#threatening to leave the fandom every single time

[zouisexo]

.

[dumbseee]

oh shit.

pro hero!bakugo who has a crush on you.

pro hero!bakugo katsuki x idol!reader.

genre: fluff

__

- the first time bakugo agreed to do an interview was because todoroki and izuku were also there. the top three heroes were asked all sorts of questions before the journalist finally asked thee question. "so~ you guys are so private, we don’t really know much about you. so let’s get to know our top three heroes! first question, who is your celebrity crush?" she asked, a smirk on her lips as she looked at the three heroes in front of her. izuku blushed, fumbling with his answer, todoroki crossed his arms on his chest, saying that he had no time for that kind of stuff, and bakugo scoffed, crossing his legs on the small table in front of them. "celebrity crush? do you have other shitty questions or are we done?" he glared at the interviewer who nearly melted on the spot. izuku elbowed his friend and offered an awkward smile to the poor woman. "but aren’t you a big fan of y/n? i heard you sing her songs under the shower, one time." shoto chimed in, face blank. "what?! no! what are you saying ice hot?! i’ll fucking crush your face, come here!" bakugo jumped from his seat and had to be restrained by izuku and a few security guards, meanwhile shoto sat there, wondering what he did wrong this time.

- the interview went viral, with everyone making fun of the mighty dynamight and his little crush on you. he nearly sent shoto to the moon after seeing all those edits of you and him on social media or your fans calling him the president of the fandom. your fans are even shipping you together! and he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t like it. he actually made a fake twitter and tiktok account where he’d like and favourite every single edit/tweet about you. he’d be smiling and blushing like a high schooler in the dark of his room.

- he has a locked drawer in his room, where he keeps all your albums and merch. he’d literally set on fire whoever manage to open it and discover his little secret.

- he spent hours in front of his phone, the screen showing your dm page on instagram, he wanted to dm you so bad. make the first move and try to get close to you, but bakugo was a coward, as funny as it sounded, bakugo was very intimidated by you. he ended up throwing his phone away, he’d try again tomorrow.

- one day he got called for an incident involving a woman and someone who tried to break into her house. nothing major so bakugo went alone, imagine his shock when he saw that the victim was you and the man was your stalker who’s been following you and harassing you for months. he immediately saw red and grabbed the man, slammed him to the ground and threatened to shove a bomb down his ass if he moved. "are you okay?" when you saw dynamite arrive from your window, you immediately ran outside, since you felt safe with the hero around. you hugged yourself and nodded, looking down at the shaking man, but bakugo didn’t believe you. soon enough, police arrived to arrest the man and everyone left, leaving you alone with bakugo. "he’ll leave you alone now, i’ll make sure of it." he smiled gently, putting a hand on your shoulder you forced a smile but slowly lost it when you saw him getting ready to leave. you quickly grabbed his hand and looked at him with pleading eyes, the sight made his heart jump. "please, will you stay with me?" how could he say no?

- bakugo couldn’t get rid of the pink color decorating his cheeks. it was the first time he met his celebrity crush and bakugo wished it was different. he wished he came earlier so you wouldn’t even be aware that your stalker was trying to break into your home. you offered him some food and water but he declined everything, you were getting ready for bed when the incident happened so you were exhausted from practice and rehearsal. you also felt bad for keeping him with you when he was clearly busy or tired from patrolling. "i’m so sorry for bothering you, i know he won’t come back, but i’m still terrified." you played with your hand and felt tears burning your eyes. "don’t. you don’t have to be ashamed for feeling scared, but trust me when i say this, this bastard won’t ever come close to you again." he said it in such a low tone, you thought you imagined it. you nodded and hugged him, which surprised him to no end and also made him as red as a tomato. he didn’t know what to do with his hands so he simply put them around your waist, gently patting your back.

- you fell asleep with the light on, bakugo was sitting on the chair next to your bed and kept his eye on you. he stayed with you till the sun woke up. he noticed every detail of your face, the small freckles decorating your beautiful nose, your long and dark lashes, your full and soft lips and overall your beautiful face. you were, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman bakugo had ever seen in his life. while looking at you, he felt a weird sense of possessiveness and protection wash over him. he wanted to protect you and make sure no one would ever hurt you again.

- when you woke up, you saw a small note on your nightstand, "had to leave for work pretty girl, but don’t worry i’ll see you soon. here’s my number: xxx - xxx - xxx" you didn’t know why but you smiled at his note. of course, you immediately registered his number and sent him a lovely text, thanking him again for yesterday and inviting him for dinner some day. you also signed it "your celebrity crush (;" bakugo almost choke on his coffee when he read your text.

[lgbtlunaverse]

Fandom is so nice to Jiang Cheng's inferiority complex because in reality every single thing he gets accused of is something Wei Wuxian is better at than him.

Jiang Cheng killed Wei Wuxian? Nope. Didn't even get close. Wei Wuxian's own spirits tore him apart before jc could even get there. wwx:1 jc:0

Jiang Cheng tortures people? We get two and a half rumours and a mention from jin ling that jc has 'captured' demonic cultivators before, but who is also apparently confident that just letting wwx run off will kill the issue even though those earlier rumours said ~no one who sandu shengshou captured was ever seen again~

The word jiang cheng uses when he tries to talk big game about 'beating the truth' out of Wei Wuxian's is a word that carries the context of pestering someone to do their homework. Doesn't exactly strike fear into my heart.

Wei Wuxian? Excellent at torture. A prodigy. Did you fucking see what he did to Wen Chao? Dude didn't have fingers anymore because wei wuxian made him eat them. He ripped out his hair, burned his skin off, and then stalked him for several days just to prolong the pain. He forced Wang Lingjiao to bite Wen Chao's dick off and then made her shove a stool leg down her own throat! 10/10, no notes. Absolutely horrifying.

Meanwhile Jiang Cheng's idea of torture is getting a dog to bark at Wei Wuxian for a few seconds. Weak, unoriginal, I bet fairy was literally wagging her tail the whole time. 2-0

Jiang Cheng made the entire cultivation world believe Wei Wuxian was up to no good on the burial mounds and ultimately orchestrated his downfall? lol. lmao, even

It's a big thing in certain corners of the fandom to really zoom in one one particular phrase at the end of chapter 73, where after wwx and jc have their staged duel to make the world believe they hate each other jiang cheng tells everyone wwx has defected and become "a public enemy'' or "an enemy to the cultivation world" or whatever the translation you're familiar with decided upon.

(As an aside, something I really like about this line is that the last half of it is almost exactly the same, like verbatim, as what wwx told him to say. like, the chapter is really hammering home just how much jc is speaking from a script here. wwx tells jc to say "今后魏无羡无论做出什么事，都与云梦江氏无关." and jc says "今后无论此人有何动作，一概与云梦江氏无关" the only meaningful difference is that he says 'this person' instead of wwx's name)

I've seen it said that this bit, the use of 'enemy' was said without wei wuxian's approval, that jc deviated from the script just to hurt his ex-shixiong for leaving him. And that this is what caused all the other clans to turn against wei wuxian. Regardless of if this is what jc and wwx discussed, or if jc had malicious motivations for it (considering my conclusions above, you can guess where i fall) it doesn't really matter, because the novel tells us when the clans completely freak out and become convinced wei wuxian is out to get them (though of course they've been wringing their hands about it since the literal day wwx ran off with the wen, months before jiang cheng visited) very neatly in chapter 75!

It's when they find out about Wen Ning.

And how do they find out about Wen Ning?

Because Wei Wuxian took him on nighthunts! And they kicked ass!

...Wei Wuxian, my man, why are you on nighthunts??? Why are you showing off your incredibly cool sentient fierce corpse buddy, who is way better and stronger than all the other fierce corpses, in front of the whole cultivation world??

Whatever his motivations (extra money, maybe?? they were strapped for crash) I can only draw the conclusion wwx had already given up on appearing calm or non-threatening and didn't care if the clans thought he was a threat, because they'd believe whatever they wanted anyway. Which he seems to clearly be aware of the whole time.

Regardless, we know that this is what created the myth of the Yiling patriarch. It's literally when the title first shows up!

Even if you really believe jc was secretly plotting against wwx in chapter 73, he's clearly doing a shit job of it because nothing he said made anywhere near as big an impact as this. Flopped!

The other point people use to argue Jiang Cheng caused wei wuxian's downfall is Jin Guangyao's speech in Guanyin temple about how jiang cheng could have saved wei wuxian if only he stood by him. Setting aside that jin guangyao is trying to get into jiang cheng's head here, and isn't necessarily saying what he really believes (though it very well might be! who knows with a character like jgy. assuming he's always lying is just as misleading as assuming he's always saying the truth) the fact is, if you read the speech closely, what he's talking about is not the 'public enemy' line, he's talking about the bond between them. The fact that people wanted wei wuxian out of yunmeng jiang, because the two were too powerful together.

He's talking about that one time Jiang Cheng very publically kicked wei wuxian out of the sect!

Which, unbeknownst to Jin Guangyao, was in fact Wei Wuxian's idea the whole time.

final score: 3 for you wei wuxian, you go wei wuxian! And nothing for Jiang Cheng bye.

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | you’re almost a victim… (part 2)

♡ fandoms; House of Wax, Scream (kinda), Hannibal/Silence of the Lambs, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Bo Sinclair, Danny Johnson, Hannibal Lecter

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; mentions of violence and cannibalism, kidnapping, stalking, suggestive content

♡ notes; I’m kinda surprised this prompt won out for a part 2 but very happy lol, I had some fun ideas.

the whole gang is not here, just some kinda kinky guys again- I feel like this doesn’t work super well for every single slasher? only some of them are psychopaths AND perverts

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Bo Sinclair

> bo was having a rough day

> your friends had been putting up one hell of a fight, killing the first four was a huge pain in ass

> so by the time there’s only two of you left, he hasn’t even gotten a proper look at you

> it’s not until you come back to the gas station, wide eyed and begging for help that he finally notices you

> god you’re cute- you can be last

> he drops the nice guy act and gets you to the chair- rough as always and threatening you the whole way

> but then he notices it’s all a lot easier than usual today

> he glances up and can’t help but grin

> your cheeks are bright red and your chest heaving- you like being restrained

> “i’ll be good- promise—“ you mumble before he can be a smart ass

> he gags you anyways, but he praises you as you open your mouth for him to stuff the rag it in

> he can hear you whimper as he does and he’s just itching to leave so he can come back

> he leans over, one hand planted between your legs to steady himself

> he can hear your breathing catch as he simply kisses your forehead, snickering as he leaves

> you were really something

> a pretty, obedient little something that would last way longer than a day if you kept it up

Danny Johnson

> he’s worried you saw the flash of his camera through your window that morning

> he’s normally so careful, he can’t believe he slipped up like that- honestly he’s surprised you didn’t call the cops

> you must have been too groggy, or maybe it wasn’t as dark as he thought it was at the time. maybe you noticed but didn’t put two and two together

> he needs to kill you soon anyways. he’s been watching for a while, and he’s wasting time

> he settles back into his usual spot where he can see perfectly into your bedroom

> he sees you frown just a tad as you pick up the phone call from an “unknown number” - but you still pick up

> “Hi there, doll .”

> he’s called you more than once, this “ghost voice” that’s been terrorizing you- and god is it a nice voice

> a nice voice that says vile things. some of them just violent, some…well some things you like too much

> you can see you make an expression he doesn’t expect. you bite your lip, cheeks pink

> he’s seen that look before…not for Ghostface, of course, but for Danny

> you were easy enough to befriend, and it just gave him more opportunities to keep tabs on you

> like most people he charms, you clearly have a crush on him, and that little lip bite is about the same face you make when he flirts

> maybe he’s just seeing things

> you couldn’t be that perfect.if you were he would have to keep you around

> he continues on and on, observing you carefully

> and you just keep getting more and more flustered, even when he’s threatening to choke you stupid

> “you know you’re so cute when you blush like that,”

> what you say next comes just about as close to scaring him as you can get

> “Thank you, Danny.”

Hannibal Lecter

> you weren’t quite as close to victimhood as one might assume

> but he was a fast killer once he had a mark set- you had to impress him more than a bit to be considered and then ruled out

> you start as his patient

> you’re a meek thing, easy to read and fragile

> you’re practically asking to become an entree

> if you taste as good as you look, you’d be his best dish yet

> it’s not hard to get you alone outside of an appointment

> you’re delighted when he invites you to a dinner party- you’ve heard great things about his little get togethers

> and he even lets you help him get ready, setting the tables

> the conversation become macabre as you discuss some recent murders that police suspected were committed by a cannibal

> that he committed for the sake of the dinner party, naturally

> he corners you before you can realize it - he likes playing cat and mouse

> you giggle nervously and look up at him

> he’s got a hand on the wall above you, and he notices your eyes linger on his toned forearms

> many patients and victims have crushes on him, it’s not surprising or a deterrent

> though it surprised him the gristly conversation wasn’t bothering you

> “yknow, it must be nice to know you’re safe from that serial killer in the neighborhood. If he is a cannibal, he’s most likely to chose someone more sedentary.”

