anime, manga, or game the two of you have particularly enjoyed together. Preferably something cute and evocative of the holiday. He doesn't know. He's never done this before. Why would he? Nobody would ever think to give him anything on Valentine's Day, so why would he bother with gifts? You do remember that nobody likes him, right? He doesn't like them either, so it's fine, but---

Let's just thank him for our gift before he falls too far down the self-hate spiral.

Satan

"I had hoped I might receive something from you today."

Satan is glad to get something from you, no matter what it is, but to be honest, chocolates probably aren't the best choice for him. He'd rather have something a little more heart-felt, that seems like you picked it out with him in mind. Literally anything cat-themed, or a book of some sort (bonus if it's a romance novel).

He's probably gone and done something stupidly romantic like buy you flowers and a book of poetry with certain parts highlighted.

But don't be fooled. Satan's favorite part of Valentine's Day is talking about its gruesome history, from the martyrdom of St. Valentine to a whole host of brutal murders that have taken place on the day. Catch him trying to figure out how to shoehorn the Chicago St. Valentine's Day Massacre into a casual conversation.

Asmodeus

"Oh, for meeee? You're such a sweetheart!"

He adds it to his enormous pile of chocolates, cards, flowers, and love letters. But of course, it's special, because it's from you.

He loves it, but... he's another one who would probably prefer something a little more personalized. Being who he is, he's a very popular demon on Valentine's Day, so seeing you put in a little effort to get him something with a bit of Asmo-flair would thrill him.

Beelzebub

"Chocolates...? This is the best thing I could have asked for. They'll taste even better knowing they're from you."

Well, obviously he loves them. He probably tried to get you chocolates too, but it doesn't matter how much he loves you. Beel's gonna Beel. The box is empty. He's shocked. He was sure he left some.

Belphegor

"...Wait, it's...? ...Thanks, MC. They look really good."

Belphie stares down at the chocolates in his hands, looking tired and mellow, while he internally panics because holy shit, it's already February 14? When did that happen? He doesn't have anything for you. He hates Valentine's Day. Why does it have to exist and lay bare all his inadequacies, like being a procrastinator and forgetting to prepare for things in advance even to the slightest degree?

Diavolo

"Ah, for Valentine's Day! It's a delight to receive this in person!"

Diavolo probably gets plenty of Valentine's Day presents from admirers (and suck-ups) around the Devildom, but most of them come in the mail or are otherwise delivered in an impersonal manner. So when you approach him directly to give him some chocolates, he's reminded why you're everyone's favorite human (himself included).

Also, you'd better clear out your schedule, because Diavolo booked out all of Ristorante Six for a dinner date tonight. Yes, the entire thing. Yes, on Valentine's Day. No, he's not worried about the dozens of disappointed couples who had probably been hoping to eat there.

Barbatos

"Any gift from you is satisfactory in my eyes."

It's kind of embarrassing to give regular old chocolates to someone like Barbatos who's a complete whiz in the kitchen, especially when it comes to sweets. But you figure he'd appreciate the gesture, and you'd be right. Of course, he will turn around and present you with a variety of immaculate, handcrafted artisan chocolates, tailor made to your personal taste. But sure, those store-bought candies you got in the heart-shaped box are completely fine, so stop stressing out about it.

Solomon

"Aw, thank you, my adorable apprentice! I have some homemade chocolates for you! What? Aren't you going to try some?"

Solomon tries to kill you on Valentine's Day...with love, obviously! But seriously, aren't you going to try the chocolates? He put his whole heart into them. And the hearts of several unique Devildom species. They're not toxic, stop worrying.

Simeon

"The fact that you thought of me means more than you realize."

And he means it. The fact that you thought about him, and when thinking about him, made the active decision to buy him something for Valentine's Day makes him stupidly happy.

Simeon strikes me as a flowers kind of guy. He got you flowers. Maybe some homemade treats too, but definitely flowers.

Luke

"Thanks! I got you something too. Happy Valentine's Day!"

Luke made cookies. They're delicious. Befriending this kid is the smartest thing you ever did.

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verysium · 1 year ago

Note

This is such crack brain fart idea 😶

What if some blue lock boys ask the reader what brand her shoes (or something dumb like that) over text and reader sent them a voice message on text and it’s just:

“Hi baby, okay so the brand is—- *insert car accident noises*”

Have you seen those TikToks???

If you do this request, it can be any blue lock boys you want

HELPPP i saw something similar on hinge, and i was hunched over the side of my bed laughing for like 20 minutes. in general, i don't think pranks with any of the bllk boys would go well (unless you wanted to be punted like a football, american-style) but i'm taking a risk today, so here you go:

sae sees through your bullshit in a peloponnesian minute. he has morning practice, three interviews, and a daily nap to get to, so what makes you think he has time for you to fake a car accident? leaves you on read. (brutal, i know.)

rin is mildly concerned, but he's too smart to fall for whatever prank you have planned. he'd probably reply with a sarcastic, dry ass response or a deadpan emoji. refuses to talk to you for the rest of the day because what if you actually got into a car accident? he would lose all sanity. tbh he can't stand it when people make light of serious situations even if it's just a lighthearted joke.

kaiser is petty. he sends you an official funeral invite titled "in loving memory of y/n." he personally designed it in photoshop and even added those tacky glitter rose GIF animations on the front. coincidentally, everyone in your immediate circle also happened to receive the same mass email chain with those invites, so you had to explain to your family, friends, and co-workers that (1) you did not in fact die in a car accident and (2) your funeral is not set for the 15th. (you never played a prank on michael again.)

isagi freaks out. he's calling 911/119, whatever emergency service there is. immediately calls you and nearly breaks down in fear of losing you. when you tell him it was merely a prank, he laughs in relief but internally he's cursing you out with every colorful name in existence.

ness is isagi but even more high-strung. there is no time to call the ambulance in his mind. he's already thundering down the highway looking for the evidence of your car wreck. calls you and screams ballistically into the speaker: "WHERE ARE YOU? WHERE ARE YOU? WHERE ARE YOU?" so yeah....don't ever play a prank on ness. it's for your sake, not his.

shidou takes you up one notch and sends a picture of himself in the emergency room with a cast on his leg and an IV drip. this spawn of satan took your message literally and decided to copy you and got into a real car accident. so now you have to take time off work and sign the hospital discharge papers because he listed you as his sole emergency contact.

nagi doesn't give a shit. he's already chronically online, and reo's played pranks on him before. probably texts you an "ok" and then tells you he's run out of toilet paper again, so you need to stop by the store to buy some.

reo matches your energy. he replies with: oh yeah, i've heard of that brand. it's the—*insert sound of trucks colliding and screeches across asphalt* you both had a good laugh after.

ok that's all i have for now. this is going to reach a very niche demographic, but you're welcome.

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three-realms-archive · 6 months ago

Text

Love Me, or Not?

Satan sat alone, in a forest far, far away from the House of Lamentation. He sat slouching, his back against an oak tree for support, surrounded by ripped and torn roses. Hissed, aggressive, angry mutters left his lips.

“Love… Not… Love… Not…”

A small crowd of cats also sat on and around Satan’s lap. They peered up at what the Avatar of Wrath was doing; at his fingers, bloodied and cut from the roses’ thorns. With their feline stare immoveable, their eyes judged.

“They love me… Love me not. Love me… then love me not.” Satan continued to mutter, with increasing desperation. “Loves me… Not?! Not?!?!” He roared as the penultimate petal was plucked off, shifting into his demon form and clawing at the de-petaled rose until it was nothing but tatters of stem and leaves hidden amongst the blades of grass under him. The cats continued to stare, and judge, and stare.

“Are there really no other words in this stupid ritual?!” He growled, violently whipping his head around to find the book he had brought with him. ‘A Woman’s Guide to Romance’, written by a human in the 1800s. He frantically flicked to the relevant page, scanning the walls and fences of text to find something - anything - he had missed about how to do the ritual. Maybe a loophole to add on a petal? Maybe this book was too old? But in Satan’s mind, two-hundred years wasn’t all that long - so the writing inside must still hold up.

Or, at least, that’s what he had thought before he had gotten ‘loves me not’ on two-hundred of these stupid roses.

