#go listen to half god half devil by in this moment

[x0xomady]

broken cd (pt.1)

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summary: you’re an assistant for a designer at prada, and you run into a mucisian on the streets of manhattan which leads to a long night of music, pizza, and fuzzy blankets. (rockstar!harry x fashiondesigner!reader)

warnings: smut in part 2! (they just makeout in part 1)

playlist to listen to while reading: 🎧

a/n: was this based on a cheesy "sex in the city" or “the devil wears prada” reference? yeah 100%. is this a corny romcom plotline? yes absolutely, don’t be a hater. this is just cliché after cliché after cliché. i honestly like the second half more, but enjoy!

˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹

‧˚⊹ October 15, 2003 ⊹˚‧

you LOATHED your job.

no, scratch that, you didn’t hate it, you just heavily disliked the work that you had to do. when breaking into the fashion industry, everyone knows you have to start from the bottom. you know that to, that doesn’t mean it’s fun.

your boss, an executive designer for prada, was currently making you run through the streets of manhattan with three bags of clothes, dry cleaning, and two cups of coffee.

of course, it was an opportunity of a life time to be able to work for someone with so much power, but still. it didn’t make it any better that it was 40 degrees and raining.

“shitshitshit” you try to run as quickly as you can in your heels to catch the cab, but some business man in a suit gets there before you. “asshole.” you mumble to yourself and groan in frustration as you try to find another taxi.

the streets are filled with rain and mist, making the cars drive slower, and taxis less available.

you huff in frustration and turn around, desperately trying to keep a grip on the drink holder and clothes. THUD

“ah!” you gasp in surprise as your body meets another, effectively knocking all of the coffee out of your hands and onto the floor. you stumble back, stepping on something on the ground.

“shit-” you hear a voice come from the person you just hit.

you look up, blinking raindrops out of your eyes. in front of you is a man, roughly your age, with a leather jacket and messy brown hair. he's looking down at the mess of spilled coffee on the sidewalk, then back up at you.

“ah fucking hell-" he mutters, noticing the cd of his that you stepped on.

there’s a pang of guilt as you look at the ruined cd. "i'm so sorry," you say, trying to keep your balance on your heels. "i wasn't looking where i was going."

you pick up the broken cd and it’s case and hold it out for the man apologetically, also grabbing the coffee cups that had dumped all over the ground.

the man looks at you for a moment, then takes the cd from you.

"thanks," he says, "but i think it's a little too late.” he holds up the broken cd, which is in two jagged pieces.

a horrible rush of guilt and also panic that you had just lost all the coffee for your boss runs through you.

“oh god- i’m SO sorry, i- here take this” you quickly pull out your wallet and hand him a twenty dollar bill.

the man looks at the bill and then back at you with a small smile as he helps you pick up the spilled coffee cups and put them in a trash can.

"uh, no it’s alright, love. i’m afraid that was a cd i made, so money won’t do much."

you look at the cd in his hand, now realizing that it’s a homemade music cd, not something you can buy at a store, and feel your guilt double.

“oh- i’m so sorry, i didn’t realize.” you say, feeling even worse now.

he shakes his head and pushes his damp hair out of his eyes.

“it’s fine, it happens,” he helps you adjust the clothes and bags in your arms so that you’re not dropping everything. “are you alright? you seem a bit frazzled.”

you nod, trying to keep your emotions in check. there was an overwhelming since of anxiety and guilt

“i’m fine, just in a hurry.” you glance down at your watch. “i need to get these things to my boss, like, right now. i’m so sorry about your cd-”

the man smiles and shakes his head again. "really, it's no problem. it was nothing important."

you feel a little relief at his nonchalant attitude, but you're still feeling guilty for ruining something of his.

"are you sure? i feel terrible. is there anything i can do to make it up to you?" you ask, shifting your weight awkwardly on your heels. you had to leave, but you didn’t want to just break this man’s cd and then run away.

the man looks at you, a hint of amusement in his eyes, the rain was picking up, leaving some drops to fall from his curls.

"i'll tell you what, you make it up to me by helping me out. i’m supposed to bring a pretty girl to my concert tonight, and i don’t have anyone yet."

you blink, surprised by his proposition.

"your… concert?" you say, your mind quickly racing back to your boss and the bags of clothes in your arms. you were a bit nervous to be around this very attractive man, so you spit out the first lame excuse that comes to mind “i, um, i have work…”

he grins, clearly enjoying the look on your face. "oh, come on, it’s not until 9. just pop by and hang out with me for a bit. it’s just a gig at webster hall, nothing too fancy."

you think for a minute. was it really a good idea to agree if you didn’t know this guy? probably not, but, how often do you meet a hot british guy in new york?

“uh… alright, sure."

his smile widens, and he looks genuinely pleased that you agreed.

"great, i’ll give you my number so i can let you in."

he pulls out a sharpie from his pocket, takes the cd case that was broken and writes his phone number on one of the broken shards before handing it to you.

you stare at the broken cd in your hand for a moment, then look back at the man.

“so… i just need to go to the venue, and call you?" you ask, checking the time again.

he nods, shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. "that would do it, darling. can i have your name so i can tell them to let you in?”

you nod and smile a little bit, feeling less anxious and upset than you did five minutes ago. “yeah i’m y/n”

he grins “y/n, lovely name. i’m harry. i have to get to soundcheck, but i’ll see you later, yeah?”

he starts walking down the street but turns around and smiles. “be sure to look extra pretty tonight, gotta impress my friends!”

you nod and watch as he walks away, feeling a bit flustered at his comment. you look down at the broken cd shard in your hands, with his messy handwriting scribbled on it.

“okay then…” you mutter to yourself suddenly the realization that you were late to work and needed four new coffees hits you. “OH SHIT-”

⋆｡˚⁺｡ at the office ｡⁺˚｡⋆

after successfully running two blocks to get more coffee, running two more blocks back to get to the office, you made it. your boss wasn't angry, just neutral and stern as usual.

“thank you, y/n, phoebe should have your assignment on her desk.” your boss takes a sip of her coffee without looking up from the sheets she was looking through, waving for you to leave.

(a/n: i 1000% thought about gisele bündchen in the devil wears prada when i was writing phoebe. this is so cliché im sorry)

you nod and walk back out to your desk. your friend and co-worker, phoebe, is sitting at her desk. she immediately sits up and looks at you as you approach your desk.

“you’re late. i was beginning to get worried.” she says, putting the papers for the new design on your desk. “what happened?”

you sigh and sit down in your chair, putting your head in your hands.

“ugh, don’t even ask. i stepped on music that some hot english guy made and had to run around manhattan looking for more coffee because i destroyed the first three cups on the sidewalk.”

phoebe's eyes widen at the mention of the hot english guy.

“wait, wait, wait.” she says, leaning forward in her chair. “hold on, rewind. who is this hot guy?”

you roll your eyes a little, amused by her excitement.

"his name is harry. he said he's a musician performing at webster hall tonight. he's the guy who owned the cd i destroyed.”

you reach into your pocket and pull out the shard of the broken cd that had his name and phone number on it.

phoebe's eyes seem on the verge of popping out of her head as she grabs the shard from your hand and reads the messy handwriting.

"he gave you his phone number? and you’re going to his gig tonight? this is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen!"

you smile and take the shard back from her. "i'm not even sure why i agreed. i've got work and i don't really know anything about him or his music”

phoebe's grins and leans back her chair, looking smug. "oh, please, you know exactly why you agreed. it’s because he’s hot and british."

you roll your eyes again, but your face flushes for a moment.

"okay, fine, but there’s still a chance his music sucks, then what?" you ask, picking up the papers and starting to look through your work.

she shrugs, looking unconvinced. "i suppose. but let's be real, there's no way a good-looking guy who's british and a musician is going to suck. that's just against the rules."

you scoff a little and shake your head, although you had to admit, phoebe had a point. most british rockstars are hot...

"alright, alright. but he could be a jerk, or crazy, or-"

"or you guys could fall madly in love and get married and live happily ever after and you show your kids this cute little cd" interrupts phoebe.

you laugh and roll your eyes. "yeah, or that. in reality, i'll probably end up going home after the gig and never hear from him again."

phoebe frowns at your negativity. "oh come on, have some optimism. maybe he's 'the one' and this is your meet cute."

you smile and shakes your head at her response, going through the new designs for your boss. "yeah, we’ll see.”

phoebe grins and turns back to her computer, typing as she speaks up again. “…. you’re gonna wear that mini skirt aren’t you?"

you smile and shrug, writing down notes for the designs.

“maybe"

phoebe hums in response and continues typing for a few seconds before responding

“someone’s trying to get lock him down-”

"shut up!"

⋆｡˚⁺｡ that night ｡⁺˚｡⋆

you did, in fact, wear the mini skirt. obviously.

how often did a sexy british musician come up to a girl in new york? never! this is a once in a life time opportunity, and you needed all the leather mini skirts you could find.

it only took about one mental breakdown, four calls with your friends, and a shot to convince you to leave the apartment.

there was a HIGH chance this guy was like every other up-and-coming mucisian in new york, annoying and pretentious. however, you were getting hope that maybe he wasn't as bad, he was pretty sweet this morning afterall.

(a/n: THIS is the outfit i imagined, but it's up to you! imagine whatever you would feel most comfortable in!)

you hail a cab and give the address for webster hall, looking at yourself in the mirror for the tenth time. you made sure to do a little heavier makeup than usual, and your leather mini skirt matched with your black sleeveless top and boots.

the cab pulls up in front of the building and you pay the driver. you look up at the building, it was already crowded with people lined outside the venue. you pull the cd shard out of your pocket and dial in the number written on it, holding the phone to your ear.

it rings a couple times before he picks up.

"hello? is this the pretty girl i ordered?” he asks, teasingly.

you smile and roll your eyes, even though he can’t see it. “yeah it’s her. she's waiting outside in the cold so you better hurry up, rockstar.”

he laughs, the sound of people chatting and music playing faintly in the background.

"rockstar, huh? i like that. gimme a minute, love, i just have to let security know you're here." you hear him talking to someone as the phone hangs up.

you put the phone back in your pocket and lean against the front of the building, waiting patiently as a few drops of rain fall from the sky. after a couple minutes of waiting a security guard appears in front of you, looking you up and down.

“are you y/n?”

you nod, adjusting your jacket. “yeah.”

the guard looks you over again before nodding and gesturing for you to follow him inside, going back through a door that lead into the venue.

you walk into room, which seemed to lead to backstage. people were either standing around chatting or sitting on the couch, some of them were holding instruments. you looked around, wondering where this man disappeared to.

you turn around and look at the man with the irish accent. he had a big smile on his face and was holding a guitar so he must be part of their band.

“hello, love! what are you doing here?” you practically jump out of your skin as a blonde man pops up behind you.

“oh- hi. i’m y/n, i’m looking for harry…”

the blonde man's smile widens and he nods, throwing an arm around your shoulders and leading you into the room.

“oh, yeah, he’s over by the couch. c’mon i’ll take you to him” he says, and you allow yourself to be led across the room to a couch in the corner where a group of three men were sitting.

one of the men sitting on the couch was the one you were looking for. harry was wearing a loose faded t-shirt and jeans, and he was laughing at something one of his friends said. he notices you and his eyes widen in surprise, and his smile widens.

“there you are!” he says, standing up and walking towards you, playfully shoving the blonde guy away. “niall will you back off? i don’t need you scaring the pretty girl before i have a chance”

niall laughs and puts his hands up in the air. “just showing her around. not trying to steal your girl.” he pats harry on the back before walking back over to the other guys.

harry turns back to you and grins, looking you over. “wow” he says, raising an eyebrow. “you look fantastic”

you smile and roll your eyes a little, he looked hot as well, but you weren’t going to say that out loud. “yeah, yeah, well i had to make sure i didn’t embarrass you while i made up for breaking your cd.

harry grins, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, still looking you over approvingly.

“oh darling, i don’t think you could embarrass me even if you tried. now, the concert is about to start, but you can watch from the side stage or go sit down in the booth, whatever you want”

you nod, looking out at the growing crowd just outside the side stage. “side stage if that’s okay”

he grins excitedly and nods, grabbing your hand and leading you with him. “perfect. get a better view that way” he leads you around the side and down a narrow hallway to one side of the stage.

you followed him back, walking through the halls until you were out near the side stage. the music had already started and he turned back to you, still smiling.

“i have to go on now, but we’ll meet up after the show alright?” he asked, starting to hurry back towards the stage

you nod and smile as he runs off to go get his guitar and microphone. there were about 2,000 people in attendance, so needless to say it was cramped down below. you could see the hoards of people moving towards the stage as the lights dim and the music starts.

"who are you?"

you hear a voice behind you, and you turn around, met with a pretty brunette girl. she looks at you curiously as she walks over and stands next to you.

you look up and the girl who walked over next to you, returning the curious look.

“i’m y/n…” you say, wondering who this girl was and why she was talking to you.

“ohhh” she smiles in realization and stands next to you, looking at the crowd as well. “i’m amelia, niall’s girlfriend. harry was bragging earlier that he found a hot girl on the street and we didn’t believe him.”

you nod and smile at the mention of their disbelief. “yeah, he ran into me on the street this morning- well, actually, i ran into him, quite literally”

amelia nods and grins as she watches the guys on stage. “yeah, that sounds about right.”

she turns to look at you again, still smiling. “i heard you broke the infamous cd…”

you nod, a little embarrassed at the mention of the broken cd.

"yeah…. that happened. it didn’t happen to be important or anything… did it? harry didn’t tell me, but i felt really guilty about it.”

amelia smiles at your question and shrugs. “all the guys call it “the infamous cd” because they’re dorks. it’s just a lucky charm that harry carries around with him everywhere."

you sigh in relief and nod, a little glad you didn't actually ruin anything important. "lucky cd, huh? does it work?"

amelia laughs and shakes her head. “that’s what niall says - apparently it’s what got them their first record deal”

“really?” you ask, looking out at harry who was about to go on stage. “he didn’t tell me that. i feel even worse now…”

amelia shrugs and smiles again, looking amused. “don’t worry about it. harry’s a little dramatic, he just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

there was a certain air of excitement in the crowded room, and the buzz of people talking around you slowly started to disappear as the music got louder. you leaned against the side of the the wall, peering into the crowded room as harry and his band stepped on stage.

the concert starts, people singing and screaming along to the lyrics. each song had deep bass, guitar solos, and of course harry singing. did you feel a little bit stupid for not recognizing a guy that was apparently famous on the street? yeah.

the concert continued like that for about an hour, harry’s voice filling up the whole room. he had a certain stage presence to him, something about his charisma that drew you in and captured your attention.

"She worked her way through a cheap pack of cigarettes Hard liquor mixed with a bit of intellect And all the boys, they were saying they were into it Such a pretty face on a pretty neck”

as harry sings the lyrics to his next song, your eyes widen in realization. oh… you DID know their songs.

you watch the rest of the concert dumbfounded by the fact that you didn't realize that harry was in one the most popular bands in the modern century. you were joking before, but, he really was a rockstar.

amelia notices your look and smiles a little, leaning over. “they’re good right?”

you nod in agreement, your eyes glued to the stage. “yeah, they’re amazing… i didn’t…i didn’t think he was famous when we met…”

amelia smirked a little as she watched your eyes follow Harry around the stage. “yeah, he’s really humble. you’ll never find him flaunting it. he’s a pretty good guy”

as the concert comes to a close, the crowd starts to cheer and scream for a final song.

harry, who was now glistening with sweat and grinning like an idiot, looked straight into the side stage where you were standing and nodded for you to follow him backstage.

amelia smiles and looks at you before you walk away. “well it was nice to meet you, i’m sure i’ll see you around sometime.”

“yeah, you too” you smile back and walk away from amelia, following him behind the side stage into the messy back rooms. you could still hear the crowd of people screaming and cheering just outside of the door.

harry was standing there, panting as security guards were directing people around, still grinning and high on adrenaline from the performance.

he turns to look at you and grins again. “so, love, what did ya think?”

you smile and nod, walking over to him. “you should’ve told me you were famous, i feel like a dumbass.”

harry shakes his head and smiles, wiping his face with a towel. “nah i’m not that famous yet, maybe one day.”

he smiles and looks down at you for a second before speaking again. “did you want to go get pizza? i’m starving and i would die for a greasy slice.”

you nod and return the smile, leaning against the wall next to him. pizza sounded good after sitting under those bright lights in a crowded room for an hour.

"sure. lead the way, rockstar"

harry hums and smiles, he slips a hoodie over his head and yells something out to the other guys before turning back to you.

“alright, let’s go pretty girl.”

he nods for you to follow him, walking out of the back door of the venue and onto the lightly rainy streets of new york.

you follow him out and shiver as the cold air hits you. you weren’t sure if it was from the weather or the fact that harry called you “pretty girl”.

harry pulled the hood up on his hoodie and started walking down the sidewalk. he was still grinning like an idiot. “so…. talk to me… what do you do? i could tell by all the clothes from this morning it had something to do with fashion.”

you nod as you walk with him and shiver again. harry seems to notice and moves closer to you, your shoulders brushing as the two of you walk.

"yeah, i'm in fashion design." you say with a smile. "it's a pain in the ass, but it gives me some sort of purpose. hopefully after i finish this internship i can get an actual job for prada, at least i hope."

harry grins and nods as he looks over at you. “no kidding? i guess it fits. you’re like… really good at dressin’, and all that.”

he looks up at the sky as the rain starts to come down harder. he leads you down the street towards a pizza shop. the streets are dark other than a few people leaving clubs or taxis driving around.

you smile a little as harry compliments you, kind of embarrassed.

the two of you reach the pizza shop and harry holds the door open for you, still smiling. inside the small shop the air is warm and smells like bread and grease.

harry walks up to the counter and looks at the menu on the wall. “alright, love. what do you want?”

you look up at the menu before walking to the counter and standing next to harry."hmm… i'll just have a pepperoni slice and a coke"

the man behind the counter nods and looks up at harry, as he also orders him a few slices of pizza and a drink. harry pays for the food before walking over to a table in the corner of the small shop and sitting down, still looking cheerful.

"so prada, huh? so they've got you runnin' coffees and doin' menial work then?" he sighs as he stretches in the chair before looking at you again.

you sigh and smile a little, sitting down as well. “yeah but everyone’s gotta start somewhere.”

harry nods and smiles. “yeah, i know what ya mean. i was broke for years until someone finally picked us up.” he takes a big bite of his pizza as you also start eating.

you smile and takes a bite of your pizza. “so you’re british? are you in new york just for a show or did you move here?”

harry nods as he finishes chewing, he picks up his drink and takes a sip as he replies.

“i just moved here last year."

you look at him curiously as you take a sip of your own drink. "how do you like it? do you get homesick at all?"

harry shrugs as he swallows another bite of his pizza.

“it’s alright. new york is way bigger than where i’m from. there’s no getting homesick when i constantly talk to my mum and sister back at home, i don’t have time to miss it.”

he grins playfully and takes another bite of pizza before speaking again. “i like it here. there’s a lot to do. the pizza is good, there’s pretty girls everywhere running into me on the streets…”

you smile and shake your head, holding up the shard of cd from your pocket. amelia had told you that it held some signifigance for their band, and you didn’t want to take that away, even if it was broken.

“yeah about that, you should take this back.”

harry smiles and shakes his head, taking a bite of his second slice. he leans back against the chair, looking at you with an amused expression. “nah it’s alright, i still have the other chunk.”

you look at him hesitantly for a minute before nodding and putting the broken cd back in your pocket. “okay…”

harry swallows the pizza and watches as you finish before speaking again. “so how did you like the show?”

you look up at him and smile. in truth, you loved the show. they sounded good, harry had a great stage presence, and you recognized a few of their songs. “i really liked it, you did a good job. i recognized that one song… um… what is it called? the one about having babies?”

harry laughs and takes a drink of his soda, nodding. he runs his hand through his slightly wet curls from the rain and smiles. “ah yeah… that would be “kiwi” you like it?”

you nod, smiling at harry with your chin resting in your hand. "yeah, it was good." you take a bite of pizza, looking down at the table for a moment, then looking back up at him. "i didn’t think i would like it as much as i did. i’m not usually much of a rock girl, but i had fun."

you think for a moment, then smile sheepishly. "it's mostly pop stuff, like beyonce or christina aguilera. i told you i'm not much of a rock girl, but you sounded good."

it was embarrassing, he was a rockstar and you were casually admitting to listening to pop music, but at the same time it wasn’t. harry was very easy going, and very easy to talk to. he always had a smile and always knew what to say. it's comforting.

harry grins at you, finding it cute that you listen to pop music. "nothing wrong with that, they're both pretty damn talented, not just in their songs but their styles as well. if i could pull of low waisted jeans i would totally wear them"

you can't help but giggle a little as harry mentions low waisted jeans. you can picture him in those kind of jeans, the tattoos along his stomach showing slightly above the low waist… yeah… you wouldn’t mind that at all. (ew shut up shut up)

"well, it's mainly pop, but sometimes i listen to rap. it all depends on what mood i'm in"

harry smiles at your giggles and looks you over. he finishes the last bite of his pizza and wipes his face and hands with a napkin.

"yeah? okay… so i know you like pop music, you work in fashion, you're very sweet, we’re practically best friends now."

you smile and roll your eyes at his remark. "best friends? really? i don't know anything about you other than you’re british and you sing. cmon, tell me something."

harry’s eyes widen a little, he pretends to be offended by your statement and places his hand over his heart as he speaks. he is just so cute.

“woah woah woah, we’ve only known eachother for a couple of hours, don’t rush me love” he grins jokingly before continuing. “alright, let’s see… what do you wanna know?”

harry grins and looks at you, leaning an elbow on the table and resting his head in his hand, his other hand placed on the table.

“favorite album of all time huh? that’s an easy one. it’s probably… abbey road by the beatles. i know it’s the basic answer but i can’t help it, i grew up on the beatles. for favorite color… i guess black. i wear a lot of black, in case you hadn’t noticed…”

he grins as he says he last part jokingly.

you smile and nod, taking a sip of your drink. other than the owners, you two were the only people in the pizza shop left. even though you’ve only known him for about 10 hours, and it’s midnight, you felt oddly comfortable with him. you pretend to think for a minute before speaking again.

“okay… since we’re basically playing 20 questions now… do you collect anything?”

harry smiles and leans back in his chair, stretching, looking up, and thinking. “hmmm..”

he grins and looks at you. “yeah i do actually, i’ve collected vinyl ever since i was a teenager. it’s kind of my thing. i have a whole room full of them back at my house and i’m still collecting them.”

you raise your eyebrows, slightly surprised, and smile again. “really? that’s cool. i didn’t think anyone collected vinyls anymore, besides hipsters who listen to the doors.”

harry grins and shakes his head. “it’s the best way to listen to music, it’s got an authentic tone. you can tell a record comes a lot more from the heart than a song on the radio. you should come over sometime. i’ve got a lot of really old, rare ones i can show you”

you smile a little and look down at the table. you had only met him a couple of hours ago and he was already inviting you over to his house, to see his vinyl collection. it wasn’t weird though, he was a very friendly person and you didn’t think he was asking you over for any other reason than to show you his collection.

“yeah… i can come over to see your vinyl collection sometime, that would be cool”

harry grins at you and nods. “great”

he glances up at a clock on the wall, noticing the time. “damn, you don’t have work tomorrow do you?”

you look over at the clock on the wall. 4 am. damn. “yeah i do actually. i’m supposed to be there at 8am”

you would get around two hours of sleep if you went home right now, not enough to function as a normal human the next day, but that’s prada for you.

harry looks at you suprised. “damn, 8am? they make you come in at 8am? i thought you fashion girls didn’t wake up until noon.” he jokes

“yeah maybe if i was a model, but i’m not,” you roll your eyes at his remark but you can’t hide a smile. “they don’t care that the only thing keeping you going at 8am is coffee and cigarettes.”

harry laughs and looks at you. “coffee and cigarettes… you have the same diet as me.”

you smile at his remark, leaning on the table with your head in your hand, mirroring his position. “coffee, cigarettes, and ramen noodles… the breakfast of champions.”

harry smiles and nods. “it’s a healthy lifestyle for sure”

he checks the time again, noting how late it is before speaking again. “so… tell me, on a scale of 1-10 how reckless are you?”

you look at him and smile. “uh… i don’t know. it really depends. i’d say i’m kind of reckless. if this is your way of asking me if i’ll ditch work and come over to your house i don’t think so, even for a cute british rockstar.”

harry laughs and leans a little closer to you. “aw that’s a shame, i was hoping you’d ditch work to listen to my music and see my collection”

he smiles at you and speaks again, getting a devious look in his eye. “cmon… just stop by?”

you roll your eyes playfully at his remark. “cmon rock star, you’ve only known me for a few hours, don’t go being too hopeful now”

despite your reply, you were actually very much considering going over to his house to see his collection. he was hot, nice, and you were tired as hell.

harry grins at your response and leans closer to you, looking into your eyes. “cmon… i promise i won’t keep you long, i just want to show you my vinyls”

his eyes darted toward the clock and then back to you. “please? one hour, tops.”

you look into his big green eyes, you were already tempted. then you look down at the clock. 3:53am.

