#Hyping me up to write fic

[aurorawintersnight]

POV: You/Your Tav and your lover are getting ready for a fancy night out, and your lover gets to choose your outfit. What are they putting you/your Tav in?

*Cracks knuckles and dusts off screenshots* I been waiting for this moment to gush, but seriously Thank you @adorablebanite for the tag! (BTW I am obsessed with Destri's dresses omg and of course Lila's too. I love that emerald is her color and what it represents lore wise ;))

I have a Durge and a Tav as well and am in the process of making a long fic about both of them (currently working on Gortashweek fics so after that's done I will resume and start posting soon when its mostly finished b/c consistent schedules are hard lol).

My Tav is Lucid Reign a female Cambion (half-succubus) so I guess she is more of an OC then? idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ this is how I just how I see her (and apparently everyone else b/c she is mistaken as a Tiefling all the time. poor thing.). My Durge, Valafar, is a changeling whose gender varies depending on the form they pick, though their preferred form is similar to cannon Dragonborn Durge but more lithe and agile in build. Pre-game events Lucid works as a bodyguard for Gortash (may or may not have filled Karlach's missing spot) and eventually for Durge. Eventually they become their own little villainous throuple ( but I don't want to spoil anything here ;) also still working out the details a bit more.)

Lucid has a tendency to be a bit...risque in her clothing choices? Given her nature she is not afraid to flaunt her body and wears lots of sheer, lacy, leather, revealing items. So while her boss tries to rein her in (ha! sorry not sorry on the name pun) for Upper City soirées but she marches to the beat of her own drum and skirts the line on dress code (see images). Valafar wears more conservative/practical clothing and tries to get out of the occasions, uncomfortable due to Durge related reasons, and nobles look tasty. (though Lucid literally drags them anyways b/c she wants to include them and can keep them calm alongside Gortash).

This would be the more 'conservative option' after much bickering and fussing they compromise on this for Upper City parties, needless to say she gets lots of stares. She doesn't mind though. Cambions love the attention and she enjoys tormenting Gortash (in a loving way of course and secretly he enjoys her boldness)

If its a more scandalous type party she would either version of these outfits:

For Valafar, they would follow the rules (dress-code?) and wear something elegant and refined and unfortunately blood stains so the one on the left goes through the ringer a couple of times and after a small fortune spent, is salvaged. The ones below are more in line with a risque party affair (in both humanoid genders but for dragonborn its the same look)

[staygoldpbj]

sink to black from blue (a marlie drabble)

(for those sadly uninformed, marlie is micah foster/charlie torres-moore aka trevor & josh’s greaser characters who've basically become our ocs <3) (just scroll the #marlie tag on my blog lmao

inspired by this post! canon universe, post-rumble! shout out to @elisadoreyou & @wassupmygays creating these guys with u have been so fun omg

Micah winced at the alcohol sting. The cut on his temple was nasty, probably could use a stitch or two. The thought was almost funny ‘cause he sure as hell didn’t have enough money to afford stitches. It’d leave a tough scar. Good.

“I said I’m fine, okay? This ain’t my first rumble,”

Charlie’s face was pinched tight, lips pressed in a thin line. He was kneeled in front of the toilet, where Micah was leaned over himself. One hand on Micah’s knee with his thumb rubbing back and forth.

He hissed at the next sting. It did nothing for his bitch of a headache.

The rumble did a number on him, he’ll admit it. He could hold his own fine — more than fine. And he did— but those football Socs could throw a hard punch. It made something rough boil in the pit of his stomach.

“Don’t care. You shouldn’t go out getting all hurt like this.”

It felt like a stab to his pride. He’s been doing this for seventeen years— yearly eighteen. He can handle himself. He don’t need taking care for.

“I fight, Charlie, that’s what I’ve always fucking done. I don’t need a babysitter,” He bit it out in quick barks. Everything felt red and hot.

“That’s not—”

“I’ve done this a million times alone—” He tried to swat the bottle out of Charlie‘s hand, but Charlie pulled away quick. It just made him madder. “And I don’t need someone to fucking lick my wounds for me.”

“That‘s not what I’m trying to do!” Charlie snapped back. Blood rushed in Micah’s ears. He could feel the anger on face through heat and the strain on his scraps. It burned

“It fucking feels like it,”

“I’m trying to help, okay?”