He hadn’t even heard of this game before you, even with all his reading up on the three realms. He had walked in on you gently picking off the petals of a daisy in the RAD courtyard and had approached you, inquiring as to what you were doing. His eyesight still got slightly blurry at the sight of you and his pact mark on foreign skin, the power of the pact still very fresh. It had only been a few weeks, after all. If anything, it was better for you to stay far away from him with such power - such wrath - under your control and yet… You had stayed. Calmly, as if teaching a child, you had explained the premise of the ritual, with Satan doing what he did best: learning. He had learned about how to do the ritual; that some do it for closure, and others for self-assurance; that you did it every time you had a crush.

He also had learned what your favourite flower was, and had briefly imagined him presenting you a bouquet. He had learned that your laughter reminded him of bell chimes, that your scent reminded him of his favourite tea and that your giggles reminded him of a cat’s purr.

And, after what seemed like hours of you talking and him listening, he hadlearned that he loved the way it felt to hear you talk with your head on his shoulder. He had learned he loved to look at your face when you talked. He had learned that he loved to look at your lips talking, pursed and pretty and so soft-looking -

… He had learned a lot that day.

He had learned you had a crush and had relished in your smile when, on your first try, your final petal had been ‘he loves me.’ Then he texted you later that day; and learned that your crush had five letters in his name.

Quickly, he had researched forests with an abundance of flowers and went to the one that would be the furthest away from the prying eyes of his brothers. If he could replicate your result, he’d have definite proof. Proof that it was okay to act on these feelings that have been eating away at him for so long.

But now, two-hundred destroyed flowers later, things were looking bleak.

As he looked down at the mess around him, Satan thought of you. As pretty and as delicate as a rose; as kind, strong and persevering as the flowers too beautiful to deserve a life in the Devildom, but continued to thrive regardless. You: the flower too beautiful to deserve the fate of being torn to shreds by the Avatar of Wrath, like the roses around him.

… Suddenly, a buzzing in his pocket.

He took a deep breath, seeing the message on his D.D.D was from you.

> heyyyyyyyyy, Satan <3

> hehe this cat looks like you hehe

A picture popped up of you snuggling up to a demon cat, not minding the its tiny horns pressing into your cheek. Instinctively, he reached up to lightly touch his own horns. His breath hitched. If you were alright with horns - with the monstrous side of him - then maybe…

Resolute, Satan stood up and dusted himself free of flower bits with one hand; using the other to type out a response.

> It looks adorable. Where are you? I’ll come see it in person.

He paused, before adding:

> I have something I need to tell you.

Why should he let the flowers decide whether you loved him not?

He could get the answer from you himself.

(another attempt at romance, and sappy romantic satan is always fun. there’s a brief reference to that chat where he asks who you would date and i was chortling because man that was bold asf, actual props to him. he strikes me as someone who would research and prep for all scenarios beforehand, then kick his feet like a teenager under the covers of his bed when mc responded.)

#lucifer would count the number of petals beforehand #belphie and asmo would both use the petal picking to make binary decisions #asmo would follow it fully #belphie would count the petals so he alr knows the outcome and uses it to get out of stuff #obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me shall we date #obey me writing #obey me mc #obey me nightbringer #obey me satan #obey me satan x reader #obey me satan x mc #obey me fluff

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therosewitchcottage · 6 months ago

Text

𝕸𝖞 𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖋𝖊𝖈𝖙 𝕯𝖆𝖞…

Wake up early

Coffee & a muffin

A light walk in the cool air with music playing in my ear

A little soft yoga outside on the deck

A warm shower

A bigger breakfast

Hair & Makeup fun~

Sit down to journal, plan and write

Read for a little bit or work on a craft

Go on an adventure with my friends

Spend time with my partner and perhaps laze about with them

Cook dinner together

Have another small walk with them

Some time to myself to meditate

A relaxing bath

Read a little more with my partner

And bed snuggled up with cozy blankets and my human.

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anna-the-undertaker · 6 months ago

Note

The fic about switching stomachs inspired this idea:

What if the brothers all get into a major fight or something and MC decided to teach them a lesson in how to “walk a mile in each other’s shoes” by switching ALL their sins around (e.g. Satan gets Luci’s pride, Luci gets Belphegor’s sloth, Belphie get’s Asmo’s lust etc etc)

Ooooooh this was so much fun, it took me all day but it was so good to just sit down and write. Thank you for this delicious idea. Song inspiration: Can You Feel My Heart by Bring Me The Horizon

Shifting Sins

The House of Lamentation was rarely quiet, but tonight's uproar was something out of the ordinary. It started with Mammon's usual antics—he had "misplaced" another one of Lucifer's prized possessions. Normally, this would have led to a stern lecture and perhaps a mild punishment, but today, something was different. The air was thick with unresolved tension, and the brothers were all on edge. Beelzebub, already irritable from hunger, had emptied the fridge yet again, leaving nothing for anyone else. Leviathan, reeling from a bitter loss in an online game, seethed in resentment.

As Lucifer berated Mammon for his irresponsibility, Mammon’s retorts were sharper than usual, laced with an anger that felt almost foreign. Satan, who had been brooding over an unresolved issue from earlier in the day, couldn’t hold back his own scathing remarks, aimed not just at Mammon but at Lucifer as well. The argument quickly escalated, drawing in the other brothers. Asmodeus, feeling overlooked, snapped at everyone, demanding the attention he believed he deserved. Beel, driven by his constant hunger, joined in with uncharacteristic harshness, while even Belphegor, usually content to stay out of conflicts, threw in his own barbs.

The cacophony of voices echoed through the halls, a tumultuous mix of accusations and grievances. MC, who had been quietly reading in the corner of the common room, watched as the brothers tore into each other, their usual banter turning into something darker and more vicious. It was clear that this was no ordinary argument—this was years of unresolved tension and unspoken resentment coming to a head. Each of the brother’s sin magnifying their worst impulses.

MC had always known that the brothers were burdened by their respective sins, each one struggling in their own way to manage the weight of their nature. But this… this was different. They couldn’t stand by and let the house tear itself apart. The brothers needed to understand, truly understand, the burdens each of them carried.

As the voices rose to a fever pitch, MC stepped forward, feeling the heat of the argument like a physical force. They had never felt so small in the presence of the brothers, who now seemed more like demons than ever before. But they couldn’t back down—not now.

“Enough!” MC’s voice cut through the din, surprising even themselves with the authority in their tone. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to them. For a moment, the weight of their gazes was almost too much, but MC held their ground.

“You all are so quick to judge each other, to lash out without thinking,” they said, their voice steady. “But have any of you ever stopped to think about what it’s like for the others? To really understand what they go through every day?”

Lucifer, his pride still stinging from Satan’s earlier comments, frowned. “And what would you suggest, MC? That we all just suddenly become empathetic?”

“No,” MC replied, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I suggest you all learn what it’s like to walk in each other’s shoes. Maybe then you’ll finally get it.”

The room was filled with an uneasy silence. The brothers exchanged glances, unsure of where this was going. Before anyone could protest or ask for clarification, MC reached deep within themselves, tapping into the magic they rarely used. It was a gamble, one they weren’t even sure would work, but it was worth a shot. They spoke the incantation, their voice firm and resolute.

A ripple of energy pulsed through the room, invisible yet palpable. The brothers stiffened, each of them feeling something shift within them, a disorienting tug at the core of their being. As the magic settled, they all looked at each other with wide eyes, the reality of what had just happened slowly dawning on them.

“What… what did you do?” Levi’s voice trembled.

“I switched your sins,” MC said simply. “For the next day, you’ll all be living with someone else’s burden.”

Lucifer was the first to protest. “You can’t just—”

But MC cut him off, their tone brooking no argument. “You’re going to find out exactly what it’s like to live with someone else’s sin. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll learn to appreciate each other a little more.”

With that, they turned and left the room, the brothers too stunned to follow. As the door closed behind them, the brothers were left in an uneasy silence, each one already feeling the strange effects of their new sin taking hold.