> you leave him there, as if you hadn’t said something so delightfully offputting to find a vase for the table

> maybe he could do some further studying….

[mintmatcha]

MONSTER FUCKING

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons

The night continues with Obsidian.

cw: cisfem reader, feminine nicknames, female receiving oral, OC x reader, monster fucking, a TINY BIT OF DUBCON, overstimulation

PART TWO OF TWO (Part one: here)

a/n: again, big thanks to @saetyrn9 and @tyga-lily <3

He doesn’t return until the fire is burnt low, nothing but embers. His figure is nothing but a silhouette against the hall light as he creeps, doing his best to move silently around the room. His dirty clothes are replaced by the sheerest of shirts and pants, thin enough that even in the low light you can see how his scales shimmer in hue, purple and green where the firelight touches. Every now and again he throws a glance towards you, tucked neatly on your side of the bed, and then sighs, low and forlorn. 

It feels wrong to watch him while he thinks you’re asleep. Even alone, he makes his movements so small, crouching to take up little space as he fiddles about, oiling his scales and the other mundane things he has to do before sleep. It hits you that he might be insecure about the space he takes up.

The world is not kind. It is tragedies and maladies, injustice and inhumanities. Tensions are always simmering under the surface, chaos always threatening to boil over. Horrible, awful things plague this world and not a single person is left untouched or unchanged.

Through all of that, Obsidian somehow remained gentle. That’s what you admire most of him- the softness he carries himself with. There’s a bitter edge that clings to you, a callus that won’t come off of your palms. He treats you well anyway, despite it all.

“You never got to ask your questions,” you say, voice only just louder than the last licks of fire.

Obi starts at the sound of your voice, then his shoulders soften. He drags himself to the edge of the bed, hands folded politely in front of him like a scolded child. He smells faintly of lemon and soap: soft, sour, and refreshing.

“Why are you still awake?” he whispers, affection honey sweet in his tone. He reaches to grab your ankle, then hesitates before dropping back to his side. “My curiosities can wait for another day.”

The night air is cool against your cheeks and the sheets are not thick enough. Obi, in all his emotional and physical warmth, is just out of reach. When you extend an arm for him, he doesn't meet you at first, hemming about like a child. It’s goofy, for such a grown man to seem so shy- you have to bite your lip to hold your smile back.  

Instead of waiting for him, you peel back the sheets and crawl to him. It’s impolite and unladylike, but it earns you a smile from him and an outstretched hand. This time, he doesn’t pull away when your fingers loop with his, instead closing tight.

“I’m sorry Kiri said all that.” 

“You don’t have to apologize for her behavior,” he says, eyes never leaving the spot he’s chosen at the end of the bed,  “I heard how you… scolded her.”

The innkeeper had threatened to kick you all out after the way you berated the poor girl, screaming in the hallway in just your nightgown, but the elf had deserved it. She’s barely older than a teenager in elf years, you remind yourself, but that isn’t an excuse for bad behavior.

Tomorrow, when the sun is up and emotions aren’t high, you’re sure the group will discuss it all, but for tonight, you want to tend to Obi’s wounds.

“Was I too harsh?” You trail a thumb across the back of his hand. Knees on the mattress, he’s still much taller than you, able to rest his chin on your head if he wanted. 

“Too harsh? No,” The hint of amusement you’ve come to love is back in his voice, “Too loud? Debatable.” 

Imitating you, he drags his thumb back and forth in comfort, the rounded nail grazing against your skin. Finally, he meets your eye, the green piercing even in the night. The feeling of want is thick, slowing every breath as if your ribs are stuffed with molasses, and all you can think is that you hope he feels this too-- hope he wants this too.“I appreciate you standing up for my honor.”

“Always,” you say. A heat drips into your core as you realize his claws are trimmed and rounded-- just for you.  “Anything for you.”

You rest a hand against his chest and wait in the silence, savoring the luxuriant feelings that fills your throat: want and need and desire and greed and contentment and bliss-- all a muddle you can’t swallow again, filling you, but also leaving you with a hunger that can’t be sated.

“You should rest,” he says as he slides his arms around you, grabbing handfuls of cloth. 

“Ask your questions first.”

Verdant eyes flicker down, marked by his chittering. It’s like a purr, you realize-- a sound of pure contentment. Feline is the way he moves, elegant and fluid.

“Does it really feel good-” His knuckle drags down your chest and hints over the apex of your breast, “When these are touched?”

He hesitates there, a breath away from you, wondering, hoping. The air crackles a bit wilder with magic for a moment- a response to his excitement.

“Obi,” You loop a finger under the strap of your nightgown and guide it off of your shoulder, pushing the neckline dangerously low. “Do you like my tits?”

“You should know that it’s very cheeky to answer my question with a question,” he leans forward and bumps his head against yours, nuzzling ever so slightly The ridges and tiny horns ruffle your hair and all you can do is giggle and squirm into it, bumping your noses together. His touch has wandered dangerously low, cupping under your ass and lifting you into him. 

Then, he sobers, voice lower than ever.

 “Yes.” He takes the satin edge between his fingers and delicately, carefully, lovingly moves the other strap down the other shoulder, guiding it until your breasts fall free. Obi swallows thickly, then runs his tongue across the upper ridge of his teeth as he takes in everything about you. “I like them very much.”

His nose is textured against your skin, grooved yet smooth against your clavicle. Each breath is released so slowly that it blooms with heat, crawling across your chest as he moves down, loving every inch above your breasts. The journey is marked with kisses and nips, the lightest touch of his teeth. The way he reveres the boring parts of you makes your heart flitter and, by the time he’s sucking a bruise into the fat of your tit, your body is trembling for him too.

“I didn’t realize they were so…” Teeth sink into your tit, testing the give. The other is cupped by his wide palm, lifting it into the side of his muzzle.  “Malleable.”

When he opens his jaw again, wider this time, it’s marked with the click and suck of wet. Strands of spit string together for a fleeting moment, following his panting tongue.

Oh, he’s no longer feline. He’s closer to a dog, feral and drooling for you.

The rough edge of his tongue dragging against your nipple rips a gasp from you, but it only serves as a siren’s call. His body presses into yours, folding your legs back and forcing you back into the down of the bed. The sheets crunch under you as you’re moved by the force of the way he indulges. You should scold him or warn him of the way you’ll bruise in the morning, but a heat consumes every aspect of you, robbing you of any thought. The scorch of his mouth, the delicious drip of spit trickling down your ribcage, the ambient heat that’s simply him- it all ignites that pulling, twist, blazing heat in your core, a fever you can’t sweat out.

Obi pulls away just enough to look at you through slitted eyes.

“My fawn,”  he purrs, “Now you are being too loud.”

His hand grips your side hard enough that even the trimmed edge aches.

“People are going to hear you,” he continues,  tongue dragging down the sweat touched valley between your breasts, “They’re going to know you’re being bedded by some beast." 

That makes your stomach flip, then flip again, tying your insides into a sickly knot. Your hands find the ridge of his horns on their own. Their length is surprisingly long for his age, more than enough for you to tug and stop his descent.  Obi glances up at you, giving you the reprieve you need. Both of you lay there, breathing in sync.

"Don’t say things like that," you say once you've caught yourself, "I don't like that. You're not…"

Lemon oil, mixed with the pressing of some sort of shrub nut- that's what he oils his scales with. It makes his skin so soft and makes the air always marked with him. 

"You're not some beast." You rub a thumb down the ridges of his horn, "You're my prince."

 The words feel so corny coming out of your mouth. You're no wordsmith, unlike him, but you can see the statement physically hit. At first, he just slightly draws back, then his eyes go wide before becoming intensely soft. Then, he curls in, tucked his chin and resting his forehead against your collarbone.

"Oh," he says, voice on the brink of laughter, "Oh, my fawn, my princess--"

He squeezes your hips again. "You're going to shatter my heart one day, aren't you?" 

Before you can respond, he's kissing you for real. It's different from anything else you've experienced with humans and elves; his mouth is different, firm lips unable to fully pucker. The feeling is strange, with too much teeth and pressure,but so, so, welcome.

Obi must enjoy it too; he shifts and writhes, finding his place between your awaiting thighs. You can feel how he grinds into the mattress, strokes long and slow and rough, searching for any sort of pressure. You want to touch him again-- no, need to. You need to see his cock for real this time, coax it out of his body for you to ride. 

Another tug on his horns pauses him. 

"Stop, just for a second," you say. He obeys, pulling back fully, and you untangle yourself from him. 

"Are you alright?"  Obi says, a tad dejected, "We can stop-"

You wriggle out of your slip and clumsily push it to the foot of the bed with your feet. A sliver of doubt wrangles its way into your thoughts; even in the dim, you're sure he can see your body and all its imperfections, the scars, the marks, the bits you simply don't like: does he know what to expect? Does he even know what humans look like naked? 

The room is cold without the fire going. You have to remind yourself who the man is on top of you. It’s not some stranger-- it’s Obi. Your Obsidian. A friend, a confidant, a brother in arms, and the kindest soul you’ve even met. It strikes you then that maybe you have feelings for him outside of all of those definitions, something closer to love than simple lust.

"I haven't shaved in a while, I'm sorry-" 

"You have the body of a nymph," Obi blurts out, voice high with surprise, "You're exquisite."

His pupils are fully round, engulfing almost all of the iris as he soaks in the sight of you. 

"Human's do not like this?" He leans down, head just below your belly button, examining when your body meets your cunt. His fingers run through your pubes, "But it's so…"

Mid-sentence he halts, mouth parted just enough that you can catch the jagged edge of his fangs. He swallows deep breaths, sucking more and more until his chest is puffed against yours. Strong, forceful hands loop under your knees and cram your legs apart. You squeal and kick, giddy in your embarrassment and barely able to contain your laughter.

"Oh, you smell so good," he exhales each word, only inches from your cunt. He’s pressing into you, almost folding you in half so he can creep into the bed with you. "That's your quim? That's what you've been hiding?"

He traces two fingers up the clef, admiring it even closer than ever. The rumble in his chest, the purring, is so grand that it shakes your thighs. Like this, strung up and spread apart, you feel so exposed, so vulnerable. You muster up even more embarrassment when fingers part your lips and his steamed breath tickles your most inner parts. 

“Don’t look so closely!” you scold, but he doesn’t listen.

"Humans get so wet." You try to close your knees on instinct, but the mass of his body stops you, "Is this usual? Do you always?"

"Only when-- a-aa-ah-"

You find out that he was not looking for an actual answer. Obi takes you by the hips and drags you down into his muzzle, wasting no item before dragging that damned tongue across the entirety of you. He's eager and unaimed, licking and sucking and drooling across every inch of you except where you want him. The crest of his brow digs into the puff of your mound, blocking you from reaching down and playing with your clit yourself. 

The want, the need-- it's dizzying. Words fail you every time you try to speak, your comprehensibility robbed by the hiccupped whines Obi is pulling from you. Teetering on this edge is deliciously painful, but you're already losing patience.

 Frustrated, you grind your hips down and Obi's nose bumps against your clit. The pressure makes your body sing, so you do it again and again, claiming your pleasure on your terms. A laugh rumbles through your skin as Obi chuckles and obliges, lapping at exactly where you need him too. 

Heat sears through you as you cum: hard. It's almost a surprise, boiling over when you least expect it. It’s a flex and release of your muscles, a quick, simple thing that gives you just enough release. It’s nothing life changing, but it’s better than what you get with most men.

You breathe and wait for Obi to move or comment, but he's still, waiting for you to pick up your pieces. 

"That was nice." You say after a bit, "Now, why don’t you come here and let me ride you?"

Whe he doesn’t respond, you sit up slightly, only to be caught. A hand presses down on your stomach and locks you in place against the mattress. Dark eyes glance up at you, narrowed. 

 "Stay still," he says, voice rougher than ever, "I can do better than simply 'nice.'"

Immediately, you regret teaching Obi where you liked to be licked. He abuses that knowledge, focusing on your poor, overstimulated clit until you're nothing but whimpers. Your brain cant think when he's touching you; all you can do is whine. Reaching and grasping for hair that isn't there, your nails run across his scales head and find no purchase.

Then, your own head is tapped by… something. You screw back and realize he's ran you into the fucking wall; you have to extend both hands to stop yourself from being crumpled even further. 

"Shit, shit, shit, shit--" This one's going to be big. You can feel it rolling in, coming like a wave.

Two thick fingers press inside you. If you weren't impossibly slick, the stretch would ache, but there's no friction left to resist the intrusion. He explores a bit, pumping and curling and-- there. That's all you need to tumble again, falling and falling and falling-

Until the drop hits. 