Micah couldn’t even process the sweep of desperation in Charlie’s tone before the dam burst.

“I don’t need help, damn it!” He was too loud, he was gonna wake the kids up. Fuck. “I’ve been out in Tulsa my whole damn life, and y'know who looked out for me? No one. I sure as hell don’t need someone to act like I’m some baby! You weren’t out there fighting with me so you can fuck off trying to help now!”

He knew he didn’t mean the words as soon as he said ‘em. Charlie didn’t need to fight in that rumble. He didn’t think he wanted him to. That night was ‘bout the bloodiest night that he’d seen in a long time. He gets why. Ponyboy and Johnny Cade’s face are still circling the papers every morning, calling for their arrests. Those Socs aren’t letting ‘em go for nothing.

He didn’t want Charlie caught up in that at all.

The blood in his ears and pounding in his head was so loud, Charlie had to squeeze his knees for Micah to realize he’d been talking.

His jaw was set hard and his eyes were so damn sure. But trying to get through a brick wall with words did nothing. Something inside of Micah ached. Was that all he was now?

“I ain’t a fighter, Micah,”

He swallowed hard. He hadn’t met what he said. “I don’t need you to be one, Char. You just—”

“No, look, I— I don’t get this fighting stuff. I wasn’t raised with it, I’ve never fought a fight like— like that shit in my life, okay? That’s not ever in the cards. I’m useless right now and seeing you all beat and bruised makes me feel sick or somethin’. I gotta…” He swallowed thickly and the frustration on his face broke into something raw. His breath trembled. “I gotta do something to help. I can’t fight and I care about you so—”

They both paused at the confession. Charlie’s brown eyes were wide and Micah was sure his were too.

What’s been going on between ‘em hasn’t necessarily been left unaddressed, but it’s been left unspoken. They both know. It’s obvious as hell to the both of ‘em. It hasn’t been spoken not because of fear, but survival.

“I know,” Micah whispered, almost a croak. Hope sparked to life in Charlie’s eyes. “I do, too, I…”

He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know what he could say without crossing some unspoken line.

Micah has only focused on the important things— his family and their survival. That’s the whole point of his fighting, his work, his life. He’s never wanted. Not like this. Not in such a selfish, indulgent way that feels like something stabbing through his heart.

Nothing else could be said from him.

Charlie smiled tentatively. There was something fragile in the air.

“Just let me do this.” He whispered. “For me. Seeing you like this all alone makes my heart feel like it was in that rumble, too.”

Charlie’s eyes practically pleaded with his resolve. He wanted to shut the door in his face and gasp through the pain and slip into bed next to his siblings and pretend like nothing hurt until he couldn’t anymore. He was used to being alone. What was one more night?

But another part, something so deeply pushed down, he barely even knew it was there— longed. For Charlie’s smile, his touch and soft hands on his face, his lips on his head, whispered words only the two of them knew. It was a terrible part of him but Charlie didn’t care.

So. Against all his seventeen years of fighting, Micah let his wall break down and he nodded.

“Thank you,” He croaked. He wasn’t going to cry, but the emotion was there all the same.

Charlie’s smile was gentle, so sure, so caring. He could tell Micah all the world would be fine and he’d believe him. He picked the bottle of alcohol up off the floor and raised a hand to Micah’s cheek.

His palm was soft. It just grazed against his face, but for once, Micah let himself lean into the touch until Charlie’s hand cupped his cheek. Charlie rubbed a thumb over his cheekbone. His dark eyes reflected the bathroom lights.

God, Charlie could break open Micah’s every defense and he doesn’t even know if he could put up a good fight.

“Thank you,” Charlie whispered back into Micah’s eyes. His lips parted— and he picked up the wash rag.

[pastawayallday]

My first personal drawing after months because Uni is savagely beating me up. It's for a fic I'm trying to get done

[serenescribe]

glaciers melting in the dead of night Fantasy High | 194k (and counting!) | 7/? chapters done Summary: In another universe a step to the left, Adaine Abernant and Oisin Hakinvar are paired together for a project in the first week of freshman year. This doesn’t change everything — but it changes just enough. AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55871113/chapters/141867796 (Contains spoilers for FHJY)

hi. do you like tragedy and inkblade? maybe both together? please read my horrible child (glaciers) that has rapidly spiralled out of hand (will break 100k with the next chapter). it's just your standard canon divergence! our two dear wizards (adaine and oisin) knowing each other two years before junior year. having being friends all that time... there's a lot of changes that come with that — good, bad, and very bad :)

anyways. i'm finally giving glaciers the crosspost it deserves here! for however much it is killing me writing it, i do love working on this so much. if anyone reads it ily ♡

[mikhardwheat]

This universal experience of not being able to find a weirdly specific scenario you have in your head after scrolling through ao3 for days, but for some reason stubbornly refusing to write it yourself.