Lucifer (Sloth)

The morning after, Lucifer awoke to a sensation so alien it left him momentarily disoriented. Accustomed to springing out of bed with a mind razor-sharp and a schedule demanding his attention from dawn until well past dusk, he now found himself ensnared in the heavy chains of lethargy. His limbs felt like they were weighed down by lead, and his eyelids refused to obey his commands to lift.

Despite his efforts, the temptation to sink deeper into the soft embrace of his bed overpowered his usual discipline. This was Belphegor’s realm—sloth—and it clung to Lucifer with a tenacity that shocked him. The sheer effort required to swing his legs off the bed and stand up felt like battling through a swamp. Each step was sluggish, each action drained more of his energy, and by the time he managed to dress himself, he felt as if he had fought a war.

The day’s duties loomed large in his mind, but as he made his way to his office, the journey felt interminable. Papers were stacked neatly on his desk, reports awaited his review, and the endless list of tasks called for his usually impeccable oversight. However, staring at the documents, Lucifer found his usual sharp focus blurred by an overwhelming desire to do nothing.

Throughout the day, the house seemed quieter to him, or perhaps he was simply too wrapped in the fog of sloth to notice the usual sounds. He tried to push through, to ignite some spark of his usual drive, but each attempt fizzled out, smothered by an oppressive blanket of fatigue.

His interactions with his brothers were strained. Mammon’s boisterous complaints and Leviathan’s subdued mutterings about game losses slipped past him like whispers on the wind. Lucifer’s attempts to command authority fell flat, his voice lacking its usual force. The sight of his brothers reacting to his uncharacteristic apathy with confusion—and in Mammon's case, a poorly concealed delight—only deepened his frustration.

Dinner was a quiet affair, with Lucifer picking at his food, an unusual sight that didn’t go unnoticed. Beelzebub, who sat observing the strange lethargy that had claimed his eldest brother, offered a sympathetic glance. Even Beel could see the battle Lucifer fought against the sin that gripped him.

As the day drew to a close, Lucifer retreated to his study, a place where he had spent countless hours strategizing and planning with meticulous care. Now, it felt like a cell. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, not to think or plan, but simply to surrender to the weariness.

In this rare moment of quiet reflection, Lucifer began to understand Belphegor’s daily reality. The constant pull of sloth wasn’t just a lack of energy—it was a battle of will, a test of endurance against one’s own body and mind. It was a struggle he had never truly appreciated, having always been the one to chastise his youngest brother for his laziness.

A newfound respect for Belphegor’s challenges began to take root. Sloth was not just an annoyance to be berated; it was a formidable foe to be understood and managed. This insight, hard-earned through a day of struggling against an unnatural inertia, brought with it a reluctant empathy. Lucifer realized that understanding and support might be more effective than disdain and commands.

That night, as he prepared for a sleep that he felt had already claimed him hours before, Lucifer made a mental note to approach Belphegor with a different demeanor. Perhaps, he thought, there was room for patience and understanding in the House of Lamentation, even from its stern ruler.

This experience, while harrowing, had peeled back a layer of his own untouchable facade, revealing a capacity for growth and change that Lucifer had not acknowledged in a long time. Tomorrow, the spell would be lifted, and his usual vigor would return, but the lessons from today would linger, altering the way he led his brothers, and more importantly, how he understood them.

Mammon (Wrath)

Mammon awoke to a sensation of smoldering heat coursing through his veins, an unfamiliar, unsettling intensity that jolted him out of sleep. This wasn’t the usual surge of adrenaline he felt when cooking up a new scheme or escaping a debt collector. This was raw, uncontrolled anger—a boiling rage that seemed ready to erupt over the slightest provocation.

As the Avatar of Greed, Mammon was no stranger to intense emotions, particularly the desperate need to acquire and possess. Yet, as he lay in bed feeling this wrath pulsate within him, he realized just how different and daunting this emotion was. The smallest noises—a distant door slamming, the murmurs of his brothers in the hallway—ignited a fierce irritation that clawed at his insides.

Attempting to start his day, Mammon’s usual enthusiasm for potential riches felt overshadowed by this pervasive anger. Every misplaced object in his room, every wrinkle on his clothes seemed to taunt him, fueling his fury further. He snapped at the fabric as he dressed, his hands trembling with an urge to tear rather than straighten his jacket.

Breakfast was a battlefield. As he entered the dining hall, the clatter of dishes and the casual banter of his brothers felt like assaults on his senses. When Levi accidentally bumped into him while reaching for the juice, a surge of anger so intense washed over Mammon that he nearly hurled the glass across the room. The shock in Levi’s wide eyes pulled Mammon back from the edge, and he stormed away from the table with a snarl, leaving a stunned silence behind him.

Throughout the day, Mammon struggled to manage the constant simmering rage. The bustling streets of the Devildom, which usually excited him with their opportunities for mischief and money-making, now seemed filled with obstacles and annoyances. Every jostle was a provocation, every whispered bargain a challenge. Mammon found himself involved in several altercations, each leaving him more drained and bewildered by his reactions.

Trying to engage in his usual trades and negotiations was a disaster. Each interaction felt like a ticking time bomb, his patience razor-thin. The realization that he could no longer trust his instincts, that every impulse might lead not to profit but to conflict, was deeply unsettling.

By late afternoon, Mammon found himself alone in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, head in hands. The anger had exhausted him, each outburst leaving a bitter taste of isolation and regret. It was then that he truly began to understand Satan’s daily ordeal. The wrath that Mammon had temporarily inherited was a constant, all-consuming fire that threatened to consume not just him but everything and everyone around him.

This insight shook Mammon. He had often mocked Satan for his 'dramatic' flares of temper, never fully comprehending the effort it took to contain such a volatile force. Now, bearing the weight of wrath himself, Mammon felt a profound sense of empathy for his brother, mixed with a twinge of guilt for all the times he had provoked him without a second thought.

As evening approached, and the household settled, Mammon made his way to Satan’s room—a journey that felt much longer and harder than usual. He knocked hesitantly, a stark contrast to his usually brash entrance.

Satan, surprised by the visit, looked up from his book, his expression guarded. Mammon stepped inside, his posture uncharacteristically subdued.

“I... I think I get it now,” Mammon started, his voice rough with unspoken apologies. “The anger... it ain’t just some flame you can snuff out when you feel like it. It’s like being chained to a beast, always pullin’ at ya.”

Satan watched him, the usual sharpness in his eyes softening. “It’s not easy,” he admitted, a rare vulnerability in his tone. “But knowing someone understands... it helps.”

Mammon nodded, the tension that had coiled tightly within him unspooling slightly. “I’m sorry, for all the times I made it worse. I didn’t know—couldn’t really know—how hard it was fighting that... that beast.”

A small smile tugged at Satan’s lips, a silent acknowledgment of Mammon’s effort. “We all have our sins, Mammon. Maybe now, we’ll be a bit better at helping each other with them.”

That night, as Mammon lay in bed, the wrath still simmering within him, he felt a glimmer of hope. This brutal day had opened his eyes, not just to the burdens his brothers bore, but to the possibilities of what they could overcome together. Understanding, Mammon realized, was just the first step, but it was perhaps the most crucial one. Tomorrow, the sins would switch back, but the lessons learned would linger, shaping his actions and, hopefully, his relationships, for the better.

Leviathan (Gluttony)

The shifting lights from his fishtanks danced weakly over Leviathan’s room, failing to stir him from his unusual lethargy. When the spell switched his sin from envy to gluttony, Levi hadn’t anticipated how drastically it would alter his daily routine. Accustomed to waking with a gnawing sense of inadequacy, today it was replaced by an actual gnawing in his stomach—an insatiable hunger that felt as deep and vast as an oceanic abyss.

Attempting to rise from his bed, Levi felt the hunger clawing at him with a ferocity that shocked him. It wasn’t just a need for food—it was an all-consuming obsession. His usual morning thoughts, typically filled with strategies for new levels or contemplating the latest games and animes, were now overrun by thoughts of what he could eat, how much, and how quickly.

As he shuffled towards the kitchen, the corridors of the House of Lamentation seemed longer than ever, each step driven by a growing desperation. Reaching the kitchen, Levi began to eat whatever he could find—bread, leftovers, even ingredients that were meant for dinner. The hunger was relentless, unsatisfied by the volumes of food he consumed, each bite only sharpening the pangs that gripped him.

