A.K.A I write smut and angst for the most part, but I have been know to write fluff too // Multifandom but I write predominantly for One Piece // I do not take requests // Disabled/chronically ill so I don't update often // DO NOT repost my work!
I have been insanely busy this month and I am exhausted D; but it's looking like my schedule is finally clearing up so gonna try work on getting Celestial updated next <3
You could feel a familiar panic rising in your chest as you sat in the hospital waiting room. An old fear you hadn’t felt since you were sixteen when you realised you were forever tainted. One that sent you fleeing across the country, that held people at arm’s length. A dark stain that spread to anyone you touched and made you seek out the company of lesser demons because with them, at least, you could not corrupt what was already corrupted.
You had let Rosinante under your carefully constructed walls and he had suffered for it. Just as everyone who had ever tried had suffered. If you were even remotely religious, maybe you would have thanked the Lord that it hadn’t been worse. You didn’t want to think about how it could have been so, so much worse…
You looked up at the soft sound of your name. Rosi stood before you, his injured right hand neatly bandaged and held protectively against his chest, discharge papers crumpled in the other. You felt a pang of guilt and tried not to let it show on your face.
“We can go,” he said. There was no hint of pain in his words, just a deep weariness, like he wanted nothing more than to just lie down on the cold floor and sleep. They must have given him the good stuff.
You drove him back to the little house behind the church, your hands grasped so tightly around the steering wheel your knuckles blanched. Rosi had forbidden you from apologising any more.
“What kind of priest would I be if I didn’t forgive? Especially for something that wasn’t even your fault.”
But it was your fault.
Third degree burns. All because you had talked him into your hare-brained idea. All because he had seen the desperation in your face, heard it in your voice and folded. Because even after everything, he still held faith that your soul could be saved when you knew by now it was already far gone. And his brother… His poor brother’s body brought back and twisted into a costume for the same demon who killed him. It would torment him for as long as he lived. It would make him careless.
In the watery grey light of dawn, you ushered him to the bed, ignoring his protests. The very least you could do was take the couch this time.
“But the wards—“
“It can wait until later. Sleep. Before I damn my soul even more by punching out a priest.”
Rosinante obeyed, though only because he knew as well as you did that since the adrenaline of the night had worn off, he would have little choice in the matter. You helped him out of his shoes and into bed, and by the time you had pulled the covers up to his chin, he was out like a light.
You watched him until his breathing slowed and the furrow in his brow smoothed out in sleep. This man you had come to know as your only true friend in this world. The only one who saw the darkness in your soul and didn’t care that it might rub off on his. He looked like his brother. You could see it now in the line of his jaw and the arch of his nose, the long blond lashes that lay against his cheeks. Just the thought of a demon like Asmodeus taking him, twisting that calm, handsome face into something cruel and devastatingly beautiful… You couldn’t let anything else happen to him.
Without your wards protecting you, you could feel the slight tug of the contract bond. A sense of urgency low in your belly. While you still stood on hallowed ground, you could ignore it—barely the buzz of an insect in your ear. But if you focused hard enough, it swelled into a thrumming need to follow. Like the lure of some deep sea creature, a hypnotising light in the fathomless dark. It was as if your body knew instinctually where to find him.
And so you let it lead you into Hell.
You uttered a snort of laughter as you pulled up to the gates of the mansion. Of course he would choose the biggest, most expensive place he could find. The car had barely stopped moving when the gates opened of their own accord. There must have been a hidden camera somewhere. Or he could simply feel your presence. You could certainly feel his—a heady, pounding rhythm from deep in your very bones that was impossible to ignore.
You were like a puppet on a string, your body no longer your own as your foot lifted from the brake pedal and you rolled forward up the long drive. In the rear view mirror, the gates slid quietly shut behind you.
The house was silent, the windows dark. It had an Old Hollywood air to it—opulent but outdated. You let him draw you up the marble staircase, down a hall wallpapered in pale pink and gold, and through a set of white doors.
The bathroom was enormous—all white marble and gold accents under a dim, moody light. The bathtub itself was almost as large as a swimming pool, recessed into the center of the room. Asmodeus sat facing you with head tilted back and eyes closed, arms spread wide as he reclined against the edge of the pool. Droplets clung to his skin, rippling muscles beneath, and you felt a surge of arousal followed by immediate disgust with yourself. Though you hadn’t announced your presence, he seemed to notice the moment you stepped into the steamy room.