You're left boneless. There's no resistance in your body as he adjusts you again, throwing your knees over his shoulders-

"Obsidian, no," You drum your heels against his back,  "No, no, no, no, I can't take another--"

A deep, rolling growl fills the room as he squeezes tighter, locking you together as his long, firm tongue presses inside of you. You realize he’s speaking an unfamiliar tongue-- Draconic, most likely. It’s sultry tones and clicked vowels, rolling deep and slow into one long slurred sound. Maybe he’s scolding you, maybe it’s praise: you don’t care. He holds you like he owns you-- like he controls you, and you find that you like that.

“Please, please, please, just fuck me already-” You find yourself blabbering, “Need you, need it, just-- oh, Gods and Stars-- Please fuck me, please--” 

You clutch on to the mattress and hope the world stops spinning. “On me--- in me, just-- Gods, fucking cum already-”

“No,” Common slips from his mouth,  “Not yet.”

The night is a blur after that. There’s no possible way to count how many times you cum; they all roll into one in your mind, an unstable peak. He’s everywhere, he’s everything. You always imagined him as a patient lover, but you’re quickly proved wrong. He’s mean and demanding, drawing everything from you until the ache in between your ribs grows unbearable.  Slick runs from your thighs to your knees, ruining the cotton beneath you both. The unbearable sounds of wet fill the room, marked by your occasional protests.

You hate him, you think. Maybe you love him. You can’t tell when your brain is absolutely swimming in dopamine. 

“‘m gonna pass out,”  you whine, weakly batting a hand against his forehead. The dragonborn pulls away with a dot of a kiss, finally listening.

“Then do, fawn.” Obi’s chest and face shine with a mixture of your excitement and his spit, “Sleep. That doesn’t bother me.”

With that, he spreads you open again. You eventually do drift off, too overstimulated and absolutely fucked to even keep your eyes open. There has to be something to it. The taste? The smell? Dragonborns are more sensitive to pheromones, you think. Maybe he's high off of you?

No, it’s too focused to be solely for him; it must be for your pleasure. He must get some sort of sick fucking satisfaction from unraveling you down to your very core and then continuing. You feel unwound, a ball of yarn left to uncoil and flounder in the breeze

In the moments of twilight between sleeps, you manage to catch him moving, legs positioned around your rib cage as he whines, voice tight when he speaks. It’s mumbled nothings, ripping through his broken voice. Draconic seems to be paced so much slower than Common, each word rolling carefully slow off of his tongue.

Exhaustion sits so heavy that you can't keep your eyes focused.  You have to keep one eye closed to even get a glimpse of what he's-

Oh. 

Oh. 

Above you, inches away from your face, Obsidian Vyke fists his cock. Contrary to what he said, his body is not very similar to a humans. All of the important parts are there, of course, but the shape is much, much bigger, with a tapered end and ridges running down the bottom. It's an ashen purple, the same color as his skin under his scales, and his balls are a bit darker, hairless and slick with his precum. The head pulses every couple of strokes and you know he's dangerously close to cumming himself.

You want that. You’ve been begging for it this entire night and it’s there, inches from your face. That needs to be inside me, you think, but your poor pussy is twitching and raw from all the attention. 

You settle for the next best thing. 

With all the effort you can muster, you prop yourself up ever so slightly. You stick up your tongue and the pillow of his cock presses against it.  It only takes a couple of kitten licks for him to spill; he crumbles into a whine and your mouth is suddenly painted with thick, potent seed.

It’s… different from other spend you’ve had the displeasure of tasting. Less astringent, more… you’re not sure. When your ex husband used your mouth, you always winced at the taste, but now you close your mouth and suck. His cock doesn’t stop kicking, dribbling more than a man could ever dream of producing. It’s hot enough that you flinch with it touches the back of your throat, but you don’t stop swallowing, draining it down as fast as you can.

The taste was enjoyable, you realize. You liked that, as if you were a common whore. Before any sort of shame can set in, Obi scrambles away, cooing and stroking the side of your face with his usual warmth.

“Oh, sweet fawn, you didn’t have to,” he says, “Let me get you something to spit that into.” 

You shake your head and open your mouth again, tongue extended to show him it’s already gone. 

"Little minx." Obi speaks with a wild amount of warmth and you bathe in it, letting your eyes close again. "Beautiful, dirty thing.”

There’s no way you’re beautiful now, with your makeup smeared and your hair ruined, but you choose to believe him. The swipe of a tongue against your cheek, comforting, not erotic, elicits a giggle from you. Gods, it hurts to even laugh.

“You’re dripping in sweat. I’m going to steal a towel to clean you up with, alright?” Obi pauses, presumably waiting for your approval, before hurrying about. You can make out the slip of fabric being pulled up, the creak of floorboards, the-

Sleep overtakes you.

The sun is much, much higher than you’d like it to be when you awake. The town is in full force, boys screaming the news, merchants peddling their wares, but you can’t seem to find the energy to join them. Not when the bed is so warm and welcome.

Obi is gone. He’s always been an early riser, so that doesn’t bother you much. Besides, you aren’t sure you want him seeing you like this, knock-kneed and drained as you try to gather yourself together. Down there is unbearably slick still, even after all the time that's passed, and that fills you with a sick excitement. 

It’s not until after your bath that you feel remotely human again. The glitter and lust of last night begins to fade as you strap yourself into your clothes, but a relaxed giddiness still hangs on.

By the time you meander downstairs, the inn is busy serving lunch. The air is tinged with salt and spices-- the familiar kind you haven’t smelt in ages, let alone tasted. Familiar faces are crowded into one of the smaller booths, Obsidian’s comically large shoulders bumping against his two elf companion’s. Tensions have clearly calmed since last night. The elf is busy spooning bits of vegetables out of her stew and plopping them into the dragonborn’s.

“You must take my carrots. I know how you like them,” she demands, “And I’ll have your rabbit, since you don’t eat meat. Does that sound good to you, sorcerer?”

Obsidian is already obliging, cornering the bits he doesn’t want out of the bowl. “If that’s what you want.” 

"You'll take this bread too. I grabbed an extra for you."

"Oi, you didn't grab any extra for me."

"The Sorcerer probably weighs fifty times what you do, he needs more."

Obsidian pats his stomach with concern. "Fifty times?"

“She awakes!”  Tig, Kiri’s lover, croons, head in their hands as they notice you. They are just as lean and beautiful as Kiri is, but painted much, much fairer. “We feared you dead, Rogue!”

“Aye, both of you act as if I would leave her rotting,” Obi bemoans. Both elves turn to the poor man and coo, patting his shoulder comfortingly. Your speech clearly had some effect on the group and that deepens your giddy feeling.

“Did you bathe again?”  Kiri hands her bread over to the dragonborn as promised, “I thought you had done so last night.”

You glance over at your… lover? Friend? You aren’t sure. He watches back, brow quirked, waiting for you to lead this dance.

“Just taking advantage of the water,” You reply as evenly as you can, taking the empty seat. Your relationship news to be figured out before you make it public knowledge, especially since your last relationship ended with such…

The dragonborn slides a roll across the table with a crinkle of his eyes, sparing you a train of thought you’re not emotionally ready for. It steams as you rip into it and cram it into your mouth. Hunger suddenly rips through your body and you perk up, searching for the source of this stew.

“Did you sleep well?” Tig asks between mouthfuls. They aren’t as proper as Kiri; they spread their legs wide and take up as much space as they can, holding their utensils like a shovel. If they weren’t so ethereal and genderless, you’d think that they were a half elf.

“Hopefully I didn’t keep you up,” Obi says, offhandedly, “I’d hate to think I kept you awake.”

Oh, that rascal.  His nose scrunches as he tries not to laugh.

“You bothered me a bit,” you reply, equally placid, “But I don’t mind.”

“What a shame.” He takes a spoonful of the meal and chews it thoughtfully. Then, he pauses, pressing two fingers into the crook of his jaw. “I must have sleep strangely because I woke with this awful ache in my jaw-”

A swift kick to the shin silences him.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Precious Truths: Part 13

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you’ve been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month’s time.

A/N: hello! yes, finally, an update! thank you to all of you who were patiently waiting for this. tbh the Benophie announcement gave me a bit of a spark of motivation to finish this chapter! enjoy!

Series Masterlist

My dearest Y/N,

I am not sure what else to say other than I am sorry. I am sorry for making you feel as though you meant nothing to me. I must admit, due to my own self-induced heartbreak, I refused to read your letters previously. However, you will not find me doing that again. I have missed your friendship dearly. It is my own fault for doing this to us. I will never do that to you again, I promise.

Always feel free to write to me. You will receive a response from me, now and always.

Yours,

Benedict

You read the short letter over and over again. You're in a bit of disbelief, yet you're overjoyed. You kept your expectations low after sending that letter to Benedict. However, you're pleasantly surprised that not only has he written back, but he desires to renew your friendship once more.

You immediately go to your writing desk and begin to write a reply.

You spend some time writing everything down, how grateful you are for Ben, how you've been spending your days, as well as your moments of grief.

James' parents have provided good company to you. Ever since meeting you, that have been so kind and loving. They remind you of how your parents used to be prior to your mother's passing.

In your letter, your relay to Benedict how you've been trying to write poetry to help you process and cope James' passing, but nothing has come from these attempts.

Admittedly, Benedict was your muse for so long. After he left, James became your muse. Now he's gone. You don't want to think about Benedict potentially taking up the place as your muse again. A part of you feels as though that would be a betrayal to James, however, your muse was originally Benedict...

It's fine. You won't worry about it too much right now. You'll just take things day by day.

After you finish your letter, you fold and seal it. Calling upon a footman, you ask him to send it to Benedict and the young man leaves promptly.

__________________________

Dear Benedict,

I may be going stir-crazy here. Mama and papa have been very loving and supportive, however, I feel that, even in this large estate, I cannot get away.

I've been riding a lot more than usual now just to get out. I know, it is shocking to me as well since I was never fond of it. However, now I find myself wanting to ride every single day just to be out and about.

Maybe I should discuss with mama and papa if I can start accepting guests again. For I am not sure how much longer I can take this.

Anyway, I hope you are well. It has been some time since we last exchanged letters. I am sure you have been busy with the new exhibit coming up. I hope it is successful. Everyone will be able to see just how talented you are.

I am so proud of you and what you have achieved, Ben. Never forget that.

Yours,

Y/N

Benedict sighs, reading over your letter. He is visiting his family, taking break from working on his last painting for the exhibition.

"What ails you, brother?" Eloise asks as she sits beside him.

"Would it be improper if I were to visit Y/N soon?" he asks her with confliction written on his face.

"Why would it be improper? You two are friends again, yes?" Eloise asks confused.

He lets out a deep breath before explaining, "After the death of a spouse, it's customary to mourn them for a year before accepting guests and taking part is society again. It's only been sixth months."

Eloise scoffs, "Benedict, you know that I am the last person to tell you of what you should or should not do in terms of societal rules."

"Of course," he says with a roll of his eyes.

"What is it that you really want to ask me?"

Benedict remains silent, contemplating on how he should ask his sister.

The truth is, Benedict has felt whole again. Having you back in his life has brought so much happiness, familiarity, and comfort that he's been seeking for the past few years.

It's clear to him that his love for you will never seize. You will always remain a part of him and he will always hold you in a special place in his heart. However, if he takes this step to be close to you again, will it end in heartbreak once more? He doesn't want to think of such an outcome, but there's always a possibility. No. Nonsense. He can't think about that.

Benedict may love you, but you are first and foremost his best friend. Therefore, any feelings he has of you must be cast aside. Being your friend, in your company, speaking with you, being there for you, that is the priority. Benedict's feelings be damned. He will not make the same idiotic mistakes he made before. He's wiser and stronger now.

The relationship you two share is much more important, now that ever.

Benedict turns to Eloise and smiles, "I think I'll alright, Eloise," he stands with confidence.

His sister looks at him with uncertainty, "Are you sure? You're not going to do anything stupid again, are you?"

He shakes his head, "No. I promise, I am better. I will be better for Y/N."

"If you're sure," Eloise says before Benedict exits the sitting room.

______________________

The wind is blowing through your hair as you ride through the forest. It is midday and you have a lot of energy. James' horse, now yours, Bluebell, is fast and agile. She leaps over bushes and fallen tree trunks with ease.

You and Bluebell have gotten quite close these past few months. She's been able to grant you the freedom you've been aching for.

The first three months after James' passing were hard. Now six months later, you've finally accepted his death. It was unexpected and there was nothing you could do to help. You had loved him dearly and he accepted and understood you like very few have.

You are grateful for the short time you had with him, but now you'd like to slowly move on with your life.

You've been trying to get back into writing. Very few pieces have come out well. The rest thrown into the fireplace, burning to ash so you wouldn't have to see it again.

You've come to realize that the few works that have been kept, you've come up with while riding. Another reason why you have gone out a lot more. You're trying to find that spark again that you once had before James' passing.

You stop at a small creek flowing through the Montclair land. You dismount Bluebell and guide her to the water so she may quench her thirst and rest a bit. You sit by the creek, watching as the water flows by. You listen to the birds chirping, the trees swaying in the wind.