During breakfast with his brothers, Levi’s usual reticence was replaced by an impulsive focus on the food. He barely registered the conversations around him, his attention riveted on his next bite. When Beel reached for the last pastry—a usual act that Levi would typically envy in silence—it triggered an unexpected and sharp response from Levi.

“Leave it! I saw it first!” Levi snapped, his voice a mixture of desperation and anger, surprising himself and his brothers. Beel, taken aback by Levi’s uncharacteristic outburst, withdrew his hand, a hurt look flashing across his face.

As the day progressed, Levi tried to engage with his usual online gaming community, but the hunger made it impossible to concentrate. Each ping and notification seemed like a distant echo, irrelevant compared to the gnawing emptiness inside him. Attempting to play felt futile as his reflexes were slow, his decisions poor, driven by the distraction of his unyielding appetite.

Levi’s realization of Beel’s daily struggle with gluttony began to dawn on him in painful clarity. The constant hunger was not just a physical ailment; it was a psychological torment. It sapped his strength, dulled his passions, and turned every thought painfully towards anything he could consume. Levi, who had always viewed Beel’s eating habits as a mere characteristic of his sin, now understood the true burden it was—a relentless drive that overshadowed everything else.

By evening, Levi found himself back in the kitchen, not for the joy of snacking as he used to, but out of sheer necessity to quell the beast of hunger roaring within. As he stood there, eating mechanically, he felt a presence at the doorway. Beel, his expression somber, watched him for a moment before entering.

“I didn’t really get it before… how hard this is for you,” Levi admitted without looking up, his voice thick with the exhaustion of his relentless hunger.

Beel approached, placing a comforting hand on Levi’s shoulder. “It’s tough, yeah. But you get used to it… kinda. You learn to live around it,” Beel said, his voice carrying a mix of resignation and empathy.

Leviathan paused, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth, and met Beel’s eyes. “I’m sorry… for not understanding earlier. For all the times I got annoyed at you for eating everything. I see now how much of a fight it is.”

Beel squeezed his shoulder, a gesture of brotherly solidarity. “It’s okay, Levi. We’re all dealing with our stuff. Maybe now we can help each other a bit more, huh?”

Nodding, Levi felt a weight lift slightly—not from his stomach, but from his heart. This shared experience, though fraught with discomfort and revelation, had unexpectedly bridged a gap between him and Beel. They stood together in the kitchen, two brothers newly bonded not just by the house they shared, but by the understanding of each other’s battles.

That night, as Levi lay in bed, the hunger still gnawing but his heart a little lighter, he thought about how easy it was to overlook others' struggles when they were hidden behind the veil of everyday interactions. Perhaps, he pondered, there was more to every sin, every behavior, and every reaction that met the eye. With this new understanding, Levi felt a resolve to not only battle his own sin but to help his brothers with theirs, fortified by the empathy that had grown from walking in Beel’s shoes—or, in this case, enduring a day with his hunger.

Satan (Pride)

The morning dawned with an unusual clarity for Satan, but it was not the clarity of peace or resolution. Instead, he awoke to a searing sense of purpose that felt foreign yet overwhelmingly powerful. Accustomed to the simmering heat of wrath, he now found himself enveloped by the cold fire of pride. Each action, each decision, was magnified through this new lens—a relentless drive to not just participate but to dominate and exemplify perfection in every aspect of his existence.

His usual morning routine, which typically involved reviewing his academic and demonic duties with a critical but controlled approach, now became a battleground of self-imposed standards and unattainable expectations. The books on his shelf needed realigning, his clothes required meticulous arranging, and even his breakfast became a calculated choice rather than a simple meal. Every minor imperfection seemed to scream at him, a glaring declaration of failure.

As he moved through the hallways of the House of Lamentation, the usual disarray he could dismiss with a sneer now felt like personal affronts to his command. When Beel left a mess in the kitchen or Mammon’s schemes disrupted the order of the day, it wasn’t just annoying—it was unacceptable. Satan found himself issuing commands with an iron edge, demanding compliance and perfection not just from himself but from his brothers as well.

The interactions were draining. Each demand for excellence pushed his brothers further away, their responses ranging from bewildered hurt to simmering resentment. The pride swelled within him, urging him to impose his will further, to correct every fault, to mold everything to his vision of perfection.

It wasn’t until a late afternoon reflection in his room, far from the eyes of his brothers, that the weight of Lucifer’s sin truly sank in. The solitude he sought didn’t bring relief but a sharp, piercing introspection. He considered Lucifer—his leadership, his unyielding demands, his isolation. Satan had often resented his older brother, viewed his control and poise as arrogance. But now, encased in the armor of pride himself, Satan began to grasp the burden it entailed.

Lucifer hadn’t comforted him; there were no shared moments of understanding or soft words exchanged. Their relationship, fraught with tension and a history of rebellion, offered no room for such closeness. Yet, in this solitude, Satan acknowledged a truth he had never considered: he had only ever seen the outcome of Lucifer’s decisions, never the agonizing choices that led there.

Satan sat alone, the quiet of his room echoing back his thoughts. He pondered the enormity of what Lucifer must carry. The pride, while a powerful force, was also a blinding one, isolating Lucifer not just from his enemies but from those close to him. Satan realized that he had come into existence after his brothers fall from grace, after the battles and losses that had shaped his brothers into the beings they were. He had not shared their most formative sufferings; he had only ever known the aftermath and the responsibilities that came with it.

Satan conceded a painful truth: Lucifer had suffered profoundly, not just from the external conflicts but from within, from the blame and the expectations placed upon him as the eldest. Pride might have been his sin, but it was also his cage, crafted by both his own hands and the perceptions of those around him.

This realization didn't soften his stance towards Lucifer—it wasn’t in Satan’s nature to relinquish his criticisms easily—but it broadened his perspective. He acknowledged, if only to himself, that there were depths to Lucifer’s struggles he had not considered, layers of sacrifice and pain masked beneath the veneer of control and authority.

As night fell and the house quieted, Satan made a quiet resolve to approach his older brother with a newfound appreciation for his complexities. The pride would leave him at dawn, but it's lessons would linger, shaping his understanding of leadership, of brotherhood, and of the silent battles fought behind the faces of those he called family.

Asmodeus (Greed)

As night enveloped the House of Lamentation, Asmodeus sat surrounded by the treasures he had "acquired" throughout the day. He realized that greed, his temporary sin, was not just about accumulating wealth or objects—it was a deeper, more pervasive desire that could consume one's life if left unchecked.

Each item, once a trophy in his quest for more, now felt like a chain linking him to a deeper understanding of his brother’s. The weight of greed had not only transformed his desires but had also opened his eyes to the burdens that Mammon bore every day. Mammon's battle that involved much more than the simple desire for more, but a constant search for value in an existence that seemed perpetually insufficient.

It wasn’t just the relentless drive to acquire and possess that pained Asmo; it was the realization of how this sin shaped Mammon’s interactions with others. Throughout the day, as Asmodeus felt the compulsion to hoard and hide, he noticed the mistrust in his brothers’ eyes, a suspicion that he had never encountered when driven by his own sin. Every whisper, every sideways glance felt like an accusation, echoing the way Mammon was often treated whenever something went amiss in the house.

Asmodeus now understood that Mammon’s greed was not a simple choice or a whimsical desire to collect valuables. It was a profound, incessant urge that colored every aspect of his life, often leading him to be blamed or ostracized for incidents he had no part in. The realization hit Asmodeus hard; the loneliness and isolation Mammon must feel, always the first suspect, always guilty until proven innocent.

Reflecting on his own sin, Asmo could see the stark contrast. Where lust was often celebrated or indulged, greed was met with wariness and scorn. His own desires, though intense, were straightforward and often welcomed in their indulgence. They brought him closer to others, even if sometimes superficially, whereas Mammon’s greed pushed him to the margins, often seen as a disruptive force rather than a personal struggle.