“Join me.”
Once more you found yourself unable to disobey. You disrobed slowly, taking the time to fold your clothes neatly and set them by the edge of the bath. You glanced at the demon across the pool as you leaned down. His eyes were still closed. You concealed the consecrated knife in your folded shirt and slowly slid in opposite him. It was deep enough that if you crouched, you were immersed to the chin.
Only then did he open his eyes. You weren’t sure you’d ever get used to those eyes. Piercing blue, they felt like they could see right through you. He grinned.
“To what do I owe this… pleasure?”
You sank a little lower in the water, aware of his gaze lingering on your chest beneath the surface. “I want to negotiate a new contract.”
He grinned. “Oh [Name], I don’t think you’re in any position to negotiate. You have nothing left to bargain with.”
“I still have my free will.”
You weren’t sure how much you even believed your own words, but you could tell by the quirk of his brow you had piqued his interest.
“If you don’t agree to my terms, I will make sure you will never feel the satisfaction of breaking my will. You will have to drag me kicking and screaming into Hell.”
“And your terms?”
“If you swear to never harm so much as a hair on Rosinante’s head again, I will give myself up to you. Willingly. Enthusiastically, even.”
His laugh was a cruel sound, echoing back on itself in the marbled space.
“You really think you can deny what is in your very blood? You’ve always desired something more than this mortal life. You’re hungry for it. I can see it in your gaze. I can hear your heartbeat quicken at my mere presence.”
He waded closer, leaned in until you could feel his cool breath on your face. You willed yourself to turn away but your muscles refused to obey you. You hated yourself for admitting it, but he was right.
“Why do you have this effect on me?” You whispered, tendrils of steam curling in the minimal space between you.
“Because I am the demon of Lust, my dear. I know all of your hidden desires, even those you bury deep and pretend don’t exist. I see them all, feel them all, and they call to me. We are bound, you and I, not just in blood, but in our desire.”
He reached beneath the water and took your hand, pressing it to his chest above his heart. It was beating just as quickly as yours.
You let out an involuntary gasp. His hand left yours but you could not pull away. He was warm and hard and smooth beneath your fingers. And to know you could have just as much of an effect as he had on you was intriguing to say the least. Could it really be so bad to be bound to this wonder of a man for all eternity?
You shook yourself out of your thoughts. Not a man. A demon. That beautiful face was a lie—a stolen mask twisted and warped into something that could hurt just as much as it could tempt.
Just as you began to pull back, he surged forward and captured your lips with his own, and in that moment, you knew you were too far gone to resist. He pulled you on top of him with ease, your legs straddling his waist and you whimpered as you felt his already hard length press against your stomach.
You returned the kiss enthusiastically, wrapping your arms around his neck. With one hand, you reached between your bodies and brushed your fingers over the tip of his cock. His answering groan sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.
If you could make a King of Hell make such a noise with just a touch, what else could you make him do?
Water cascaded from your naked form as he lifted you onto the edge of the bath. He looked up at you with pupils blown so wide they almost obscured the blue. You could convince yourself you could see hellfire in those black depths.
Without breaking eye contact, he slowly, deliberately parted your legs. In any other situation, you would have felt the urge to cover yourself, but for some reason you felt no shame in being bare before him. It was hard to breath in the steamy air, and even harder when he finally lowered his gaze to the junction of your thighs.
“I have waited a decade to taste you.” The words sent a shudder through you despite the suffocating heat of the room.
“Ten years is nothing to a demon,” you said, perhaps with not as much confidence as you had intended.
“Not when every moment we are apart is agony.”
He wasted no more time. Iron hands clamped down on your thighs, splaying you open like a feast before him, then his mouth was on you. That long, wicked tongue was good for more than just talk, it seemed.
You cried out, your voice far too loud in the tiled room. Your fingers wound in his damp, blond hair, pulling him closer, deeper, nails raking at his scalp in a way that made him growl against you. The vibrations were pure ecstasy. So you did it again.