You think about how you've been feeling the past six months. How only in the late hours of the night is when you experienced the heart ache of James' passing, how you felt knowing you will no longer experience his freeing and doting love.

You pull out your journal from your satchel and begin to write:

Deep in the shadows where heartache grew

Mourning hearts match skies of grey

A love once bright as morning dew

Now drifted gone as night to day

The halls keep our memories

Our laughter and tears

Walking among those walls, memories sunken

deep within the seas

It's short yet conveys the feelings you want it too. You don't hate it, but it may need some work. So you keep it in your journal and stand. Some time has passed for Bluebell to catch a break. You mount her once more and head back to the estate in more of a trot rather than a flying gallop.

When you arrive back, you see Clarissa waiting for you.

"Something the matter?"

She gives you a small smile, "I know Jean Louis and myself have informed you of the mourning customs, however, it has been brought to our attention that sometimes one does not need twelve months to mourn the loss of her husband."

"Mother?" you ask her confused.

"I just know that you have always been more of a free spirited woman, which is why James was so drawn to you. I also know that you did love him dearly and I will not be upset that you shorten your mourning period. You wanted to be free from societal standards from the very beginning, therefore, we will allow you to start accepting guests back at this home. You are also free to go back to yours and James' home in London."

You're not sure why your mother-in-law is saying all of this, "I-Thank you, mama. I do appreciate all of that, however, I must admit I am confused why you are mentioning this."

"I received a letter from Mister Benedict Bridgerton. He was requesting to see you."

Your eyes widen in surprise, "I assure you, I didn't ask him to do that. I was planning on asking you myself."

Your mother-in-law chuckles, "Yes, well, it seems Mister Bridgerton beat you to it."

You sigh, "So it seems."

"Everyone mourns differently, cheri, we understand that you would also like to be in the company of others during this time. Mister Bridgerton is a close friend of yours, yes?"

You nod, "He is. I'll make sure we can be seen and-"

Clarissa chuckles, "You don't have to worry about those things here, cheri. I trust you. I will write back to Mister Bridgerton right now."

You curtsey, "Thank you, mama. As usual, your kindness is greatly appreciated."

The older woman sighs, walking up to you and cupping your face, "You never have to thank me for kindness. It is a mother's duty to listen and understand her children. Although you are not my blood, you are my daughter just the same."

Her words brings tears to your eyes. She reminds you so much of your own mother, it hurts a little. To know that your own mother can't be here with you during this time. You're sure she would have provided a lot of her wisdom and advice. Nonetheless, you are grateful to now call Madame Montclair as your own mother.

"Thank you, again."

"Of course," she kisses your cheek, "Best wash up before lunch, yes?"

"Right. Excuse me," you pick up your skirt and rush back into the house to have a quick bath.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Guildford and Jane are hiding out in an inn. Sexy times ensue.

These Days Forth

Fandom: My Lady Jane Pairing: Jane x Guildford Rating: E Word Count: 1769

Summary: Necessity compels Jane and Guildford to take refuge at an inn far from London (and Mary). Without Jane's crown and Guildford's illusory riches, they present themselves as no more than what they are: newlyweds on their honeymoon.

Of course, the moment Jane says they must go back, her impulsiveness threatens to effect her (and Guildford's with her) swift recapture by Mary's waiting grasp. She forces herself to hold off, to remember what she told Edward; returning unprepared would achieve nothing. Everyone she knows, and many people she doesn't, just risked life and limb to enable their freedom. That is an incredible gift. She must not flout the giving of it.

They pass a day and then a night out of doors. At first, the extreme unconstraint of their circumstances induces delirious happiness. They are alive! They are unobserved! Guildford has control of his form! Adding to their contentment are the long hours of golden sunshine and the absence of any other demands on their time that leaves them free to make lazy, luxuriating love without dreading that it will be the last time.

Yes, it's very good for a day and a night. But then it rains. They aren't completely inept in the wild, but neither of them is used to going without shelter for an extended period. Guildford brags that he knows how to hunt, but soon after explains that it was stag-hunting on horseback, and he was a child, and the stag was felled by a flintlock rifle. They do not have one of those. With her study of plants, Jane feels superior for a while, but the truth is her expertise is mainly medicinal. She possesses less knowledge of what they can eat for sustenance. After all, she had a home to return to after a romp through the woods or along the river. There was always a hot supper waiting, and she was not the one who prepared it.

They admit to one another that they are hampered by their noble birth and agree to find an inn where they can sleep, eat, and wash. Jane can still smell the bonfire smoke on their hair and clothes. Guildford doesn't complain about it, but she will erase the reminder of that recent memory if she can.

The next problem is that they don't have any money. They never really have, but they've always had their families to find ways of dealing with that, and then, of course, Jane was named Queen of England and Ireland, which sucked for several obvious reasons, but did come with a free house and life-sustaining amenities. Que sera.

For a single moment, they watch the sun glinting off their wedding bands.

"Not a chance," Jane says.

"They'd have to cut my finger off to get it," Guildford declares. "And then, they'd better kill me, because I'd still come after it."

His vehemence costs them an hour of travel time. Jane finds his devotion to her deeply attractive, and the moment he sees as much in her eyes, they're tugging one another's clothes off.

When they finally reach an inn, they're careful to be noticably useful. Guildford gentles a difficult horse outside the stables, and then Jane recommends a headache cure to a half-drunk patron that encourages him to stay and keep drinking. The establishment's proprietress assesses them, impressed, and after Jane mentions she and Guildford are a married couple who won't cause any trouble, they're offered a room.

"Newlyweds," Guildford puts in, an impish gleam in his eye.

Jane blushes at the knowing chuckle this elicits. It seems an unnecessary thing to mention, and now they're sure to be teased each time they show their faces, to have every creak of the floorboards or rattle of the shutters attributed to them: the boarders who do nothing but fuck the minute they're out of sight. She tries to figure out Guildford's plan as she climbs the stairs. Why would he say it?

It's the look on his face when they close the door to their room that explains it to her; there's no hint of suspicion. He appears comfortable here. She deduces that he said it simply because he wanted to—that he wanted to share their news, proud to announce himself as her husband. So far, this marriage hasn't been for them. They had no part in organizing it, took no joy in their vows or false consummation, and encountered immediate pitfalls and deceptions that would never have been part of their lives if not for the union. In a way, this is their honeymoon. It's certainly the first time they've been able to participate in their marriage on their own terms.

"Are you very in love with me?" Jane asks teasingly.

Guildford looks surprised, but smiles in eager satisfaction as she approaches him.

"Very," he says.

Not wanting to dirty the bed with the grime of their travels, they strip each other standing, then sink to the floor. The transit of the inn's past guests has worn the boards smooth. She and Guildford stretch out, become entangled in one another, and Jane experiences another sort of happiness. It's different from the moments of relief and fast-flaring desire at the palace, which always felt stolen, and different from their first day on the run, that irresponsible joy of two people unburdened, completely, from the lives they were living and the roles they played. This happiness feels like peace.

And it feels like planed oak, and her tired legs, and the fingertips Guildford licked before fondling between her thighs. Her back bows off the floor, but his touch goes on and on. She's never seen him so patient.

When she mounts him, he makes all the sounds she loves, so she leaves his mouth uncovered and takes him slowly. I, Jane, she thinks to the rhythm of her swaying hips. She sits up, astride him, and closes her eyes, face tilted towards the ceiling in her pleasure. I, Jane, I, Jane, take thee, Guildford, thee, Guildford, to be my wedded husband. His fingers comb lightly through the ends of her hair that brush across her back. To have, to have, and to hold, hold, hold. She takes him more shallowly, then deep once more, clenching so he groans. From this day forth. They promised, then, that it would last forever. She moves on his lap like that's still the goal.

Later, they sit on the floor and run wet cloths over one another's bodies to remove the scents of sweat, sex, and, at last, smoke. The smoke from the small fire they lit to heat the water smells quite different to what rose from the blaze intended to kill Guildford. They've left this cheerfully crackling thing burning low, though the night is warm. Guildford sweeps Jane's hair aside before washing her neck. His lips trail back and forth across her clean skin. She's lulled close to unconsciousness before he speaks.

"I think we could have done this."

Drowsy, Jane doesn't understand.

"Done what?"

"Lived like this," Guildford explains. "Simple work. Just a room to ourselves, but it's enough, don't you find?"

"You say that now," she warns. "We haven't had a chance to properly irritate one another yet since we arrived. I'm sure we'll both be wishing for palatial acres before long."

"No," he murmurs, pressing his face to her neck. "I want to be near you."

"You're exhausted," she rationalizes.

"No," he says again, but he's dropped the cloth and is now resting his head on her shoulder, arms wrapped around her from behind.

"Do you just like saying 'no' to me?"

"No," Guildford mumbles.

Jane turns slightly, jostling him from her shoulder. He gazes at her sleepily.

"We'd better go to bed." With great reluctance on both sides, they rise, and she realizes, "We've never shared a bed before. Not all night, I mean. You had better not kick. I had to share with Katherine when we were small, and she kicked like the devil."

Spying Guildford's affronted expression, Jane decides she'll provoke him while he's tired more often. There's a softness to his scowl that she finds rather charming, and his hair is mussed from leaning on her.

"I didn't kick you in my sleep when I was a horse, did I?"

"No," Jane says, smiling as she climbs into bed.

"There. Then why would I do it as a man?" He settles in beside her, spreading his arms until she's nestled against his chest. "Better come close."

"Can't kick me if I'm close," she murmurs.

"That's right, love."

—

They stay at the inn—Guildford making himself useful in the stables (where they can't believe how good he is with horses) and Jane providing medical recommendations and treatments (mostly for the aftereffects of heavy drinking)—for as long as they can. When they're alone, they sit and think and hold each other, and make plans to rejoin the world.

Though they fled far enough from London that the turmoil there isn't felt here right away, eventually, soldiers come to the inn on Mary's errand. Jane is downstairs when they arrive. Guildford, who must have seen them approaching, comes in from the stables. They force themselves not to run, but to listen. The soldiers claim to be here seeking the usurper, Jane Grey. The proprietress laughs in their faces. Queen Jane? In this inn? She thinks she would have noticed.

Oh, would you? Jane thinks archly. The majority of her subjects have never even seen her face, and therefore could not be expected to recognize her without a crown on her head. Still, her heart is beating overquick as she glances at her husband.

Thankfully, the proprietress's thorough amusement at the idea is enough to send the soldiers on their way. There are so many places Jane could still be hiding. Mary must be frantic, Jane thinks, to spare any members of her army for such a task. This could be good or bad: either Mary's suppressed the revolt so quickly that she feels confident dividing her forces, or it's going so incredibly poorly that she's desperate to execute Jane in a show of insane fury and intimidation. It's fairly difficult to tell from inside the four walls of their rented chamber.

That very night, Jane and Guildford accept that they'd better go. There are people out there who want them dead, but also people who they want to know they're still alive. Siblings and allies and friends and, ugh, fine, parents. It's a realization they can no longer postpone: ready or not, it's time to go back.

Some time later, they'll realize something else—that it may have been during those happy days that the child Jane's carrying was conceived. Perhaps that first night, on the smooth wood floor. When their fingers laced together, and Jane stroked Guildford's wedding ring.

[wolfofcelestia]

I’ve noticed some criticism from players who played the game less then a week.