Sitting alone, Asmo felt a surge of empathy for Mammon. The constant suspicion, the automatic blame—it was a lot to bear, especially when one was merely following an intrinsic, uncontrollable drive. He thought about the times he had casually joked about Mammon’s misadventures and all the accusations he had thrown his way, never considering the sting that might linger behind his brother's forced laughter and bravado.

Resolved to change the way he interacted with Mammon, Asmo began to carefully replace each item he had taken back to its original place. With each object returned, he felt a piece of his burden lighten, not just the burden of greed, but the burden of misunderstanding he had helped place on Mammon’s shoulders.

The next morning, after the sins had returned to their rightful place, Asmo sought Mammon out, finding him in his room, a place where many of his secretive exchanges took place and where he kept his most precious treasures. Mammon looked up, surprise flickering across his face as Asmodeus approached with a genuine smile.

“Mammon, I… I wanted to say, I get it now. I didn’t before, but I do now. What you go through with greed, it’s not easy. And I’m sorry for all the times I might’ve made it harder for you,” Asmodeus said, his voice earnest, carrying an emotional weight that was rare for him.

Mammon eyed him warily for a moment before a slow, cautious smile spread across his face. “Ya mean that, Asmo? ‘Cause it ain’t just about the stuff or gainin' more or winnin', ya know. It’s how everyone looks at ya, like you’re up to no good before you’ve even done anything.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for that too. From now on, I’ll do better. I’ll help them see the Mammon I know, not just the greed,” Asmodeus promised, placing a hand on Mammon’s shoulder.

Mammon nodded, a look of relief washing over him. “Thanks, Asmo. Means a lot, really.”

As they parted ways, Asmodeus felt a renewed sense of connection to his brother. This experience had taught him more than the weight of greed; it had opened his eyes to the importance of understanding and supporting each other’s battles, no matter how different they might be.

Beelzebub (Envy)

Beelzebub awoke with a pang that was unfamiliar yet intensely painful. This wasn't the usual emptiness of hunger he was accustomed to, but a different kind of void—one that seemed to claw at his heart rather than his stomach. As the sin of envy took hold, replacing his constant companion of gluttony, Beel found himself seeing the world through a green-tinted lens.

Morning in the House of Lamentation brought with it the usual sounds and sights, but Beel’s perception of them had altered dramatically. As he lumbered into the kitchen, his eyes were drawn not to the contents of the fridge but to the relationships, possessions, and attributes his brothers flaunted. Levi’s latest gaming setup, Mammon’s closeness with MC, Satan’s intellect—things he’d never paid much mind to suddenly became symbols of what he lacked.

Breakfast was a torturous affair. Each of his brothers discussed their plans and achievements, and with each word, the seed of envy grew thornier in Beel’s chest. He saw their easy camaraderie and felt outside it, isolated by a newfound longing not just for more food, but for more of everything they had.

The day progressed, and Beel’s usual straightforward path of satisfying his hunger became a twisted road filled with comparison and resentment. Training in the gym, he couldn't help but notice how effortlessly others could perform each exercise, his own larger, bulkier form suddenly a source of frustration rather than pride. Where he once felt camaraderie, he now felt competition, a gnawing need to spite others.

As he moved through the day, every laughter-filled conversation his brothers shared, every personal success they flaunted, felt like personal slights to Beel. The weight room, once his refuge, became a hall of mirrors reflecting back his inadequacies. He lifted weights with a ferocity driven by envy, each rep a silent scream against the injustices he felt.

It wasn’t until he caught his reflection in the mirror, sweat-drenched and eyes burning with an unfamiliar malice, that Beel realized how deeply the envy had taken root. He paused, hands trembling, not from exertion but from the emotional turmoil that wracked him.

In the quiet of the locker room, Beel sat heavily on a bench. The reality of Leviathan’s daily struggle with envy began to dawn on him. The constant comparison, the perpetual feeling of falling short—it was exhausting. Torture of the soul. Levi, who often seemed so withdrawn, was fighting a battle that Beel had never truly understood until now; it was a deeper, more insidious feeling than he ever imagined.

Realizing he needed to confront these feelings directly, Beel sought out Leviathan. He found him in his room, surrounded by the glow of multiple screens, a digital world where Levi often escaped his own insecurities. Beel paused at the door, taking a moment to compose his thoughts, then stepped inside with a determination that belied his internal turmoil.

“Levi,” Beel started, his voice gentle. Levi paused his game, turning to face him with a wary expression that shifted into surprise as Beel continued. "I’ve been feeling things today. Envy. It’s heavy, like being hungry but for everything at once.”

Levi’s eyes widened slightly, a blush creeping up his cheeks as he struggled to form words.

Beel moved closer. Without hesitation, he did what felt most natural to express his feelings—he wrapped Levi in a firm, reassuring hug. “I get it now. How hard it must be, feeling like this all the time. It’s tough… tougher than I thought. You’re stronger than you think, Levi, dealing with this every day.”

Levi, caught off guard by the hug and the compliment, stammered a response, his usual aversion to touch crumbling under the genuine care in Beel’s voice. “I-It’s not easy. I don’t always handle it well. But, um, thanks, Beel. Means a lot, hearing that from you.”

Pulling back, Beel kept his hands on Levi’s shoulders, looking him squarely in the eyes. “You don’t have to handle it alone, though. We’re brothers, right? We should be helping each other, not just… envying what the other has. I want to help, okay? Whenever you feel like it’s too much, just come find me.”

Levi nodded, a small, grateful smile breaking through his initial awkwardness. “Okay, I will. Thanks, Beel… really.”

As Beel left Levi’s room, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders—this experience had not only shown him the burden of Levi’s sin but had also reminded him of the power of straightforward, sincere communication.

That night, Beel lay in bed, reflecting on the day’s lessons. He understood now that each of his brothers carried hidden struggles. Tomorrow, all of their sins would switch back, but he and his brothers would endure, forging stronger bonds in a house often divided by the very sins that defined them.

Belphegor (Lust)

Belphegor woke up feeling unusually restless, an unfamiliar energy coursing through his veins that seemed entirely at odds with his typical languor. As the sin of lust temporarily replaced his inherent sloth, the quiet calm that usually surrounded him dissolved into a simmering intensity. This new sensation wasn't just about physical desire; it was a craving for emotional connections and experiences, a longing that felt as invasive as it was unsettling.

The day started differently for Belphie. Instead of seeking the nearest comfortable spot to drift back into sleep, he found himself drawn to the livelier parts of the House of Lamentation. He lingered in the hallways, his gaze following his brothers with an interest that felt compulsive. Asmo’s effortless charm, which Belphie usually ignored, now sparked a keen sense of yearning to engage and be noticed.

Breakfast was an ordeal. Each laugh and touch shared among his brothers felt like a sting, highlighting his usual detachment. The ease with which they expressed affection seemed to accentuate his isolation. The longing to be part of that, to feel as deeply and freely as they did, to be the center of attention, gnawed at him with every passing moment.

As the day progressed, Belphie found it increasingly difficult to manage the surge of emotions that came with lust. His usual strategies for dealing with sloth—withdrawal, isolation, sleep—were ineffective against this relentless desire for closeness and intensity. He caught himself staring, reaching out, wanting more from every interaction than he knew how to ask for.

The library became his refuge by midday, a place where he hoped the quiet might dampen the fervor of his feelings. But even surrounded by books, he felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness. The solitude he usually cherished now felt suffocating. When Satan happened to wander in, searching for a particular volume, Belphie’s usual nod of acknowledgment turned into an intense conversation about the themes of the book, his words tumbling out with a desperation that surprised them both.

Satan, taken aback by Belphie’s fervent engagement, responded with a cautious interest, which only drove Belphie to push the conversation deeper. The interaction left him feeling both exhilarated and exhausted, a testament to the consuming nature of his temporary sin.

Feeling unsettled by his new intensity, Belphie sought out Asmodeus in his room, hoping to glean some insight into handling these overpowering desires. He found his brother sitting elegantly in a chair in front of his vanity, seemingly at peace as he applied his nightly skincare.

“Asmo,” Belphie started, his voice tight with the strain of uncharacteristic emotions, “how do you manage this? This constant craving... to touch and be touched, to be seen, adored?"