[awrkive]

oh the girls are not ready for this.....

[piningpercussionist]

transfem scott getting lots of support from ramona and kim in the early 2000's when shit's very taboo but they all 3 have a fire forged bond and lord if they aren't going to make sure they're all as happy as they can be because they've come this far and I dunno it just makes me happy all three of them

YES YES YES

It makes me very happy as well,,

Like I've said before. General Trans Scott enthusiast here- I love the idea of their little support network *violent coughing* I (we?) mean polycule *violent coughing* so fucking much.

Ramona I think has a bit of a more gentle hand with reassuring Scott with gender issues, but sometimes she just can't help herself from some pointed banter or teasing- how could you with someone so dense? (Said w affection)

And then Kim I think is more blunt. But like, in a good way mostly, you know? The kinda blunt that makes you snap to attention and go "Oh. Yeah that was silly of me." And if Ramona's started some sort of banter? Kim is SO piling on. Maybe sometimes she's a bit TOO blunt with it- but it's only because she's so firm in her support. She wants Scott to Get It Together- and be happier for it. So if some ribbing now and again is in order, then goddamnit she will do so! Anything to crack that shell.

And ohhh can you imagine how they would react to some transphobic bullshit?? Unholy terror would be driven into the offender before they walk off with an absurd amount of coins between them. I can feel it in my bones. Scott doesn't even have to lift a finger (if the transphobe is even noticed/processed at all, bc I honestly can see Scott just. Not realizing someone's being transphobic.) Kim giving someone a lashing with her tongue as distraction and then Ramona coming in with the hammer- BAM! Free Money! Paying literally with your life for your transphobia. A Better And Just World.

And of course (transfem Scott more specifically, here,) the way Scott would start to flourish under their support... cagey and maybe a little (perhaps a lot-) resistant to start- but Kim's blunt affirmations and no nonsense attitude for bullshit (which is what Scott insisting on "being cis" would be, c'mon now,) and Ramona's also low bullshit tolerance but less Stabby (bc I won't lie, that's probably how Kim's comments would feel,) assurances? Ough... My Heart... Be Still-

I would Kill for them, Your Honor-

(Ran out of tags so putting this in the body of the post- I am SO tired someone pls sound off if this isn't as coherent as I am hoping this is. I WAS trying to nap and get the extra sleep I desperately needed but the writing bug... it Bit Me.... only a little but enough to stop that process-)

[rockyroadkylers]

i think i finished my new year's day fic 👀

[the-only-universe-here]

"... 𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘴.

𝘐𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭, 𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘪𝘤, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 '𝘧��𝘪𝘭𝘭' 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵.

��𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩, 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘺𝘱𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘶𝘴𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

𝘞𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘬 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮. 𝘞𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘧 𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴, 𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵."

– Jonathan Price, head researcher of the "Ghost" project

[14carrotghoul]

immeasurable, infinite

T | 4.5k | fantasy, minor character death, hurt/comfort, feelings

Henry goes missing. A different Henry is found nine years later.

AKA a Piranesi AU

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Dust to Dust

An angsty drabble focused on Dream to celebrate reaching 100 followers. This has not been beta read but I briefly skimmed through it for mistakes. This was written in one sitting, & may be fast paced as I was very high energy while writing it. Trigger warning for character death! Happy reading!

At first, Dream doesn't even notice that his brother has stopped attacking. With all the chaos going on around him, attacks flying from every angle & shouts coming from different directions, it's not a surprise.

So Dream keeps fighting, not stopping until he's startled by a loud cry from Killer. "Boss!" A little shaken, Dream looks around himself quickly to make sure no one is sneaking up on him before looking towards where the yell had come from.

He spots Killer easily, seeing him crouched over...Nightmare? That can't be right though, Nightmare was just attacking him moments ago! It has to be some kind of trick, he thinks to himself.