So basically complaints are :

The relationship pace is inconsistent

The mc is cringe and their dialogue choices are awful

Focuses more on fan services

Doesn’t have a good story plot

Imo I don’t get story plot complaint because we haven’t even began yet with the crazy stuff we basically in the “get to know them phase “

I feel like these really bad takes are only coming from people who don't know what otome games are. LADS has had huge exposure lately that anyone and everyone has taken a peek into the game and, if they aren't the target audience, they're gonna be loud about how this game isn't catering to them

But I feel like a big chunk of these people were drawn in by Sylus. They saw him, made their horrible takes about him, and started saying the entire game is bad due to them not understanding a single thing about Sylus's character or the game itself

>the relationship pace is inconsistent

This is just a newbie take not understanding the separation between the main story and "your" version of the boys in the cafe. Sylus's intro in the cafe was a little abrupt, I can say that, but aside from that, you'll start to see how they change when you raise their affinity levels. Of course, the people who shit on the game won't bother to play long enough to find out what the game really is about

So really, their opinions hold absolutely no weight or value here

>the MC is cringe

Honestly MC was one of the reasons why this game gave me a good first impression. It was when she threatened to leave Zayne on the road because he doubted her motorcycle driving skills. If people can't appreciate MC, they don't deserve to be in the fandom. Yeah I said it, I'm gatekeeping this game 😤

>doesn't have a good plot

This is definitely a sign of someone who tried the game out for a day or two, got stuck, then decided to yell about how shitty they think it is. The main story is time locked so it would take you about two weeks to read. But even then, the main story doesn't contain all of the story. I'm guessing people who complain about the story not being good never read any of the anecdotes or myth stories. Hell, even any of the cards

>focuses on fan service

I'm guessing that most of what they know about the game is from the fandom itself. Yes, we have a lot of thirsty fans here and we focus on what we want to do to them but... Honestly that's every fandom. And this is an otome that caters to the female gaze. If they actually learned about why we like the boys and why we thirst over them, they'll find full essays, analyses, and heartfelt love letters dedicated to the boys

But all they'll want to focus on is the boys in towels or something and complain about the game being too sexualized

Like. So we're gonna ignore all the games that cater to the male gaze huh? The moment a male character shows a bit of skin or does something suggestive, suddenly it's too sexualized? We're not in church here. God forbid women would want sexual fantasies with their romance fantasies too

If all we got was fanservice on pretty models with absolutely no personality, no lore, and no reason for us to be attached to them, this game would not be the huge success that it is today

If they don't appreciate media that's catered to the female gaze, there's literally a whole world full of other media out there for them to consume

Literally, just ignore and block all these bad takes. They're making themselves look like idiots for complaining about something they know nothing about. They'll step into a puddle and say "the ocean is shit" because they just want something to complain about

Especially when something is catered specifically to women

And especially when it's gaining huge success

[anarchy-and-piglins]

you want c!techno take asks so can i ask for your insight in the take that c!techno was the shitty one in c!bedrock bros because he... i'm not entirely sure what the argument is tbh just the way some people bend over backwards to make c!tommy leaving him alone in a crowd of enemies seem not like a shitty move

I feel like the insistence some people have that you should take a 'side' in the bedrockbros relationship is part of this weirdly prevalent trend now in some fandoms - and especially in dsmp - that every single relationship that goes bad has to have a 'victim' and an 'abuser'.

(Sometimes not in those specific terms, though I've certainly seen enough people call c!Techno abusive towards c!Tommy. But sometimes people just call it like, a good guy and a bad guy. Like they need to put the blame somewhere, and it's usually not with their own guy because their blorbo is perfect (part of a second, also very prevalent trend in fandom these days, where people seem incapable of viewing their favourite character as having any flaws, and thus they jump through hoops to excuse everything they do as perfect or flawless. Very common for a specific flavour of c!Tommy enjoyer indeed.))

The time between the failed Butcher Army execution and Doomsday was literally a low point for c!Techno, he himself talks about this afterward with the Syndicate and stuff. Emotionally and mentally this man was Going Through It (tm). So I don't doubt there are some aspects of the whole bedrockbros post-exile relationship he should have done differently. Though that hardly makes him a bad person, it just means he's imperfect and doing his best and also traumatized and trying to do what he felt was right. I'm very biased in siding with Techno because he's my fav but also because I just actually agree that he's right a lot of the time, kekw. And he genuinely did his best to offer Tommy shelter and make him feel safe while also not pushing any boundaries (and also Tommy straight up refusing to share a bunch of shit. Which is understandable from Tommy's side in context, but since Techno is not a mind reader, I really don't like how some inniters act as if Techno was supposed to act upon information he literally didn't have). While also meanwhile sticking to his morals and trying to ensure the continued safety of himself and his closest friend.

Like, at the end of the day, the bedrockbros relationship post-exile fell apart because it was a relationship of convenience and their goals and wants didn't end up compatible. And that's fine, honestly.

The part where Tommy's behaviour becomes somewhat shitty to me is at the Green Festival itself. Him deciding to switch sides and rejoin L'Manburg is not even the shitty part. It's the sort of thing that, especially in context of who c!Tommy is as a person and what makes him tick, makes sense, and it's the right thing to do for him, even if Techno feels hurt by it (which, see what I mean that characters can do things that hurt others or are maybe less than ideal, but that doesn't make them terrible people?)

The parts of Tommy's behaviour that I find shitty are:

1) Tommy stealing Techno's axe. Like, okay, I've posted about this before, but it will never stop bugging me that Techno gave Tommy the axe of peace specifically as a temporary thing and he wanted it back (the axe was important to Techno and he spent a lot of time on it) and then when Tommy decided to fuck Techno over by switching sides in the middle of a high tension situation (which, again, I don't blame Tommy for switching sides necessarily but doing it in the middle of an encounter with enemy forces threatening Techno was a little dickish of him), Techno asked for it back in a very calm, non-angry manner and Tommy's response was basically "lol, no". Like ??? That's just straight up theft, I don't care how much you like Tommy, that's shitty. That's a shitty thing to do! Even if it did end up giving us the peerpressureduo 'ranboo gifting techno an axe' arc that was peak

2) Tommy not really caring about what happens to Techno after switching sides. This is kinda tied into the thing I said above, about Tommy really picking the most terrible timing to betray Techno. But his general lack of care for Techno's wellbeing there - especially after Techno just promised to fight an angry mob for him - where Tommy does not at least try to dissuade them from killing Techno, or bothers to express any concern that Techno can make it out alive, also bugs me. Like, I know Tommy had a lot on his mind but him not seeming to care much if Techno is ganged up on and murdered, right after taking one of Techno's weapons AND after basically getting all his armour and shelter and potions and food from Techno, just feels like a major dick move.

I don't know what specifically the inniters are saying Techno did wrong at the Green Festival so if you know, feel free to enlighten me and I'll reply (though I'm assuming a lot of it is bollocks anyway. It's mainly some variant of 'Techno was mean to Tommy by not completely forsaking his own moral compass and agreeing with everything Tommy did ever, and also for having emotions :(')

[gildedmuse]

Fandom rookie here. Could you please walk me through your Zoro/Law and Zoro/Ace HCs? Love your humor btw!

Ahhh! A little fandom greenhorn! So cute!

You have asked the wrong person the wrong question, newbie.

ZoLaw:

Zoro is from the East, and while he isn't use to Winter Island Cold, he naturally runs hot. Law is from the North and while he HATES being stuck on Summer Islands on hot days, he naturally runs cool. They balance each other beautifully when they share a bed.

Up in the North Blue, it's considered weak to admit that you're cold. Weaknesses gets people killed in the North Blue, so having someone imply you need an extra blanket is a direct insult to a person's ability to keep themselves and their loved ones alive. So obviously Law would never need the extra heat.... But he MAY find himself scooting closer to Zoro-ya on the chillier nights.

The handle of a katana isn't the only thing Zoro can talk around.

...

(Cock. He can talk around a mouth full of cock. And Law LOVES it. Its the only time he can stand one of the Strawhats yapping on).

Look, Law is scientifically minded and likes to believe he is very rational (that's open to debate). He's seen Zoro-ya in the sea and knows he doesn't have a devil's fruit. But sometimes it feels like he does. SPECIFICALLY, one that somehow manages to undo every single one of Law's plans. Because the problem certainly isn't in Law! His plans are complex and perfect. But anytime he comes up for one about how to, say, ask Zoro-ya out it always somehow manages to go terribly wrong. It MUST be a devil's fruit ability.

The first time Zoro actually properly asks Torao out, he first bows to and addresses Kikoku. Since it's imperative he has the curse blades permission to touch his master (especially with all the touching Zoro has planned).

Law doesn't get jealous. That's petty and below him

Law has personally threatened at least three shichibukai and one very (also highly annoying) horny yonko. Not because he was jealous, they just need to step off and stop looking at HIS Zoro-ya that way.

If you ask the boys when they started dating, you get VASTLY different answers. Law would argue that while he'd of course taken notices of the other Supernova back on Saboady, the boy then disappeared for two years and besides Law had a lot of plans that he needed to focus on and execute perfectly. They didn't really see each other again until after Punk Hazard and of course Law was very distracted until after Doflamingo..... Then the horrors they saw on Zou, though, admitedly he may have found himself distracted by Zoro-ya once or twice even at the time.... You know, he would say it was Wano. It was Wano when he realized what an idiot the other boy was, and how he absolutely needed Law on the ground watching after him or he would do something amazingly stupid like... Like listening to Law's plan for instance! When Zoro-ya endangering his life was CLEARLY not what Law intended! Yes, that is when Law decided this boy simply couldn't be considered safe unless Law is there to watch after him..... Also, it's sometimes nice when Zoro-ya looks after him as well.... SOMETIMES.

Zoro would say "Did you see Torao cut that island in half?" And that is all he has to say on the subject of when they started dating.

Law has noticed that Zoro-ya doesn't seem to pay much attention to what he wears, just picks up what is nearest and easiest and throws it on. On an unrelated note, Law has been "accidentally" making sure to strip down right by their bed, and leaving his shirts right there. His shirts with his jolly roger.

Nico Robin had to use not just her ability but her most Teacherly voice in order to separate Luffy and Law when Zoro shows up with the Heart Jolly Roger on his shirt. Law's smirking about it (while Zoro remained utterly confused through the entire fight) didn't help.

Zoro is super weak to people playing with his ear. This goes double when it's Torao and his stupid, sexy hands. He already wants to squirm whenever he watches Torao do that stupid switch-switch thing, but once Torao starts to sit closer and, even while reading his fingers seem to find their way to Zoro's earrings..... Twirl twirl twirl, TUG. Its enough to break Zoro's brain.

Historically, Northern denizens tended to have shorter and much more dangerous lifes compared to the relatively safe and stable East Blue, leading to them having a much different view of things like romance and marriage. That's part of why tattoos are so popular among North Blue denizens. However short your inevitably short life is, a tattoo is permanent. You can't change your mind or take it back. It's a way of wearing your loyalty.

Right behind his ear, the same side as his piercings, Zoro has a small black heart tattoo. He got it on their way up to Wano.

Usopp still doesn't understand how Zoro got lost on a submarine. He didn't see him for a whole four days! What's so funny, Robin.....

I actually have a number of HCs for these two that basically boil down to "Each Island should have its own culture, and by extension, each Blue should have its own culture the way each state has its own culture but the USA also has its own general culture." This can range from things like what I mentioned above, about North Blue having historically shorter lives due to the harsher environment or being more technologically advanced. But I also had smaller things like Law kissing Zoro-ya on the nose, since up North that was how you showed affection to family or younger friends and acquaintances. I also went the entire opposite direction of "smaller" and invented an entirely Shinto derived religion that's customs and kami differed based on the Blue.

I even came up with particular weather that happen almost strictly up North (Ice Storms which are incredibly deadly at sea and Black Mist, a yet unexplained phenomena that seems to choke the life out of any one who gets caught outside) and then wrote up an entire "Old North" mythology that explains the two phenomena and why they often follow each other even though one happens strictly on land and the other typically at sea. I pretty much full on created a whole religion and mythology and wrote individual stories just so Law could have a whole culture that belonged to HIS blue. The myth in question involved a human falling for a siren, and just like actual myths I created multiple retellings and versions where the characterization changed depending on the message the storyteller was trying to express. But in most every version the Siren, Isa, had green hair (because of course the North associates green hair with fertility; oh that's another thing, I created a whole sex profession hierarchy for the North Blue with the one common feature among different types of sex workers being they typically dyed their hair green, like that was a way to physically depict that you were fertile and later that you were, you know, open to being fertilized) and regardless of how they are depicted they end up turning into the shards of an Ice Storm either because they accidentally take human captain's life, do so and then regret their hunger, or are told they have killed them and in turn kill themselves. Law was told the latter version as a child and so always felt bad for Isa, who didn't know they were eating the captain's life force but the crew could have just told him and he would have left and instead because he is "different" they think it's better if he simply destroys himself. It's a character Law can both identify with but also see aspects of Zoro in; both his physical appearance which I'm sure to Law he just pictures Zoro now, but also in his loyalty and honor which aren't as important values up North which instead values survival and strength.

As you can see if I presented an accurate list of my HCs for these two, it would be insane and make no Earthly sense. I just really enjoy world building, especially when that world building leads to two hot sword boys pining after one another.

Oh, did I mention the whole "green hair = sex worker" association and just how personally All Hearts Law takes that when applied to his Zoro-ya?

Yeah.....

ZoBurn FistRo PortZoro

ZoAce:

Upon meeting him during Alabaster, every single non Luffy Strawhat was - at least a little -totally into Ace. He just seemed so cool (and also hot.) He's like a sexy Luffy and the whole crew wanted some.