“ugh…” then back up at him. “an hour, tops?”

harry grins, already sensing that he had convinced you, and nods. “one hour, pinkie promise.”

he smiles and intertwines your pinkies which makes you smile. you were either going to go home and get 2 hours of very little sleep… or you could go with the attractive British rockstar and at least have fun for a little while. who needed sleep anyways?

you look down at your pinkies, smiling as he intertwines them together. you couldn’t believe you were about to do this with a guy you had only met this morning. but yet, here you were.

“okay fine… one hour, that’s it”

harry grins widely and laughs a little, knowing he had won and you were coming with him. he lets go of your pinkie and looks at your expression, watching you think to yourself, probably thinking about if this was a good idea.

“perfect, cmon” he stands up and tosses your trash away, thanking the restaurant owner, before helping you up and walking out the door. there is still some rain, and the air is damp, making it misty.

you walk outside with harry into the cool, misty air. the city was oddly quiet for it being new york, but it was 3:55am so it wasn’t surprising.

you weren’t sure how you felt about this. you’d just met this guy and here you were ditching sleep to go to his house and see his vinyl collection, it definitely seemed crazy. but at the same time… he was cute, and nice and you really did want to see his collection.

harry is smiling at you, seeming to read your facial expressions and your body language, like he was trying to guess what you were thinking. he could see that you were excited yet at the same time nervous about this whole thing.

he looks at you and smiles. “come on, my apartment is just down the block”

he motions for you to follow him and starts walking, sticking with his usual fast pace for his long legs.

you nod and start walking next to him. the rain wasn’t heavy, but it was a slight drizzle and got you slightly wet as you walked.

it was weird. this whole thing was weird. you had only known harry for a few hours and already you were going back to his place to look at his vinyl collection, when in reality you should’ve been at home asleep, preparing for work tomorrow. but you weren’t, you were following a rockstar through the rain.

you smile and look over at him as you walk down the street. “be honest with me… how often do you do this with girls?”

harry glances over at you and smiles, noticing the quizzical look on your face. he grins a little as he responds. “you’re joking, right? i do this with girls all the time. i take them home to my apartment to see my vinyl collection after they go to my concerts.”

he grins jokingly and glances over at you, seeing you roll your eyes. “alright, alright… not that often. i’m assuming you’re asking me about my hookup habits, and honestly, i don’t take people to my house if i’m going to hook up with them. i just do it in the bathroom or wherever we are.”

you raise your eyebrows, and smile. “oh wow, so tell me, are groupies real? do you really have girls following your band around, or is that an 80s myth?”

you were honestly slightly suprised he didn’t take people home to his house. in the short amount of time you’ve known each other, that doesn’t seem like something he would do.

harry laughs a little and shakes his head as he walks, still having to slow down a bit so you can keep up with his long legs.

“that’s like… one part myth and one part real. yeah of course girls like us, but we don’t just have them following us around everywhere, that's a bit extreme”

he smiles and runs his hand through his wet curls as you walk down the street together. “i’ve had girls follow me home a few times after shows and stuff, but they aren’t really what they’re cracked up to be in the movies”

“oh really?”

“mhm you’re much prettier.”

“yeah sure…”

⋆｡˚⁺｡ 30 minutes later ｡⁺˚｡⋆

you and harry are laying on the floor of his music room, listening to a pink floyd album he put on. the needle scratched back and forth on the vinyl, the music filling the room as the two of you lay on the floor. harry had a fuzzy carpet on the floor that was fun to run your fingers through as you lay there listening.

the two of you are, both of you laying on your backs, staring up at his ceiling and listening to the music. you had expected him to be more hyper and excited, but he was actually very calm and… sweet?

harry was laying with his hands behind his head, his hair fanned out around his head as he stared at the ceiling. a small smile was on his lips as he listened to the music, he seemed to be genuinely enjoying this.

he glances over at you, seeing you looking at the ceiling, smiling lightly as the music plays. “what do you think of this album? it’s one of my favorites”

you look over at him and look into his green eyes. god he was attractive.

you listen to the music for a moment before replying. “it’s good… like i said… i’m a pop girl, but this album is…. pretty? if that makes sense, the sounds are pretty.”

he laughs a little, finding it cute that you called the music pretty. he looks back up at the ceiling, his smile getting wider as he responded. “yeah, pink floyd’s music is pretty…”

he glances over at you again, speaking teasingly. “you’re kind of pretty too.”

your cheeks turn pink and you can feel your heart rate slightly increase when he said you were pretty. why were you getting flustered? you had barely known this guy for 12 hours and already he was calling you pretty.

you roll over onto your side, laying on your stomach, looking at him, still blushing a little. “kind of?”

harry smirks at you as you turn over on your stomach to look at him, your hair hanging down.

he rolls over on his stomach, mimicking your position to look at you, his smirk still on his face as he replies. his head propped up on his hand so he can be face-to-face with you. “yeah very pretty”

you feel your cheeks get pinker as he compliments you, but you try to remain casual and not get flustered. it was hard though, he was laying facing you right now, and the look in his eyes as he looked at you made it hard to focus.

you shake your head as he says you’re pretty, jokingly rolling your eyes at him. “yeah, yeah you’re pretty too.”

harry gasps dramatically and looks at you with a grin. “oh i’m flattered, darling.”

you smile and nod, looking into his pretty green eyes. “yeah you should be.”

he grins again with the smile that makes his eyes crinkle. please kill me he’s adorable- the album stops as the record meets the end, and harry stands up. he walks over to the record stand and changes the record out. “are you flirting with me?”

you sit up, still sitting on the floor of the music room, watching him change the record, then processing what he just said. you smile and shrug, bringing your knees to your chest as you sit on his shaggy carpet. this room was so comfortable, like the rest of his apartment. he had little trinkets everywhere, pillows and bankets in every corner, and warm lighting from his string lights filled each dark area.

“oh… so you invite me to your concert, take me to get pizza, invite me to your house, and I’M the one that’s flirting?”

harry laughs a little, turning back around after placing a Jeff Buckley record on the machine. he walks back over to the carpet and sits down right next to you. he looks at you with his bright green eyes, smiling as he speaks. “mmm, you have a point”

he reaches behind him and grabs multiple pillows and blankets. “alright settle in, love, this is the prettiest album yet.”

you smile as he grabs pillows and blankets from behind him and starts handing them to you. so he was going to get comfortable too.

you take the pillows and blankets from him and start situating them on the ground next to harry so you can lay down. “alright, if this album isn’t pretty, this is the first and last time we’re hanging out.”

harry laughs and smiles again, loving the way you banter with him. he grabs his own blankets and pillows and gets comfortable next to you on the floor.

he smiles and lays down, getting comfortable under his blankets. “trust me, jeff buckley’s album is absolutely beautiful. it’s gonna break you, make you cry, throw up, all that good stuff.”

you smile as he jokingly describes the album, trying to imagine what about it would cause you to throw up. you lay down in your own little nest of blankets and pillows, getting comfy in the dimly lit room, the only light coming from string lights hanging across the ceiling and the moon shining in from the window.

you look over at a comfy looking harry who’s smiling at you, seemingly more relaxed and sleepy laid out on the floor.

it only takes three minutes for the two of you to completely pass out on the floor of his music room.

⋆｡˚⁺｡ 8 hours later ｡⁺˚｡⋆

you slowly wake up, confused for a moment and wondering where you were. but then you remember that you had fallen asleep in harry’s music room, and now the morning sun was shining through the window, illuminating the room and waking you up.

when you open your eyes, you see harry still sound asleep next to you, curled up under his many blankets and pillows, looking adorable as he breathed softly. it also reminds you that you’re a complete idiot for letting yourself fall asleep to a complete stranger.

you lay there for a moment, admiring the way harry peacefully slept next to you. he looked like an actual rock star, his hair fanned out on the pillows, his tattoos peaking out through through the sleeves and collar of his shirt. you were still baffled at the fact that less than 24 hours ago you didn’t even know he existed, and now here you were.

you look over at him again, studying his sleeping face.

the room is still and quiet as you look at his calm sleeping face, your eyes roaming over his long lashes, his sharp jawline, his plump lips. what is wrong with you. you’re laying there watching a sleeping man, a man you had only known for a day.

you look away from him, trying to remind yourself that this is just a man you met on the street and not a dreamy love interest in a romantic movie. you sigh in frustration as you remember that you had slept through work. hopefully phoebe would cover for you….

you sit, up rolling your shoulders, they were sore from laying on the floor all night. you grab your phone from your pocket to check the time. great. you had slept through work, it was already 10AM. you also had several missed texts from phoebe and your boss wondering where the hell you were. this is gonna be hard to explain.

whatever. that’s for another time when you’re more awake and less infatuated with a British man you hardly know.

you rub your face sleepily, yawning softly as harry starts to wakeup.

harry starts to shift around beside you, making noise and groaning softly as he starts waking up. he sits up slowly, looking around the room, taking in his surroundings. he runs a hand through his messy hair, then glances over at you.

“morning, pretty girl” he says in a groggy morning voice, grinning at you as he stretches his arms over his head.

your heart does a little jump as you hear his morning voice, which you’re starting to decide is a million times sexier than his normal voice.

”morning, pretty boy” you respond, stretching your own arms over your head and letting out a yawn.

you look down and notice you’re still wearing the uncomfortable mini skirt and tanktop from last night. “do you have something i can change into? i do NOT want to do the walk of shame back to my apartment in this.”

harry smiles as he sees you sit up and stretch, he also notices you’re still wearing the clothes from last night… and that the tiny skirt and tiny tank are a sight to see first thing in the morning.

he shakes his head, trying to bring himself back to earth, and responds. “yeah ‘course. i’m sure i’ve got some clothes that will fit you” he glances down at your clothes again before standing up.

“although i’m not sure it can be considered the walk of shame if we didn’t do anything shameful, yet.” he smirks and walks out of the music room and down the hall towards his bedroom.

you roll your eyes, but smile a little at his last comment, knowing it was true. sure, you’d slept in the same room, but you hadn’t done anything shameful… yet. hopefully you wouldn’t end up doing anything shameful, this guy was turning your brain into mush.

you crawl out of your pile of blankets and pillows, then get up and follow him out the room and down the hall to his bedroom.

you both walk into his bedroom, which has a similar look to his music room. it’s not a huge bedroom, it has a queen sized bed, a large dresser, and a door that leads to the bathroom.

he goes over to the dresser and starts rifling through the drawers, looking for something you can change into. he looks over his shoulder and looks at your outfit again. “can’t lie, i like the outfit, but you’re probably not very comfortable in it.”

he smiles and tosses you light washed jeans and a band tee. “you’re a fashion girl, i’m sure you can make anything look good.”

you caught the pants and tshirt he threw at you, holding them up to look at them. he was right, you might be able to make this look good, these jeans were cute and the band tee looked vintage.

you smile. “i’ll attempt to look good in your clothes.” you glance toward the bathroom. “do you mind if i change in there?”

he nods. “yeah, ‘course love. bathroom’s right in there” he motions to a door across the room.

after about 30 minutes of getting ready, arguing with harry about needing to go to work, and eventually caving because… well beacause he’s hot…. you and harry were walking down the street towards a coffee shop.

⋆｡˚⁺｡ 30 minutes earlier ｡⁺˚｡⋆

“no harry! i had fun, but i need to go to work and apologize for sleeping in.” you shake your head as you stand in the bathroom, washing your face of the makeup from the night before.

“uh no you don’t”

you roll your eyes and look back at the mucisian. “uh yes i do.”

“why? you’re already six hours late, might as well just tell them you’re sick.” he smiles like a teenager, standing behind you in the bathroom as you got ready. it’s weird, being this comfortable around someone after you’ve only known them for 24 hours.

“yeah but-”

“no buts”

“yes buts! i have responsibilities.”

“i’ll buy you donuts and we can hang out more! that sounds like way more fun whatever fashion bs they would have you doing.”

“…”

“…”

“fine.”

“… :)”

“stop smiling, dumbass.”

⋆｡˚⁺｡ present ｡⁺˚｡⋆

harry is walking down the sidewalk next to you, taking a bite of his donut and sipping his black coffee, watching you as you both walk. you look cute in the clothes he gave you, cute and relaxed. he loves the way the jeans are cuffed at the bottom and the faded band tee fits you perfectly.

he glances at you, smiling as he speaks. “see? ditching work was so much better. you can have more fun with me, instead of working in a boring old office”

you roll your eyes as he smiles and speaks. “yeah, because hanging out with the random man i met yesterday is so much more fun than the job that pays my rent and feeds me”

you try to hide the smile that creeps up on your face, you have no idea why you’re falling so effortlessly into this banter with him, but it just felt natural.

harry grins as you respond, loving the way you banter with him. he can’t stop smiling whenever he sees that pretty smile appear on your face.

he nods jokingly as you mention the job that feeds you and pays your rent. “yeah exactly! who cares if you don’t get paid this month, im sure being unemployed is a completely valid excuse for missing work!”

he takes another sip of his coffee, looking at you. “i mean we’re basically having a date, which is way more entertaining than whatever you were doing at work”

you roll your eyes again, smiling as he teases you about having a “date”. it isn’t a date, its just the two of you hanging out, like friends. yeah…

“sure, this is a date” you sarcastically respond, taking a bite of your donut. “a date consisting of two people ditching work and eating breakfast food. don’t you have a concert later? you should be practicing.”

he grins a little as you sarcastically agree that this is a “date”, that means you’ve acknowledged it. “yeah, i should be, but i’d rather hang out with you.”

harry stops and grabs a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it and taking a long drag. “besides, i can practice later. today is our day. i’m marking it in my calender, october 16th, 2003, the day we became best friends.”

you try to suppress your smile as you hear him say “our day”. he’s way too charming for his own good, you think to yourself.

you watch as he lights his cigarette and puffs on it, the smoke billowing from his pouty lips. a little part of you hates how you think he looks hot as he stands there smoking, but you try to ignore it.

you roll your eyes a little, trying to pretend this isn’t affecting you. “yeah, us ditching work and eating donuts is sure the start of a great friendship”

he smiles again as he sees you roll your eyes. cute. he thinks to himself as he watches you eat your donut in small bites.

he lets out a puff of smoke as he brings the cigarette to his lips again, looking at you. “you say that like ditching work and hanging out isn’t the best bonding activity for the start of a friendship.”

he grins as he starts walking again, glancing over at you. “we’ve had a jam session, we’ve shared sleeping quarters, and now a proper meal. what more could we possibly bond over?”

you shake your head and smile a little as he responds.

“well you’re wrong,” you say. “i’ll do anything for donuts.”

you take another bite of the donut and glance over at him as he walks next to you, watching his curls bounce as he moves. it really was a good day, you would never say it out loud, but a ditch day with him was the most therapeutic thing you’d done in months,

the two of you walk through central park for a few more minutes before reaching a bench. you sit down and sip your coffee quietly, warming up a little bit.

he laughs and shakes his head as you mention you would do anything for a donut. “yeah yeah, admit that i’m right.”

he follows you over and sits on the bench, letting out a tiny cough as he flicks his cigarette into the trash. he glances over at you as you drink your coffee, you look cute sitting there sipping coffee in his clothes.

he plops down on the bench next to you as he leans back, letting his body rest comfortably. “you know, you’re very relaxing, it’s nice.”

you glance over at him as you sit down, raising your eyebrows. “i’m relaxing?”

you look at him incredulously. “i’m pretty sure you’re the one with the relaxing british accent”

he grins a little as you say he’s the one who’s relaxing. he smirks a little. “just because i’ve got an english accent doesn’t mean im relaxing. i could be annoying, ya know”

you laugh and roll your eyes. “oh please, everyone likes an english accent. they’re soothing” you say this with a small smile, knowing damn well you love his accent.

he smiles and looks over at you through his sunglasses, he just felt so comfortable at the moment. “well i’m glad you like my accent.”

you roll your eyes and laugh a little at his comment. his accent was nice. no, it was more than that; it was sexy, especially when he sang or spoke softly.

he looks relaxed as he sits there on the bench next to you. you watch as he closes his eyes behind his glasses, taking in the cool breeze.

you sit back against the bench, watching people walk around the park, kids playing, dogs running, adults working out. it was all very peaceful.

“thanks for not being creepy last night or anything…”

he opens his eyes and glances over at you as you lean back against the bench as well. “course love. i wasn’t gonna try anything, you just looked like you needed a good sleep. but of course, i’m happy to do anything when you’re awake.”

he smiles teasingly and leans back against the bench with his eyes closed.

the next hour is spent with the two of you walking around the park mindlessly, talking about random things. harry told you about england, you told him about your job and your friends. he told you about his bandmates, you told him about your cat. it was the most relaxing day you could remember having for a long time.

“but yeah my cat is the most an-”

suddenly harry stops walking and looks at you. without any warning or hesitation, he gently grabs your face and pulls you towards him, planting a kiss against your lips.

your eyes widen in surprise as he kisses you. you’re in shock, freezing up for a second as you feel his lips against yours.

the kiss is gentle, but there’s a firmness from harry’s part that makes it feel like he’s been wanting to do this for hours. he brushes his fingers through your hair as he kisses you, bringing you closer to him as he does.

you’re still shocked, but you instinctively begin to kiss him back. the feeling of his fingers brushing through your hair, the feeling of his lips moving against yours, all of it makes you lose your senses. you bring your hands up and grip onto his arms, holding on tightly as you kiss him back.

“this is stupid and you can laugh at me, but i think i’m more comfortable with you after a day together, then some people i’ve known my entire life.”

you feel your stomach flutter with butterflies as you look up at him.

“yeah i,” you start before hesitating, “i feel the same way.” that’s an understatement

he smiles gently as you say you feel the same way, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss against your forehead. he scoops you up, pulling you so you’re legs are wrapped around his waist and he’s holding his arms under your bottom to support you.

“yeah?”

you wrap your arms around his neck as he holds you up, looking at him. “yeah, it’s,” stupid, crazy, insane, “cool.”

harry grins and kisses you again before he starts walking down the street, running a bit to make you laugh, until he finds an empty ally. he pushes you against the wall with your legs wrapped around his as he presses his lips to yours.

as he presses his lips to yours, the world around you melts away, leaving only the two of you, suspended in this moment. the cool brick wall behind you is a gentle pressure against your back, a reminder of the physical world that's still spinning, even as your senses are consumed by harry's kiss. his tongue brushes against yours, and you feel your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him closer.

the sound of the city fades into the background, replaced by the gentle hum of harry's contented sigh as he deepens the kiss. his fingers dig gently into the flesh of your bottom, holding you up, supporting you as you wrap yourself around him.

as harry's lips move against yours, he mutters "so. fucking. pretty." in between kisses, desperate to get closer to you. his body presses against yours, the heat of his chest radiating through your clothes.

his hands roam over your body, gripping your waist, running up your back, and threading through your hair. the feeling of his fingers in your hair feels amazing, and you can't help but moan softly into the kiss.

harry pulls away and looks down at you with a flushed expression.

“back to my place?”

“yes. now.”

˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹

oops that was really long, i got caught up. this isn’t really proofread so sorry if there were mistakes. this is literally my favorite story i’ve ever written, so i hope you guys liked it too! (requests are open)

-💋

[onebizarrekai]

dream being theatrical (tommy was there too)

[bunny584]

For I Have Sinned

“Let no one say when he is tempted, ‘I am being tempted by God’ For God cannot be tempted by evil.” James 1:13.

But Father Geto can be. 

Newly appointed Chaplain of the Noble Court, Suguru is a reformed sinner. Sanctity, discipline and celibacy are commandments of his choosing. A devout servant of the Lord. Armored with the Breastplate of Righteousness, the Shield of Faith. 

This should be sufficient enough to withstand temptation. 

Right? 

Pairing: Geto x Female reader 

C/W: Religious themes, dark romance, eventual filth. 18+. MDNI. 

A/N: Holy hell. Anon, you sick, twisted genius. You, the puppeteer. Me, the puppet who writes. This one — this story might be the one. Frothing at the mouth to know what you guys think. Going on AO3 for sure. I haven’t decided if I will keep this long fic series here, but since it was an anon ask its only right to honor them with the first chapter. 

Art credit: @ potchi_jpg on X

Music: Garden Kisses x Giveon (this was on a manic repeat for at least an hour. It wrote the chapter. I implore you to listen and levitate like I did).

CHAPTER I. Hello, Duchess.

Andesite. Dacite. Schist. 

Gorgeous. 

Suguru takes a mental note of the rock formations whizzing by just before he spears the Aegean Sea. Tailwind force trailing his feet in an elegant whirl.

Eh, mediocre landing. He’s out of practice. 

It’s true. Seminary did not allow for too much idle time in between biblical studies. Devil’s playground, and such. 

And it’s not in his nature to half-ass any life endeavor, whatever it may be. 

Suguru deftly levels out in the welcoming waves. Loose-limbed and fluid. Choosing to hover below her surface for a few moments longer. The tail end of his thick, singular French braid undulating behind him.

His body flows in tandem with the current. Swimming deep enough to scatter a pool of Fagri. He instinctively captures one in his large hand — not quite as out-of-touch as he thought. 

‘Make it to shore! If Poseidon calls, don’t answer Him, son!’

The gentle fisherman called out each time Suguru dove off their vessel. Still two or three, sometimes up to five miles from the coast, he’d plunge into the waters. Regardless of her mood, Suguru craved to be surrounded by her embrace. 

To be baptized by her tide. 

Showered with her salt of the earth. 

A dampened smile blooms across Suguru’s terse lips. Oxygen bubbles float about, from the muffled chuckle escaping him. 

His father’s voice rings between his ears. A little less clearly, nowadays. 

He always dove deeper than his fellow seafarers. Without the restraints of gear or protective equipment. Unnaturally comfortable in an element more labile than human nature. 

Suguru’s father mused about his Stormborn boy’s true lineage. 

‘Everyday, I prayed for you. Begged for you. And the God of the Ocean delivered a precious gift. Don’t return to His storms too soon.’

Fond memories, a little yellowed now. Callouses from those days have faded. 

Suguru is a different man. Born again. In a new country. With a new home, a new purpose. 

Even still, it’s comforting to know the world is 70% water, 30% land. And the Great Majority has always welcomed him with open arms.

No matter the iteration of his life, he’ll always find a home at Sea.

“Father Geto!”

What? 

Suguru begins his ascent. He is still by the cliff edge. Not nearly far enough for the Sirens to beckon. 

“Chaplain! Are you out there?”

Not even the saltwater penetrates his ears like this melody. 

An ethereal crescendo. With all the grace and beauty of a summer swan. Light enough to lull stoic men to a peaceful, permanent, slumber. 

More alluring. More disorienting than the songs at sea he’s heard and resisted. Potent enough to drown a warship. 

Who is calling for him?

Suguru chases the lethal sound. Careful pauses at each depth-level. To avoid returning to Poseidon’s storms too soon, as his father would say. 

“Father Geto!” 

Ahh, a voice he recognizes. His alter boy, Noel, at the peak.

Helios is kind, today. Because the Sun kisses Suguru as he breaks the surface. If the Ocean is his home, the Sun is certainly his lover. 

“What is it, Noel?” He calls in between strides to the volcanic edge.

“You have a visitor!” A tremble to Noel’s tone. Suguru cant help the low chuckle that leaves him.

Adolescents are always so anxious. Nervous about the most inconsequential, meaningless things. He was once the same. 

Who could be visiting? His schedule is supposed to be cleared today. 

Suguru laments leaving his clothing at the peak of the cliffside. Tossing a glance over his left shoulder - memories of his past life tattooed in various symbols. His back, covered in a sprawling trident. 

A permanent stain from the life he lived before this. It’s unbecoming of a priest to be seen this way. 