But as the moments pass & the fighting dies down as more people start to notice what's going on, Dream starts to worry.

Had he actually hurt his brother? Why wasn't Nightmare getting up? He'd walked off Dream's arrows before, why was this one any different?

Dream stumbles towards where Nightmare lay, now surrounded by the gang that his brother had collected, subconsciously. He doesn't pay attention to his teammates yelling for him to come back to them, nor his brother's followers yelling at him to stay away.

The only important thing is that none of them try to stop him as he approaches, falling to his knees & putting both of his hands on Nightmare, bow long having dissipated from his lack of concentration to keep it from fading away.

Shaking his brother's shoulder slightly, as if that would make him sit up & say that it was all some horrible joke to make him feel bad, Dream whispers out a broken, "B-Brother?"

But there's no response, not even a groan or a twitch to show that Nightmare was even still alive. He had to be though, Dream couldn't have actually killed him, right? This was all some big trick, or maybe a bad dream, as ironic as that would be.

As unaware as he is, it takes a moment for Dream to register the body beneath his hands starting to dust, parts of his brother drifting away in the slight breeze slipping between the monsters surrounding them both.

Dream starts to tear up at this, a sob building as he frantically tries to stop it, to no avail. Muttering senselessly under his breath, drops of liquid magic drip down his cheeks as his hands & forearms become covered in more & more dust. "No no no no no-"

Panicked as Dream is, he doesn't register the whispers around him, both his own teammates & Nightmare's muttering about what was going on. Had Dream truly defeated his brother once & for all? It certainly seemed so.

Unable to contain it any longer, he bends down until his skull is resting against Nightmare's body & lets out a scream of anguish, fists clenching around nothing as the arm they previously clung to faded into dust.

Dream screams for as long as he can, panting for breath between sobs as his tears hit the dusting body of his brother below him, mixing with the dust & causing it to clump. As he tries to regain his breath, he finally registers the sharp pain all over his body & looks down...

Oh. It would seem that he was dusting as well.

Dream has the sudden urge to scream again, but can't seem to find the energy as he slumps over Nightmare's partially dusted body.

Perhaps this was his punishment for killing his twin, the one that he had grown up with & known for both of their lives. Perhaps this was mercy, allowing him to be with his brother again & not forcing him to live without the other.

Whichever it was, Dream had little time before he could no longer think, the pain of his body dusting away while still conscious consuming him. Before long, the only thing that remained of the two was a pile of dust & a single golden circlet resting peacefully on top.

[wearyeyebrow]

Candid

Another task, another spreadsheet, another picture taken without his consent - Lucifer is wound tight. As the evening drones on he can't help but glance at the clock anticipating a night alone with you, preferably spent on his knees. NSFW. Tags under the cut.

Tags: Established relationship, Sub Lucifer, Dom MC, 2nd person perspective, they/them MC, AFAB MC, Transman Lucifer, edging, multiple orgasms, tribadism, oral sex, d/s dynamics, hurt/comfort, scene negotiation, porn with plot - do let me know if I've forgotten anything significant.

-

The student council room is quiet in the late afternoon and a great place to study. You’re sprawled out on a giant oak table cursing Solomon's illegible handwriting when footsteps echo down the corridor. You recognize the crisp click of Lucifer’s stride alongside Lord Diavolo’s heavier footfall, their voices too far away to pick up. You try not to eavesdrop, really, but they stop just outside the door left ajar.

Diavolo’s voice booms. “So the deadline snuck up on me - I’ve just been so busy with staff interviews. It’s a budgeting matter and you’re good with numbers so bringing it to your attention felt like the best place to start.”

Lucifer is quiet while scanning the papers in his hand, shuffling a few back and forth. Diavolo is childlike next to him, shifting from foot to foot.

“It’s doable but I’ll need to get started tonight if we’re going to get this in on time. The entire thing needs to be reworked…” he trails off and furrows his brow, holding the paper away from his face. You’re fondly reminded of how often he neglects to wear his glasses.

“Thank goodness! I knew I could leave it up to you.”

Lucifer only hums in acknowledgement, still squinting. The afternoon sun catches against the door and he’s set alight, beautifully framed in the archway. It’s easy to spare a drop of envy for one of God’s greatest creations, but his two-ton frown keeps most people at arm's length.