Zoro wanted it the most, bitches

[itsjaywalkers]

babe i miss ur rants like crazy so if u have any rant that needs to be indulged this is me indulging u <3333

this actually made me so soft.. i didn't know there was someone who enjoyed my rants so much.. i always feel kinda annoying.. i'm giving u the biggest forehead kiss in the world nonnie YOU'RE THE BEST

this being said . well

lately i've been thinking a lot about this band au i don't know if i'll ever write or if it'll just stay in my head, bc when i first started reading fanfiction i was OBSESSED with band aus and even tho i'm not that into them anymore . they make me feel very nostalgic and happy so i was like u know what . i should come up with my own. AND THAT'S WHAT I DID!!

anyways it's a dual pov, james and lily's!! they used to date, and since james is the lead singer in a very popular band, they were the it couple back then, everyone was fucking obsessed with them, said they were Perfect, peak romance, they wanted what they had etc etc. lily even sang with him sometimes when the band went on tour, bc she has a beautiful voice and all the fans kept pushing for her to join the band and sing all the ballads with james etc

but then . all of a sudden . she disappeared . not literally, you know, she just fucking ran away, without telling a single soul. she didn't even leave a letter to james, or maybe remus, who was one of her best friends. james was devastated, the band was devastated, the whole world was devastated. they went on hiatus for a lil before coming back with a very different vibe and since then . well . no one talks about lily evans . reporters try to bring her up every now and again bc they're nosy fuckers but james goes all stiff and his replies become stilted (even if still perfectly professional)

flashforward to . when the story actually starts . a new band has just debuted and it's rising to fame concernigly quick and james remus sirius and peter are going Crazy bc they feel a bit threatened and also oh would u look at that?? if it isn't sirius' estranged brother in the flesh!! playing the drums for this stupid band who's trying to compete with them!!

and if that wasn't enough !! lily finally returns to their lives............... she's also making a debut but as a soloist.............. and she's very Different from the lily they remember................... her songs are loud and aggressive and filled with resentment and very obviously about james and their relationship and james' friends. she's mean and bold and witty and everyone is Wondering if there was more to her disappearance than what they thought

it'll be jegulus and bartylily <3 and one of the reasons why idk if i'll ever write it it's bc one of the reasons why lily left is that she got pregnant and she didn't want it so she aborted and . we all know how this fandom gets about lily and motherhood lmao

anyways one of the scenes that's been plaguing my mind is this one that happens after lily and barty have started sleeping together and spending more and more time in each other's presence!! they're in barty's flat and barty wakes up at some point in the middle of the night just to discover he's alone in bed. so he wakes up and finds lily sitting at the kitchen table, notebook open, pen in hand and humming under her breath. he hugs her from behind and sees she's writing something new and they talk a lil, bicker some and tease even more, and then barty tells her she should write a song about him and stop dissing that stupid ex bf of hers bc it's getting old. lily laughs and asks him if he wants a cheesy love song and barty cackles and shakes his head and says that he'd rather have one of her dissing songs, bc they're fun and likes it when she gets all mean. besides, the press wouldn't believe her if she wrote something nice or sweet about him bc barty is always getting into scandal after scandal

lily does end up writing a song about barty, dissing him (affectionately except ppl don't know that) and when she first performs it live, she does so while just wearing one of barty's shirts and barty laughs the whole time while sporting the biggest heart eyes known to mankind

[winns-stuff]

LO RANT:

Because why not? I just don’t understand the way that fans think, on one hand we can’t associate or even compare Lore Olympus to the myths because they’ll say “well it’s her retelling she doesn’t have to do things exactly alike” but on the other hand when you’re talking about the story by itself they’ll then try to counter whatever argument against Lore Olympus by saying “this is what they did in the myths!! why are you guys mad at greek mythology??” so which one is it because it’s giving me a headache. I get so tired of seeing the exact same argument from fans it’s so redundant and I mean that in the nicest way possible, I’m sure a lot of you are great people but the things y’all say and do for this comic is insane.

Rachel is adding yet another sex scene and people are rightfully angry. We’re in the climax where the world is basically in an apocalyptic state and the gods are all in danger of having no mortals to worship them and give them any purpose and it’s all because of Persephone, no one is thinking “oh yeah this is the perfect time for intimacy” and if you wanted to give fan service to those who are craving it you should’ve did it in a more calmer setting?? No one is threatening Rachel and telling her that she needs to add these ridiculously high stakes to her comic which prevents her from smoothly writing NSFW of the main couple, she’s literally doing this herself which is one of the reasons why it gets so annoying whenever fans get mad at people for being upset or disappointed. She’s doing this to herself, am I saying harass the woman or cyber bully her? No but that’s not what a lot of these people are doing, in every single webtoon especially one as big as Lore Olympus you’re going to have people who view your content differently or disagree with the way you’ve written things. I’m not trying to encourage the idea of changing your entire story to bend to those people but a large majority of your fandom are starting to have the exact same complaints and it’s clear that your plots are not being fleshed out at all, these people are just asking (no, begging really) for a cohesive story not a masterpiece.

Which brings me to my next point, all of the criticisms and explanations many critics have been sharing are entirely valid. You cannot put a sex scene as a replacement to storytelling, it just never works since it adds virtually nothing to what’s happening. Especially right now when, like I said before, Rachel is starting to spiral the plot into chaos (I’m not being insulting by saying this it’s literally chaos it seems like all of the characters are in trouble) and introducing or welcoming back a lot of intriguing plot stories and characters that many people are excited to see. To make an odd and unnecessary shift to romance in the middle of absolute destruction is crazy, especially when none of it is earned. I’ve said this in my later rants but I’ll say it again because it’s true, the romance between Hades and Persephone has no stakes and it never will it seems since Rachel doesn’t even allow stuff like that to happen. Nothing about their romance keeps you straddled on for the ride or leaves you at the edge of your seat which is why so many people are bored with their dynamic if there even is one to begin with. Slow burns and other romances are all about the payoff that’s what everyone’s here to see, after chapters on chapters of wondering if their love will brave the dangers around them and between them we finally get our question solved with appropriate intimacy.

Lore Olympus as a whole rarely wants to develop actual relationships in real time, it only skips to “the good bits” while completely ignoring the fact that the entire bonding experience between your ships and your fans rely heavily on us actually witnessing their chemistry/bond and being shown why they should be together, not being told by forces outside of the relationship.

All in all the potential sex scene is just terrible timing on Rachel’s part and it should’ve been done while literally nothing was happening to avoid all of the backlash that it’s getting now.

[kyojurismo]

Could i request Akaza with a soft baker lover who's really nice and few people take advantage and they usually give akaza gifts and love pda or just cling to him whenever he comes back If it is not too much as

Being a Writer is tough as you need to make long fic and stuff so remember to take breaks and eat, drink and sleep properly! = D

▸ ANSWERING. hello !!! thank you so so so much for requesting something for akaza <3 i’m sorry it took some time to answer but here we are, i hope you’ll enjoy it

▸ FANDOM. kimetsu no yaiba

▸ CHARACTERS. akaza (upper rank three) x gn!reader

▸ RATING. sfw

▸ WARNINGS. soft akaza, it’s ur choice if it’s a modern setting or not hehe, general fluff i think, not proofread

akaza comes visiting as often as possible

you usually offer him pastries and don’t let him pay for them

he tries to convince you that he should pay like any other customer, but you shake your head every time “no, i love making pastries for you. they’re a gift!”

due to your kindness, he often notices how people take advantage of that. it angers him because ppl exchange that for stupidity

that’s why he often follows these kind of people out and kinda threatens them. if he’s in your shop they keep their head low, but if he’s not there they’re at it again ):

you love holding his hand the whole time he’s with you behind the counter

and he loves watching you work, i mean he’s head over hills for you

your smile, your gentle voice, your care whenever you’re wrapping the products

“the pastries are so tasty!” and akaza turns towards the customer, “i bet, it’s because they’re filled with love.”

you feel your cheeks heating up at his comment, your heart probably exited your chest and then came back to its place multiple times

you hug him a lot

due to his constant presence people started thinking that he’s working there too

“can i have two of these, please?” and he’s like “oh, sorry. i don’t work here.”

you basically bake things for him most of the time, he’s spoiled

don’t get me wrong, he’s happy about it but akaza doesn’t want you to overwork yourself

akaza accompanies you to work every single day !!!!

▸ BEFORE LEAVING. reblog and comments are super appreciated. akaza my beloved !!!!!!!!!!

[across-violet-skies]

happy birthday @somer-writes!!!!! I uhhhh. I ummmm. I did something to Twilight. here it is >:3

preview under the cut!!

“You can call it poisoned or cursed, either way, it’s been a fight for him.”

The voice was faint, but Link would recognize it anywhere. That low, rumbly, almost fatherly tone was one he had grown deeply familiar with. He furrowed his brows, unable to force his eyes open. “Fight… did everyone… did we win?” Win what? What happened?

A new voice, higher in both pitch and intensity. “You don’t need to worry about us! You hear me!?”

Link cracked his eyes open. “...Worry…” He huffed, tilting his head to the side. His eyes slipped shut once more. It was so hard to keep them open. “There is much to worry about… when there is danger in our kingdom…” He grimaced. “...when it threatens our friends…”

Around him, people shifted. No one spoke a word.

“That’s how my path started at the dawn of my journey.” Link’s lips twisted into a frown, brow creasing. “And it’s always been for them. For every one of them…” He reached out with a shaky hand, raising it toward the sky. No– raising it toward the ceiling. Colin had raised his hand to the sky… where was Colin? “It’s been that way for every single step…”

Link clenched his hand into a fist, resigned. “Rusl, I do feel a sadness… sometimes, I wish I didn’t know what that meant.” He understood his fate. Link had gone through his entire adventure and came out the other side, but this… whatever had happened, it was too much for him.

A different voice, younger and louder, wafted through his ears. Not a word reached him, though– Link was already too far gone. These voices… three of them, if he was counting correctly, were… different. The first one, he knew– Rusl. He would never mistake that voice. The others, however… younger. Not Colin– too loud. Not Talo, either– too old. But… who else in the village could it be?

A terrifying thought struck Link. What if those voices were Colin and Talo? Had they grown up without him? How long had he been gone? Did he ever even-

He coughed, rough and heavy. His arm went up on instinct, sending pain shooting down his nerves. His fingers tingled numbly.

“-ilight-!”

“-blood-!”

“-help-!”

Link’s chest burned. It burned, a raging fire that dragged and scraped along his lungs, tracing the outline of his wound.

What caused this?

His breath sputtered. “...Colin…” Link gasped, voice catching in his throat. “...Colin… I…”

He coughed. Link coughed and coughed, chest squeezing like a too-tight hug (like Rusl; Rusl always gave the tightest hugs-) as all the air was forced out of him. He wheezed, lungs straining. Everything felt wrong, as if the very blood in his veins had been rejected. He was going to die, he knew it. He just wanted to see Colin, where was Colin?

“Link!” Rusl’s strong voice dragged his consciousness back out into the open. “You need to breathe. We can’t help you if you don’t breathe.”

Link inhaled sharply, gulping down air as greedily as he could. The aching in his chest weakened, leaving room for the pain from his wound to rear its ugly head.

“Ngh…” Link grimaced, whimpering. He ground his teeth together, eyebrows nestled close in a deep frown. It hurt, a deep-seated ache that tore at him from within. What caused this?

Rusl’s calm, soothing voice kept him steady. “Just keep breathing, Link. We’re doing everything we can.”

-> read the rest on ao3!!!

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

Moar haterism. 🔪 #25

#25 Common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing:

Thank you Branwen for indulging me. I have the perfect one for this because it's stupid and dumb and it drives me absolutely crazy every time someone brings it up. Am I actually going to bat for the show, for once? Yes I am!

If you visit the HotD subreddit at all, you'll see a thread every couple weeks or so bitching about the so-called "plothole" that was created when Criston was not punished for killing Joffrey Lonmouth, and every single time it will have hundreds of people in the comments going on about how it made so much more sense in the book because it was a tourney, and how it's so unrealistic that Viserys/Rhaenyra/Corlys/Laenor/Rhaenys did not demand Criston's head for killing poor Joffrey, the sworn sword of Laenor (sworn sword is always emphasized, like this is a big fucking deal). So let's break this down, and figure out who exactly is putting their neck out for the Knight of Kisses.

First of all, House Lonmouth are some second or third tier Stormlands nobodies (I looked up House Lonmouth before I called them nobodies and look at their coat of arms. lmao.)

Deeply unserious. Anyway. The most notable Lonmouths are notable for being friends of Laenor and Rhaegar. So yeah. This is a coattail rider house, not big movers and shakers. I'm sure mom and dad Lonmouth are not happy about their son getting his face bashed in at a betrothal ceremony, but it was a kingsguard who did the bashing, and they're just a nobody house from the Stormlands. The queen sends a purse for funeral expenses along with the body and says sorry for your loss. Are they going to travel to King's Landing and press the issue, pick a fight with the queen, and accuse a Kingsguard of treachery? A kingsguard who has after all taken a holy oath to defend the king, and who claims your son was threatening the princess? Probably not. You have a good cry and try to put it behind you.

That leaves Rhaenyra, Laenor, Viserys, and Corlys. So let's examine them, one by one.

Rhaenyra feels bad for Laenor. He's really upset, and she's shocked that Cole did such a thing, but she is also kind of nervous. Cole has a secret about her that could get both her and Cole killed, and if Cole is facing execution for murder, he might just let that secret out. After all, if there's going to be an investigation, Cole will be questioned. She's also eyeing the queen a bit suspiciously. And why is Alicent all of a sudden sticking her neck out for Cole? Could he have told her? It's a bit suspicious, she's keeping her mouth shut.