Latching onto the unforgiving rocky edges, Suguru scales the steep terrain in long steps and short holds. Serrated earth digs into his damp palms with each grasp.

He savors the pain. It’s familiar. An indication that he’s spent some time in the only other place he finds unfettered peace. 

“Noel, my schedule was cleared. Who could be—“

“Pardon my intrusion, Father Geto.” You seep into Suguru’s sentence, effectively answering his question. 

Music. 

Suguru nearly falls backward off the ledge he just set foot on.

Rumors about your beauty pollenated the compound for weeks. Anxiously anticipating your arrival. Hushed voices between maidens. Whispers within the walls of parlors. Bellowing gossip between court officials. 

All the words, all the speculations roll around Suguru’s skull. Louder than glass shattering in an empty room. 

They were wrong. 

Liars. 

Not even a tenth of the truth can be found in the frivolous ‘she’s a beauty’, ‘what a pretty face’ and comments of the like taking root in the compound. 

No, no. 

You were sculpted by every single Deity Suguru has ever studied.  

Because the One he has chosen to worship couldn’t have possibly crafted you alone. 

The good Lord is simply without the means.

Suguru will have to repent for that blasphemous thought later. 

…but God granted him eyesight, no? 

Eyes that can see underwater with the same clarity as a cloudless day. He trusts his eyes more than any part of his body. 

And they aren’t deceiving him. 

Flushed and turned away, Suguru takes a moment to soak you in, while patting himself dry. Maybe taking a little extra time to step into his khaki slacks and white button up. 

His wind pipe threatens to spasm with each sip of you he takes. 

Exquisite woman. 

You could convert a non believer in an instant. 

The gentle slope of your nose, those warmed soft, high cheeks deserve to be cherished in a museum. 

That dress. 

The tailor must’ve sewn it to your body in real time. Rolling hills and dips of your feminine curves. So quick to surrender to the ride your frame is taking him on. 

Suguru could fall to his knees and praise the Gods right here and now for their attention to detail. 

“Duchess? I’m embarrassed. Forgive my attire, I wasn’t expecting visitors today.”

Still damp but fully clothed, Suguru walks forward with a steady hand outstretched. Intentionally skipping eye contact with Noel, who would’ve interpreted the glance as anger. The boy is practically vibrating in his periphery. 

Concerned about possibly making a mistake, sure. But if Suguru were still a betting man, he’d bet your presence is driving Noel’s rattled nerves. 

“I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness!” Unveiling your face to him with a gorgeous smile, you offer a delicate hand that drowns in his. 

Well.

To call it just a gorgeous smile makes him no better than the rumor mill and its grave underestimation. 

The air around him is sliced to a fraction of what it was. Suddenly gossamer thin and inadequate. 

You are breathtaking. 

“Please.” A deceptively even tone and casual wave of his hand. You wouldn’t know that words taste like sandpaper. 

“How can I serve you, Duchess?” 

“You do not have to address me as such, Father. I’m not wed, yet!”

Bunny lines along your nose deepen when you laugh. Heat scorches Suguru’s ears and you both are presently under shade. 

Do. Not. Covet.

“It’s all the same.” With a restrained smile, Suguru peels his eyes away from yours. 

Resting them on his rectory in the distance. He gestures his hands forward. Noel scrambles ahead of you two, undoubtedly to go tidy the chapel (that is already spotless). 

“You’re quite the swimmer.” 

You could assassinate him, you know. 

With that voice of yours. The way it stuns his senses. Far more dangerous now that it isn’t dampened by unrelenting waves. 

Suguru is a strong swimmer. He knows it. Noel knows it. The whole court knows it. Great Whites know it. 

So why is his spine unraveling at its seams when you say it? 

Why is his heart knocking against his sternum like it’s on the run from something? 

From someone, rather. 

“Mmm.” Suguru hums through closed lips. 

Unable to acknowledge the compliment with decorum. He opts for diversion instead. 

“Duchess, if I may. What prompted your visit to the chapel? How can I serve you?” 

The two of you take lazy strides along the cobblestone path. You ogle at a white rose bush that Suguru is particularly fond of. 

“I was touring the compound and noticed the garden surrounding the Church.” 

A distracted response, while nestling your nose in a pretty bloom. Sun rays fanning your face as if to showcase that you’re God’s favorite. A biblical example of how flowers should be enjoyed.

Is it just the roses? Or are you this beautiful no matter the plant?  

“Ahh. Come, then.” 

You’re being indulgent, Suguru. 

Maybe so. But the Chapel Grounds are his domain. The greenery lives and breathes under his fingertips. He adamantly refused a groundskeeper for the garden. Taking pride in nurturing its needy existence. 

Second only to his eyes, Suguru trusts his hands fully. They’re intelligent. Fast. Expansive. 

Definitive. Firm when the situation calls for it, yet gentle. Quick to learn. 

Attentive. 

He’s never gotten a shortage of compliments on his hands—

“Wisteria!” You torpedo through Suguru’s rapidly disintegrating spiral. And he couldn’t be more grateful. 

Regaining a shred of control, he leads you under the oak archway. Draped in curtains of Wisteria. The billowing lilac petals sway romantically in the sea breeze. 

Your lips hang open in a pretty, shocked ‘Oh.’ Eyes wide, gazing up at him in wonder. Adoration woven into those beautiful features slams hot and heavy into his lower abdomen. Remnant embers warming below his belt line. 

Suguru coughs to reset his over-sensitive senses. A futile gesture because you knock him right back down to his knees. 

“Oh, Father…..please?” A soft plea rolls through the slit in your lips. Pulling his eyes down to your pout.

Fuck. 

The rock formation Suguru took note of earlier suddenly materializes in his throat. You coated his honorific in a new tone. Breathy and desperate. As if he is the only person who could satisfy your needs. 

His skin is half a degree away from melting clear off his skeleton under those big, warm eyes of yours. 

“Specify your request, Duchess.”

Both hands jam into his pockets so he can dig his nails into his thighs unnoticed. The searing pain tethering him to this dimension. 

A deep rose blooms over your cheeks. Realizing you hadn’t actually asked him a question before begging. 

So, prettily. 

“May I please tend to your garden? It’s…I’m far from home and gardening brings me so much joy. Please, Father Geto—“

“Yes.” 

His agreement comes well before Suguru is ready. Or, thought it through. 

Should a noble woman be seen doing tasks as menial as gardening? 

Should you be seen without your fiancée on his grounds? 

What will you look like? 

Kneeling over a bed of sunflowers? 

Kneading the soil with your delicate, small hands—

“How can I thank you?” Your lips curl into an intoxicating smile. And Suguru no longer has the capacity to be in your presence. 

“No need, stay as long as you like. I have to take my leave.”

Suguru offers a curt wave and terse smile before spinning on his heel. Leaving you, a work of art, beneath the masterpiece that is his arc of wisteria. 

He barrels down the Chapel corridors at light speed. The pews, confessional, meeting rooms whirl by his periphery in a drunken haze.

Cold water. Cold water. 

The wooden bathroom door creaks and wails beneath his harsh touch. Suguru fumbles with the two-level lock.

He nearly strips down naked. The fire incinerating him from within is unbearable. If there were scissors within grasp he would’ve cut his braid completely off. Because even the familiar sway of his waist length mane along his back is too much. 

You are too much.

Suguru’s fingers unravel his braid and reposition his locks into a tight bun. Off the damp skin along his neck. 

‘Father….please?’

Your voice echoes from Suguru’s incapacitated brain down to his drooling cock. Icy water splashes against face. 

Suguru’s length has been weeping since you first revealed your face to him. Twitching and thrashing with every single word that came out of that pretty, sinful mouth. He’s never been so grateful that today he chose to swim with compression gear, rather than his usual bared skin. 

Are you doing this on purpose?

Wide eyed and demure. But with a voice more beautiful than any siren that has tried to lure him to his watery grave. 

Is this a test?

Suguru’s fingers desperately grasp the golden cross around his neck. Digging the symbol into his palm. 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…” He starts. Ignited, smoldering violet eyes staring back at him are unrecognizable. 

They are not of God. 

They are dark. 

Lust filled. 

“Now. And…and at the hour of our death.” Words slip through his gritted teeth. His other hand grips the sink edge. 

‘May I please tend to your Garden?’

“God. Please.” Suguru is the one pleading. To anyone above.

For self-control. For reprieve from the shape of your lips when you beg. His cock bucks against his inner thigh. Demanding attention to the ache between his legs. 

Are you Eve? 

Have you come to destroy his Eden?

Your delectable mounds barely hidden beneath that fucking dress as the Apple?

“Holy…Holy Mary, Mother of God…pray for us sinners.” His vice grip around the cross tightens. Babbling words he hopes can provide him with some restraint, some clarity.

They don’t.

Because his other hand now hovers over the pulsating bulge in his slacks. His manhood starved. Especially having been deprived of touch. Of warmth for longer than Suguru remembers.

“Holy…Mary…fuck.” Blasphemy rolling off his tongue. 

Scorching heat radiating from his hovering palm pierces his clothing. Encasing his cock like a warmed blanket. Enticing him like the soft sex of a woman. Every single muscle is under wire tension. Forcing space between his need and his hand. 

His hands. Don’t forsake him now. He trusts his hands. 

“Father Geto? Are you alright?” Noel’s call from the other side of the door startles Suguru still.

“I’m—“ Suguru clears his dry throat “I’m alright, Noel. What do you need?”

“I saw you run in here and—“

“I’m okay.” Suguru replies, more softly this time. The boy is almost too tender-hearted for his own good.

He doesn’t miss the small sigh of relief. 

“I left your updated schedule on your desk.” 

“And what would I do without you?”

Suguru can almost hear Noel smiling across the barrier. Gleefully padding away. Completely unaware that his presence was the saving grace from disgracing himself. 

Another splash of cold water on his face and multiple deep breaths later, Suguru finally gains enough composure to emerge. 

Curious about the updates to his schedule, he strides to his office. A leather folder awaits with his itinerary.

Saturday: 0800 - 1000- Youth lecture 

Saturday: 1800 - 2000 - Evening mass

Sunday: 0700 - 0900 - Morning mass

Sunday: 1300 - 1400 - Pre-Marital Counseling [CONFIDENTIAL] 

“High court, then.” Suguru muses to himself. Pulling out the envelope with a matching demarcation. Meant for his eyes only. Should the seal be broken en route to the recipient the offender could be sentenced to death for treason. 

And at this moment, Suguru finds that fate less painful than the spear currently piercing his lungs.

His eyes burn into the names written at the bottom of the page.

The Duke Ahriman  & The Duchess-to-Be.

Chapter II

E/N: Hello from [redacted]. I am literally losing my shite. I’m already in love with the plot before it has even fully materialized. And prince-of-the-sea-Suguru? This headcannon has me in a chokehold I fear. Thank you for reading 💋

[hannie-dul-set]

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS [8].

SYNOPSIS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. WARNINGS. swearing, vomit, heeseung is sick, tormenting said sick man, sex jokes, and loser hee backstory reveal. WORD COUNT. 3.8k.

NOTE. merry christmas. my gift for u all is the heeseung chapter. let's pretend that it's still summer for the sake of the fic yes thank u hope u enjoy.

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 8 — hot, drenched, and sweaty.

“I THINK HEESEUNG IS IN A FIGHT CLUB.” That unprompted statement catches the interest of all the four boys currently in the living room. Soobin looks up from his half-finished crocheted bonnet, Jake and Jay pause their game of scrabble, and Sunghoon drops a rubik’s cube on your face because you gallantly decided to use his lap as a pillow on the lounge sofa. 

“Oh god, I’m— I’m sorry,” he sputters out an apology. You take this as a sign to stop invading his space. “What do you mean though? Fight club? Heeseung?”

“Listen.”

You spring up from your position, sitting with a very determined look on your face which simply prompts their attention further. “Heeseung leaves the house at exactly 10 p.m. every Saturday night and comes back at like two in the morning. I asked him about is once, and all he said is that he’s doing ‘business,’ whatever the fuck that means. It’s suspicious as hell.” 

The only reason why you were up at 2 a.m. to catch him in the act in the first place is because one time, you challenged Beomgyu and Jake to a no-sleeping contest and those two are the most gullible and have the most money from the lot. Little did those suckers know that you slept for fifteen hours prior to challenging them. They dozed off at the thirty six hour mark while you were still awake enough to catch Heeseung sneaking into the house at the devil’s hour.

After that, you had more money in your bank account, and a new curiosity that’s begging to be satisfied.

“I think he’s in an underground fighting club,” you declare. “There’s no other reason.”

“No, no,” Jay contends. “It might be something else. He could be a stripper.”

A silent moment of consideration.

Then you all release a unified, “Nah.”

“Maybe it’s private,” says Sungoon. “What—whatever it is, it could be none of our business.”

He has a point, but you’re nosy and bored. So are Jake and Jay because turns out, today’s a Saturday, and you have nothing to do, and you’re acquitted from any charges of instigating things because it’s Jay who announces, “Should we follow him?”

You grin. Sunghoon doesn’t approve of your expression. “We should follow him.”

“I’ll keep a lookout.”

“Text us when he’s about to leave.”

“You got it.”

Thus starts your mission of finding out whether Heeseung is secretly an underground fighter or a stripper. Sunghoon refused to be a part of it, but Soobin wasn’t strong enough to deny your puppy dog eyes, so it’s you, him, Jake, and Jay who might be charged for stalking and invasion of privacy because the moment you get a signal from Jake that “the target is out of the house, over,” the four of you, willingly or otherwise, start to tail him.

It’s disconcertingly easy to follow Heeseung without him noticing the four not so discreet people lagging behind him. When he takes off on a bus, you quickly hail a taxi for the four of you to jump inside of and continue the trail. 

“I think—I think we should head back,” says Soobin, squeezing his arms against his torso because there are three of you cramped in the backseat. “The sky is glum. I think it’s gonna rain.”

“The sky is glum because it’s the fucking night. Mr. Sun has died. Wait, he just got off the bus. Let’s go, let’s go before we lose him!”

As you stalk down the sidewalk, you can’t help but feel a sense of deja vu because you swear you’ve crossed this same path before. You’ve been here before. You’re sure of it, and it’s not just because this area is just around your university, of which you haven’t stepped foot on since the beginning of summer and since living with Jake and his friends.

“Hey, he’s over there, he’s going to that cafe.”

Your deja vu is answered when the familiar facade of The Lounge shows up right before you. Heeseung enters the building. Sunghoon knew all along, that fucking rat. That’s why was so against this plot, that’s why he refused to tag along with you. “I’m going in,” says Jay. You postpone your revenge plan against Sunghoon for later and quickly follow behind Jay into the cafe. Once you enter however, it starts pouring.

The clear glass windows of the place get stained by an assault of raindrops. Crap. None of you brought an umbrella. “I knew it was going to rain…” Soobin laments, and you pat circles against his back to apologize for doubting him, further telling him that he has a knack for weather prediction and if he’s considering switching career paths.

“What now?” Jake asks.

“We can wait for the rain to stop or call Sunghoon to pick us up and bring us umbrellas,” you tell them. “For now, let’s find out what the fuck Lee Heeseung is up to here. This wasn’t part of any of our calculations.” The calculations being either violence or promiscuity. You didn’t make a lot of calculations.

The problem is, Heeseung is nowhere to be found. You end up ordering some drinks and food and decide to settle in a booth at the corner of the place so that you guys can have a full and complete view of the cafe’s entire interior, yet you still can’t find him, so you end up reminiscing the time Sunghoon dumped your lemonade on you which catapulted your hobby of messing with these guys because they become so nervous around you it’s funny.

“Did we enter the wrong building? Did he catch us tailing him and left through the back door?!” 

You doubt Jake’s presumptions, and you’re correct to doubt him because right at that moment, Heeseung finally shows his stupid fucking face.

Not only does he show his stupid fucking face— he shows his stupid fucking face on the mini stage in the other corner of the cafe with a freaking guitar. What? So he’s not an underground fighter? Heeseung leans into the mic and a singular “ah,” resounds from the speakers mounted on the walls, muting down the muffled sound of the rain outside in that single instant.

When Heeseung starts to play the instrument followed by the sound of his voice, the rain is forgotten entirely.

This is a surprise. This is unexpected.

“This is disappointing,” says Jay, and you snap your head at him with eyes wide in alarm and disbelief because what does he mean disappointing? Disappointing where? You’ve been living with an angel all this time and you didn’t know? 

“Yeah, it’d be cooler if he was in a fight club,” Jake adds, as if their friend isn’t putting the Billboard’s Hot 100 to shame right now. What kind of bullshit are they saying?

“Did you guys know he could sing like that?”

The three look at you, even Soobin, and respond with a yes, a nod, a hum. Your mouth gapes. But you don’t get why you’re surprised when these guys have known each other for years prior to you barging in unannounced— so, of course they know, of course you don’t, and in the midst of all this, your thoughts are interrupted by the sharp screech from the speakers, because Heeseung has stopped singing, and is instead now looking at your table, looking more alarmed than you.

You’re pretty sure your eyes met before he decided to bolt out of the cafe.

“Oh, he’s getting off stage. Maybe he’s going to greet u— why is he skipping our table? Why is he running outside? Hyung, wait!”

None of you end up chasing after him because it’s still pouring outside, and you can already predict what the aftermath of this is going to be. Thus concludes your mission of finding out whether or not Heeseung is secretly an underground fighter or a stripper, with the answer amounting to neither because Heeseung is a performer during The Lounge’s open mic nights, and you don’t get why he’s been acting so secretive about it all this time.

Heeseung wakes up feeling like shit. And not the regular kind of shit. He feels like Satan just chewed him up, only to spit him back out— slobber and the inferno’s of hell included because he’s sweating through his shirt, his blanket feels like a prison, but if he kicks it of, he gets attacked by cold flashes, so he’s in a sticky and uncomfortable limbo between overheating and freezing to fucking death.

His throat is dry. The only thing that escapes his throat is a guttural and inhuman rasp. He wouldn’t be this sick if he didn’t run out in the rain last night. 

Rather, he wouldn’t have ran out if you weren’t there last night.

Heeseung rolls to his side with a groan of pain and anguish, muffled against the pillow as a different kind of fevered heat washes over his face. Seriously. Why the fuck were you there last night? He could give less than two shits if his roommates find out that he sings Taylor Swift every weekend at The Lounge, but you— you’re a different story. Because he knows you’re gonna use this information against him somehow, just like how you like to fuck around with his friends.

Too much. Heeseung has always thought you were a bit too much for him. The time you chased Beomgyu around the house in the dress(?) Jay made is the only evidence he needs to affirm that.

Then again, maybe he shouldn’t have bolted out like that immediately after meeting your eyes. You already suspect that you gross him out (which, by the way, couldn’t be more wrong) for always running away from the threat of skin-to-skin contact with you. Why was it raining when it’s still summer, anyway? It’s like that night was a curse made especially for him.

He curls up further into a ball, hoping you just forget about it all and don’t question him about it.

Yet the very opposite happens because what interrupts his spiraling thoughts is the sound of your voice— already threatening a wave of torment.

“Oh, god. You’re in a worse state than I thought.”

Heeseung regrets springing up from his bed because his head immediately gets slammed by the recoil of a headache. “Why...why are you here?” he barely scratches out. You’re by the doorframe, arms crossed and eyes laced with pity. He didn’t even hear the door opening. 

“Jake told me about your illness,” you say, walking over to the side of his bed and Heeseung flinches back the moment you set yourself down on the mattress. “He said you have a chronic case of bitchless syndrome.

He looks at you. Your face is dead serious. Heeseung feels a drop of sweat trickling down his neck, then you break into that devious smile of yours and laugh out a grin.

“Kidding. Jake would never say that. He told me you were sick and needed someone to nurse you up, so here I am.”

Holy shit. Heeseung lets out a breath, nearly teetering off his bed to maintain a comfortable enough distance from your overwhelming presence. “Why—” some throat phlegm cuts him off. He lets out a violent cough before reclaiming his voice. “Why you? I—I mean, why did Jake ask you?”

“Ouch?” you remark. “No one else is around. Jake’s out hiking, apparently. Sunghoon’s covering someone’s shift. Beomgyu’s obviously still at his parents. Jay says he’s out on a mission, and Soobin left the house with a giant backpack. I was too afraid to ask. Anyway, I know my very physical presence disgusts you, but deal with it for now, you goober. You look like hell.”

“That’s— that’s not—” You take this opportunity to pull his sweaty blanket off in one swift movement. “That’s not it! You don’t— don’t disgust me, I’m just— you know—”

“I know, I just wanted to fuck with you.”

You’re grinning. You haphazardly fold the sheet before throwing it down to the foot of the bed, sitting over it. Heeseung feels the blood drain from his face— “Anyway, sit up and let me feel you up,” —only for the blood to shoot right back up and nearly knocks him out unconscious. “Feel your temperature up, perv. I’m not taking advantage of a sick man. C’mere, let me see how sick you are.”

Heeseung, however, still has enough marbles to quickly evade your incoming hand. He swerves to the right. You blink at him, arm reaching out to thin air, before trying again, only for Heeseung to swat your hand away with gritted teeth and fearing for his life. “S—sorry,” he chokes out. He sees the glint in your eyes. Crap. He shouldn’t have done that.

“For fuck’s sake, just let me check your temperature— Heeseung! What the hell?!”

“Just—just leave me alone!”

Earlier, Heeseung thought he was about to die. He didn’t think he had enough strength to fight for his life as he squirms underneath you on the bed, driven solely by the desire to protect his fucking pride because there’s no way in hell he’s letting you touch him when he’s all gross and sweaty and gross from the fever. There’s no way in hell he’s letting that happen.

“What are you—”

He yanks out his blanket from underneath you, causing you to roll of his bed and he throws the sheet over his red, hot, and burning face because holy fuck. Holy shit. That was a close call.

When he peeks out from the blanket, Heeseung instantaneously feels a threat to his life.

You’re glaring at him. You look like you want to skin him alive and he gulps and nudges himself away, ass nearly falling off the bed when you get up from the floor and dust yourself off. “Okay,” you huff. “Fine. Have it your way. Die from a heatstroke, or whatever the fuck. I’ll be downstairs if you need me, and if you do, I’m expecting you to get down on your knees and beg because every time you’ve swatted my hand away was an additional jab at my pride.”

Okay, damn. You leave his room, not without slamming his door close to emphasize your anger, and on top of feeling like absolute crap, Heeseung now also feels guilty as hell. 

“Fuck,” he rasps out. It’s not like he’s doing it out of malice, or hate, or because he thinks you’re a germ that he cannot touch, like you always accuse him with. Heeseung still remembers how his whole no touching quirk started: sixteen years-old, when Heeseung finally mustered the courage to hold his first girlfriend’s hand, only for her to laugh and joke and pull away while saying, “ew, gross. Your hand is all sweaty.”

Twenty-two year old Heeseung has been traumatized to this very day.

Especially now when he’s all disgusting and icky and very much ew and gross because of his fever. Stupid, he knows, but the last thing he’d want to see is a disgusted grimace from your face the moment the back of your hand presses against his damp and sticky, sickness-induced forehead. However, it seems like he’s been inflicting to you the very injury he’s been trying to protect himself by constantly avoiding the threat of contact of your skin against his.

Stupid. It’s really stupid. 

But he can’t avoid dehydration by simply ignoring the dryness of his mouth. With much struggle, Heeseung forces himself out of the bed, despairing the amount of stairs he has to climb down— and the suggestion of calling for you help does tease his brain for a split second, but decides against it with a shake of his head as he continues the awful trip to the living room, body weighing thirty times heavier, and skull feeling like it’s about to crack itself open.

The problem is, his skull does almost end up getting cracked open. Because as he’s finally nearing the bottom floor, he misses a step, causing him to hit the ground with a harsh thud.

“Ugh,” he grunts, pushing himself with his forearms, but he stops, nearly face planting into the floor once more because you’re there, you’re walking up to him, looking down at him, and holding a cold and refreshing glass of water above his head like some sort of fucked up display of powerplay against a sick and thirsty man.

“Need any help?” you hum. 

“I’m fine,” Heeseung tries once more to get up only to feel the nausea rise up to his head, and he stops, pauses, and decides that the floor is more comfortable after all. He looks up at you. “Can I...can I get a sip from your glass?”

There’s a glint in your eyes. You crouch down. “Sorry, what was that?”