You blink at an unexpected flash, watching as Lucifer flinches at the sound of a shutter. He twists to glare at the guilty party.

“Lord Diavolo, I request you delete that immediately.”

“But it’s so rare I get a candid photo of you - it came out so well too, see - you look beautiful!”

Diavolo tries to hold up his phone but Lucifer looks just past it. “Delete it.”

“Come on Lucifer, it’s just one-"

“I’ll delete it for you if necessary.”

“But Lucifer-”

Suddenly, a third voice joins them. When or how Barbatos got there, you aren't sure, and you've long stopped asking.

“My Lord - pardon the intrusion, but your next meeting starts in ten minutes.”

“Is it that time already? Well, we’ll just have to table this conversation!”

“Lord Diav-”

“Thank you, Lucifer, for auditing the extracurricular budget, I appreciate your hard work! I’ll see you tomorrow.” Diavolo pockets his phone and takes off with Barbatos close behind.

Lucifer’s jaw is set in stone as he watches them go. Their animated chatter echoes down the hallway until they turn a corner and disappear. He clears his throat and turns to address the room. 

“Good afternoon.”

You snort. “You know, I bet I could  accidentally  delete Lord Diavolo’s entire photo gallery and he'd be none the wiser.”

"You needn't intervene on my behalf.”

“Of course I don't need to, but…” you sigh, “Do let me know, the offer’s always on the table.” You motion for him to sit and he does, closing the door behind him. He taps the documents in his hand on the tabletop, straightening the edges. Everything is in order until he thumbs through them again.

“What’s Diavolo put you up to this time?”

He doesn't look up. “I'm sure you heard enough to piece it together."

"Mm. When's it due?"

"Next Saturday."

"Don't you have a bunch of other shit to work on?"

Lucifer sighs. "It can't be helped. I'll manage." The setting sun catches against the metal rim of the window and he squints, massaging his temples.

Asking if he wants help is another way to say you don't think he can do it. His sin twists any offer of assistance into something to be ashamed of, and you know this. He also knows you know this.

You sigh, a little exasperated. "I realize that I'm talking to a brick wall here-”

“And yet you persist.”

“May I still come by tonight?”

“I…” he pauses, bowing his head in the fading afternoon sun, “I will hardly be at my best."

“I know.”

His eyes flicker to yours, softening at your gentle expression. He brushes his fingertips against your hand. "...I’ll be in my room by eleven."

-

Lucifer admonishes himself for almost nodding off again. So many numbers, so many Excel spreadsheets. He cracks his neck and continues typing, trying to make something of money the school doesn’t have.

His body is exhausted but his mind is wide awake, thoughts racing in the background, droning and cacophonous, itching and alive. He's moved to his bedroom for the evening and taken his work with him - his office is accessible, his bedroom is not. He’s kept his gloves on to avoid picking at his cuticles but he can’t help drumming them on the table, annoying himself with the sound.

He breathes a sigh of relief the second he hears a knock at his door and unlocks it with a wave of his hand, deactivating a few dozen curses.

You poke your head inside and see him at his desk, looking exactly as he did that afternoon.

"Hey.” Your voice is soft in the late hour, "How are you holding up?"

He manages a sardonic smile.

"Figures. Worse than you thought?"

"I’m surprised Excel isn’t a domestic export.”

“But it's supposed to be  so  much easier than doing it by hand.”

“Yes,” he drawls, “Easier. I just love redoing my work when it crashes - I love everything about it.”

You lean against the doorframe. “I dunno, you say that you love it, but your tone makes it sound like an anathema to all that is good in this world.”

His shoulders loosen a little when he laughs, lips curling into a slight smile. “How was your evening?"

"Not bad." You keep talking and wander over to his desk. "It was Satan's turn to cook dinner so the food was great, and Levi joined us too - oh! Mammon got a present from Luke in the mail."

"What was the occasion?"

"To hear Mammon tell it, he saved Luke from  great peril," you chuckle, "Of course, that’s not how Luke puts it. Mammon managed to get his hands on some Ursa Major Honey for Luke’s entry in the Devilsfood contest. Only the witches know how. Beel may have eaten most of his gift, though…"

"Mm, typical on all fronts." His tone is incredibly fond.

"We missed you at dinner."

"Since it was Satan's turn to cook, I doubt that."

You snort, "I saved you a plate. It's in the fridge when you want it… or until Beel eats it, I guess."