Laenor? He's heartbroken! He loved Joffrey! They were about to have the perfect setup, and then Cole ruined it. But... his dad is glaring at him with his, "you better not fuck this up face," and he's always been a bit spineless when it comes to standing up to old pops. And he knows Joffrey must have said something to Cole to set him off, which means Cole probably knows. If he accuses Cole, will dad back him up? He doesn't have any leverage on his own, he's just the heir, not the actual Lord of the Tides.

And Corlys? Corlys wants to slip Cole a purse as a thankyou. He was so worried that his son was going to flaunt his lover at court and cause a scandal. He was already having nightmares about the whispering people would do, especially if Rhaenyra failed to produce an heir. He doesn't know why Cole killed Joffrey, but he can hazard a guess. He's glad Alicent wants to sweep the whole thing under the rug. Rhaenys feels bad for her son, but she agrees with Corlys. And really, it was foolish to bring Joffrey to this event. What was Laenor thinking?

And finally, Viserys? Alicent told him she wanted to spare Cole, and clearly there's something more to the story, but he's not really all that interested in digging into it. He feels sorry for the family, so when Alicent asks if she can send them a purse for the funeral expenses, he agrees. He's heard rumors about Laenor's preferences, and and he certainly doesn't want this to be a big deal. Is Laenor going to make it a big deal? Cole was Rhaenyra's sworn sword too. Fishy. In fact, better move up the wedding so that this incident doesn't blow up into something bigger to derail the match. He needs this match to go through. Also, we all know that cops can get away with killing people for much less reason, and that's in our world with a supposedly impartial third party justice system. Westeros doesn't have that. There's no DA, no state to bring charges, no independent trial by jury. If you want justice, you have to seek it and no one is seeking justice for poor Joffrey.

And for people who say that this needed to be spelled out? What do you want, exactly, a scene in which Corlys looks into the camera and goes, "sure glad my kid's lover is dead and not around to fuel the gossip." Lord. Just use context clues. Alicent covered it up and no one followed up because Joffrey was a nobody from the Stormlands, Laenor was gay, and Cole knew all their secrets. It was in everyone's interest to sweep it under the rug, and so they did. You can prefer the book version, but this is not a plothole, it's not something that needs to be explained, it's FINE.

[darcydarlingdabbles]

Blood Like Honey

Radioapple Week — Blood — Hazbin Hotel

Explicit: blood (duh), biting. Angel blood has healing properties.

//Inspired by the gorgeous art this lovely RadioApple week! First time I’ve participated in anything like this and holy shit this fandom is talented~ Song: Closer by Nine Inch Nails//

4.4k

Alastor slipped away from the frivolity in the freshly rebuilt lobby of Hazbin Hotel. Usually he enjoyed some revelry and clinking glasses after a hard fought victory—but as the night went on, he felt his ever-present grin start to wane. 

Because the radio demon had not won this day. 

Alastor’s eternal damnation had flashed before his eyes at the end of an angelic blade, and it seemed his humiliation would not soon be forgotten. The blessed wound seared through his chest even now, and when he lifted his hand from the breast of his crimson coat, and saw blood welled on his palm. 

The demon retreated back into the shadows before his predicament was noticed. 

With a flick of his wrist, Alastor attempted to vanish, to escape to the solitude of his radio tower. But his powers faltered, the darkness sputtering and depositing him unceremoniously on the second floor.

Alastor cursed his weakness with a hiss through his clenched teeth. 

His long fingers curled in the collar of his coat, summoning his sickly green magic to try to seal the wound once again as he leaned heavily against the wall that still smelled of fresh paint and plaster. 

His grin remained fixed, that twisted rictus gaze betraying nothing of the searing agony threatening to claim him. The Radio Demon would not be felled so easily, not by some sanctimonious prick and his holy tantrum. 

Alastor’s claws dug into the wall, charred magic sizzling from his fingertips as he fought to remain upright.

A ragged cough ripped through him, flecks of ruby speckling his lips as he tried to focus his gaze and his shadows upward. The radio tower was so achingly close, and yet leagues away with his powers in their current state. 

Alastor dragged himself to his feet. Forcing one foot step after another, an agonizing trek unmitigated by every shallow breath that felt like a new slice out of his torso. 

He stumbled, leaving a streaked, bloody handprint in his wake as he slid down to the plush carpet. 

The clack of approaching heels drew Alastor’s unfocused gaze—he had no desire for any company in this state, but hissed when he saw the shadow of his least favorite hotel occupant down the hallway. Lumbering into view with a casual, arrogant swagger came none other than Lucifer himself. 

The fallen angel paused mid-step, red eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the bloody trail. “Well, well...it seems someone had a bit too much ‘fun’ at the celebration.” His lips curved in an amused, like the sanguine stains were nothing more than spilled wine on the floor. 

Alastor forced himself to his feet, covering the bloody handprint he’d left moments ago. 

“Or perhaps the infamous Alastor can’t hold his liquor?” The petite blonde arched a single eyebrow and gave a smirk that the radio demon would love to rip right off of his face. 

“It’s remarkable how such a petite parcel can contain an astonishing degree of irritation.” Despite his predicament, Alastor couldn’t resist a taunting rasp. “I would greatly prefer the pleasurable company of the younger Morningstar.” Implication laced his tongue behind his manic smile, unable to help but needle a little more at Lucifer’s ego. Even if the jab was punctuated with a wheezing chuckle.

 Maybe he should be more concerned with self-preservation at the moment, but the searing pain was robbing him of his senses. 

The flair in the archangel’s eyes might just be one of the final joys Alastor had. 

“Don’t let the packaging fool you, pal.” The shorter man sneered, reaching for the lapels of Alastor’s coat—before slamming him against the wall with enough force to rattle the demon’s bones. “I pack quite a punch, enough to pick up your slack with Adam, remember?”

A pained shriek of static tore from Alastor’s throat, causing the lights in the hallway to flicker and the blonde to wrench his hands back. 

“What the fuck…?” Lucifer’s smug triumph morphed into stunned disbelief when he saw that his palms were slicked with blood. “What in Dad’s name happened to you?”

“I do believe you have just ruined my coat.” 

Realization flickered in the angel’s eyes as he stared at the scarlet stain marring Alastor’s chest and continuing to spread. 

“Fuck your coat, you’ve got an angel blade wound! You do realize that won’t heal, ever, right?!” 

“I was coming to that conclusion, yes.” 

Lucifer looked up at the demon that was now slouching down the wall with the effort to stay upright, seeing the hand print now smudge into the wallpaper behind him. 

 The angel seized the soaked edges of Alastor’s coat, wrenching the material apart and sending buttons flying down the hallway. The scarlet button down he wore was drenched in his dark blood, and Lucifer was about to rip that fabric away too—

When a long-nailed hands wrapped around his wrists. “It’s hardly decent to disrobe me without so much as a dinner invitation.” He teased with dark amusement despite his failing strength. 

“You are so about to take the cake in the ‘pride before the fall’ department, buddy.” Lucifer snapped. “You want me to heal it, I need to see it—unless you wanna bleed out in Charlie’s hallway.” 

“Funny.” Alastor’s smirk was a ghost of his typical smile. “I do suppose pride and exhibitionism go hand-in-hand, Your Majesty.”

With a growl of pure annoyance, Lucifer snapped his fingers, whisking them away from the hall in a swirl of divine light. 

When the demon could see again, he knew they were in the lavish yet garish confines of Lucifer’s sweet. 

The fallen angel released his grip, and Alastor crumpled gracelessly onto the plush sofa with a grunt that sounded like microphone feedback. Lucifer ignored him, pacing around his cluttered room to snatch up supplies. A basin of clean water materialized on the sofa’s side table, followed by a stack of crispe white towels. 

Alastor had just managed to sit up enough to watch the whirlwind of activity through narrowed eyes, his permanent smile and ominous slash across his paling face. 

“What exactly are you doing?” The radio demon asked, suspicion swirling in his eyes and his tone. “And, for that matter, why?”

Lucifer came to a stop in front of Alastor’s splayed legs, rolling up his sleeves to show the black skin of his hands went all the way up the elbows. He squared his shoulders “Are there radio dials where your brains should be—I said I was healing you.”

Alastor watched him with increasingly heavy eyelids. “The latter question remains; why? We’ve made no secret of of our disdain for each other—what’s your ulterior motive in not letting me die?” 

He spoke the words with his characteristic smoothness, belying the desperation and the toll the injury was taking on him. Each syllable strained him and the filter crackled at random. 

Lucifer rolled his eyes heavenward, as if entreating a higher power for patience. 

“Is it so damn hard for a demon to believe an angel just wants to help?”

Alastor answered with a derisive snort. 

“Fine…” Lucifer ran a hand through his blonde hair, mussing it, as he averted his gaze and folded his arms. “I have a reason. But it’s nothing to do with you, so can we get on with this?”

The radio demon continued with his pointed stare. He’d rather die than owe his skin to anyone else. 

Lucifer’s jaw tightened, visibly steeling himself, before something raw escaped in his expression. “Look, it’s because of Charlie.”

Alastor’s expression stayed painted on. 

“I’m still working my way into her good graces again, and for some reason, she likes having you around.”

Alastor blinked slowly, the rapid rise and fall of his chest the only indication of his surprise. Not surprise that the petite blonde was trying to win Charlie over—but that he, a demonic overlord, mattered enough to either of them to want to keep around. Sure, he’d tried to make himself invaluable to the princess, but clearly he’d failed during the fight to protect the Hotel. 

For an eternity, a heavy silence reigned between them, broken only by the faint crackle of radio static. 

Well, even if the angel was wrong, at least the demon would be alive to find out. 

Then, almost imperceptibly, Alastor inclined his head in a minute nod of acceptance. Lucifer’s shoulders sagged in naked relief.

“Thank fuck.” The angel sighed, rather dramatically. “Now, can we get on with saving your wretched life before I’m accused of ending it?”

Despite the fragility of his condition, Alastor’s permanent grin stretched taut with grim amusement. “Well...” A chuckle reverberated from somewhere deep within the demon. “When you put it like that...” With a magnanimous sweep of his hand that cost him precious agony, he acquiesced. “By all means.”

Lucifer wasted no more time, though his motions were just slightly more gentle than ripping Alastor’s clothes open in the hallway. 

He began to peel away the blood-soaked dress shirt and pushed his suspenders aside, exposing the gash across his chest. 

The radio demon stiffened, a low, warning growl reverberating from somewhere in his ribcage—but it was more instinct than true protest. Or, he couldn’t move to stop the angel’s movements.

As more of Alastor’s torso was revealed, the slashes and lacerations of various vintages across his ashen skin. 

Lucifer’s brow furrowed at the sight, but he made no comment. 

His dark fingers were already ghosting over the fresh, jagged wound with reverence, probing the ragged edges. Angelic poison pulsed and seethed. 

Alastor watched every move warily, radio feedback bristling like a impotent force field around him. 

When Lucifer’s palm pressed flat against his gory wound, the demon went rigid. Something…sparked between them. Their eyes met for a moment, energy igniting and crackling between them like a live wire. 

Before the demon could process, Lucifer was moving again. 

Alastor thought the magnetic feeling was fleeting and gone—until Lucifer swung a leg over his lap to straddle him. The demon recoiled with a sharp hiss of breath, every muscle gone taught. 

“What the devil do you suppose you’re doing?” he snarled through gritted teeth. “…darling?”

The angel shot him a look at the provocation, but his pulled focus pulled right back to the gaping wound in the demon’s chest

“Bracing you, because this is about to hurt, tough guy.” Lucifer said, calm as could be, reaching behind Alastor to grab the back of the sofa. “And I suggest you grab something—this is gonna fucking hurt.” 

Alastor’s arms felt too damn heavy to grab much of anything at the moment, and his dignity was suffering with the archangel so intimately in his space. He took the arm of the sofa, leaving his clawed hand resting limply on the cushion beside Lucifer’s thigh.

The angel’s warning became abundantly clear as his other hand pressed to the slash through Alastor’s flesh. 

A searing white light blazed and pain etched into every fiber of Alastor’s being. His teeth clenched so hard they might shatter—anything to keep the scream from clawing its way up his throat as holy fire lanced through his veins. The demon’s hands clenched on instinct, claws sinking into the nearest thing he could grab. 

Piercing the arm of the plush sofa, and Lucifer’s leg. 

Alastor’s bright red nails sank through fabric and flesh with sickening ease. 

The fallen angel hissed but refused to relent. His palms pressed harder, searing ever brighter, as he cauterized the divine wound with his own sacred power. 

Alastor’s awareness contracted into one agonizing pinprick of existence. The room around him roiled, chaotic colors and sounds and torturous sensations. 

Lucifer’s eyes blazed like a solar flare in the haze. 