Are you enjoying this? Do you like watching him in pain? (Likely answer is yes because you yourself have admitted that you enjoy their suffering and torment). “Water,” he rasps out. “Can I drink some of your water?”

“This?” You swirl the glass in your hand, ice clacking against the crystal, before taking a long, tortuous sip on the straw (why does it have a straw?) Heeseung swallows down his spit. “Say please,” you say with a smile. Heeseung chokes on said fucking spit and hacks out a cough because you’re fucking insane.

He feels his face grow hotter. And it’s definitely not just from the fever.

“P—please, give me some of your water.”

You don’t prolong his agony any further and hand him over the glass.

“Need any help getting up?” you ask as you watch him agonizingly sit up against the bottom steps and toss down the water into his throat in one shot as if it was at a company dinner. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand and feels your disappointed stare pricking his conscience. “I can’t help you unless you ask me to, Heeseung.”

He frowns, deflating. “But I’m all gross and sweaty.”

The last thing he expects you to do is to roll your eyes at him and stand up with an arm stretched out. 

And the next thing he knows is that you’re lugging him over to the couch, an arm around his waist, his around your shoulder, and you set him down the cushions with a grunt. “Jeez, I’m not made for manhandling men,” you say, very dubiously. “Lie down.” And when he doesn’t lie down, wide-eyed and unresponsive, you poke his forehead and he tips back, falling into the couch.

What…what is going on...

“You know, I’m very tempted to ask you to take your shirt off just to laugh at your reaction, but you actually look like you’re about to die, so I decided against it. Aren’t I sweet?” 

You’re back with a basin and some towels (when did you disappear?) and Heeseung’s brain starts malfunctioning, growing dizzier and dizzier by the second when you touch his jaw, damp towel wiping off the sweat coating his face and neck and he feels his throat tightening. “Christ. I think your temp is over forty degrees, my guy,” you say, squeezing the towel over the basin. “Hello? Heeseung? What the hell, did you catch Sunghoon’s disease? Are you unable to talk to me now, too?”

“It’s—it’s not that,” he chokes out. He’s about to justify himself, but you press your palm against his forehead, cutting off all the oxygen pipes leading up to his brain, and he feels like passing the fuck out.

Shit. Shit. Holy shit. 

“Ah,” you say. “You’re not running away.”

He’s not. He’s not running away. But he feels a different sort of problem coming up.

“I think I’m gonna throw up.”

You blink at him. This doesn’t help his case at all.

“Wow, this is an upgrade,” you say from the other side of the bathroom door while Heeseung pukes his guts out into the toilet. Heavy metal playing from his phone is trying to block the noises out. He’s heaving over the bowl and wants to kill himself from embarrassment. “Now my very presence makes you vomit. I’m sorry for everything so far.”

There’s a flush. The music stops. Heeseung cracks the door open and you pass him a glass of water without some bedroom-esque powerplay this time. “Seriously, why did you run off into the rain last night? Look where it got you.” It’s a shocker that you haven’t told him he’s gross yet. You’re standing there in front of the bathroom and in front of the mess of his post-vomit presence, and all you’re doing is looking at him in worry. 

“I wasn’t expecting you guys to be there,” he says, still sounding like death, and you take the now empty glass from him and head over to the kitchen, pointing at his makeshift deathbed on the couch. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to give Mariah Carey a run for her money, either.” After you place the glass into the sink, you’re back to the living room. He’s down on the sofa, eyelids heavy, unable to say or do anything when you push back his hair to place a damp towel on his forehead. “Like damn, I knew you guys have known each other for a while now, but I totally felt like an outsider when I was the only one surprised to hear you sing.”

You’re not making fun of him. You don’t make a comment about how sticky his skin feels or how gross his sweat-drenched shirt is.

“I like your voice. Too bad it sounds like shit right now, but you should let me hear you again once you feel better.” The doorbell rings. “Oh, right, I ordered some porridge. You can feed yourself, right? Hold on, let me get it.”

He hears your footsteps padding across the floor, unable to find the strength to open his eyes as the coolness of the cloth seeps into his forehead. Heeseung has always thought you were a bit too much— case in point, everything that just happened and all the other times you’ve teased, tormented, and actively tortured to the point of tears all the inhabitants of this god forsaken house. 

Yet it is also your excessive nature that has let Sunghoon speak more than five words around you, that has stopped Beomgyu from hermitting in his room twenty-four-seven, that has helped Soobin and Jay in two very important instances this summer, and has allowed Jake to offer you a spot in their lives after leaving that room on the third floor empty for a good two years.

“Fuck, I can’t believe they left me behind with a sick man when I can barely even take care of myself.”

You’re back. He opens his eyes and tries to lift himself up but his body is way too heavy. “Uh,” he says. “Can you…please…open the container for me?” He doesn’t miss your amused fucking grin when he mumbles out the please.

“Ah. Open up.”

Heeseung has always felt you were too much. Maybe it’s his fever talking, maybe it’s not, but maybe too much exactly what he needs right now.

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

oh my god there are so many good choice on the touching prompt list for Ace!Tav and Astarion. But since it’s first numerically may I please request 3?

Summary: You finally arrive in Baldur's Gate and you can't sleep. Normally this would mean taking the nearest instrument and playing until your hands are raw. Luckily for your fingers, Astarion is there to listen.

Prompt: hiding face in neck

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

A/N: Hey! Sorry it took me so long to get to this. I swear to god I wrote like five different versions of this thing. Let's give it up for over writing! Enjoy.

Word Count: 1.8K

The night felt oddly still for Baldur’s Gate. You’d traveled so far, done and seen so much and you were finally here.  It should have brought you relief; instead, all you could think about was all you had left to do. There were still the tadpoles to deal with and devils and gods and frankly all the things you’d never given a second thought to the last time you stepped through the gates. Perhaps the city felt it as well, collectively holding its breath for whatever was coming next. 

You let out a deep sigh, staring up at the darkened ceiling. There would be no hope of sleep tonight. The best you could do was find a way to pass the hours without going mad.  

As carefully as you could, you slipped out of bed, mindful of Astarion resting soundly next to you. For all your troubles, they were nothing compared to the horrors coming for him.  You wouldn’t disturb his rare moment of peace for the world. 

In easy strides you grabbed your lute and made your way to the balcony where a comfortable enough chaise awaited you. 

No lamps were needed. Between the moon and the street lamps below, you could see well enough to play for an audience of one. 

You started with something easy, plucking out a handful of scales to warm up your hands. It didn’t take long after that for a melody to form, pushing your worries further and further away. Lyrics slipped their way past your lips in whispers and half remembered hums. You were here. Air moved in and out of your lungs. Your heart still beat. You had control over your body and the sounds pulled from the instrument in your hands. There was still time. The morning hadn’t found you yet.

Soft footsteps approached from behind you; the obvious padding of bare feet on wooden floor boards given just enough extra weight so as not to startle you.  Astarion could be very considerate at times. 

You paused your hands, turning to face him. 

“Sorry, was I playing too loud?” 

“Not at all,” he assured. “How else was I supposed to find you after waking to a cold, empty bed?”

You had to at least smile at his dramatics, which seemed to please him as he stepped further onto the balcony. 

The light of the moon gave his already pale skin and iridescent glow. His silver curls were just a little ruffled from their perfect coif as his eyes held you with a tired softness that made you ache. It was in moments like this you remembered why poetry existed; paints, canvas, marble, clay, they were too clumsy of tools to capture all of him.  

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, pulling you from your musings. 

“Just needed to clear my head,” you said. “Didn’t want to bother anyone with my plucking.”

“Perish the thought. I rather enjoy your plucking.” He nodded to the empty spot next to you. “May I?” 

You couldn’t think of a reason to argue, so you didn’t try. Astarion had proved himself one of the few people you could enjoy a peaceful silence with. So long as he didn’t expect you to entertain him, there was no harm done. 

You scooted over to allow him room. 

He took it, only to pull you against him, caging you between his legs. 

You gave a small yelp of surprise, only just managing to keep hold of your lute. “What are you doing?” 

“Making myself comfortable.” His hands found your waist, pulling you closer so your back rested against his chest while his chin made a home on your shoulder. “Go on dearest, start plucking.”

You snorted out a laugh. Gods above, he really was a cat sometimes. He didn’t ask for attention so much as demand it and in a way only the most heartless could be upset by. 

“It’s rather difficult for me to perform with my back to the audience,” you said as some attempt at protest. 

He gave a noncommittal hum. “I’m inclined to disagree. But if it does bother you, consider me a humble patron observing a rehearsal.” 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  

Settling back as best you could, you began again, humming a tune to yourself as you worked out the cords. 

A different kind of peace settled over you as he held you. You had come here to be alone, something you had gotten used to over the years. Astarion didn’t have to be here with you, but he was. He chose to sit here in the dark and listen as you played your troubles into the air. It was an alien comfort, one that still left you a little unsure, but it was a comfort nonetheless. 

“I don’t think I’ve heard this one before,” Astarion observed, gently breaking the silence. 

“I would think not, seeing how it’s only been in my head for the last few months,” you teased. 

He nodded as you felt him shift awkwardly beneath you. “Far be it for me to speak on your artistic vision, but is it meant to be so repetitive?”

You stopped your playing as a flush of warmth came to your cheeks. There was a reason why rehearsals were usually kept private. “Sorry, can’t seem to find the ending.”

“Might be easier if you wrote it down,” he suggested. 

“That would require me knowing how.” 

“You don’t know how to write music?” He sounded so genuinely surprised, you had to laugh. 

“Love, I don’t even know how to read it.”

“Really?” 

You shrugged. “Just not how I learned. They weren’t exactly letting riff raff like me into the conservatory.”

You could all but feel the furrow of his brow as his chin pressed against your shoulder. “So every song you’ve ever played, original or otherwise, you taught yourself, by ear, and stored away in that head of yours?”

“You make it sound more impressive than it actually is. Plenty of bards do the exact same thing,” you dismissed.  

He hummed in thought. “Perhaps. It does explain why so many of them don’t seem to have anything going on behind the eyes.”

“I’ll try not to be insulted.” 

“Present company excluded,” he amended, pressing a kiss to the back of your ear for good measure. “Why do you think I’m so impressed? Beauty, talent and brains are such a rare combination.” 

You gave a small huff, earning you another kiss on the temple.

“I’m sure we could find somebody in the city to teach you,” he offered. 

You shook your head. “Not interested. Besides, I’ve found it an effective filtration method. If I can’t remember the tune the next day, it probably wasn’t worth learning in the first place.” 

“Oh darling, who knew you could be so cruel to your fellow artists,” he said, full of approval. “But, what about when a song of yours is done? Surely then it would be worth preserving.” 

“If I’ve done my job well, then the memories of those who have heard it will be preservation enough,” you said. “It’s how all the best songs are passed on anyway. The specifics of who wrote it and when get lost, but the melody remains. It stays in the world because people want it to stay in the world. I think there’s a kind of poetry in that.” 

He let out a long exasperated sigh. “How nauseatingly romantic of you. One little problem though, people’s memories are shit. Give it a few centuries and it will barely resemble the original. At least if you write it down they can’t muck it up.”

“It’s obvious you haven’t met many musicians,” you said, dryly. “People are always going to have their own interpretations. Putting it down on paper doesn’t make it any less a memory. Personally, I’d rather keep it living in the mind than in a stagnant drawer somewhere.” 

“Or I can just make sure nothing happens to the original.” 

He tried to keep his voice light, but there was promise beneath that tingled at the back of your neck. His arms held you a little more tightly. His body tensed. It was as if he was trying to guard you from something, but who or what you could only guess at. 

“Astarion–”

“Don’t,” he said, sharply. “I know you want to say something comforting and I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear you go on about memory or legacy or things to remember after you’re gone, because you’re not gone. You’re here. You’re here with me, and I don’t care who I have to kill or what bargains I need to make, but I’m not letting you go.”  

He turned his face into your neck, pressing his lips against your pulse. To your surprise, no teeth accompanied the gesture. He just breathed, inhaling your scent deep into his lungs. His touch lingered on your skin as some of the tension left his body; the steady beating of your heart calming him. 

“I don’t want memories,” he whispered. “I just want you.”

Your lips parted to speak, but quickly closed. You knew there was a correct thing to say. Letting go was a part of life, whether you liked it or not. Sooner or later, everyone became a memory; but, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear and that wasn’t what you felt. 

The promise he made wasn’t some collection of meaningless words, but a desperate, blood soaked plea. For the first time in so long, you knew somebody would be upset if you died, not for the loss of income or poetry, but because you would be gone. 

You wanted to tell him you loved him. You wanted to tell him you didn’t just want memories either. You wanted to make the same promise and then hide away somewhere safe where the world wouldn’t dare touch either of you; but, you didn’t say that either. 

Instead you placed your hand over his, squeezing his fingers. 

“You have me,” you said, softly. “I’m right here.”

A shuddering breath left his body, as if all the emotion he had been containing was suddenly pushed from his lungs. His arms stayed around you, but his whole body relaxed as his head found a new place to live buried in your neck. 

“Keep playing, my heart,” he said. “Don’t stop.” 

How could anyone say no to such a request? 

Your hands found a melody, different from the one before; something complete and familiar. As soon as the song finished you transitioned to another and then another, never stopping until Astarion’s hold became slack and his breathing turned deep and steady, signaling his trace. Only then did you set down your lute and curled into his arms to finally sleep. 

You would finish your composition another night. The morning would find you, but you had time. Air moved in and out of your lungs. Your heart still beat. You were here and you were going to stay. 

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

How Portgas D. Ace Loves | As Told By Tarot

cw. gn!reader, headcanons, tarot pairing. portgas d. ace x reader notes. the ace brainrot has been very strong lately and the meta post i made the other day did not help. so y'all have to sit through my self-indulgence by seeing one of my tarot-based headcanon posts. if i'm gonna do these for one piece, i gotta debut with my husband. ace simps, come get your ace juice deck. true black tarot

the chariot, the tower, six of swords, the hanged man

reckless as portgas d. ace can be, loving someone is something he treads cautiously. perhaps if he were the son of a simple sailor whose name never garnered any notoriety, he could love with reckless abandon but as the son of gol d. roger, loving recklessly is something ace can't afford. loved as he may be by many, receiving love is something ace isn't used to. to be honest, he isn't even quite sure he deserves it. as such, loving someone is a path ace treads wearily. should you already be aware of his parentage he can't help but worry that one day you'll decide that's too much. loving someone like him with the blood of a devil and being an enemy to the world government is too much. if you aren't aware, however, ace fears how much that could damage the foundation of your relationship. but he loves you and within love, there can be no secrets - certainly not one this grand. this is a truth ace surrenders himself completely even if he fears what the outcome may be

ten of wands, ten of pentacles, the emperor, queen of swords

ace is a man with many burdens resting on his shoulders but he'll gladly help shoulder yours in spite of them. portgas d. ace is a generous lover, he gives much more than he takes. you'll likely have to remind it's okay for him to receive as much as he gives you. in your darkest moments, ace will be your rock and in your brightest, ace shines an extra light. he makes you feel safe and secure with ease; it's effortless how easily you trust and believe in him. he listens and responds fairly and he's honest and open about his intentions. just remember to shoulder the weight he carries and tell him you'll gladly do so. otherwise he'll carry it himself. love is a partnership and you have equal roles in the one you share with ace

death, the fool, the world, king of swords

love for ace is rebirth. love is what transformed a ten year old mad at the world into a man who can smile with the warmth of the sun. the art of love is something he still considers himself inexperienced in, but he moves trusting you and the trust you have in him. you're the half that was taken from him when humanity's bodies were split by the gods. this, to ace, is an unwavering truth. ace's love makes you feel as if you're whole for the first time in your life. every step you took was meant to lead yourselves to each other and finally become whole again. now that he has you and he knows he can be selfish, he isn't going to let you go (so please don't let go of him either)

ace of wands, the star, three of wands, page of cups

"you see me". you make ace feel seen, like you sought him out specifically over everyone else. you choose to love him and you ace will always choose to love you in return. dying is easy, living is harder and ace's love is the courage to live in spite of a world that tells him he should not. the hope that whatever comes, the two of you will experience it together. ace isn't going anywhere, he is going to live forever. ace was in love with a war no one told him ended and he's putting down his arms to walk hand in hand down whatever path you embark on. that's the promise that comes with ace's love and he makes good on the promises he makes. he loves sweetly, softly, like you're the most important treasure of all. portgas d. ace is the man you chose and you're one he chose back

[bitethedevil]

Can you please do a nsfw alphabet for Raphael?

Raphael NSFW Alphabet

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

None, nada. In one of my fics he just sort of gives Tav a pat on the head after fucking her within an inch of her life and I honestly think that’s him being generous with her. He just doesn’t have time for that stuff. In his mind he’s entitled to ruining you, so why should he provide aftercare?

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

Asses and thighs all the way. He’s also really into necks, especially biting and marking them for everyone to see.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Okay hear me out. I can rationalize this from a biological viewpoint. Sperm cells don’t do well in heat. He’s a half-devil, half-mortal, which means his cum is hot as the Hells. Here’s my theory: cambions cum more than the normal person to compensate for this disadvantage. Listen it just makes sense, biologically, of course, and not because I’m rationalizing my nasty thoughts about this man.

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

It’s not really dirty, but he would see it as such. He really likes being taken care of after. He doesn’t like to show affection himself, but he likes to be cuddled with and shown care towards, though he would never admit it. He would actually start purring if you play with his hair or massage his scalp.

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

I’m ready to fight anyone. Haarlep is not a credible source. You don’t live for 2000+ years and never learn how to fuck properly. He knows what he’s doing (when he feels like it).

F= Favorite position

I actually think that him being ‘below’ with Haarlep is atypical from how he usually would like it with anyone else (because he shows more vulnerability with Haarlep and he can be more lazy). I think with anyone else, he would like to be in complete control by being on top of them, caging them in or pinning them down. Any position where he can growl and whisper into your ear as you fuck is crucial. He likes being able to see your face and your reactions too.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

He likes to tease and say condescending shit while you fuck. He might even laugh at you. Gods save you if you do the same to him though.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

He trims but he’s not hairless. He’s got a nice dark happy trail going on.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

If he is romantic, it’s to manipulate you, but he certainly is capable of putting on a convincing performance. He prefers it rough.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

He’s got Haarlep for that. I really think he’s above touching himself and you won’t get him to do it. He’s weird like that.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

I think that man has tried everything and I think one would be surprised with all the nasty shit he’s into. That said, surprisingly, I think he’s actually super open to playing into the other person’s kinks. He wants to ruin you, and if he finds out you’re into something specific, he’ll play into that.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

The bed or the pool or you’ll hear him whine about ruining his expensive furniture. If you’re not in the HoH though, anywhere is good and he has no problem just bending you over the nearest flat surface.

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

Mental stimulation 110%. Sex for him is just as much about power and fucking mentally with the other person as it is about lust for him (if not much more). He wants to be mentally stimulated by playing mind games with you by either luring you into believing whatever he wants you to believe or by breaking you.

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

Anything that could humiliate him or put him in a position where he feels out of control.

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

You will most likely give and not receive much. Don’t get me wrong, he can do oral skillfully, but the bastard sees it as beneath him. He’d much rather see you on your knees.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

It varies and he doesn’t give any warning before suddenly changing pace.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

I think he likes to tease, so it’ll be slow until he gets impatient.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

See: Kinks. I generally think he is open to new things, but he knows what he likes, so it really depends what his goal is at that given moment. If he’s trying to impress, he’s open, but if he’s already got you under his thumb, he’ll just do what he likes.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

Because of my (totally scientific) theory about cambions cumming a lot, I think he doesn’t last for super long, but he can go again very shortly after, and he will. Be prepared for a lot of rounds before he’s fully done with you.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

His pride doesn’t allow it. Yes, I’m afraid that he’s one of those guys. Ropes, blindfold, chains, whips, and stuff like that are game though.

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

He is super unfair. He’s such an asshole. He’s an endless tease and he keeps you on edge. If you’re doing multiple rounds, you won’t cum until he’s done so at least a couple of times. Don’t even get me started on sucking his cock. He does not care if you can breathe, that’s a you problem.

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

He groans, grunts, and growls. Always making deep rumbling sounds and he loves doing it right up against your ear. He yaps too. He loves to dirty talk. Again, it’s the mental stimulation aspect.

W= Wild card (random sincannon of any sort)

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: he LOVES when you’re completely naked and at his mercy while he is fully dressed and in control. This man loves to finger you wherever you are and just watching your reactions with a calm and collected demeanor.

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

He’s big in both forms. Not uncomfortably big in terms of length, but the girth is what makes it intimidating. It’s thicc, with two cc’s.

Y= Yearning (sexdrive level)

I think he’s not one to lose control over his urges. There’s almost always a goal whenever he sleeps with someone to some extent. I think he is also the type to just fuck because he’s bored or understimulated. He needs to do something constantly and sometimes sex is just the easiest way to get that restlessness out of his system.

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

It’ll happen all of a sudden. After a couple of rounds you’ll think you’re just taking a break. You’ll blink and all of a sudden he’s already packed his bags and taken the trip to SnorkMiMi-land, completely out cold without any warning.

(Thank you for the ask <3)

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Two Sides~

Living in a small town came with its ups and downs. Everybody knew everybody, so any scandal or gossip was sure to spread like wildfire. That's how you came in contact with Lilith, the older woman who lived next to you.

You inherited your childhood home from your parents when they decided to retire and live life without you and your siblings. Moving back was not your ideal decision, but given your finances and how things were going, it was your best opportunity. 

Moving helped you get closer to Lilith, a sweet woman in her mid-forties who was traversing life. She loved to sing and bake, demonstrating the good ideals of a comforting housewife. Yet when her husband would come around, the yelling and screaming said otherwise.

This is a small town, and with the gossip and rumors, it was decided that Lilith and her estranged husband were unfit for one another. No one would say that to their faces, though. However, Lilith would constantly tell you about the horrid things her husband would do and be up to. 

He was a prominent CEO, owning a relatively large company and offering her riches farther than the eye could see. She never spoke of the business name or description; she just said he was loaded. You would have thought she was a liar had you not been inside her house multiple times. She was a picture-perfect trophy wife, and photos of her were displayed all over the house, none with her husband and only a few with her grown child.

You worked a humbling job of a good old 9-5 in a cramped office. The smell of coffee and B.O. around every corner. Yet that didn’t stop your young, spry self from partying on the weekends. Though your town was small, just down the road an hour or so, was a lovely big city with many clubs to party at.

Lilith liked to vicariously live through you, listening to your tales of the dance clubs and the partners you would go home with some nights. She also loved to discuss city life, as that was where her husband had moved her from. Giving Lilith these little moments filled your heart with warmth as you got to help make her feel more at ease with the rough relationship.

Tonight, though, was a Saturday night, and many of your old high school friends wanted to hit the club down by the big office building in the city. You were dressed in a candy apple red sequin dress with gold pumps and a snake clip in your hair. “Ready to go?” As you hopped in your friend's car, you saw Lilith sitting outside waving at you. 

Heading out, the pre-party had already begun, with shots being taken as you guys made it to the club. Once there, it wasn’t hard to get in five pretty women, and a $20 tip, you oh so nicely gave the bouncer who escorted you all in. Once there, the group made their way to a side table where they could take turns getting drinks and dancing. 

You were out on the dance floor having the time of your life, singing and dancing with your girls, when you felt the sensation of eyes on you. Turning to look for the intruder, your eyes landed on something far better than you expected. Upon the VIP booth sat beautiful bright blue eyes staring down at you. 

The man was older, but god, was he gorgeous, from his eyes to the perfectly styled blonde hair, the easy grin, and the lithe body. He sat leaning back on the booth with a predatory smile. The game was on as soon as you two made direct eye contact. You were going to be his by the end of the night. 

Motioning to his two guards, they went down to you and asked you to follow them. Never breaking eye contact, you nodded and were led right to the lion's den. Sitting next to the older man, you get an even better look at him. Gorgeous was an understatement. He was damn near a devil with how sexy he was. 

His white suit was opened, showing the candy-red button-up half undone. His chest was proudly displayed, along with the intoxicating smell and jewelry he wore. You were fascinated immediately.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here alone, doll?” You melted at the nickname. The alcohol and heat between your legs cloud your mind. You were leaning in closer to the man, seeking any reprieve.

“I came with friends; however, I don’t have to leave with them.” You hoped he understood what you were implying. As a smirk spread across his face, you realized you both had a common goal. 