"Thank you." He sighs and sits back in his chair. “I... I’ve missed you. Solomon’s kept you busy and I’ve had so much to do - I hope you'll tell me if you ever feel neglected."

"Not neglected, just worried. When's the last time you slept properly, sweetheart?"

His face warms and he clears his throat. "I'd rather not worry you further."

"Humor me."

"...Five days, give or take."

"Lucifer…" You maneuver around to the front of his desk and lean on the edge. "I know you don't need as much sleep as I do, but you can still get sick, and your headaches won't get any better."

"Sometimes sleep is a necessary sacrifice."

"I'm well aware, doesn't mean I have to like it."

He only hums, distracted by your hand on his arm, straightening the creases of his shirt.

"I'll be forthright," you murmur, "I know how I’d like this night to go. You up for it?”

"...I was hoping you'd ask."

"You sure?" There's your hand again, this time in his hair, nails just grazing his scalp, sending pleasant tingles down his back. You're close enough now that he can smell the subtle scent of your shampoo, familiar and inviting. It sets him at ease.

"Please, stay."

“Then, leave your work for the evening. What do you say?”

His desk lamp casts a warm, orange glow over the bedroom, casting heavy, almost architectural shadow. Your features are augmented, posed in sharp relief against the muted colors of his bedroom. Merely a few seconds have passed since you asked him a question, but he already feels like he’s taken too long to answer.

“...I shall put my things away.”

You hum and give him a moment to straighten his desk, lingering just outside of his personal space. Even in the privacy of his bedroom Lucifer is impeccably dressed. You follow the crease of his pant leg down to his polished loafers. He makes every move with purpose and each thing has its place. It's only the slight tremble of his hands that gives away his fatigue.

You think back on that afternoon. After Diavolo had left, you’d seen Lucifer in your mind’s eye - the hard line of his clenched jaw softened into an expression of relief, into an expression you covet.

You breathe out slowly, trying to hide your anticipation, and walk across the floor to his bed. The covers are smooth and unwrinkled, perfectly pleated as he feels they should be. You grab one of his pillows and make sure he's watching when you place it at your feet.

He feels the weight of your stare but looking at everything still left to do makes his head hurt. He has so much to do tomorrow and so much he should have done yesterday.

Your voice cuts through the fog. “Lucifer - come here.”

He quickly places his pen in its holder, almost knocking over the inkwell, before crossing the room to meet you at the foot of his bed.

He kneels of his own volition. Your pleased smile makes his heart pound.

“I didn’t even have to ask.” You muse fondly

“How…” he swallows, “How would you like me?”

You brush your thumb against his cheek. His eyelids flutter shut and he turns toward your open palm. “I think… just like this. This is where I want you tonight, on your knees.” His face heats up but he manages to meet your half-lidded gaze.

“I’ve noticed, you know?” You say, studying his face, tilting his jaw in your hand, “You’ve had a lot of things forced on you lately. I’ve offered my help yet you refuse it. Why?

He tenses. “I am merely reaping the consequences of my own actions. I refuse to burden you with my responsibilities.”

Your brow furrows. “Okay but, what about those pictures? He knows they make you uncomfortable and I don’t like that he takes them anyway.” Your hand is soft against his cheek. “I won’t take action if you don’t want me to, I promise. I just want to understand, Lucifer. Saying you don’t know why is also acceptable.”

Lucifer eases into the comforting weight of his position beneath you. His posture sags, just slightly, and the sharpness of his brow softens. There's a faint tint of red to his cheeks. He tentatively leans forward, not meeting your eyes.

“I… I am not fond of them, but… they’re just pictures. I shouldn’t be so bothered. The less bothered I am, the less often my picture will be taken.”

“Why shouldn’t you be bothered?”

“It’s an innocuous thing. Something as small as getting one's picture taken isn’t worth getting upset over.”

“I disagree. You’re bothered by them, and it isn’t difficult to respect that by not taking your picture.”

“There are better things you could spend your time on.” He tries again, weakly, hoping it doesn’t stick.

“That’s up to me, isn’t it? Don’t I get to decide what to spend my time on?”

“Yes, of course.”

“If I can't stop him then I want to get rid of them for you.”

“I…” He looks down at his hands, “I will think about it.”