Alastor’s claws shredded deeper, molten gold seeping from the ragged punctures and between his black fingers. 

But it was nothing, less than nothing compared to the scouring inside him. 

He was nothing but the agony. 

And, if there was one thing that Alastor knew well, it was agony and suffering. He’d seen hundreds, thousands of souls experiencing loss of life and limb—often at his own hand. 

Blood shed between two people was an excruciatingly intimate experience.

Alastor could feel it, even now, with this angel holding him together as he tore apart. Things he’d never felt. His was never the blood being spilled. Until now. 

“Nope, you’re not dying on me now deer boy!” Lucifer’s voice called him from the white void the demon had fallen into, the brilliance of the light blinding him with more torment. 

Someone yanked on Alastor’s antlers, tugging his head forward. Until he could smell apple sweet breath. Could taste it on his tongue. 

Then, as abruptly as it started, the ritual crescendo and fell. 

The brilliance subsided, leaving pulsating shadows dancing across the demon’s vision. He became aware that he was panting for every scrap of air, his chest spasming under the pressure of Lucifer’s hand. 

When Alastor’s eyes finally became useful, he found himself locked into the gaze of the devil himself. 

And Lucifer was looking at him with an expression he had never seen before. 

“There, easy big guy.” The angel’s grip moved from Alastor’s horns to cradle the back of his neck, laying him back gently against the back of the sofa…as if he were something worth treating with tenderness. 

Alastor blinked slowly at the ceiling of the room as his senses gradually reasserted themselves. 

The pain had receded, leaving a dull, throbbing ache throughout his body. 

Gingerly, he pulled his right hand from the remnants of the shredded sofa arm, drawing his fingers along the newly formed scar tissue. It tingled with residual celestial might, but the wound itself had finally closed. 

Knitted together and still giving a faint golden glow from Lucifer’s power. 

It was only then that the demon realized said fallen angel was still sat in his lap. A quip was on Alastor’s tongue, when his gaze drifted further downwards, to his claws still mangling the other man’s thigh. 

Lucifer’s pant leg was oozing trails of vibrant ichor, and the angel made no move to free himself from Alastor’s grip—though if he had, the demon’s instincts would never let him release his bleeding quarry. 

He could not help the smile that split his face, an unholy sort of rapture pulled from the depraved depths of his soul as he unsheathed his claws, just to see them dripping with divine blood. 

“Out of curiosity.” Alastor purred, feeling his darkness welling in him fresh and new. “How does an angel feel when we make them bleed?” his voice distorted with the return of his powers. 

“Huh?” Lucifer looked down at his leg, like Alastor’s morbid curiosity was only slightly of interest. “Cute.” 

Alastor blanched, his reverie broken as he stared at the blonde. And watched with utterly fascination as he casually swept a hand over his thigh—and the flesh mended and the blood seeped back into his alabaster skin. 

Fury and fascination ignited in the radio demon all at once. 

The angel stood, and the shredded fabric hung loose around his perfectly whole leg. “But it takes more than some demon’s claws to leave an archangel with a lasting injury.” 

Something in Alastor trembled. Not pain, not fear, but something far more…primal.

Lucifer was already busying himself darting around the room again, mopping up the blood—the demon’s, as it was ruby red. Perhaps a little slower than before, or perhaps that was Alastor’s wounded ego supplicating. 

Unbidden, Alastor raised his hand, examining the rivulets of golden essence dribbling down his fingers. His mouth watered. But he refused to indulge in that particular vice in front of the already smug angel. 

“Tell me, Your Majesty.” His voice was heavy even in his own flicking ears. “What am I meant to do with this?”

The archangel’s brows pulled, glancing at Alastor’s hand, before a lascivious smirk grew across his lips. Lucifer leaned back over him, closer to Alastor’s face than he allowed anyone else. “You should lick it off.” 

“I…beg your pardon.” Alastor jerked back, affronted. 

“Oh come on, what’s a little sanguivory for a demonic overlord?” He waved a dismissive hand. “I bet you’re into all sorts of weird shit”

Alastor felt his upper lip twitch with contempt. 

On the one hand, yes. On the other, fuck him. 

The demon flicked the blood off his fingers, flicking it back at its owner. 

It can heal you, you fucking pompous ass.” Lucifer rolled his eyes, his hand on his hip. “Don’t tell me you’re a straight from the vein snob.”

That struck a nerve. 

Alastor’s gaze narrowed dangerously as his smile carved deeper into his features. With a tilt of his head and a cock of his brow, he called the other’s bluff. “Afraid to lose any more blood, my dear?”

“Fuck you.” 

The demon was ready to give a laugh at the smaller man’s expense, when, when he had to hide the surprise before it could manifest across his face. 

Lucifer brought his wrist up, slicing across the artery with one of his razor sharp teeth. Golden ichor welled up instantly, trickling down the dark skin of his forearm. 

A wickedly beautiful sight, indeed. 

Alastor stared, stunned into a rare silence as the archangel offered his bleeding wrist. No demand given, no conditions set, and no chains attached. He couldn’t fathom it. 

Yet, there it hung between them, dripping celestial vitae onto the demon’s slacks. 

Alastor curled his long fingers around the angel’s fist, as if the offer may shatter and the hand wrap around his neck. The bright red eyes stayed locked on the angels, as his tongue flicked out to taste the first exquisite drop. 

The flavor was like nothing he’d tasted on Earth or in the pits below it. Rich, heady, sweet as nectar but far from the cloying sugar the demon despised. 

Distilled rapture, a taste of heaven without the affliction of holy light. 

A low rumble echoed from deep within Alastor’s chest as his gaze turned heavy-lidded again. He fastened his lips to the cut and drank deep. Savoring every drop. 

Lucifer shifted his weight from foot to foot, a shudder rippling through his slight frame at the feeling of Alastor’s lips. By the time the radio demon pulled back with a lingering swipe of his tongue, the wound sealed itself without a scar. 

“Satisfied?”

Alastor fixed Lucifer with a stare of unadulterated hunger.

 “Hardly.” 

The high of angelic vitality blazed hot in the demon’s veins. When the clawed hand reached for him, tangling in his vest, Lucifer wasn’t sure where that sinful mouth would land. 

Until lips crashed into his. 

That first kiss was a tangle of teeth and desperation. The thrill of the razor sharp and the sweetness of angel blood on his lips—until Lucifer’s forked tongue slipped into Alastor’s mouth, and sliced the inside of his cheek. 

The iron taste joined the nectar, sparking a groan of approval from the radio demon’s throat. 

Alastor’s shadows, fully restored, surged up to engulf them both, and yank Lucifer off of his feet. The tentacles slammed the angel bodily into the plush sofa. He let out a breathless laugh as Alastor loomed over him. 

“Why, Your Majesty. Letting a lowly sinner get you on your back?” Alastor purred, his knee wedging its way between Lucifer’s thighs. 

“Shut it strawberry pimp.” Lucifer shot back at him, grinning a challenge in his fiery eyes. “I’ve handled bigger and stronger demons than you.” 

Baring his teeth in a feral smile, Alastor leaned down until they were nose to nose again. “Is that so, darling?”

With a yank of clawed fingers, Lucifer dragged Alastor’s mouth back to his own in a bruising kiss. “Less talking,” he growled against those smiling lips. “More biting.”

A low, rumbling chuckle spilled from Alastor’s chest as he nipped sharply at Lucifer’s jaw. 

Merciless claws rent through expensive fabric shredding the archangel’s shirt and vest to bare his chest. Divine blood welled up in the shallow scratches, only to knit themselves closed before the demon’s eyes. Alastor’s gaze drank in every tantalizing inch of newly exposed skin with ravenous delight. 

He grasped Lucifer’s chin, tilting his head aside to expose the tempting column of his throat.

 For a breathless moment, the radio demon’s teeth hovered a hair’s breadth away, mouth aching with the urge to sink his teeth right into the vital artery.

But something held him back. Not the angel who was squirming all too willingly under him—Alastor found he couldn’t bring himself to risk draining this delectable wellspring entirely. 

An unexpected tendril of concern gave him pause as he looked upon Lucifer’s powerful yet achingly fragile form.

Instead, Alastor’s lips trailed lower, canines finally piercing that perfect pale flesh at the juncture of neck and shoulder.

 A tremor ran through Lucifer’s body as he arched up into the vicious bite with a breathless keen of pure ecstasy. 

Hips rutted shamelessly against Alastor’s thigh, the hard line of the archangel’s arousal leaving the demon’s slack dampened.

Arousal made his blood impossibly, deliciously sweeter.

When the demon pulled back at last, a low rumble was rolling at a constant frequency from his chest, and he realized…he was purring. 

“My, my... Seems an angel’s ardor makes for quite the delectable vintage.” His smile was luminous. 

Lucifer could only pant softly in response, too lust-addled to muster words through the hazy fog of desire shrouding his senses, though he managed to raise one of his hands. 

Alastor realized only a breath before that the angel was snapping his fingers, divesting them both of the shredded remains of their clothing. 

The demon froze, feeling exposed yet again, and unsure what exactly he was meant to do next. Hazy with want for more, whatever more was. 

Lucifer’s hands scrabbled desperately at the demon’s shoulders, pulling him closer still until legs wrapped around his waist. 

The demon had half a mind to call his shadows and wrench the angel’s limbs away from him—but he didn’t want to. He’d never been so taken with someone, body and blood. When Lucifer’s fingers curled into his hair and pulled their mouths back together. 

“Just, move. Please.” The angel begged. Like music to the demon’s ears. He could very much get used to that pretty little sound. 

In one sinuous motion, Alastor rolled his hips, pinning the archangel bodily beneath him as their aching cocks ground together, slicked no doubt with their mingled blood.

 An unholy growl rumbled up from the very depths of his being in a resonant snarl. “Is this what you want, Cher?” The old, adoring term from his human life fell from his lips like honey. 

This Alastor could do. Rut gracelessly together, seeking their tangled pleasure, chasing it into the unknown. 

At last, Lucifer found his voice on a strangled groan. “Shut up and bite me already, you insufferable tease!” 

Well, far be it from Alastor to deny such an enticing demand.

He sank his teeth back into the base of the archangel’s neck, feeling the man arch into the pain and the drag of his mouth, writing desperately against him like a pinned viper. 

Alastor tasted the bliss in Lucifer’s blood before he was prepared to be sent tumbling into his own. 

When he finally surfaced from the haze of gratification, Alastor found himself sprawled bonelessly against the plush sofa cushions, every muscle deliciously lax

A warm weight pressed flush against his chest, and he cracked open one eye to find Lucifer draped over him in a tangle of pale limbs, clinging with surprising tenacity.

As Alastor made to extricate himself, the archangel merely tightened his grip with a soft protest. “Stay,” Lucifer mumbled, nuzzling closer with a contented sigh that ghosted over Alastor’s collarbones.

The radio demon arched one brow in faint surprise. “I’m not one for... cuddling, darling,” he pointed out, lips quirking in a wry smirk as he carefully peeled those insistent hands away.

But Lucifer was having none of it, stubbornly resisting Alastor’s efforts as he shot the demon an exasperated look through half-lidded eyes. 

“We’re naked and covered in each other’s bodily fluids, you really wanna leave now?,” he countered dryly. “I’m not letting you go anywhere just yet.”

Alastor held that pointed stare for a beat, considering.

 True, the archangel had not only saved his life by purging the angelic poison from his veins, but had freely offered his own sacred blood to aid in the healing. 

An act of vulnerability and trust that shouldn’t be taken lightly, even for one as distrustful as the radio demon. 

With a barely perceptible huff, Alastor relented, settling back against the cushions as Lucifer pillowed his head back into the man’s chest.

 Almost immediately, the archangel melted against him, one hand idly tracing the myriad of scars and old wounds that crisscrossed Alastor’s torso. 

He expected revulsion. For this to be the straw that made the unblemished angel finally pull away—Lucifer’s touch held only a gentle sort of curiosity, mapping out each ridge and valley with delicate fingers as though committing them to memory.

It should have set Alastor’s instincts on edge, allowing someone—an angel, no less—having such intimate access to his vulnerabilities.

 But, strangely, he found the soft caresses almost... soothing in their tender exploration. 

A tiny furrow formed between the demon’s brows as unease flickered across his features. This strange sense of comfort, of safety in the archangel’s presence... it was wholly unfamiliar. 

Unsettling. 

And yet, when Lucifer let out a jaw-cracking yawn and proceeded to snuggle closer with a contented murmur, Alastor couldn’t find it in himself to protest. 

Instead, his gaze drifted down to the faintly glowing imprint of the healed wound in his chest, the scar still ting/ed with a hint of liquid glow that seemed to pulse in time with Lucifer’s steady breaths.

Despite himself, the barest hint of a genuine smile tugged at the corners of Alastor’s lips as weariness began to tug insistently at his mind.

 Just this once, he decided as his eyes slipped shut once more. Just this once, he would bask in the warmth of this inexplicable connection. 

Consequences be damned.