He motioned for you to be given a drink. After you had said your order, a firm arm wrapped around your waist. Pulling you in closer, you rested right up against him, and his body heat was maddening. “My name’s Lucifer. What’s yours, sweetheart? With that dress, I might just have to call you Apple.”

“Y/N, but you can call me whatever you want, sir.” He purred at the name you gave him, instructing you to keep calling him that. You had a few more drinks with the man, learning of his business and his frequencies at this club. He was a well-known tycoon owner and was loaded—a lot like Lilith's husband. You were escorted to his car shortly after your chance meeting. The BMW was all black and sleek; as he helped you get in, he grabbed your ass playfully, causing you to squeak and giggle at him. 

You two spent the evening at your house since his was occupied. There should have been your clue to ask more, but the way his voice sounded, and the touches sent heat to your core; it was like your brain wasn’t wired right.

Arriving at your home, he helped you out. It was late at night, and you helped him to your home. The minute the door closed, his hands were on you like he would lose you if they weren’t. Hot, passionate kisses that left you breathless and wanting more filled your lips. Hands were roaming each other's bodies. 

As you two made out, the direction of your movements led you two to the bedroom and on the queen bed. As he laid you back, he stood up in front of you, a smirk on his devilish face. “Now listen, it’s still sir from now on, got it. Do as I say, and I’ll treat you good, princess. Listen well, and maybe I’ll keep returning to enjoy what’s between these legs.”

You nodded, mind clouding faster than at the bar, “Yes, Sir,” A quick Good Girl was heard as he dove into your neck, kissing and biting you all over; as soon as he found the spot that had you mewling he abused it leaving a bright purple mark on your neck. Slowly, he worked his way down to the tops of your breasts and shimmied your dress down. 

With your chest now exposed, you thanked past you for deciding no bra was brilliant with this dress. His hot mouth circled your perky bud so gently, every so often taking a harsh suck or tantalizing bite to get a sound from you. He made quick work of using his other hand to pull and stroke your other bud. As soon as he had his fill abusing your one mound, he traded places, listening to you succumb to his touch. 

“Please, Sir, more please…” You could feel Lucifer's smirk on your skin; he was enjoying himself too much. Sitting you up on the bed, he stripped his jacket and button-up shirt, making quick work of your dress. Pushing you down on the bed, he slotted himself between your legs. “Please tell me what you want, princess.” You whimpered softly at his words. You felt so good and so small at the same time. Motioning to your clothed cunt he smiled and shook his head. A light smack was applied to your spread thighs. As you gasped, he spoke. “I said use your words, princess.” Like you were hypnotized, you spoke again, “My pussy, Sir, please…” He smiled and rewarded you with another ‘Good Girl’ and a deep searing kiss. His kisses trail from your lips down your neck to the swell of your breasts, down your stomach, and right above your panty line. Looking down at him, you whine softly. There, Lucifer was the most beautiful man you laid eyes on, face inches from your clothed soaking cunt, and he was smirking like he won the best prize. 

“Candy red is my favorite; I would almost think you dressed up like this just to lure me in, princess,” He placed his nose and mouth against your heat and inhaled before licking a thick stripe over your panties. “I am going to make you cum so much you can only think of me in this bed, darling.” You moaned loudly as he ripped the offensive cloth off your body.

Burying his face back into your pussy his mouth was divine. Every mewl and moan followed by a ‘Sir’ left you with his long tongue sliding in and out of you. He knew the perfect level of abusing your sensitive clit and then bullying your cunt with his tongue. He had you melting, and as he expertly rolled your bundle of nerves between his teeth, you began to see stars. The familiar bundle of white-hot need in your core was growing, something only toys and your hands could do. 

As you arched off the bed begging to cum his tongue was replaced by smooth thick fingers as he spread open your entrance with his fingers. His skillful mouth expertly played with your clit till you finally screamed your high at its peak. He didn’t stop, though; even as you convulsed and cried, he kept the overstimulation going till he pulled another sweet body-shaking orgasm out of you. 

Once he had his fill, he slowly sat up, face covered in a sheen of your slick. You almost came again just from the sight. Your body was tired, yet your aching whole clenched around nothing. Lucifer smiled and climbed out of bed, unbuckling his pants and letting them fall to the ground.

Rolling your head to look at the length you were taken back, the pale length was considerable and girthy, thick veins coating the sides begging to be squeezed by your walls. The red tip was fiery and throbbing, begging to release the load he was holding back after watching you cum for him. 

Climbing back between your legs, he lined himself up with your sopping cunt. You nodded slowly and whined as he entered your tight hole. “That’s it, Good Girl, your cunts are already so greedy for my cock.” Slowly, he rocked in you so as not to unload himself already. As he rocked, you began to relax around him and feel every curve and vein on the massive cock in you. 

Once you were consistently moaning and babbling, ‘Yes sirs’ and ‘Please harders, ’ he bent you entirely in half and began to fuck you hard. You had never felt anything like this or felt your bed shake as bad as it was now. He had your knees to your ears, hands holding the pudge of your stomach, and his shoulders keeping your legs apart. His cock was throbbing and only growing more in your cunt. As he fucked you deep in a mating press, a thick white frothy ring appeared around the base of his cock. Your screams and moans covered the squelching and slapping noises. Lucifer's grunts became more and more animalistic as he pounded into you. His pace faltered as he neared his limits; leaning back slightly, he placed the pad of his thumb against your clit and began rubbing it with just the correct pressure. As you began to see starts, Lucifer's moans became whimpers as he held himself back, waiting for you to cum a third time.

As soon as he got you over the edge, he was over you once again, slamming his cock so far in his balls seated against your ass. A few good thrusts, and he came deep inside of you, painting your walls with his thick creamy white cum. You were a babbling mess; from crying and drooling, you were covered head to toe in some fluid. 

A satisfied smirk rested on Lucifer's face as he pulled out of your sore cunt. He rubbed your body gently, helping the muscles relax. As you lay there fucked out, Lucifer went to the bathroom and drew a bath. Picking you up, he bathed you two slowly and methodically. Once cleaned up, he took you both back to bed and helped you get comfy. 

You smiled softly; you could get used to this. Sex shouldn’t define a relationship, but damn sex and aftercare, you may already be in love. As your eyes closed, you could feel Lucifer's gentle caress as he kissed your temple and said sweet nothings to you. 

As day broke, you were alone in bed. You were hurt and a little disappointed. However, as you rolled over to look at the time, you saw a cup of water, some migraine medicine, and a sticky note with a sweet message and a phone number. Smiling, you stood and added the number, sending it a quick text. Changing into loungewear, you gathered last night's close, yet all you could find was your dress; your ripped panties were missing. Sighing, you ignored it, thinking maybe he had thrown them away already and headed to start some chores. While working on your house, you heard a frantic knock on your door.

Rushing to open it, afraid there was a severe problem, Lilith stood there red-faced and teary-eyed. Confused, you let her into your house and offered her some coffee. As she sat and drank, she confessed to you something horrible. Her estranged husband had been having an affair with a younger woman. Lilith only found out because when he came home late last night and took off his clothes, he forgot to take her underwear out of his pocket. 

Your eyes widened as she pulled out Candy Apple Red panties that were ripped down the seam…… Well, you guessed there were always two sides to a story.

[kyaroscuro]

Intimacy

It's not hard to be close to Hyunjae, on the contrary, it's as easy as being in love and god knows how much you love each other. Then why are you so shy?

pairing : boyfriend!hyunjae x gn!reader genre : established relationship, fluff, first love, discovering each other warnings : a bit suggestive? notes : hi hello, my name is what you want it to (yes i'm obsessed), this is the very first work i'm posting here and i hope my feelings will be conveyed. everything came from this post and i oops! writing this was a breath of fresh air and i'm even more in love now (sigh). anyway, let me know what you think about it <3 there might be a smut part 2 one day... words count : 1246

You've been dating Hyunjae for 3 months now and you've never been intimate with him. Intimate in the sense that you've never seen each other's skin, you don't change in the same room nor take showers together and god you've never done anything sexual (although you do tease each other a lot).

And it's not that you don't want to be intimate with him, oh you want it more than anything, probably since you met him, his pretty eyes and goofy smile. But you're both kind of shy around each other, it's your first relationship and you want to get it right.

To be honest, it's more than that. You are so in love with him that sometimes when he kisses you a little longer or when his hands find your waist you feel overwhelmed and the overflowing feelings make you nervous, not knowing what to do next.

You'd think that Hyunjae would be confident and take things in stride but the truth is that he's just as shy and scared as you are. You see him blush every time you reach out to hold his hand, every time you initiate a kiss and crawl closer into his embrace. He's never been in love with anyone like this before and yet he's been in relationships before. For him, it feels like you're his first and his last. It may be cliché but he sees himself growing old with you, getting married and having children in a nice, cosy home. He wants to call you his, to wake up with you in his arms and also...

"Angel, it's early come back to bed," his rough morning voice will always make you shiver, another thing you love about him.

When you turn around, you find him staring at you with half closed eyes, a smile and an outstretched hand. If he were the devil, you would have walked right into his trap. He hums, feeling content to have you in his arms again, kissing the top of your hair.

"Hyunjae," you whined

"I know, just a few more minutes"

As if on cue, he holds you tighter and your head is pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It's calm, but with a sudden race, as if it were about to explode. Unconsciously, your free hand comes to feel it as you give him your gaze. He's already looking at you with sparkling eyes, his beautiful eyes full of stars that sometimes you wonder if you could drown in them. Your very own starry sky.

You lean in, bathing in the warm sensation of your lips on his. The kiss is soft and tender, like a good morning greeting, but becomes intense and passionate with his hand cupping your face and gentle caresses on your waist. An open-hearted kiss into which you both pour your vulnerability and feelings. When you pull away, you feel as if your breath has been taken away, your heart flutters in ecstasy and you want to dive in again. Time has stopped for a moment. You lock eyes and suddenly feel much hotter, it's addictive but you peck his lips in a low giggle.

"We're going to be late"

"Let's call in sick then"

The change in mood startles you, he pins you to the mattress and starts kissing you all over. It's playful and you give in too easily until he starts tickling you. Oh war has begun and being late is the least of your worries.

Love is not supposed to be easy but loving Hyunjae is the easiest thing ever.

Love is as easy as a date, because no matter where you are, he will always make you feel at home. Love is as easy as giving you the key to his apartment, because he wants to come home to you. So why isn't it easy to be intimate with your loved one? When you trust each other beyond words, when love isn't enough to describe how you feel, when you want to cherish each other through all the steps of life?

Present <3 (1)

How about a movie night? Blanket fort, fried chicken, you and me I would say that you have me with you Because I am the only thing you need? Cause I want you in every way You got me baby, I am all yours

There you are, blushing like a mess at work, butterflies in your stomach. One way or another the shyness will go away, every day you feel the need to be closer to him than you already are and he shows the same needs in his own way. Hell, the first step was going to his place every day and still not moving in together.

The first time he kissed you ? You came back from your third date, it was pouring and you ran back to his place holding hands and laughing because it surprised you. He gave you his jacket since you were clad in a dress and yet you were soaking wet. He offered you to take a shower and when you came back with his clothes on, something shifted in his mind. You were so pretty and you were his. His to court and kiss. So he kissed you. Longer than intended. And you kissed back as long as he did, making him smile through the kiss.

That day and memory are still etched in your mind and you wouldn't change a thing about it or maybe make out a little longer...

So when he texted you to say he was coming back home with the chicken, you were on a mission. Doing the fort was your pleasure, the chicken his and the movie your typical friday night.

"Baby I'm home!"

Unlike usual you run up to him for a hug and a kiss, only to have him giggle at your eagerness.

"Missed me?"

"A lot. How was your day?"

"Fine, i just really need to shower"

"Kiss me? Before you go"

Another chuckle.

"You know I'm just a door away? But I'm happy to oblige"

To be honest, you want to shower with him and you have wanted to for a moment without knowing how to ask. For now you will settle for some cuddling and maybe some skinship.

"Do you need anything angel?"

"You"

"You're so clingy today, what happened?"

"I- I just want to be close to you"

"How close?"

He snuggled up against you with his question, looking at you with doe eyes. You took the opportunity to put your hands on his chest, his hair was still slightly damp from showering and he was just glowing. For you, he's the most beautiful man alive and he's yours.

Suddenly you shiver at the feel of his hands on your bare skin. The room feels too hot, it's almost like it's spinning. His giggling sends shivers down your spine and he tries to move his hands away but you block him.

You see a gleam of surprise in his eyes, wondering what your next move will be. It's his time to be confused by your hands under his shirt. He blushes hard feeling a twist in his gut, you have never been this enterprising before. He cups your head and kisses you like his life depends on it, panting and sighing.

"Jae," you let out a small moan at his roughness.

"i want to be close to you too"

"In every way?"

"In every way."

[soullessmocha]

heaven.

{ karlach x gn!tav }

rating: everyone

warnings: light spoilers, mild gore, death, angst

word count: 1499 

like with most of my writing i rarely re-read and go over it. i am mediocre writer with heavy bg3 brain rot after finishing my first playthrough of the game.

Your body felt cold yet hot at the same time as you felt life drain out of you. You stare blankly at the ceiling of the foyer in the House of Hope, a demonic spike going through your chest. “You dare to mess with me, steal my from me! Look how piteous thing you are. Let this remind your friends- AH!” Raphael hisses in your ear, his new form causing nothing but the smell of flint and death before he was slain. You barely realize how far your own body was flung until you hit the last soul tower, it crumbles over you as your body splatters on the ground. The horrific roars coming from the devil himself only deafen your ears more. You can’t hear anything. Just the ringing from your head and the screams. You couldn’t tell if it was your scream or your adventurous friends. Maybe even your lovers.

The hot weight of the stone was being ripped off of you. It’s a warm hand that turns your body over. “Oh gods, no, no, no, no…” The warm, honey-like, voice soothes through the ringing. You were saying the same thing as your body began to get so increasingly cold that even turning your joints brought splintering pain. “Hope, please! Help!” Wyll cries out but Hope can only stand over you with a distant look on her face. Karlach ripped off your armor to see where the damage was starting, “You’re not dying here soldier!” Her voice cracks, it makes your blood-stained lips curl slightly. Your bare hand grasps her bicep, “Karlach… No,” you choke out. She doesn’t listen to you.

With your body being moved you let out a blood-piercing scream that even the tadpole in your head couldn’t stand as it vibrated in your cranium in reaction. It was losing its life source. You. Karlach settles you on the sigil glowing in the foyer marble flooring. It was so cold for a place that was burning in one of the levels of Hell. The shiver sent down your spine only made a reaction in your body to spasm, cough up more congealed blood that was threatening its way through your system. Everything was shutting down on you. You couldn’t feel your lower half anymore. 

“We’re going to get you to Shadowheart-” Karlach choked out, her tears being burnt down her cheeks. Something she hasn’t been able to do in gods knows how many centuries. She was supposed to be the first one to go with her infernal engine only being a ticking time bomb. Not you. Not her deepest of love. Not her very own heart. She covers the puncture wound with her own hands, trying to stop the blood from seeping through anymore. She could only wince at your whimper from the pressure. 

“Please, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go!” Karlach begs you, her forehead resting on yours. The warmth comforted you as everything around started to get dark and fuzzy. Yet Karlach was the only thing shining bright for you. In this moment her words of confession roamed in your head. It just wasn’t meant in the stars for the two of you but to go out with a bang was all she needed. 

You weakly feel your hand raise to her cheek, your thumb gently tracing over her features to memorize them one last time, “Out with a bang, right?” You couldn’t even recognize your voice, your hand slid from her cheek to her soft hair, feeling the locks one last time. Death was knocking on your door but you were fighting every second to be with your love. “You're going to go to Avernus,” you hiccup to get air into your lungs, “fix that damned engine of yours and make that bastard pay for what he’s done.” Your body spasms again as the sickly iron-tasting crimson splatters from your throat. “Don’t bring me back… Don’t ask Withers. You save the city. Save yourself. Then come and get me…” Your lower lip trembles as your world starts to crumble around Karlach her glow shining brighter as her sobs become more violent. She was shaking her head at your request. She didn’t even want to think about going through this alone, without her solider by her side. It couldn’t be done. Not without you by her side. 

“Please, don’t go.” Karlach whimpers against your cheek while she peppers warm kisses all over your cold skin, burying her face in the crook of your neck. “I can’t do this without you!” Her voice increases in volume and the flames dancing on her burgundy skin glow blue. All you can do is hold her close while her body curls around yours, rubbing her back with numb arms. “I love you,” you whisper in her ear but before you were able to place one last kiss on her beautiful face you slipped away. Your soul knew deep down that everywhere would be hell without Karlach by your side in whatever afterlife there was as it dissipated away.

Her back felt empty as your strength faded. Her body could nearly melt you away from how cold you were in her arms. “Tav?” she whispers noticing your arms fall by her side, caught on her armor. “Tav, wake up!” She lifted herself from your body, hovering to look you over. The sight horrified her. No longer did your eyes glimmer with life, they were dull. Lifeless. Your skin is pale and clammy from the damned heat of hell. Karlach gently cupped your cheek, her long nails gingerly brushing hair from your expressionless features. Your eyes were staring at the damning mural in the foyer ceiling. Karlach gently closed your eyes. Her warm lips pressed on each eyelid. Strong arms curl under your body to bring you close.

She stood shakingly, weak in every joint as a part of her had fled this realm. Tears flowed down her cheeks yet she was stoic. Unable to rest until your body was at peace. “I love you, **ph myirz.” 

You wake up in a familiar stone enclosure. Withers stood over your body watching you closely to make sure everything went right to his ancient doings. All you could do was blink up at the forgotten god. “Breatheth. Thee wilt beest did confuse and has't many questions. Howev'r, holdeth onto those folk and liveth again f'r tonight.  Th're is a celebration happening and many art waiting to seeth thee.” His dried hands help you sit up and bring your feet over the stone bed. 

Withers only gives you a nod towards the archway where you can hear music playing and chatter dancing in the air. You take in recognition of your own hands first, this is your body still. Nothing changed. Until you notice how quiet your mind is. Slipping off of the stone bed you run a hand through your hair, gripping the roots to set the reality that there is no more tadpole squirming in your brain.

As you walk across the tree bark others turn silent and watch you emerge from the shrubbery.  Eyes all new and foreign greet you with a softness only few could recognize as relief, their mourning was gone. Yet your eyes only searched for one flaming person. Then you see her around the bend of the stone. Karlach stood over the fire, her arms crossed as anxiety rippled over her features. Gold glowing eyes pierced into the bonfire as if she was silently praying to whatever god would listen to bring you back. Yet the sharp gaze stopped when she noticed you, standing afar. She could smell you again. 

The lost expression on your features made her grin fasten wider. Both of your bodies slammed into one another as you ran towards each other. This was your Karlach, not some twisted hell. It was her. The same scent of vanilla and ember came off of her heated skin. Tears blurred your vision, you buried your face in her neck. “You did it.” You whisper against her skin. Karlach only rocks the both of you. It seemed as if the world around the two of you didn’t matter anymore. “I did it,” she repeats after you before gently pulling you back to get a good look over you.

You could feel your very own heat rush to your face as her golden orbs take in your features. You hadn’t known how long it had been since she’d last laid eyes on you but from the looks of it. Too long. “Are you just going to keep staring or kiss me Karlach?” you quipped at her which broke her concentration. Her soft solemn smile turned into a cheeky grin as her hand landed just above your lower back and pulled you close, “You don’t have to ask me twice soldier.” 

With her lips planted on yours and the intoxicating smell of her scent, you knew this was heaven. She was your heaven.

** ph myriz = my heart (infernal)

[joshusten]

love the sinner (albus york/faith koria, bastard warrior || good boy audios)

Albus York takes a bath and Faithful washes his hair. (angst, slight argument, hurt/comfort)

2.2k+ words [ao3 link] [masterlist] [CW/notes: religious imagery ofc (this fic was basically an excuse to write that), typical albus york language, lots of self-loathing and some suicidal thoughts. albus is just having a bad time but hes also so whipped for faithful. speaking of her, i didnt make faith's physical descriptions vague or made it so that she's a "listener" but rather a character of her own! and i based it off of gba's description of her + my own interpretation hehe.]

once again THANK YOU SO SO MUCH to @slushiepizza for all the AMAZING suggestions and support like omfg i SWEAR i keep on saying this but this fic rlly wouldnt be finished without them!! i appreciate it sm!! and im shaking and kissing my irls that ive also bothered with this fic that will probably not see this THANK U SM!! edit: I FORGOT THE FUCKING READ MORE LMFAO

—

Albus York steadily sank into the half-filled tub of one of the ship’s quarters—stripped of his clothes, and left bare to no witness.

Gentle waves of the bathwater rippled against hardened, battle-torn skin. He dementedly mused that if he could go down further, he might finally drown. 

He chuckled at the thought, shifted his position, and got to work. It's been a while since he last had an actual bath—way before he even agreed to this suicide mission of an adventure—with warm soapy water and scented products.

The constant near-death experiences and whatnot had interrupted the trio to get any time for themselves, much less to do any sort of basic hygiene. Since the route Devlin had charted for the ship to follow allowed for ample downtime, the Forgemaster had practically shoved his younger half-brother into the common bathroom and forced him to take a much-needed bath (Of course, not without a snobby comment about how his stench matched his personality perfectly well.)

Albus’ inexperience was made clearer with the stiff, awkward motion of his large, calloused hands as he attempted to wash himself. The unpracticed movement made the unfamiliarity of it all fully realized. How long has it been since he felt this safe? Does he even remember how to take care of himself?

Does someone like him even deserve this luxury?

The warrior submerged himself lower, down until his eyes were right above water level. He was thinking again. It was all that he had been doing for the past hour. If the gods wouldn't allow him to drown, then he hoped that the water would at least cleanse the grime and sin embedded into his flesh.

But he knew that filth clung to his skin like how a believer clings to the idea of repentance. No matter how hard—how desperately—he scrubbed (until pale skin turned into blood red, until rough turned rougher), it was all pointless. He had learned long ago that a bastard's prayers were never left answered. 

The mark on his chest was a bleak reminder of that reality. Damnation was basically his birthright. Albus York was dead the moment he came out of his mother’s womb—dead to his family, dead to society. 

Cursed to hell for being sin itself.

Life had a funny way to remind him—that goodness is something he can be in the presence of but never be a part of it.

"Albus?"

Speak of the devil, his ever-so-naive angel had arrived.

“Albus? Hello?”

Tender, serene, heavenly.

The voice was melodic—like the somber hymns he used to hear in his youth when his mother would take him into the temple and meet with her fellow brothers and sisters. At that time, he always felt drawn to the choir’s performance, despite not being old enough to understand the words (not that he was any more literate in the present). Back then, he was just a kid, blissfully unaware of the blasphemy he had committed for existing. 

He had grown since then—in every aspect of the word.

"Albus! Are you still in there?"

A deep grunt, muffled slosh of water, and the pitter-patter of droplets on the tiled surface were all that Faith Koria had heard from the other side of the metal door before a familiar, gruff voice answered back.

"Calm ya tits, woman. I knew you were eager to see my dick but I never knew you were this eager!" 

The outside replied with an annoyed groan, a sound Albus was all too familiar with, especially when it came from her. That being said, he couldn't fight the smile forming on his lips as he hastily dried himself up with a nearby towel.

"You've been using the bathroom for more than an hour, just what are you doing in there? Some people want to get cleaned up too, you know!”

The metal door swiftly slid open with a sudden 'woosh!', hot steam dissipating before the runaway nun to reveal Albus’ tall stature, half-naked and slightly dripping wet. Faith frantically averted her eyes on instinct, ears immediately burning with embarrassment. It wasn’t like it was her first time seeing him undressed—for gods’ sake, she treated his wounds like this when they first met! But to have him fresh out of a bath with his toned body exposed and his dampened long hair was—Wait! His hair!

"Alright, alright! I’m out, ya happy? I’m decent too so you don’t have to be a prude about it,” The bastard huffed, a little irritated with how his peaceful bath (or at least, as peaceful as it could be) was abruptly cut short.  

“Albus, your hair!”

The man scrunched up his face in confusion.  He gathered one of his dark locks and examined it with an intense focus. “Huh? Looks fine to me. What, you're not expecting me to be all prim and proper now, are you?”

“No, no, no! It's all matted and uneven!” The woman replied with a horrified concern in her voice that was rare for the warrior to hear directed at him.“It’s probably from all those monster attacks. Some of them must’ve managed to get to your hair! How long has it been like this? Does it hurt? Do you even have shampoo?”