This time his answering growl was accompanied by broad shoulders shoving their way beneath your thighs until your legs were practically wrapped around his head. You locked your ankles together at the base of his neck, ensnaring him so he would not stop those delicious movements of his tongue and lips. God, you didn’t want him to ever stop.
You had him right where you wanted him.
With cautious movements, you felt around behind your back until your fingers brushed the folded stack of clothes. Ever so slowly, you eased the knife from between the folds of your shirt and gripped the hilt with determination.
Before you could let the pleasure of his tongue give you reason to hesitate, you jerked the knife from its hiding place and made to plunge it into the side of Asmodeus’ neck. But with supernatural ease, his hand shot out and caught your wrist with the blade barely a millimetre from his jugular. He pulled back and it was then you noticed the hint of a forked tongue as he dragged it over his lips, glistening with the evidence of your body’s betrayal.
“Did you really think that would work, my dear?”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” you panted. Your hand was shaking in his grasp, the tip of the blade just barely brushing his skin as he swallowed. It sizzled at the contact, but he didn’t so much as flinch.
“And to think I was a little disappointed that you had given in so easily.” He grinned. “I shouldn’t have underestimated you.”
Your legs fell from his shoulders as he stood to his full height before you, water streaming from golden muscles, ghostly trails of steam rising from his skin. The whites of his eyes had now been entirely consumed by black. With unnatural strength, he twisted your arm until the pain caused you to drop the knife. It sank below the water and came to rest soundlessly on the tiled bottom of the pool.
You silently berated yourself for being so foolish as to think such a transparent trick would work on him. Perhaps the thrall he had on you was addling your brain. Perhaps you weren’t even really trying and just didn’t want to admit to yourself that you wanted him. It was undeniable now, with the closeness of your bodies in the suffocating air and the pounding of adrenaline in your veins. You wanted him more than you had wanted anything in your life.
His head tilted as he watched you closely then, slowly, he released your wrist. You cradled it close to your chest, hoping it was only bruised. By the look on his face, that was the least of your worries.
“So,” you said, voice cracking in the tense silence. “How about those terms?”
A humourless laugh. “You truly are shameless, aren’t you, little human?” He gripped your hair, leaning in close as if to kiss you again. But his lips found your ear instead, his fingers tightening in the damp strands.
“No deal,” he said, voice cold as ice. “If I have to drag you kicking and screaming into Hell, then so be it.”
He released you roughly, then turned and left the pool. He wrapped an enormous white towel around his waist and then left without a backwards glance. From the tight set of his shoulders, you knew it would be unwise to follow.
writing? oh, i’m definitely writing. in my head. during the most inconvenient times. like in the shower or when i’m about to fall asleep. actual typing? no, no, we don’t do that here.
I fucking hate AI so much, the fact that em dashes have become a "warning sign" that writing is AI is legit making me anxious about using them in my own writing. I'VE BEEN USING THEM SINCE BEFORE GEN AI WAS A THING FFS, IT APPEARS IN AI WRITING CAUSE IT LITERALLY LEARNS FROM REAL HUMAN WRITING
Well you can pry my em dash from my cold dead fingers -.-
"B-But what if it's wrong to be horny for it, and everyone thinks I'm weird for liking it?" It's fanfiction. We're all weird, go write it. You'll just find your fellow freaks.
Idk if this is an unpopular opinion, but I thought the manga ending of Attack on Titan was better before the extra pages were added 👀
Like, before they were added, it was still an incredibly sad ending, but there was still a glimmer of hope, which I think was refreshing for a series so full of hopelessness. The additional pages extinguished that glimmer. It made it seem like the cycle of human cruelty and violence would always repeat, that Eren's efforts to break the cycle were all in vain.
And I get it. The real world shows us that history is doomed to repeat, that nothing changes, than humanity never learns. But to me it just felt like it ruined the point of the whole series: that you can forge your own destiny, that you can fight for a better world.
It was just unnecessary imo.
Anyway, just something I've been thinking about for a while now. I would love to write a more in depth essay about it as some point, but who knows when my brain fog will allow that so instead you get this rambly Tumblr post.
i AM gonna start writing!! i just need to clean my desk, reorganize my 50 empty notebooks, play with my cats, stare out the window like a victorian poet, and then maybe spend two hours finding the perfect playlist. it’s called process.