Asmodeus looked up, his eyes gleaming with a mix of sympathy and a flair of his usual dramatic charm. “Oh, Belphie, darling, it’s an art and a battle,” he began, his voice lilting with a practiced grace. “Lust isn’t just about the allure or the rush of desire. It’s also about the ache that comes when the curtains close and the applause fades. You see, even when I’m surrounded by adoration, I know much of it is just for the spectacle of Asmodeus, The Avatar of Lust—not for the person beneath.”

He paused, a thoughtful frown briefly marring his perfect features. “It’s the most easily quieted sin when satisfied, yes, but it’s a hunger that comes back as soon as you realize the feast was all confectionery sweetness, no substance. People rarely seek the man behind the mascara, and that, my dear, can make you crave it all the more desperately.”

Belphie listened, the words reflecting all he had felt all day. “It's a second skin. It clings to every part of you, intensifying every interaction, every glance. I never realized how exhausting it could be—not just physically but emotionally. The constant desire for more, for deeper connections, feels like an itch that can't be scratched. It is relentless, distracting, and disorienting."

“Precisely!” Asmodeus exclaimed, sitting up with a flourish. “It’s a glittering stage where the lights blind you to the emptiness. That’s why we must find balance, seek out those who love not just the allure but the soul beneath. It’s not easy, but oh, it’s crucial.”

Belphie nodded, surprised by the honesty in Asmo’s theatrical disclosure. “How do you find that balance?”

With a wistful smile, Asmodeus stood, brushing off his robes with a graceful sweep of his hand. “By cherishing more genuine moments, dear Belphie. By building connections that go beyond the surface, the press of bodies and the chorus of pleasure it ensues.”

The conversation left Belphie deep in thought as he watched Asmodeus glide across the room, his gait as confident as his persona. The encounter had not only shed light on Asmo’s struggles with lust but also mirrored back to Belphie the complexities of his other brothers sins.

That evening, as the day’s experiences settled like dust after a storm, Belphie felt a burgeoning respect for Asmo’s restraint and a new understanding of his burden. Tomorrow he would return to his familiar sloth, but the events of today promised a fresh perspective on how to engage with the world and his family—a way to bridge the gaps that had long kept him aloof and apart from the warmth his family offered.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me mc #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me chaotic mc

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carnirat · 1 year ago

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Cont!

I am a teacher who dreams he is a lord. There is nothing sillier than that. The eccentric oldest son, who was meant to inherit. But no longer has any claims on his past

I am a lord of time (idk) something to do with different places a lord of different years

I think I protect things I am a lord

I have a robe and different clothes

I am a lord in my dreams

A teacher who thinks he is a lord

A lord = a teacher

A teacher = a lord

I remember the geography of (idk) so well. What every street meant to me.......

I must have loved them so to know them so well. In my dream tonight, I was looking down upon them as if looking in an atlas and I felt oddly distant from it all. That is the extravagant(?) thing of all

(That same word I couldn't read before)

I have been different, it is not like remembering ones youth, it is like dreaming yourself as a prince or a clown.

Not oneself playing those parts, but actually being that other person.

I have inhabited the clothes of scholars and jesters and.... I may have played cricket for England!

That is one of the most important dreams not trivial(?) I am sure of it.

(Jibber jabber)

Beautiful monsters.

Clockwork! They have clocks for faces.

And I've left something behind, I've left someone behind again, and I can never get her back.

I've set something on fire, and its away up the chimney and I'll never see it again.

Beautiful clock with broken glass

(More jibber jabber)

Masks?

Covered faces.

Patterned faces

White faces

Permanent smile

Elegant

Their faces are masks or painted a smiling white

Smiling, always grinning.

Empty eyes. Black eyes

There is some connection to the beautiful monster and the clock or clockwork

I'm on the moon, and it's such a small step.

I can see the whole world! Beautiful! My home away from home! Only there is such an ordinary building here. But knights! Knights searching through every corridor! They are not on horseback, they are like armored horses themselves.

Hospital on the surface of the moon

(Saved this one for last cuz it's a lot of text) (about the TARDIS)

It's my home in my dreams, I know it so well, as one often knows something well in dreams without knowing it at all. It is always there, somewhere. I do not know if I own it, quite. I feel I have inherited it because all other claimants have ceased. Or perhaps that I have gained it through more dubious means. There is something dubious about it. On the outside, it is all upstanding and somber, something to do with the law, with the police. But when I am inside it I do not think of myself as representing the authorities, I feel almost as if I am a fugitive.

Although it is a house of wonders, often when I try and wonder. It does not work, or works in a way which suggests my dream is having a game with me. It is my life all in all, to be granted a magic box and find it does not do the tricks it is supposed to! It feels like being told that one once had a part of his body that one no longer has, or an ability that has been lost. It should function. It does not. Perhaps it needs the care and attention of other people to do so. And yet the lack of function is as charming as the (there is another page and I can't read a lot of it) (there was another page with the same text so I did a lot of cross referencing but the first page ran out and didn't continue)

Those are my favorites but there are (I counted) 78 pages in that notebook with writing and drawings on it so tell me if you ever want more!

So you know John Smith's "Journal of Impossible Things" from Human Nature/The Family of Blood?

Years ago, I got a small copy of it at a nerd store and it's got every page from the journal in it. I'm sure these all exist out there already but here's some of my favorite pages and what text I can make out for those who haven't seen some of these

There's lots of repeating text and jibber jabber, I assume to fill space, so I won't write down stuff twice or the random stuff he tends to write over and over

I find myself wanting to draw a perfect rose, over and over although I cannot find a rose anywhere!

In my dream, I keep asking a girl where to find one, and she is dreamed(?) In the most extraordinary immodest(idk) way.

She will not answer me, and she keeps walking away.

I remember this girl I have drawn her although(?) I know her well in my dream

(The rest is stuff from the previous page and more jibber jabber)

I am a father in my dreams, I am certain, and a grandfather. A great sadness at these thoughts. As if they had not just died, all my (I can't tell), but had departed in a way somehow more final than death.

I am the last for some reason I am terribly afraid that my watch is broken.

I can't remember what they look like (idk) see shadows (idk)

The skies are a burnt orange. And the leaves on the trees are silver.

I know a man who lives on a hillside there. And the city has towers! And I dance(?) in my robes, and my collar I can never get it right. I am so ill suited for it and yet they tell me I am in charge! Ha ha ha!

(Repeating)

(A page about Capt. Jack Harkness)

I am traveling with a man in the military, only he isn't what he seems, and so I leave him behind after a battle, and he is stranded in no man's land, so alone and so far away from home.

(More repeating)

(Page about Martha, next page is immediately next to this)

She wants someone close to me someone I think I know in the waking world. And she is a doctor. She wants to heal me. Why is being a Dr so important? To her and to me. I wish she could turn around so I can see who she really is.

(More repeating)

The girl with the strange spikey hair is trying to take someone away from me

She dresses strange different

Her features are unclear

I don't know what she looks like

Black hair

(Lessgo badwolf rose)

A woman with the universe(?) poured into her and she becomes a lady!

Such grace

She judges the living and the dead.

Everything changes as she (idk)

She judges(possibly) everything and everyone that she meets

She judges all that come in her path all and more.

She has gold eyes the universe is inside her

Powerful

Gold eyes

I have seen the opposite of a star. A darkness rather than a light on the void

There is a world that lives there, terribly close to disaster. It feels most like a vision, a prophesy. Like something out of astrology, that the placing of these stars is important.

(Jibber jabber)

And further into the nightmare, there was a pit. And there was a voice from the pit. And it wrote itself onto mens faces. It sought an escape into the world of men.

It was the beast, I am sure. The thing inside that is all that we must not let out.

A broken clock or a broken mirror will let it out.

(Can't make out the last bit)

Hit the photo limit but I'm not done! I'm reblogging with the rest, here's the link to that when it's done

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meiliarotten · 10 months ago

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Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time Three: Return of the Kink

Day 13: Room Service (Bath Sex)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Medic x Fem!Reader

Summary: Medic treats you to a surprise to make up for some past incidents (can be read as a sequel to the 27th chapter of my very first Kinktober series!)