“Uh…what’s that?”

“Ugh, never mind. Just—” Before Albus could process what was happening, Faith grabbed his arm with a surprisingly strong grip for a nun. She dragged him down near the bathtub he just got out of. He can even hear the water still slowly swirling down the drain. 

“Faithful, what are you—” 

“Stay right here. You got that, York? I’m just going to get something and I don't want you to move a muscle.”

A deep chuckle resonated within the man’s scarred chest—he always enjoyed it when she got this bossy. He gave her a mock salute and answered with a hearty “Yes, ma’am!”

The sister paladin made a face, letting out a flustered huff before hurrying to wherever she needed to be. So cute.

Albus had put on his clothes at this point while he waited (lest he risked Faithful suffering from a heart attack). A few minutes had passed by when she returned with a rather large pouch that Albus recognized was packed with the rest of her belongings. He deduced it must've been from her childhood with how worn down the embroidery was. Once vibrant floral patterns dulled from years of usage.

“Lean back by the bathtub,” Faith instructed. “I’m going to start detangling your hair. I might cut off some of the more unsalvageable parts too. If anything hurts or if I snagged on it too hard just let me know, okay?”

“Okay,” The man repeated simply, not really knowing how to react to all of the amount of consideration he was receiving. Abrasiveness was what he was more used to responding to, not the care that she unabashedly gave him.

She beamed brightly at his compliance (and no, his heart did not just skip a beat), soft hands found their way to his head and started brushing away the more manageable tangles before using a wide-tooth comb for the bigger ones. Despite the numerous warnings, her fingers were nowhere near to being rough. She was as gentle as a lamb—her slow brushstrokes eventually formed a rhythm that filled in the silence of the room. Albus decided to break the comfortable atmosphere.

“How are you so good with this shit?” He mumbled, voice heavy with drowsiness. Fuck, he felt like he could sleep until his next life. “Never knew sisters of Cindergorn get to be part-time hairdressers too.”

Even with his sluggish state, Albus could almost sense the nun’s eyes rolling above him, brushing out his hair with a slightly more forceful than usual tug.

“I'm the one usually taking care of the children at the temple. I’m used to seeing this kind of stuff whenever they play too hard. Obviously not on this level but you get the gist.” Faith snipped off the last of a particularly challenging knot. 

“I've also been doing my own hair ever since I was a kid, so really, it's like second nature to me at this point,” she followed up, running her fingers through his hair with a satisfied nod.

Now that Albus thought about it, he had seen Faithful braiding herself earlier on their journey when they had just…tastefully borrowed the flagship meant for his father. He remembered swift, practiced hands twisting sections after sections of dark, coiled hair and had mentioned in passing how it was a hairstyle she often did to withstand the Eastern Faithlands' harsher seasons (Fortunately, it also turned out to be great for going-on-a-quest-to-kill-your-priest-brother-and-save-a-child seasons too.)

Faith’s hands suddenly paused. Before the man could ask if something was wrong, she signaled him to stay still while she rummaged through the pouch to get a small bottle. She squeezed a moderate amount of product into her palm and spread it evenly. As she was about to apply the substance to his head, Albus jerked away, quickly stopping her hand with his own as a furrow formed on his thick brows.

“Faithful,” He chuckled. “Please, I’m a warrior. You don’t need to waste your fancy shit on me. My hair’s going to get fucked up again eventually so what’s the point?” 

Faith struggled to wriggle herself out of his grasp. “Wha–Albus, it’s fine!” 

“No, Faithful, I’m serious. It’s just hair. Hell, it’s my hair. Relax.” The man sat up straighter at this point, the water from his long, damp hair trickling down along the scarred tissue of his back but it was the intensity in those familiar brown eyes that made him feel a chill.

“And I told you it’s fine just let me—”

“Why are you making it a big fuckin’ deal? What do you want from me?” 

“What?” Faith’s voice cracked, appalled and confused. “Albus, what are you even talking about? I’m not asking for anything—”

“I’m just a bastard you hired to kill your brother! I was paid to do the dirty work for you, not to be your fucking toy—”

“Albus, wha—Y–You’re not a toy! Why do you—”

“If I’m not then why are you being like this to me? There’s a catch—there’s always a fucking catch. So what the fuck do you want from me?”

The nun managed to finally yank her hand away from his harsh grip and angrily slammed at the smooth surface of the tub.

“I just want you to stop being stubborn for once and let me do this for you!” 

The silence that followed between them felt suffocating.

Faith’s breath hitched, shocked by her outburst. She immediately straightened up her posture only to look down shamefully at the tiled floor. A shaky sigh left her lips, and Albus was doing everything in his power to stop himself from reaching out to her, seeking salvation he knew she shouldn’t give him because he was not sorry that he was like this. He wasn’t afraid to show his filth to the world because it was all he knew to do—all he was taught to do. There’s no excuse, no justification, no escape. She’s everything good and he’s just scum or worse yet—he’s a bastard. 

Because she’s an angel and he’s far worse than the devil.

“This isn't anything all that fancy…just something to keep it healthy and less stressful on your scalp. I just want you to feel okay. So please…” She trailed off. “Let me.”

“It’s…It’s just hair, Faithful. I’ll be okay, I’m a big boy,” Albus joked, but his words were sincere. He almost found the whole thing amusing—having the ever-so-snappy sister paladin fuss over him—if he didn’t get a feel for how much…his comfort seemed to mean a lot to her.

Faith pursed her lips, her gaze still fixed downward. “I just think…you deserve at least one good hair day.”

It's that word again. Deserve. Does she really think that? That he's worthy of all of this?

The man cleared his throat with a curt nod. Hesitantly, the nun's fingers slowly found their way back to the crown of his head, resuming whatever she was supposed to do. Steady, rhythmic brushstrokes filled the quiet once again. 

After what felt like hours of stillness, the bastard dared himself to shift his head and face her timidly—as if he was afraid he could melt under her piercing gaze.

"Thank you, for…for this," Albus grunted. He hadn't only meant for his hair.

Faith graced him with a dimpled smile—the one that made her eyes squint and showed the tiniest bit of the gap between her front teeth. She proceeded to tuck away a stray lock behind his ear, trailing down to hover over his cheek. Albus can practically feel the nervous tremble on her fingers as if she were hesitating on something. It all came to nothing in the end, closing her hands in a fist before withdrawing to her pouch to start cleaning up.

“Anytime, Albus. Besides, with how you always manage to find yourself in trouble,” the sister murmured, her voice playful (it never failed to leave Albus’ mind racing). Her eyes glinted as they locked into his almost like clockwork. “How can I not?”

Albus York sat by the empty bathtub of the ship’s quarters—fully clothed yet he had felt the most bare that he had ever been in front of someone. 

Faith smiled at him again and he swore he could make out the faintest halo crowning her head under the fluorescent bathroom light. ---- a/n: this is probably my most favorite fic that i wrote and i hope you enjoyed! lemme tell u this fic took way to long and got me so stressed for no reason idk ! i was worrying abt how this would happen in the timeline and all the lil details and then !! its a fic!! and im suppose to be having fun!! i am being self-indulgent!! (although i hope was able to characterize them well) again, feedback and comments r highly appreciated!! :DD have a good day/night and thank you for reading!!

[somanyratsinthewalls]

hiiii can i ask for a fudge brownie and venus fly trap! also congrats for 300 u deserve it‼️🫶

Thank you so much! I hope you like this one! It's basically porn with zero plot ;)

Pairing: Sabo x afab!Reader

WC: 1200

Prompt: “Good sluts don’t talk with their mouths full.” 

— —

“How could you be so stupid?” Sabo stares at you with eyes ablaze. You had blown the big mission. You had done the best you could, but the mission simply couldn’t be accomplished given the circumstances. 

“Stupid? You’re the chief of staff and gave me less than half the men I asked for to do this job! I knew what it would take and you declined. You didn’t listen to me.” You wouldn’t back down, you were a confident general in the Revolutionary Army and this wasn’t your first rodeo. 

“You should have picked up the slack. I’ve trained you better than this. I am wildly disappointed, y/n.” Sabo was livid, but you weren’t scared. You were just as mad. 

“Picked up the slack? The slack of what, 50 men? I’m not a miracle worker, Sabo. I told you what I needed and you said no. You don’t want to admit you have fault here, too.” You spit back at your superior. You would be scrubbing toilets for months after this confrontation, but you didn’t care. “Not all of us can be trained by the boss personally, not all of us have devil fruit powers, not everyone is like you, Sabo. I did what I could with what I had!” 

“I should demote you right here and now for your backtalk, y/n.” Sabo grits his teeth and looks at you from across his office. He wasn’t used to his generals mouthing off to him like this. 

“I’ve done nothing but dedicate my life to The Revolution and I refuse to let you blame me for this failure. Demote me if you must, but I’ll take it to Dragon myself.” You square your shoulders and ball your firsts to hide your hands shaking. 

“You little…” Sabo rushes towards you and barely misses your shoulder as he reaches the door behind you to lock it. You turn to him. 

“You can’t talk to me like that, y/n. I am your superior.” Sabo’s eyes darken as he slowly walks towards you. “It seems like…” He reaches your body and puts one hand on your cheek, tilting your face to look up into his mischievous eyes. “Like I need to teach you a lesson…” 

Sabo uses his free hand to loosen the white fluffy ascot around his neck and remove it. 

You so were mesmerized by the proximity and the glint in his round eyes, you didn’t notice as he grabbed your wrists and pinned them behind your back. He quickly tied them tightly together with his ascot. 

“Chief, I-“ You protest. 

“No no, none of that now. You were so bratty a few moments ago, telling me how right you are… I’m going to fix that attitude.” Sabo smirked. Your knees knocked together as you felt yourself becoming aroused at his words. He was so domineering and confident, it was everything you wanted in a man. 

“Sabo-“ You whine.

“On your knees, now.” Sabo prods your shoulders with his hands. You oblige. Quickly you drop to your knees with your hands tied behind your back. Sabo undoes his belt and pulls his pants and briefs down just enough to free his cock. His semi-hard member bobs in front of your face. Your eyes cross as you stare at his thick tip so close to you. 

“Open up, little one. Make yourself useful, for once.” Sabo grabs your head and you engulf his cock into your wet mouth. He was so thick it stretched your lips, but he was heavy and hot on your tongue and it made you whine. You had always dreamed of having your Chief like this, and he had clearly picked up on that over the past few months, or else he wouldn’t have the gall to push you around like this. He was assertive, but not a monster. 

You slobbered as you bobbed your head up and down over Sabo’s girthy lenth. Sabo grunted as he guided your mouth on his cock. 

“Gods, so much better at this than you are at mouthing off… such a nice little throat for me to fuck…” He continued to thrust into your open mouth. 

“Mhhmmmmpphh!” You tried to talk back but Sabo’s dick was clogging your windpipe. 

“Shh shh, no no. Good sluts don’t talk with their mouths full.” Sabo held your cheeks with one hand and held your nose closed with the other as he trust firmly into your throat. He pulled out and released your nose after a few moments. He still held your cheeks together as you sputtered and coughed with spit all over your face. 

“Up, little whore!” Sabo reached down and grabbed your by your ribs and turned you around to push you over his desk ass up. Sabo forcefully rips your pants and panties down to your ankles in a single pull, leaving your soaked pussy fully on display for him from behind. 

“Brace yourself, I’m not playing nice.” Sabo spreads your cheeks with one hand as he lines his massive cock up with your dripping hole with the other. He effortlessly plunges fully into your cunt and you cry out. 

“SABO!” 

“I know, I know, my little slut, it’s a lot for you, isn’t it? You’re gonna take it, okay? I know you can.” Sabo soothingly runs his hand down your spine and grips the ascot tying your hands together to use as an anchor to fuck into you with. 

“Ahh! It’s so much!” You moan and squeal around your Chief of Staff’s cock as he relentlessly plows into you from behind. He fists his free hand into your hair and pulls your head up. 

“It’s too much? That’ll teach you to mouth off to me again, huh little whore?” 

“Sabo, please-“ Your eyes roll back into your head as his cock hits your sweet spot repeatedly. 

“Oh you’re going to cum, aren’t you? I feel you squeezing me so tight… such a naughty little subordinate…” Sabo chuckles as he speeds up his already unforgiving pace. 

“Come on little one, let go… show me how much you love your superior…” He coos over you. 

“Fuck! Sabo, I-“ You uncontrollably spill your release all over your thighs and his. Your body shakes as your orgasm overtakes you. 

“There it is, aren’t so tough after all huh?” Sabo chuckles behind you. “Gonna fill you up to make sure you’ve learned your lesson… After I get finished with you, everyone will know you belong to me…” With a powerful thrust and a loud grunt, you feel Sabo’s cock twitch inside of you and spill its seed deep inside of you. 

“Shit…” you sigh out. Sabo pulls out and turns you around. He unties the ascot around your wrists and brings them up to his face. He kisses and rubs at your red and rubbed-raw wrists as he picks you up to sit comfortably on his desk. 

“However many men you want for the mission… you have them…” Sabo whispers into your hand as he continues to kiss it. 

You were shocked. 

“Actually?” You breath out, still exhausted from the pounding you took. 

“Anything you want, it’s yours. From now on. As long as you keep meeting me here like this.” Sabo’s eyes meet yours. You smile. 

“Let me stay in your bed tonight, and you have a deal.” You smirk and take Sabo’s lips in a soft kiss. 

xx Mo

[emotionalcadaver]

Part 2: Does the Devil Have a Heart

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: There's something particularly intriguing about the woman Charlie found sleeping in the stable that morning.

Word Count: 3,009

Notes: Warnings for references to animal abuse and injuries.

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Chapter 1: The Red Haired Woman

The gate to Charlie’s yard swung shut behind Tommy was a clang, the sound echoing in announcement of his presence. Taking a slow drag from his cigarette, he stalked forward, shoes kicking up mud. It had rained heavily the night before; the thunder and racket of droplets crashing against his roof keeping him awake for most of the night. Coming to a stop by the edge of the cut, he rubbed irritably at his eyes, fighting to hold in a yawn. 

He really could not continue only getting a few hours at most of sleep a night. Otherwise, he was going to start getting sluggish.

“Tommy,” Charlie said, approaching him with slow steps, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Charlie,” he greeted back, taking his cigarette between his fingers to pluck it from his lips. “There’s a new shipment coming in in a few days, I need you too…” he trailed off as he finally got a good look at his uncle’s face, the prominent, worn lines in his forehead creased from more than just age and hard living. “What?”

Charlie cleared his throat. “We have a…not a situation, per se, but…”

“But what?” 

Charlie shifted from foot to foot, glancing around as though worried that there might be someone lingering around who could be listening in. “This morning, I went into the stables to feed the horses, and I found a woman sleeping there.”

Tommy blinked, lips pursing. Squatters weren’t the most unusual thing, but he’d thought that they’d fixed the problem with the fancy new locks he’d made Charlie and Curly put on the gates. And the reputation he’d been amassing for himself since his return from war worked wonders to scare all the others away.

“So?” it was an annoyance, but they weren’t housing any contraband of particular significance that could be stolen at the moment. Most of the time they just sent the squatters on their way with a stern warning and little fuss. “Just make sure she didn’t steal anything and send her on her way, as usual.” 

Charlie’s jaw set a little. “You don’t understand, Tommy.”

He raised an eyebrow, annoyance beginning to crackle under his skin. “No? What don’t I understand, Charlie?”

“She was sleeping in Wraith’s stable.”

Tommy went momentarily stiff with shock, fingers squeezing a little on his cigarette.

Wraith was a huge, young, black stallion Tommy had acquired not long after getting back from France. His previous owners had intended to put him down due to behavioral issues. Issues that, Tommy suspected, were a result of them abusing the poor boy. When he’d heard, he’d offered them a handsome amount in exchange for the horse, and had kept him housed at the yard ever since. 

Wraith was difficult. Temperamental, willful, and distrusting. It took working with him every day for months until he trusted Tommy enough to consistently let him near him. He was even standoffish to Curly, of all people. He only ever let Tommy ride him, and had on more than one occasion tried to kick or bite Charlie and Curly when they entered his stable to clean or to replace his food and water.

Tommy let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head, half believing Charlie to be playing some sort of joke on him. No way in hell would his grouchy stallion allow a fucking stranger into his stable with him. 

“I’m not joking, Tommy.”

His laugh died, smile fading. “That’s not possible.”

“That’s what I thought too. But I swear to God, Tom, she was in there, laying right up against him, fast asleep in the stable. That grouch of a stallion even got all upset and…protective when I tried to get near her.”

Tommy stared at him, baffled. “Where is she?”

Charlie jerked his head towards the tiny living quarters where they had a kitchen, washroom, and a few spare, tiny bedrooms. “I invited her in for breakfast.”

“You what?”

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do? Tommy, the horse who hates everyone–” off of Tommy’s look, he amended “everyone but you, didn’t even fucking whinny over her being in the stable with him,” but looked out over the cut, face suddenly grave. “And that’s not all.”

Tommy sighed, grinding his teeth together. Of all the fucking things to happen today…

“What?” he pried, despite knowing that he would probably regret it. Charlie looked at him again. 

“That girl is covered in barely healed cuts and bruises. Crude bandages all over her. She looks like she was run over by a fucking car. Or worse.”

“Did she say what happened?”

Charlie shook his head. “I asked, but she clammed right up. Looked like she was about to cry and started shaking like a leaf. Whatever happened to her, I think it may have fucked her up just as bad in the head.”

Tommy turned the information over in his mind, examining it from every angle. “Did she say anything else?”

“Not much. Just mumbled something about needing to get out of England,” he shook his head. “But with those injuries, that girl has no business going anywhere. At least not until she’s healed.”  

Tommy shot him a sharp look, already knowing where he was going with this. “We aren’t running a fucking charity here, Charlie.”

Charlie’s gaze sharpened, and for a moment, Tommy was certain that he saw a look of disappointment cross his features. He turned away from it, not wanting the reminder that even his Uncle Charlie, who always seemed to have a soft spot for him, now thought him but a cruel and heartless monster. 

“We could let her work here in exchange for enough to live off of. Just until she’s healed,” Charlie suggested. 

“In one breath you say she isn’t fit for travel and in the next you suggest putting her to work doing hard labor?”

“Not hard labor, just…things that would help out around here. With the increase in business, Curly and I could use a little help anyway.”

“If you need another stablehand, you should’ve told me so we could go about hiring one properly.”

Charlie raised his eyebrows. “Properly?” he quoted back. Tommy nodded.

“The people who work here need to specialize in discretion and moral flexibility. How do we not know that the second she sees a box of contraband, she won’t go running to the police? Or gossiping amongst other women at the pub?”

“I’ll keep her away from that stuff. Only have her working with the horses, cleaning your car…that sort of thing.”

Tommy grinded his teeth together in frustration over his uncle’s stubbornness, staring out at the cut and the smoky expanse of Birmingham that surrounded it.

“Tommy…if you would just come in and see her. The look in her eyes…you’d understand why I’m so insistent.”

Tommy stared at him for a very long moment, jaw working as he weighed the possibilities in his head. On one hand, they did not know this woman. She could be a spy. Or a thief. Or, hell, a fucking undercover copper. He wasn’t about to risk his family’s welfare for her. But on the other…Charlie’s instincts when it came to people were rarely wrong. 

And Wraith had trusted her. 

He let out a small growl, glowering at the skyline of his city. “She doesn’t even look at any of the contraband, and you don’t discuss anything regarding the business with her, do you understand me? She cleans the stables, brushes the horses, changes their feed…that is all. And once she’s healed, she leaves.”

Charlie nodded. “Understood.”

“When the next shipment comes in a few days, store it with the rest and make sure your new…stablehand,” he ground out the word as if it were made of shards of glass, “doesn’t handle any of it.”

“Alright,” Charlie slung the rag he was holding over his shoulder. “Anything else?”

Tommy shook his head. “No, that’s it.”

Charlie moved to leave him alone, then hesitated. “Do you want to come say hello? It might do you good to at least meet her…”

“No,” he had no interest in her, he told himself, even as a part of his mind prickled with intrigue. 

Wraith trusted her.

Charlie nodded, like it was the answer he’d been expecting. “Right. Well, I’ll be seeing you then, Tom,” he set off back the way he’d come. Tommy kept his gaze on the cut, watching the cold waters rush past. He wondered if the medals he had chucked into it had rusted over yet.

“Her name is Lucy!” Charlie suddenly shouted back over his shoulder. “In case you were curious.”

Despite his better judgment, Tommy couldn’t quite convince himself that he wasn’t. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Shoulder leaning against a stack of crates near the entrance to a warehouse, Tommy listened in brooding silence as Charlie reported to him on their inventory. Everything was running according to plan. Polly was still giving him a little trouble in the betting shop, not yet ready to fully hand over the control she’d been given during the years of his absence. But he could manage her.

He had eyed the stables regretfully when he stepped into the yard that brisk morning. It was his intention yesterday to take Wraith out riding, but time had gotten away from him. 

Poor boy. It was a shame that he would only let Tommy ride him, or else he could have asked Charlie or Curly to take him out to at least stretch his legs a little. 

Reaching into his waistcoat, he pulled out his pocket watch. It wouldn’t take long for this meeting with Charlie to come to a close. Perhaps if he managed to wrap up his errands early enough, he could swing back around to the yard and take the stallion out for a short trot around town. 

“You look tired,” Charlie remarked. Tommy shot him a glare, stuffing the watch back into his pocket. 

“I’m fine.”

“You’re stretched too thin. Have you thought of bringing someone else on?”

“Someone else to do what?”

Charlie shrugged. “I don’t know. Run errands for you. Take notes at meetings, maybe spy on a man or two if need be.”

Tommy huffed, rubbing at his eyes. “Yeah, well, if you find anyone qualified for such a position, you let me know.”

Charlie looked like he was tempted to say something, but thought better of it. Fishing in his pocket, Tommy pulled out his cigarette case, jamming one perhaps a tad too aggressively between his lips, snapping the case shut and tucking it away in exchange for his lighter. 

“You were telling me about the last shipment,” he urged Charlie to carry on after lighting the cigarette. He was eager to get out of there as soon as possible. In the time since Charlie had taken on his new stablehand, every time Tommy stopped by the yard, he always tried to convince him to come say hello to her. And every time, Tommy refused, ignoring the odd twinge of curiosity, and something else he couldn’t even begin to identify, curling in his gut. 

It was a wonder that he hadn’t accidentally bumped into her on his many visits to the yard, but at the same time, he was making a concerted effort not to, and Charlie had mentioned that he was keeping her to mostly indoors work to prevent her straining herself too much or accidentally staggering upon some of the more…questionable items that they kept at the yard.  

Charlie continued to inform him about the status of everything in his gruff voice. Tommy listened in silence, only grunting now and then in acknowledgement.   

The click of hooves against the ground caught his attention, and his head raised from its downturned position to search for the source of the sound, brow furrowed. 

A moment later, from around the corner, moving at a steady trot, came Wraith, his huge black figure unmistakable as he moved gracefully along the packed mud.

And astride him, riding bareback, was a petite woman with deep, rich, dark red hair, shorn short around her chin in loose curls. Even from a distance, he could tell that her features were delicate, almost doll-like, with round cheeks, full lips, and large eyes. Her expression was pinched in concentration as she skillfully maneuvered Wraith with a gentle pull of the reins. Her red hair swung around her pale, freckled cheeks as she did, soft curls brushing along her jaw before she shook them out of her face.   

Tommy was so focused on watching her beautiful face, that he didn’t even fully process that she was riding his fucking horse for a moment. His lips had parted of their own accord, caught in a sudden, unfamiliar moment of complete speechlessness as he watched her ride past him. For a moment, her eyes–she was close enough by then that he could make out their color as that of a very dark green, the likes of which he had never seen before–met his, and she blinked as if taken aback, doing a double take and then staring at him with a look of unbridled fascination. 

He was used to women looking at him with lust. And he was pretty sure he detected a trace of attraction there, no doubt, but the look of intrigue and something else entirely in those green orbs made his heart rate pick up, throat suddenly dry. 

She pulled Wraith to pass across in front of them, pushing him into completing another circuit around the yard. Tommy finally was able to catch a glimpse of the barely concealed bandages and stitches under the loose sleeves and collar of her clothes–whatever Charlie had given her to wear was too big for her tiny frame. And upon narrowing his eyes a little, he was able to make out the light purple of faded bruises on her skin.