Tags: Bath sex, fingering, oral, aftercare

Word Count: 3.5k

The Masterlist

The hotel elevator could not possibly be any slower. As if the fact that the staff had forgotten to stock your room with toiletries wasn’t enough, not to mention the non-existent room service. The phone in your room didn’t even ring when you tried to call the front desk. You had needed to go out to get some of the bare necessities. The bag of travel sized shampoo and conditioner felt heavy in your hand. Thankfully there was a convenience store just next door.

Finally the elevator arrived on your floor, and you reached your room, unlocking it with a click. You entered to find Medic reclined in a chair, reading a book, or rather, pretending to read a book. How did you know he was pretending? Well, Medic hadn’t packed any books on this trip, and the only one available in the hotel room was the Bible. You had a feeling that a man who had sold several souls to Satan wouldn’t have much use for such a thing.

“Ah, you’re back!” Medic said, tossing the religious text onto a nearby table without a care.

“Yeah, finally. That damn elevator…” you muttered a few curses to yourself.

“Oh, you poor thing.” Medic rushed forward, taking the bag from you. “Here, let me take this.”

You rolled your eyes. “Poor thing? That’s a bit much.”

Medic laughed, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound. His joy was contagious. Even when the two of you were on the battlefield together, he could make you laugh alongside him. “I suppose that’s true. You are quite capable of dealing with such a minor inconvenience,” he said. You met Medic’s gaze. He was grinning, and his gaze was lit up with something you knew all too well.

“Oh no,” you said. “You’ve done something.”

Medic had the decency to look taken aback, albeit poorly. You knew him too well, and you knew that look. It was the same look he had when he told you about his exploits in sewing baboon uteruses into his colleagues. It was the same look he had when he transplanted a would-be mugger’s brain into a pumpkin. You probably would have also noticed that same look on his face as he performed your heart operation for the Ubercharge when you two had first met, but you were a bit distracted by the fact that one of your vital organs had just burst in his hands. It was a look that meant, ‘I know something you don’t know.’

“Perhaps I have,” Medic said, grinning even wider before clearing his throat. “I’ve planned a little something for you, liebe.”

“Really?” You were still suspicious. There was still a chance that this ‘little something’ might involve impromptu surgery.

“Since we spent our previous vacation days smuggling exotic animal organs-”

“Yes, I remember the whale liver,” you said. “Vividly.”

“Of course,” Medic said with a nervous laugh. “Well, I wanted to make it up to you.”

“Oh, is that so?” Medic didn’t respond, wordlessly leading you to the bathroom. Even though you had been assured that this was not an organ smuggling trip, part of you expected to see a basin full of viscera on ice behind the bathroom door. Instead, you were met with a jacuzzi tub filled with warm water and bubbles. Rose petals floated on the surface, dappling the soap foam with flecks of crimson. You picked one up, feeling it between your fingers. Sure enough, they were quite real.

“Well, liebchen?” Medic asked, motioning towards the scene before you. You were pleasantly surprised, to say the least, but unsure of what to say. After a bit of pondering you ultimately settled on a simple question.

“Where did you get real rose petals?”

“I borrowed them from Spy,” Medic said, looking very proud of himself. You gave him a skeptical look.

“Borrowed?”

His composure faltered with a nervous laugh. “Aheh- well, more like, borrowed without him knowing…”

You sighed. Medic had always been one to follow the ‘ask for forgiveness, not for permission’ philosophy. That usually applied when he was sewing baboon uteruses into unsuspecting men, however it apparently applied to petty rose petal theft as well. You also couldn’t help but wonder why the hell Spy just happened to have a stash of fresh rose petals ready to go in the middle of a war zone, but those were questions for later.

You kissed him suddenly. It was nothing more than a quick peck, but it succeeded in flustering Medic enough to make his cheeks go pink. “Thank you for this,” you said, smiling up at him. He returned your smile before pulling you back in for another kiss, this one much more passionate. “Medic,” you gasped when the two of you finally parted. “You hid the hotel toiletries, didn’t you?”

“Well, I needed some way to get you out of the room for a while,” he admitted.

“And the lack of room service?” you asked.

“I just unplugged the phone.”

“Devious,” you chuckled, a bit ashamed that you hadn’t thought to check the plug in the first place. Then again, if you had, you probably wouldn’t have had this. “Well, I’d better make use of this bath before it gets cold, shouldn’t I?”

You would be lying if you said you didn’t put on a bit of a show for him as you undressed. The way you shimmied your pants down your legs with a little extra sway of your hips was especially bold. The shirt came off, your underwear and bra were thrown to the floor, and eventually you were fully undressed in front of the tub. Medic stared at the display with rapt attention, eyes darting between you and the pile of discarded clothes left upon the tile floor.

A soft laugh escaped you as you entered the tub. You could see the way Medic’s gaze raked over your body as you submerged yourself in the water, bubbles and froth just barely covering your chest. Medic let out a shaky breath as you began to settle into the water. His staring was anything but subtle.

“Are you going to join me?” you asked, smirking back at him and kicking your legs lazily in the spacious tub. “There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

He shook his head. “Not yet. Come here, lean against the edge for me.”

“Alright,” you said, a little confused but curious. You sat back against the side of the tub, facing away from Medic. His hands came to rest on your shoulders for a moment before starting to rub gently, yet firmly. “Oh!” You gasped as he began to work the muscles, easing the tension out of your shoulders and then moving to your collar and around your neck. “Oh, that’s really nice.”

“I thought you might like this,” Medic said, sounding quite proud of himself. His medical knowledge was coming in handy as well. He knew just which muscles to focus on, and how to soothe the tension out of them. “Lean forward just a little. That way I can get your back as well.”

You did as he said, trying not to shiver as his fingers worked up your spine. His palms then splayed out over your upper back, massaging, caressing, and making you sigh with every delicate touch. Oh, those sounds you were making, so reminiscent of something far less wholesome. Medic reminded himself to be patient. He would get to that soon enough. The first order of business was to warm you up and relax your body.

The heels of his hands pressed hard along the middle of your back, working out an especially stubborn knot of tense muscle. That effort rewarded him with an outright moan. It sure as hell didn’t make it any easier for Medic to keep his cool. After a few deep breaths, he pulled his hands away. You heard the distinctive pop of a bottle opening, but before you could turn around, his hands were back, now massaging your scalp and working up a lather with some shampoo. You took a deep inhale, breathing in the scent of the soap as it reached you. There were notes of something floral, perhaps lavender.

When he was done, you dipped your head beneath the water, rinsing the soap out before letting him move on to the conditioner. He worked that product through your hair with just as much diligence. You could get used to being pampered like this, however a subtle twinge of desire chipped away at your mind. This whole situation- being washed by your lover, your naked body barely concealed by frothy bubbles- was undeniably intimate. It led your mind to wander.

“Your face is red, liebling,” Medic said, ever observant. “Is the water too hot?”

His question sounded so damn innocent, and it probably was. You weren’t worked up enough for him to start outright teasing you yet. “No, it’s not too hot,” you said. “It’s perfect, this is all perfect.”

Medic cupped your cheek, turning your face until he could lean down to kiss you. He was surprisingly chaste, going slow and soft, feeling the heat radiating off of you. Oh he definitely knew why you were blushing now. He parted from you with a soft gasp. “Do you want me to touch you, schatz?”

You stammered, tongue tied and flustered beyond belief. “You are touching me,” you said, mentally slapping yourself for giving such a deadpan answer. “I mean, you were. The massage, and washing me, and-”

“You know what I really mean,” Medic laughed.

He was right. You knew exactly what he meant, and you knew exactly what you wanted. Getting the words out was the challenging part. You took a deep breath. “I would like that,” you said, miraculously managing to keep your voice steady. “Please.”

He pushed his sleeves up higher before dipping an arm into the water. “Lean back, liebchen.” You rested your head against the edge of the bathtub. He began by caressing your thighs before letting his fingers brush over your entrance. Just that small gesture made you buck forward slightly. “Ooh, so sensitive!” Medic teased. You trapped your lower lip between your teeth to smother any embarrassing noises as he began to rub slow circles over your clit.