Tommy tracked their movements with his eyes, and his breath caught at how effortlessly she handled the stallion. To the untrained eye, one may not have been able to catch the way that she shifted and tightened her legs against the horse’s sides at specific moments to give him silent commands. And despite her small, slight frame, she was strong. Tommy could see it in the way her legs moved and the way her grip adjusted on the reins. She was riding Wraith with zero trouble, as easily and as casually as if she were walking across the street to the market to do her shopping. Wraith, who never let no one else but him ever ride him.

Tommy didn’t know if he was jealous or impressed. 

Something, slumbering where it was locked away deep in his chest, stirred, cracking one eye open inquisitively.

“Tommy? Tommy!”

He jerked as if rousing from a dream, blinking and then coming back to himself all at once, face snapping around to Charlie. His uncle’s eyebrows were raised, cheeks twitching as though trying to fight back what may very well have been a smile. 

Tommy coughed, hastily looking down. He could feel his face heating a little at being caught practically gawking at a pretty woman like a smitten schoolboy.

“What?”

Charlie didn’t say anything for a moment, shifting from foot to foot. “That was Lucy.”

“I figured.”

“She’s been a big help. She’s great with the horses. Almost as good as you. And Wraith likes her, so it’s not as much of a pain in the arse getting him fed and his stable cleaned.”

Tommy nodded, keeping his eyes focused downward, for risk of catching sight of the red-haired woman again and falling into another bout of mindless staring. 

“She’s a hard worker. Very observant, and a fast learner. Her injuries are healing well, so I’ve been letting her take on a little more work as she feels comfortable,” Charlie continued on.

Tommy thought again to the bandaged cuts he’d spotted under her oversized shirt. “Did she say what happened to her?”

“No,” Charlie’s voice dropped gravely. “I don’t think she sleeps all that much. And the other night she woke me and Curly up because she was screaming in her sleep.”

“Screaming?” Tommy frowned. 

“Curled into a ball and cried after I woke her up,” Charlie hesitated. “She didn’t want me to touch her.”

Tommy’s brows pulled together, stomach churning a little at the implications. “After you decided to take her on, I ordered some background checks be done on her. They should come back soon.”

“Right.”

“Anything else?”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to come say hello. She really is a nice girl. And she loves the horses,” Charlie shot him a sly look. “You two would get on splendidly.” 

“I have things to do.”

Charlie nodded, clearly having expected it. “Another time, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Tommy said, knowing that he had no real intentions on following through. If Lucy was truly as nice as Charlie said, it was all for the better that he stayed away from her. For her sake.

He said farewell to Charlie hastily, clapping him once on the shoulder, then shooting one final look towards where Lucy was still guiding Wraith into a light trot around the yard. Her red hair was a bright blot of sudden color in the otherwise monochrome gray of the yard. Of all of Small Heath and Birmingham, actually. 

Again, his mind prickled with curiosity. Why was she here? Where the fuck had she even come from?

And what the hell had happened to her?

He looked away quickly, walking briskly towards the gate before she could bring the horse back around to this side of the yard. Shoving one hand in his pocket while the other gripped his cigarette, he tried to shake all thought and pondering about her from his head.

But try as he might, he couldn’t dispel how, in the brief moment their eyes had met, he could have sworn that just from that single glance alone, she had understood him better than anyone else had in his entire life. 

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 25

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: E Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** Sometimes, the session goes smoothly and the characters complete their mission without setbacks. This is not one of those sessions. ***

As he would one day tell an unlikely group of adventurers in the equally unlikely setting of a high-end brothel - not the most fitting backdrop for a dramatic tale, perhaps, but why say no to some luxuries? - Raphael was indeed there when Netheril fell. 

Eileanar had been floating over the High Forest at the time, and it was not someplace Raphael had visited often while carrying out his duties as the Steward of Avernus. Unlike most archdevils, Bel did not have a cult of his own in the Material Plane. With all his efforts directed to the Blood War, he was not interested in creating and growing one either,

“The other layers owe us souls to support a war which protects them,” Bel had said with a shrug, one time Raphael had brought up the matter. “We have no need to go seek them out the way they do.”

Still, a few extra souls were never unwelcomed. Raphael had taken to using his spare time to return to the Material Plane; it was not that he had in any way missed that plane, but he had always taken pride in a job well done, something he had a talent for. So whenever he had the chance he returned among mortals, making contracts as he used to do when he lived at his father’s court. 

Some souls would go to Avernus, others he’d keep for himself; Bel did not mind. Perhaps, he’d mused, he may make a few deals for a warlock or two of his own, if a good chance presented itself. That day, however, he was not in Eileanar to win a soul, or take on his first warlock - although he was talking to someone who was very interested in becoming one. He was there because he’d been told by his sources that something was about to happen.

Karsus has created something special, they whispered. A crown, to become more powerful yet, as a god. He wishes to do something extraordinary.

It seemed a ridiculous notion, but Karsus was the most powerful archmage to ever have lived - not something anybody in Cania would say before the archmage of the Hells - and it had piqued his curiosity. There was some merit to the claims, he felt it in his very bones. So he was there on that fateful day, listening to the bleating of a woman eager to have him as her patron with only half a mind but mostly gazing around, waiting to see what that something would be. 

It was safe to say that an archwizard attempting to wrestle godhood over all magic from Mystryl herself - and destroying the Weave as a result, for a handful of deadly moments that brought to the abrupt end of a mighty empire - was not quite the something he had expected to happen. 

As a half-fiend, Raphael was born a spellcaster. A sorcerer, his father would say with all the disdain only a wizard could possibly put into that word, and Raphael had been careful not to wonder too hard if that disdain had played a role in his decision to lean more into his bardic tendencies than on the sorcery which was his to wield from birth. But with all magic gone, neither came to his aid when something gave way beneath him - the entire city. Unable to plane shift, he plummeted towards the ground alongside it. 

Dying in the Material Plane would be no great tragedy, as he’d return unharmed to Avernus as all fiends did, but the notion of shattering to the ground, his body exploding into a fine mist along with every other screaming creature around him, was unpleasant enough to fill him with a sort of terror that he’d have struggled to put into words later, if he ever bothered to. 

Had he been in his human form, unable to switch back, he’d have experienced his first death that day. But he’d been wearing his cambion form, showing the aspiring warlock he was precisely what he claimed to be, and he’d hand wings. 

Even with his magic gone, he required no arcane power to become airborne: only sheer muscle power, using all his strength to escape the powerful winds caused by the entire floating city’s fall. But escape he did and when he turned in mid-air, screams still ringing in his ears, the sight of what Karsus had brought upon his own empire left him breathless. Eileanar was not the only city to fall. In the distance he saw more floating cities plummeting to the ground, every creature upon them fated to die screaming. 

Above, there was a sound like the crack of thunder. Raphael looked up, away from the mortals whose screams were so abruptly silenced, and for a moment he saw him: Karsus the archmage suspended in mid-air, something glinting on his head. 

He felt it, a new godhood taken by force for one blinding instant before it was ripped away once more. He saw Karsus move, saw him reach up and then go still. He saw him turn to stone, and fall the same way his cities had. And most of all, he saw the glinting something which had made a man into a deity for one single, shining instant fall to the ground with him. 

A simple human, wielding godly power if only for a moment. What could a devil do with that? What could I do with that?

Karsus had seen himself a benign new god of magic, bent to ensure the Netherese empire would never fall. Raphael saw himself on the throne of Avernus and on the throne of Cania, on the throne of every layer in-between, on the throne of Nessus itself. He saw Asmodeus broken at his feet, he saw his father forced to bend the knee and bow his head to swear fealty to him. He saw every fiend at court who’d ever mocked him cower in terror, and he saw himself forcing them to keep living in fear while holding all their lives in his hands.

He saw himself ruling the Hells, he saw himself ruling the Material Plane and Celestia and everything in-between. He saw himself as a god, never to be looked down on again .

Few devils are ever satisfied with their station, those with my blood least of all. It's what we're meant to endure, this hunger for more, Mephistopeles had told him not long ago. You wish to reach out and take, because what you're handed can never be enough.

But perhaps this would be enough after all, a crown to make him as a god - if that did not end his hunger, then nothing ever would. Worth a try, was it not?

As Mystra came into being and magic hummed back into existence, too late to save any but a few cities of a once mighty empire, Raphael beat his wings and dove to the ground, after what would remain his greatest desire and obsession for centuries to come.

***

“I still maintain they could have saved us a lot of time, if they’d brought us to the scab directly instead of forcing us on the worst ever road trip.”

“We have grown more powerful in the journey. I suppose there is that. Learning to fight devils may yet serve us well.”

“Do you always have to think up a bright side, love? I’d like to complain, if you don’t min--”

“Well then, complain under your breath. This is not the time to let ourselves be caught,” Raphael snapped, cutting him off. Or at least, Astarion could guess that was Raphael, under the guise of a tiefling with storm-gray skin. One annoying bit of these illusion spells was that he was never sure who he was talking to. 

Was the half-orc Karlach, or was it Wyll and Karlach was the elf? It had taken him an embarrassing amount of time to work out the halfling was Halsin, and Durge was the drow. It all seemed a bit useless, since the plan was not to get spotted and Zariel herself surely would not be fooled by a simple illusion… but in case someone did spot them before they got to her, it didn’t hurt to be careful - especially with Karlach and Wyll’s faces likely well known around there. At least, Astarion couldn’t complain too much about his own guise. 

He looked devastatingly handsome as a human too. Or at least so Durge had told him, ever the flatterer. Astarion opened his mouth to inform Probably Raphael that he was going to complain how he pleased, only to trail off when yells, curses, and the creaks of massive chains reached his ears. They peered from behind the boulder they were all crouched by to see that gigantic chains were being pulled, and the Flying Fortress was being lowered to the docks. Droves of low-level devils were preparing to secure it in place, and send souls directly from the Styx into the engines keeping the entire, immense structure afloat. 

According to Karlach, it would take several hours for the Fortress’ refill.  “It’s the only time you can be sure to find her in, too, instead of mowing down demons in the middle of a battlefield,” Karlach had said. Above them the fortress was massive enough to make the House of Hope look like a fisherman’s cabin in terms of size, but it exuded none of its elegance. It was a brutal construction carved out of black stone and infernal iron, with turrets and cannons on every side - more war machine than residence. “The docking is when the Fortress is at its most vulnerable, and she knows it, so she always remains in it to defend it,” Karlach had added, like that monstrosity could ever be called vulnerable . “It makes her restless, though-- well, more restless. There were times I could swear she was hoping for an attack.”

Well then, Astarion supposed it was time to make her happy and give her just that. “This is her lucky day, then,” he commented. Fluttering above his shoulder, Lulu - no changing her appearance until they were in, or else the ring wouldn't fit - let out a noise that somehow sounded scared and excited at the same time. 

“It will be lucky, I just know it! It has to be!”

“... Are hollyphants always so unbearably optimistic?”

“Most of us. I mean, I knew one who wasn't. Always the odd one out, so cynical all the time. She kept telling us that the Ride was a bad idea, and I think I was really rude when I told her to shut up.” A sigh. “Ah, that really wasn't nice of me, was it? She was only trying to warn me. And she was right too, even if she was always half in her cups.”

The drow - Durge - tilted their head. “... Are you speaking of Valeria, by any chance?”

A quicker flutter of Lulu's wings. “Oh, yes! You met her? Where is she? I should apologize for not listening. How is she?”

“In Baldur's Gate, last we checked. She did help us with the Netherbrain, and then… well, I'm not sure. She worked with the Flaming Fists, I suppose she went back to that.”

“Oh. Is she still, er…?”

“Entirely in her cups.”

“... Does sound like her.”

A sudden, whooshing sound covered whatever else Lulu may have tried to add. At the Stygian docks, a huge contraption had been lowered to the water, sucking up souls. It was the signal they had agreed upon, and they each dug into their pockets for their rings. 

Time to find out if Bel's agents have fucked it up, Astarion thought. He looked up, met the others’ gazes for a single, long instant - and then, finally, he put the ring to his finger.

***

“Oh, you're finally here, pup. Took you long enough. But what fine company you've brought with you! Raphael, is it you? What an honor, even if it's only half of you who deigned to come - I imagine daddy dearest still holds the rest, yes? Could have done without the hollyphant…”

“You! You're the one who killed me!”

While half his companions threw themselves between Mizora and a rather furious hollyphant to prevent a most counterproductive fight, Raphael took the time to look around. The dungeons of the Flying Fortress, or at least that section of it, was empty of prisoners. It was easy to guess that whoever had occupied those cells until moments earlier had likely been on the receiving end of some peculiar rings. Not a bad idea, he had to admit. They would not have turned down a chance to escape any more than Raphael did, back when-- mother -- a mortal soul had been sent to give him the ring, in the bowels of Mephistar’s dungeons. 

“Don’t lie, fiend! You put a dagger through my heart!” Lulu was yelling somewhere on Raphael’s right, entirely too loud for a covert mission, and caused him to turn back.

“And I loved it, don’t get me wrong,” Mizora replied, sounding rather bored and just a touch amused by the sight of several people holding onto one furious hollyphant to keep her back. “But it was not for my pleasure alone, I assure you. I was told you’d return to life within the Citadel, and that blasted place’s doors can only ever be opened in your presence. If you didn’t return to the Citadel one way or another, all of my pup’s pure heart would not have been enough to open its doors and reach the Sword. Which… you do have with you, do you not?”

As the hollyphant finally calmed down, if grudgingly, Durge reached into their bag of holding to pull out the sword, grasping it by the hilt rather than by the handle just to be on the safe side.

The sword glowed, and it caused Mizora to narrow her eyes, instinctively on edge before the celestial artifact. “As unbearably holy as I imagined,” she hissed, not coming any closer to it. “No wonder it may end her. Yet, none of you has turned angelic.” She clicked her tongue, and turned to Wyll. It was rather obvious that she could see easily through the illusion, and tell who was who at a glance. “No wings on you, pup. Not that I am not glad you’re keeping those devilish good looks I gave you, but… who plans to wield the sword, precisely?”

“Why, is it not obvious?” Raphael spoke, crossing his arms. “Zariel herself shall. Once she attunes to it, the archdevil Zariel is no more - thus meeting your demand.”

For a few moments, standing in the middle of the dungeon, Mizora said nothing and only stared at him as though she suspected he’d entirely lost his mind. Then she laughed, loud, mocking… but first, there had been that hesitation, that twitch of her mouth. “Oh! Oh dear. Daddy must have taken all your good sense, if you had any, alongside the half of you that was worth anything,” she muttered, the cold disdain in her voice just a touch too forced. “What makes you think Zariel would willingly attune to her old sword to become a celestial again? She can destroy that thing at will, and if she’s allowed to grasp it, she will--”

“What makes you so certain that she would not attune to it?”

That barest hint of hesitation, again. She was not, he could tell, all that certain. “It is everything she left behind--”

“Yet when you brought her old friend to her, she did not kill her.” 

“Right, see!” Lulu shrilled, much too close to his ear. “ The power of friendship will save her!”

Raphael sighed. “Please refrain from destroying my argument as I'm making it,” he muttered, and allowed the illusion to dispel, leaving behind his human form. He and Mizora were never much of anything other than aware of one another’s existence, but they had met a couple of times in the Material Plane. She knew that face of his, and it would not hurt to remind her who she was speaking with. He’d lived far longer than she had, and was older than nearly any cambion ever got to be. She knew that much, and he knew she respected it. 

When he stepped forward, she did not step back… but she did not laugh again, either. “No, she did not,” Mizora conceded, ignoring everyone else’s gaze on her to look back at Raphael. “But it does not mean she would want to go back.”

“When I decided to leave behind what I’d been in the Material Plane, I killed the woman who raised me. It did not work as I thought it would, but that is beside the point. I killed her. I had it in me and I did it. Whereas Zariel, mighty ruler of Avernus, couldn’t bring herself to harm what is frankly the most annoying hollyphant who ever came into existence. A fatal weakness, some would say.”

“Hey now--” Lulu began, only for several pairs of hands to reach out and cover her mouth, and for Raphael to entirely ignore her as he spoke again. 

“When Zariel found her dead, did she know she would spawn again at the Citadel?”

“... No. No one here did. I was given that information by a different source.” 

She did not name Bel, but she may as well have. “And did she mourn?” he asked. 

Mizora pressed her lips together, and did not answer. As far as Raphael was concerned, it was a good enough answer in itself. He shrugged, and spread his arms as though to rest his case. “As I imagined. There is more of the old Zariel there than you’d like to admit. I suspect that is the reason why the conspiracy to dispose of her was put in motion - with, I am certain now, the knowledge and agreement of Asmoseus himself. She is cracking, and we are to take her out before those cracks lead to the fall of Avernus in the hands of demonic hordes.”

“... Couldn’t Asmodeus depose her himself?” Durge asked, and Raphael sighed. There he was again, he thought, having to explain the obvious. 

“Of course he could. If so he wished he could depose any and all archdukes of the Hells - but this does not mean that he would, when he can get others to carry out his will. Replacing Bel with Zariel as the archduke of Avernus was a move that raised more than a few eyebrows at the time. It is not for me to say whether there was indeed a good reason for it, but the fact remains that if Asmodeus demotes her now to reinstate Bel, some may see it as an admission that he made the wrong decision then.”

“So he’d rather pretend he had no hand in it,” Wyll muttered, and Raphael nodded.

“Precisely. If Zariel is taken out by a force outside the Hells, and Bel seizes his chance… then the Lord Below will have obtained precisely what he wanted, with no direct intervention.”

Karlach made a face. “Ugh, hellish politics. They give me a worse headache than infernal wine the morning after a party.”

Mizora scoffed. “A lot of things more complex than the swinging of an axe give you headaches,” she muttered, but her words lacked bite. She looked back at Raphael, frowning. “A lot of clever words from Mephisto’s least favorite bastard,” she added, as though she too was not the result of a  fiend’s dalliance in the Material Plane. A spurt of seed willed to quicken a mortal’s womb, as his father had so charmingly put it once. “But there is no guarantee your plan will work.”

Raphael tilted his head. “Zariel is powerful, and a warrior down to her bones. An attack may not work, either. If our plan works, we may yet take her out with no need to fight and risk defeat. Would you not say it is worth a shot?”

For a few moments, Mizora said nothing. In the end, she sighed. “... She was perfect,” she spoke in the end, frustration and something a lot like fury barely in check. “The only being fit to rule this layer, and I curse the day that thing was brought here. You ruined her.” She cast a look at the hollyphant which may very well have caused a mortal to drop dead.

From her part, the hollyphant in question glowered back. Honestly, it seemed as though Halsin’s outstretched arm in front of her was the only thing keeping her from trying to charge again. “You are the ones who brought her low. I’m going to bring her back. ”

“Why, you little--”

“We will present the sword to her,” Durge spoke up, putting the sword in question back in their bag of holding. “Whether or not she takes it is ultimately her choice, and we’ll act accordingly when the moment comes.”

“Mph.” Mizora scoffed, and glanced over at Karlach. “I am surprised, I must say. I thought you’d jump at the chance to end her, instead of trying to… what? Save her?”

Karlach scowled. “None of your business. We promised to get rid of the archduke of Avernus, and we’ll do that. How we do it is up to us.”

“Rude as always,” Mizora sighed, but she waved a hand. “Very well. If that is how you wish to go about it, I have no reason to stop you. As long as she is no longer an archdevil by the time you’re done, I do not necessarily oppose the idea of doing this without killing her.”

She doesn’t oppose it at all, Raphael thought, but did not say as much aloud.

“Well then,” Astarion spoke, glancing around the dungeon. “Where is Zariel, and most importantly how do we get to her without having to fight half or all the fiends in this fortress?”

Raphael smiled. “Why is it not obvious?” he asked. He picked something from the ground - a pair of manacles made of infernal iron. He held them up. “By bringing her some prisoners. ”

***

On the day an empire fell from the sky, Raphael came only minutes, perhaps moments away from being the phoenix which would rise from its ashes. He almost did get to the Crown of Karus, amidst the smoking ruins that had been Eileanar. Even in the midst of that devastation, the hum of its power called to him… but not to him alone. 

Mephistopheles, archmage of the Hells, must too have known that something may happen that day - and for a moment, when he saw the dark blue skin and the wings of a fiend amidst what had once been a city, Raphael almost thought he had come face to face with his sire. 

Then the fiend turned, and the fear and surprise fizzled out into anger. Standing above him, a black crown with three shimmering stones in his hands, was the Steward of Cania. 

For the briefest moment, Raphael considered trying to attack, to wrestle the Crown from him; for that same brief moment, Adonides seemed startled to see him there. They stared at one another, the Steward of Avernus and the Steward of Cania, the exiled son and the dutiful servant of Mephistopheles. Then Adonides’ handsome features twisted in a mocking smile that did not reach his jet-black eyes. Dust and smoke covered the sun, yet those eyes shone.

“Steward of Avernus. This is an unexpected meeting indeed, but a fortuitous one. You came on time to witness me taking possession of the Crown of Karsus on behalf of the Lord of the Eighth,” he spoke, mockery in every word, before he tilted back his head and called. 

Summoned by his cry, four gelugons appeared around him in a burst of cold, cold light - to act as witnesses, no doubt, as well as to act as a deterrent in case Raphael was truly foolish enough to try and attack. But of course, there was nothing he could do. Even if he could best all of them - and perhaps he could, in his Ascended form - the simple truth was that by Infernal law, the Crown now belonged to Mephistopheles, the master of the one who’d claimed it in his name. As a fiend himself, Raphael was beholden to that law. 

As long as the Crown was in Mephistopheles’ possession, he could not touch it.

“Behold - this I claim for my master Mephistopheles, Lord of the Eighth, ruler of Cania, master of Hellfire, Archmage of the Hells!”

This too he claims as his, and he needed not lift a finger.

Fury clouded Raphael’s vision, threatened to choke him; he did not voice it but it had to show on his face, for Adonides chuckled, lowering the Crown. 

“Do not look so sour, Raphael,” he said, still smiling in that way that told him clearly he would tell everybody in Mephistar about this, how he’d taken the Crown from under his nose. “Believe me, this trinket is in good hands. If anyone may uncover its secrets, it is your lord father. Lord Bel wouldn’t have known what to do with it,” he added, not knowing - or pretending not to suspect - that it was for himself and not for the Lord of the First that Raphael had come there, to try and claim the Crown. 

He did not tell Adonides that, of course. He wasn’t that much of a fool. He only watched, in silence, as his father’s steward left with the Crown and headed to Mephistar - where the most powerful artifact created in thousands of years would collect dust in a vault alongside all of Mephistopheles’ novelties, trophies and projects, which inevitably failed to hold his interest. 

But he would not give Adonides the satisfaction of seeing more of his fury. He did not move, said nothing, until he knew for a fact he was alone, the only living thing standing in the midst of utter ruin.

And then he raged.

***

The roar which rose from the bowels of the palace was faint, yet audible enough to make the entire hall - the upper crust of Mephistar enjoying a lavish banquet, nearly all pit fiends with the notable exception of a rather sour-faced steward Adonides - freeze, as though the glacial winds of Cania had somehow found their way into the heart of the citadel.

The silence that followed was brief, but it felt like hours to Dalah, who clutched the pitcher she had been carrying in silence. Another distant roar, and all eyes in the room shifted to Chamberlain Barbas. The one, everybody knew, who had been put in charge of the vaults’ new guardian.

There was a tittering laugh from one end of the table, where Justiciar Bele sat. “It seems to me, Barbas, that your charge is once again misbehaving. I heard he destroyed several servants and killed two guards only last week. Shall you bring it to heel permanently, as you said you did last time, or should you perhaps inform Lord Mephistopheles that the beast needs… correcting?”

The mere thought of Mephistopheles approaching Israfel, doing anything to him, made Dalah want to scream. Part of her wanted to plead to be sent back to work in the vaults instead of serving at those hideous banquets, where she’d been put to work on a whim, picked at random after some sort of incident befell the souls who’d been put to work there before. 

It was lighter work, yet she’d despaired. How could she keep watch over him, how could she protect him, so far from the vaults where he dwelled? She could not, and each time she heard him roar in the distance she felt as powerless as she had on the day he’d been born. 

She’d been helpless then too, feeling her life slip away alongside the blood, too exhausted to deliver the burnt lining of her womb. She’d seen Rahirek’s stunned face when he found her, the horror, the grief; she had seen him raise his sword to kill what must have been a vision of horror indeed, that creature nursing at her breast like a leech taking its fill of blood from a dying body. Yet he had stilled when she’d cradled it tight and raised a hand to protect it, when she’d spent her last moments pleading for her husband to let her offspring live so that he too could keep drawing breath, to not let her death be for nothing. 

Now, it was worse. She couldn’t even plead, not without eliciting questions she could not answer.

I can make it stop, it’s me he wants, can’t you see? Are you all so blind you cannot see this only started when you took me from the vaults? Take me to him, let me soothe him, let him know that I am well.

At the end of the table, Barbas was standing with a scoff. “Bothering our lord is unnecessary. He is on the cusp of a breakthrough in his studies, and should not be disturbed for minor inconveniences. The creature can be brought under control quite easily, as long as the guards have enough nerve,” he added. 

A lie, that: no guard in the vault was a match to Israfel’s perpetually ascended state. But the chamberlain did not want Mephistopheles to think he may have lost control of the new guardian to his treasures, plainly enough, and so lie he did. As transparent as that lie was, every devil at the long table pretended to believe it, only letting their lips curl in mocking smiles when Barbas left the hall with hurried steps.

In truth, everyone knew that Lord Mephistopheles was on the cusp of no breakthrough at all. He was rather in one of those dark moods of his, when he was alone in his quarters with none allowed even in the vicinity but ever faithful Duke Hutijin, guarding the doors to keep everybody else out. 

Even so, it was not unusual to hear the horrifying noises coming from that closed off wing of the palace, the shrieks like those of the damned, the devastating onslaught of unleashed, uncontrolled arcane magic. Some murmured of horrifying experiments on souls, causing them to cry out so; others murmured, their voices even lower, that Mephistopheles’ fury and hatred would turn inward when alone and in such a dark mood - that once he destroyed walls and furniture he’d tear at his own robes, gouge deep lines across his own skin in his wrath, drawing black blood thick with rot and arcane magic.

“My consort may enjoy company upon occasion,” Duchess Baalphegor had once said, in a rare moment of talkativeness on the subject. “But there is company which he cannot bear when in a particularly foul mood, and unfortunately enough it happens to be his own.”

Whatever the truth was, the screeching would eventually cease and the Lord of the Eighth would emerge from his quarters dignified and even courteous as ever, no trace of destruction in his rooms, no marks on his face nor tears on his robes. Everyone would pretend to have heard nothing, just as everyone pretended not to know of the hellfire burning away beneath Cania’s ice… and so it would go on until the next crisis. 

As of now, pit fiends were clearly happy to turn their gossip to an easier target - the chamberlain, and Israfel. “I heard he had to get the High Cantor in the vault to sing for it, last time, to soothe it,” someone said, and the comment brought laughter around the table. 

“A voice so lovely, it can even tame that beast.”

“Rumor has it that Raphael was sweet on her, when he was young. And, well, whole.”

“Well, of course. A halfbreed she may be, but Lady Antilia is as beautiful as they come.”

“Rumor has it she was sweet on him, too.”

“Oh, that I do not buy for a second.”

More laughter, but Dalah was not truly listening, her gaze fixed on the door which had closed behind Barbas’ back, trying not to think how the chamberlain planned to bring Israfel back under his control. Worried as she was, she failed to notice another servant who was no servant at all leaning towards the only guest at the table who’d not laughed, and whispering something. 

She could not, however, not notice the consequences of that quick, whispered sentence. Dalah turned just on time to see Adonides, steward of Cania, standing from his seat and saying something about work to be done as he took his leave. She went to move out of his way as he headed to the door, still clutching the pitcher, but a look from him was enough to make her still. He looked at her rather than through her, those pitch black eyes terrible to behold against the dark blue of his skin which so set him apart amidst pit fiends. Out of place, even, he who was native to Cania.

“You,” he said, his voice somewhat bored. “I’ll require your services.”

Dalah found herself staring, terrified as always when directly addressed by a devil who could destroy her with a gesture and hardly a thought. She bowed her head. “Duke Adonides, I am to serve here until further--”

“This is your further notice. It is an order, and I shan’t be questioned. Come,” he added, and went to step past her. Only then did he speak again, his voice only a whisper, meant for her ears alone. “Come, and you may yet help your son.”

He knows.

The realization sank in her stomach like a stone, and part of her wondered if it was a trap, but she forced herself to ignore it. You may yet help your son, he had said, and it was that sentence which got her to follow Adonides out of the room, her fingers still clenched on the pitcher. Behind her, the servant who was not a servant at all kept staring, quietly, before fading back  into the coming and goings of servants and then disappearing entirely without anybody taking notice. Months since her banishment from Cania, not one fiend in court had taken notice of her presence but those she chose to turn to.

Lady Baalphegor had always known how to go unnoticed, when she had to.

***

Looking back later, Karlach would have to admit that thinking they could really make it all the way to the topmost floor of the Flying Fortress unchallenged had been maybe a touch optimistic on their part. Sometimes you’ve just got to hope something is going to go your way, even in the Hells - especially in the Hells - so that you don’t go completely insane. 

And to be fair, they made it remarkably close to that top floor before it all went wrong. 

Soul refills were always a busy time in the fortress. Actually, all times were busy times in the fortress, but refills would be busier. That meant that any devil they came across - some new faces, some fuckers Karlach remembered well - could do little more than spare a passing glance and a sneer when they saw her walking by, hands held behind her back by manacles which were actually not locked shut, with Wyll holding the end of the chain as he walked by Mizora’s side. “Got her in the end, Mizora?” some asked, gaining themselves a sharp smile.

“One of my warlocks turned out to be useful, for once.”

They laughed, then, half satisfied to see Karlach brought to heel - who did she think she was, thinking she could escape what they could not? - and mostly envious that they were not the ones to succeed in the task and earn Zariel’s favor… as if her favor was ever anything but bad news. The sneers did tend to die down when they noticed what came after them - a hollyphant, that hollyphant, seemingly back from the dead, with a manacle around each limb. 

They plainly did not recognize the others - Raphael’s human form was not so widely known in the Hells, he’d assured them, and it seemed he’d been right - but they could very easily guess they were headed to Zariel. A few words from Mizora sent anybody in the mood to ask more questions scurrying away. 

Soon enough they were as far up as the mechanical elevator allowed, not quite to the top but almost; close enough that Karlach could almost sense the dread that came with Zariel’s mere presence, overpowering, worse than the smell of iron and the constant, constant humming noise in the background. That noise had almost driven her insane several times, to the point she’d even been relieved to hear it drowned out by the thunderous bangs of infernal weaponry a few decks below or above, by the roar as engines were pushed to their limit. 

Even being ordered to go on the ground and fight had been a relief, sometimes. Better than being in the fortress, which felt so much like a gigantic coffin waiting to claim her for good, all stone and infernal iron, glowing runes spelling some bullshit she could never read on the walls. And now there she was again, by her own choice. 

“How big is this place?” Astarion whispered when they stepped out the elevator, when he realized there were yet more flights of stairs to go up before they reached the top. 

“Fucking big, but we’re almost there,” Karlach whispered back, and looked over at Mizora. “You sure Zariel is going to be alone? Flo was always around her, like a very ugly lap dog.”

A light scoff. “Of course I made sure that wouldn't happen. I ensured she took her barking somewhere else.”

“Good. That's a face I'd rather never see again,” Karlach muttered, and of course - of fucking course - she didn't get her wish. Speak of the devil and all that.

“We only have one chance to talk her into reverting to her old self,” Raphael said, and glanced sideways at Lulu. “I certainly hope that speech of yours--”

Whatever he was about to say next, they never got to hear it. The ring at Raphael's finger glowed suddenly - stupid stupid they should have all taken them off - and before any of them had the time to react, there was a burst of light. It was bright enough to force Karlach to close her eyes against it but even, so knew precisely who she'd see standing in Raphael's place before she even opened them. The laugh alone was a dead giveaway, loud and obnoxious and almost like she meant it. Somewhere on her left, she heard Mizora mutter a curse that had something to do with Graz'zt cock for some reason.

“Hey, Karlach,” Florenta the Garroter spoke with a wide grin, the ring still glowing at her finger. “Long time no see.”

***

“Obey, damn you! I command you , obey!”

It was rare for a devil of the chamberlain’s ilk to give away what they were truly feeling, but even Dalah could sense the not-too-subtle panic beneath Barbas’ imperious orders. He was standing several paces away from Israfel, one hand lifted, struggling to gain a hold of him through… whatever magic he’d been granted to do so, she supposed. 

It kept the burning ascended fiend at bay, but that was it; Israfel still stood over the charred remains of what may have been either guards or servants. Rather than retreating, he roared. 

“Duke Barbas, perhaps we should--”

“Be quiet, is what you should do, while I bring it to heel!”

Barbas’ fist clenched, lifted up in the air, some sort of dark magic shimmering around his fingers; it made Israel’s roar turn into a strangled noise of pain and he staggered back, making clicking noises in the back of his skulls. He was hurting, and still he raged. 

“Whatever it is you do that calms him, do it,” Adonides had hissed when he brought her to the vault, putting her in place of another soul cowering by the door and taking her away to serve at the banquet hall instead, to her utter relief. “Bring him under control before Barbas is forced to turn to Mephisto, and he decides his volatile new guardian is too much hassle to keep alive. He is not in a merciful mood as of late.”

Is he ever, Dalah had wanted to ask, but she had enough sense to keep quiet and pushed her way through the cowering servants, to the doorway from which the roars came. There was nothing Dalah ever did to calm him; not the way the High Cantor could soothe him with her voice. She did nothing, other than being there… and she could only hope it would be enough now, too, that he wasn’t too far gone. 

Heart hammering somewhere in her throat - how curious that she’d still feel such sensations when she truly was nothing but soul and ether, her actual heart dust somewhere on another plane - Dalah pushed her way to the front of the cowering mass, as close as she could get without angering one of the guards, and tried to catch Israfel’s eyes. If she could no longer calm him-- she didn’t even want to think of it. 

“We need all of him to be safe,” Haarlep had said. “I’d rather find you both still here when I return.”

To her relief, it only took moments for Israel to see her. Those unnatural yellow eyes paused on her, and he went very still, the roar that had been building in his chest toned down to a growl, more questioning than furious.

Unaware of the fact it was not him the creature was looking at, Baras let out an unpleasant, barking laugh. 

“Yes! Know your place, you wretched thing, and obey me, in Lord Mephistopheles’ name!”

Oh gods, please shut up, Dalah thought. If the way one of Israfel’s eyes shifted to him and he growl in the back of his throats ratcheting up were of any indication, her son-- what is left of him -- was thinking precisely the same thing. If probably without the ‘please’, and with a ‘or else’ tacked at the end.

Dalah shook her head, as subtle as she could, and to her relief all eyes shifted back to her. Obey, she mouthed, and Israfel let out a huffing sound… but the fury was gone, and he was no longer beyond reason. To her utter relief, he finally backed down with a shake of his heads. She let out a long breath and glanced around to make sure no one had noticed her, but it seemed no one had. 

Hard to pay attention to a measly human soul, she supposed, with an ascended fiend and the chamberlain of Mephistar facing off just a few paces away.

“... Mph. See, it can be brought under control. You only need to be assertive, you imbeciles,” Barbas spoke, as though his voice hadn't almost cracked when Israfel had roared. He said more, the usual mix of bragging and assurances that now the creature would certainly behave, no need to bother the Lord of the Eighth over it. 

Orders were given to clear the corpses and call in more guards, more souls to resume the work. Dalah kept her gaze low, lest she be recognized as someone who was serving him wine in the banquet hall not half an hour ago, but it was a useless precaution. No one bothered to remember a debtor's face, and the chamberlain made no exception. 

It was a relief when he left, a relief to be once again in the vaults. The other souls and the guards were on edge, moving slowly and as far from Israfel as they could, but she felt lighter than she'd had in days. As long as she was there, he'd behave. As long as she was there, he was safe… just as she'd promised Haarlep, before they left to try and assist her son’s other half, all the way up to the first layer of the Hells.

“Be careful up there. I’d rather see both come back.”

As she took on her usual work, acutely aware of the fact her presence alone made all the difference when it came to Israfel's survival, she wondered how the other half of him - that human half she barely had a chance to look at, the one which looked like her but whom she could only think of as Raphael, the name Mephistopheles had chosen - was faring all the way up in Avernus.

***

Raphael was not easily surprised. 

Part of the reason why he'd lived as long as he did was that he could always predict several outcomes for his every move, and made contingency plans for each. In most cases, he had contingency plans for the contingency plans. Granted, it was not infallible - for example, he had not accounted for the sheer insanity of a gang of mortals choosing to infiltrate his House of Hope and steal for him. He was not impossible to surprise but still, it was no easy feat.

When he was transported back outside the Fortress in the blink of an eye, finding himself back under the red sky of Avernus and surrounded by a couple dozen armed barbazus as well as a few hamatulas, he would have had to admit he was very surprised indeed, if anyone bothered to ask him. However, none of the devils around him was in a conversational mood. 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” a broken, bleeding thing that may have once been a tiefling was choking out, curled up on the ground. It didn't take a lot of guesswork to tell she had to be the prisoner Mizora had swapped for Raphael… and there were no rings at any of her fingers now.

Of course. Seven prisoners swapped for seven intruders, and the one to get caught simply had to be my replacement.

“They caught me while I tried to get away, they made me tell them, she made me tell her--”

With a guttural roar, one of the barbazus brought down his glaive into the tiefling’s throat, silencing her for good. As she gargled, drowning in her own blood, every guard's eyes turned back to Raphael. Lips were pulled back on gleaming fangs, weapons were raised, and they growled. It was clear that there would be battle, and a very unbalanced one to boot. His companions were nowhere to be seen; they were still in the Fortress, dealing with whomever had taken his place there. He was on his own.

Raphael closed his eyes, drew in a long breath, and muttered a single word that, however crude, summed up his predicament quite accurately. Concisely, too.

“Shit.”

***

[Back to Chapter 24]

[On to Chapter 26]

[Back to Start]

[karistiltskin]

what if i said "but I would die for you in secret" but imagine merlin and arthur.

peace lyric analysis as merthur:

"Our coming-of-age has come and gone

Suddenly the summer, it's clear

I never had the courage of my convictions

As long as danger is near

And it's just around the corner, darling

'Cause it lives in me

No, I could never give you peace"

OUR COMING-OF-AGE?? okay, listen. as we know, arthur's coming-of-age moment is linked to his coronation. He literally has an episode called "The Coming of Arthur" parts one and two (S03 E12-E13). it's arthur becoming king and merlin starting to finally feel like he's getting somewhere with their destiny because of arthur's crowning. this is our setting. we're now in the after.

"I never had the courage of my convictions as long as danger is near" SHUT UPPPP SHUT UPPPP like actually oh my god. as long as danger is near is so so sick and speaks so loud. merlin absolutely does have the courage of his convictions and just to clarify, collins dictionary [colin morgan ;) ] states it as the confidence to do what you believe is right, even though other people may not agree or approve. BUT when arthur is in danger he does not do the "right" thing. he listens to the giant lizard instead or gaius (still love him) and does anything, anything, to make sure arthur doesn't get harmed no matter what.

rip morgana and getting poisoned.

rip mordred's entire existence.

although arthur attracts danger, merlin attracts just as much. and merlin is magic. (ugh, I'm getting sad and the only reason i won't cry is cause i'm in the middle of a lecture. a nighttime lecture). merlin can never give arthur peace because he is everything arthur was conditioned to hate. arthur can never give merlin peace because he's a king with expectations from Camelot and neighboring kingdoms. aka they can never be peacefully together without the threat of danger from them both and towards their relationship.

"But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade ocean wave blues comes

All these people think love's for show

But I would die for you in secret

The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?"

merlin lights arthur fires. that's it. that's the tweet.

merlin is also arthur's closest friend and confidant. he definitely gets arthur to see other perspectives on a situation and makes sure he remains compassionate and fair. for example, that look arthur gave merlin in S05 E11 during kara's trial?? my god. or the episode where arthur killed that one king's son under the influence of his uncle, the sleaze.

THEY WOULD DIE FOR EACH OTHER IN SECRET. NO ARGUMENTS. they've proved episode after episode again that they would no questions asked. people who don't know them just go "he's just a servant" or "you would choose him over your kind?" (ouch) not knowing the depth of their relationship. but yes. yes they would. and they would not have a single regret. they would deny the hell out of it but the proof is in their actions.

but you got a friend in me yes ma'am they do.

and it would be enough. it would. do they need a reminder that they were both born in mind of each other? that it was written since the beginning of time? that both of them have their own personal demons that instead of running away they'd take care of each other instead? that they're the most important person for each other and nothing can split them apart because they've grown to trust each other so much that their souls have intertwined? two sides of the same coin? other half of my soul, as the poets say???

"Your integrity makes me seem small

You paint dreamscapes on the wall

I talk shit with my friends

It's like I'm wasting your honor"

from arthur's pov he knows merlin is better than him. the way he interacts with people, his morals and values, his humbleness, just everything really. he pretends to be mad and upset about it but there's such deep admiration in it that he's actually self-aware.

dreamscape (google) definition: a landscape or scene with the strangeness or mystery characteristic of dreams

arthur finds merlin so strange!! so strange and mysterious.

the walls: i read this one fanfic on ao3 called "The Tragedy of Godhood" by Lilmia_Casand (read it!! it's so good. short, but beautiful) and the summary states:

"Merlin had gotten better at controlling his magic over the years, but it still spilled over, as if he were the source instead of someone calling upon it. It seeped into the castle walls, into the stone floors..."

This was the first thing I thought of (this quote stuck with me, it got bookmarked) and i couldn't have said it better. here's a play by play: arthur lives in a castle. the castle has walls. a lot of walls. he sees these walls everyday. the walls are familiar. the walls stay. the walls are forever. he can't imagine the castle without his walls.

walls = life/the future

magic is part of merlin's mystery because he's essentially hiding HIMSELF.

(does this make sense? no, prob not but bear with me)

there's an air about merlin where when you think about him, you realize you actually don't know much about him. he's a mystery. you know his jokes, you know where he's gonna be at whatever time of day (not the tavern, contrary to what arthur thinks), you know his favourite food. you don't know about his parents, you don't know why he saved arthur at his first feast, you don't know why he stays around.

arthur reflects on this and realizes it one day when merlin starts to become unavoidable in his mind. then he thinks, 'i really know nothing about this boy.' over time, merlin stays by his side, always, and arthur is so dependent on him that he starts worrying if he'll ever leave and if not him, camelot (he has abandonment issues 100%).

also see: S01 E10

hence, "you paint dreamscapes on the wall" is arthur saying, "you're the biggest mystery i've ever met and you make me wonder what every day will be like with you. will you be here tomorrow? and the day after that? until I'm married and have children who will favour you over me? will you be here to see them? to see me? i can't see it through the haze. i can't see you through the haze."

moving on—fuck that was so much longer than it needed to be—arthur and merlin talk shit about each other ALL THE TIME it's hilarious. and they know the one "bad" thing they talk about doesn't define their entire character because they hold each other in such high regard but... well...

(they definitely have regrets after)

"And you know that I'd swing with you for the fences

Sit with you in the trenches

Give you my wild, give you a child

Give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other

Family that I chose, now that I see your brother as my brother

Is it enough?"

they both go all out for each other but with a focus on merlin, he goes ALL. OUT. it's war with him. nothing is half-assed. he fights, and fights, and never takes it less than seriously. but he also is there at arthurs lowest moments. when they're losing and when arthur is feeling too much or has too much on his shoulders. he's there. through it all.

merlin will give arthur anything he asks. he's already given him the purpose of his life and has hidden his magic until arthur's dying day because he thought that's what arthur needed and thought he would never accept him as he is so he gave it up.

but he's also given arthur the best thing he has. a friend. understanding. communication without words. souls recognizing souls, so much that the silence may be quiet but words are being exchanged through that same silence.

also, speechless eye conversations that range near the line of sexual tens—

then in the last line, merlin is saying: your people are my people. your burdens are my burdens.

"But there's robbers to the east, clowns to the west

I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best

But the rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me"

this goes both ways!! the only difference is that arthur's is visible and merlin's is hidden. explanation: arthur no doubt has enemies, it's not a secret. being a king and a target from the magic community, that man is almost getting killed everyday. it is not a peaceful life. he knows that. but nonetheless, he has shown merlin his best before—merlin is literally the reason he reaches the best person he can be, like the growth omg—so he knows he can give it but he knows there's a lot of baggage (external and internal) that comes with being with him.

as for merlin, his enemies are a secret. and they're dangerous. arthur faces some of those same enemies but from the product of what they've created, not them personally. no, merlin goes head-to-head with the people who curse/try to kill arthur. and he gives arthur a version of his best (he still has to keep many many secrets) but even if it's limited it's still genuine. although his secrets, his late nights, and his pure exhaustion are a part of him as well. and you can't have sunshine without rain.

okay ,WOW, i'm wrung out. it feels incomplete so i might add additional things later on but for now, enjoy.

once again, thank you if you read this, thank you bbc merlin, and thank you taylor swift.

(notice how i didn't use the word love once)

[ascendingaeons]

A Dance with Bast

"Consciousness expresses itself through creation. This world we live in is the dance of the Creator. Dancers come and go in the twinkling of an eye but the dance lives on. On many an occasion when I am dancing, I have felt touched by something sacred. In those moments, I felt my spirit soar and become one with everything that exists. I become the stars and the moon. I become the lover and the beloved. I become the victor and the vanquished. I become the master and the slave. I become the singer and the song. I become the knower and the known. I keep on dancing and then, it is the eternal dance of creation. The Creator and the creation merge into one wholeness of joy. I keep on dancing — until there is only … the dance."

Michael Jackson "The Dance" - from inlay sleeve of Dangerous (1991)

"I would believe only in a god who could dance. And when I saw my devil I found him serious, thorough, profound, and solemn: it was the spirit of gravity - through him all things fall."

Friedrich Nietzsche - "Thus Spoke Zarathustra"

I was participating in a pathworking meditation during my Reiki I° class. I was instructed to focus on my Soul Star chakra (also known as the Vyapani or universal heart) and that I would manifest a sacred space there. To my surprise, the space that I found myself in was a sacred library that I dreamed of many years before.

As I walked around this space, I noticed Bast sitting in a plush, crimson velvet chair. There was a hearth behind Her radiating warmth from a cozy, crackling fire. I approached Bast and bowed with my hands outstretched, a posture of devotion known as henu. Bast smiled and after a period of pleasant silence, I asked Her if She wanted to dance with me. The Goddess rose from Her seat and walked towards me with calm, authoritative grace.

Bast was covered from head to toe in short, black fur. Her eyes were green, Her teeth radiant and sharp. She wore a flowing but simple, turquoise-colored dress in a modern style, accented with gold leaf. She wore gold bracelets on her wrists and ankles, gold armlets above the elbow in a serpentine design, and a stunning gold Wesekh collar adorned with jade, sapphires, blue amethysts, and emeralds. She had earrings of emerald and wore simple but elegant jade pumps on her feet. Her nails (more like claws) were refined but sharp. She was about my height if not an inch or so taller.

She took my hands in Hers and we began to waltz around this space. As we danced, it felt as though we had done so many, many times before. The Goddess spoke and I listened. She told me that I have come a long way and there is much yet that I must do. She told me to relax and loosen up a bit more. “Have fun and enjoy life! Do everything that you desire. That is what life is for.” Her face became brighter, soft, and encouraging, and with a joyous smile and twinkle in Her eye She told me the words that I will remember for the rest of my life, “Life can be beautiful if you let it.”

And with that, we danced on, smiling and free, as my awareness returned to my teacher’s living room. My head turned to the right and outside the tall windows, I could see the sun rising slowly into its zenith.

Life is not meant to be a breeze. Misfortune, mistakes, and loss are there to teach and shape us, if we are so inclined to listen. Beauty is certainly in the eye of the beholder and after that experience, which I chose to believe was authentic, I began to ask myself, “Why not try to see the beauty in life? Why not see the good?”

And so, I began to realize that such a mindset was a choice. I chose to see each moment not in a glass-half-full sort of way, but as an opportunity for creation. I began to cultivate openness, acceptance, gratitude, and ingenuity as a state of being. The more I embodied the beauty and goodness that I wanted to see in the world, the more I found that it was.

Dua Bast!

Image is credited to FelineFire.