Medic leaned forward against the side of the bathtub, his head next to yours, his chin resting on your shoulder. You shivered when his stubble brushed against your neck. He knew how ticklish you were, smiling to himself when he managed to draw out a barely restrained giggle that ultimately devolved into a moan. You were so soft, melting into his touch like butter. Both the steam from the bath and your own arousal colored your cheeks, giving you a perpetual blush. It was an adorable look for you.

Trying to take things a step further, Medic began to press into you. Usually you would be quite wet enough to take two fingers, but just one caused you to pull back with a wince. It seemed that the bath water ironically hindered any attempt at penetration. So much for water equating to wetness, at least, not the kind of wetness you needed. “Sorry,” you apologized. “Here, maybe if I get out-”

“Nein, it’s perfectly fine, liebe.” Medic placed a hand on your shoulder, stopping you from leaving the warm embrace of the bath. “Would you like to keep going as we were before?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It felt nice with you just touching me.” Medic smiled, eager to return to pampering his little dove.

Soft gasps and sweet little moans escaped you as he returned to circling your clit, barely touching it enough to get a reaction. His free hand joined the fray, massaging your chest and brushing against your nipples. You bit your lip as Medic took full advantage of how sensitive they were.

“Don’t be shy,” Medic whispered, his lips close to your ear. “Let me know how good you feel.” You let a louder moan slip, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. You would have gone even redder if you could see the self-satisfied grin Medic was sporting. From behind, he began to kiss the nape of your neck, moving along your collarbone every so often, whispering soft praises and sweet nothings. “Sehr schön, you look so beautiful like this, liebchen. Just relax, let your doctor take care of you.”

Well, you were nothing if not obedient. You let Medic have his way with you while you just sat back and enjoyed the ride, surrounded by warm water dotted with iridescent bubbles. Said water began to ripple as your breath started to quiver, chest rising and falling at a faster and faster pace. You squirmed, unable to keep the slight tremor out of your muscles. That pleasure was starting to reach a peak, and you couldn’t keep yourself still. Medic took notice, of course, letting his lips brush against your ear.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, seeming genuinely concerned at first. His strokes slowed, but a desperate whine from you quickly confirmed that your squirming was not born of discomfort. His tone shifted. “Ooh, is my little dove getting close?”

You gave a quick nod, whimpering as his pace began to speed up. You wanted this to last longer, but he was so talented with his fingers that holding back was a futile effort.

“I’ve got you, just let go.” You felt his arm wrap around your body and a pair of lips pressed against your cheek right before your resistance caved and your orgasm overtook you. Medic held you close, barely paying any mind to the way the bath water spilled over onto the floor as you shuddered and arched back against the tub. “That’s it. Gott, you’re so beautiful, so soft,” he murmured. His strokes eased up before stopping completely. The gentle pressure of his arm around you kept you grounded as you came down from the high.

Your eyes fell closed and you lost track of where Medic’s hands roamed. One caressed your chest, momentarily squeezing one of your breasts and making you gasp. Leaning back, you rested your head on his shoulder only to find that you were met with damp fabric. “Fuck, I splashed water on you, didn’t I?” you sighed. “Sorry.”

Medic laughed softly. “It’s fine, liebe.” It was humorous that you thought a little water was of any concern. After all, you had seen him splattered with blood and viscera both on the battlefield and in his operating room countless times. Then again, you were rather out of it at the moment, still basking in the afterglow.

“Can you help me get out?” you asked after a moment, noticing that the water was beginning to turn cold. “I’m not sure my legs will hold.”

Medic offered you his arm, supporting your weight as you hoisted yourself out of the water. He reached in, pulling the drain plug and letting the soapy water slowly spiral down. A soft towel was draped over your shoulders, its plush texture protecting you from any chill. Your mind felt delightfully hazy, simply enjoying that post-orgasm bliss. It was only when Medic stripped his wet shirt off that you snapped back to attention, not about to miss a chance to admire that sight. It was only when he proceeded to kneel between your legs that you realized he may have more than just eye candy in store.

All you managed to say when he gently pushed your thighs apart was a surprised, “Oh.”

He smiled up at you, head tilted like a curious puppy. It was an ironically adorable look for a man as dangerous as him. “Again?” he asked, no further words needing to be spoken for you to understand his meaning.

“If you want to,” you said, spreading your legs slightly wider with a smirk.

Medic mirrored your expression, resting his hands on your thighs and gently massaging the soft flesh. “Let me make you feel good, Liebchen.”

You saw it coming, but the sensation of his tongue lapping over your cunt still managed to draw a sharp gasp from you, one which quickly dissolved into a moan when he pushed in deeper. You tried your best not to squirm- mostly because you were seated precariously on the narrow edge of a bathtub. Perhaps this wasn’t the best place for a bit of impromptu cunnilingus, but you weren’t going to say no to Medic’s offer of a second round, and you certainly weren’t going to ask him to stop now.

Every little noise you made seemed to spur him on. Medic was practically burying his face against you, breathing in your scent with every rushed inhale. The rose and lavender from the bath water mixed with your natural aroma, so sweet and intoxicating. Each breath he took was beginning to make his head spin, like he was getting his own personal high- or maybe the pressure of your thighs against his skull was beginning to get to him.

Your climax came on quicker this time, given that you were still quite sensitive. Medic felt you grow slick against his tongue, and he took advantage of it. With newfound ease, he slipped a finger into you, curling it against the spot that he knew would have you seeing stars. If the way you started gasping his name and tugging his hair was any indication, he had found it. You steered him with that death grip on his hair, guiding him up to your clit.

“I’m close,” you whined, cursing under your breath at how quickly he had managed to bring you to the edge. You had hoped to hold out for a little longer.

Any disappointment you may have felt was washed away when your second orgasm of the night hit you with a full body shudder. Medic groaned against you, the subtle vibrations against your clit making you buck forward unexpectedly, nearly tumbling off the edge of your seat. Thankfully, Medic was able to sit up just in time to catch you, pulling you forward to lean against him. You were so dizzy and high on endorphins that he wondered if you even realized how close you had come to toppling backwards into the tub. Based on the dazed grin you currently wore, you either didn’t know or didn’t care.

“Careful, liebling,” Medic said. “We don’t want you getting hurt.”

You giggled, throwing your arms over his shoulders. “It’s a good thing a doctor isn’t too far away. Well, ex-doctor.”

Medic rolled his eyes, chuckling softly at your little quip. He sat you back on the edge of the tub, making sure you were steady before he began to dry you off with the towel he had draped over your shoulders earlier. You were mostly dry already, with Medic just giving you a quick once over. By the time he was done you were already being overcome with a gradual, pleasant euphoria, the second afterglow beginning to settle over you.

Noticing that you were beginning to drift, Medic led you out of the bathroom. You leaned heavily on him, grateful to finally set foot on the carpeted floor and no longer be subjected to the potentially slippery tile of the bathroom. However, you immediately began to shiver when exposed to the cold hotel room air. Why these establishments felt the need to constantly blast the air conditioning, you would never know.

“Let’s get you under the covers,” Medic said, guiding you to the bed where you immediately collapsed into the mattress. The pillow was cool against your burning cheeks. You heard the sound of the television across the room being turned on, the volume down low, just enough to offer a bit of ambient noise. Medic knew you too well, and that included the fact that you struggled to sleep in complete silence. Something about the total lack of noise felt oppressive, probably because you had long since gotten used to the chaos of your home base.

A content sigh was the only sound that left you when Medic settled in beside you, pulling you to his chest and letting you relax into the warmth of his body. He pulled the covers up around the two of you, and eventually your shivering ebbed. “Look at you, you can barely keep your eyes open, liebchen,” Medic crooned, watching you try and fail to blink away the fatigue.

“I should do something-” you said, drowsily, interrupting yourself with a yawn. “You know, something to return the favor for all of this, to make you feel good too.”

“You don’t need to repay me for anything. This was all about you.” Medic kissed your forehead, his fingers combing through your hair and brushing over your scalp in a way that broke your resolve to stay awake. You let your eyes fall shut, finally admitting defeat in your losing battle with the allure of sleep. “That’s it, rest now, liebchen. We can sleep in for as long as we want tomorrow.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You were practically asleep before he even finished his sentence.

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