“I’ll ask you again tomorrow morning, then. I promise I’ll drop it after that.” He nods and sinks further, wanting nowhere else to be. "Don’t worry, I won't let anyone else see you like this.”

"Never?" He’s keen for one last bit of reassurance.

"Never."

You lean down to kiss him. It's lingering, gentle, and sweet. He follows when you pull back, so you kiss him again, greedy this time, to sait him, but it's not enough, never enough, and you tell him so between kisses.

"Please..." he breathes, when you finally part.

"Please what, darling?" A shudder runs through him.

"May I service you, may I  please  you, in a way that only I can?"

"And how do you want to do that?"

"I..." he swallows thickly, “I want to do whatever you ask of me."

Your gentle laugh cements him on his knees. "How could I ever say no to that?" The affection in your voice makes him dizzy. A hand slips down his jaw to direct his attention. "If at any point you object to what I ask, you will tell me - that's your first order of the night."

He nods in agreement. As with any magic, intention matters, and you want him on his knees willingly. The pact remains inactive; each time he follows an order is done of his own free will.

"Your second order..." you thumb his lower lip, "You look so good on your knees.. I want your mouth between my legs."

He swallows. "It would be my pleasure."

"Stoplight system like usual."

“Understood.”

You lean down to kiss him again. It’s heady and languid, desire bubbling just beneath your skin. When you pull back he is a picture of perfect obedience, kneeling with his hands in his lap.

You languidly place a leg over his shoulder and he kisses your knee, inner thigh, before grabbing the edge of your shorts. He doesn’t go any further, instead catching your eye. You hold him in anticipation, sizing him up, waiting for him to ask.

Finally he swallows. “...May I?”

You smile and lift your hips so he can slide them off, leaving you bare before him. He takes the time to fold them before leaning forward and kissing up your thighs, shifting forward so he can wrap his arms around your hips.

His eyes flicker upward when he takes a long, slow lick, savoring the way your breath hitches. He yearns for your approval.

“Mmm… that’s it,” You breathe, lost in a hazy moment of affection and power. Lucifer kneels before you because he wants to be here, because he chooses to be here.

He groans low in his throat and sinks his fingers into the meat of your hips, holding onto every little noise you make, tasting the salty, musky tang of your arousal. The scant stubble of his cheek rubs against the smooth texture of your inner thigh. He yearns for the way your whole body chases his mouth and rocks against his face, folds sticky and wet, groaning when you tug on his hair.

"You're so good with your tongue, fuck-" You can't hold his gaze, too lost in how it feels, throbbing while he leverages his entire body for your pleasure. He flicks his tongue just right, sliding it back and forth, only stopping to breathe, using his calloused fingers in the interim, tiny tight circles, watching how your head tilts back.

"Can't get enough of you Luci." your praise blooms in his chest and floods his body. He shudders, little sounds escaping his every exhale. 

You’re already close to the edge, but an image of him burns in your mind’s eye. 

“L-lucifer - stop.” His tight grasp on your hips is immediately gentle and tentative. He stills himself and settles back onto his heels, shoulders heaving, lips shiny.

“What’s wrong?” There's a plaintive edge to his voice, a delicious contrast with the mask of power he usually wears. It's difficult to ignore the ache between your legs.

You wrap a stray tendril of hair behind his ear. “Not yet… I want - I’ve been imagining this all day, you on your knees - I want to see it, wanna see you sweetheart. Touch yourself while you please me.”

He tenses. His mind starts to conjure an ineffable mess of images and sensations. He can't stand the way his muscles twist, the way his skin is mottled and stretched - a punishment of his own making. He deserved it after the fall. He should be better than this. He should have  been  better. His mind always questions what you'll think of him, what others will think of him. It's the antithesis of pride, shame on full display, yet he wants your eyes on him, he wants to believe in how you see him. He tries to rationalize. It doesn't matter, you've seen him before, you know him. Yet something in him screams and claws, wound tight, tight, tight.

His silence makes you pause, makes you wonder whether you should check on him, but then he breathes out slowly.

“Where would you like me to start?”

You consider him for a moment. “Take your vest off and unbutton your shirt. You may leave it on as long as it’s unbuttoned.”

His mouth is dry. He doesn’t make a show of removing his clothing but he does so dutifully and completely, staying on his knees at your feet. He folds his vest and sets it just out of reach, leaving his red button up hanging loosely from his shoulders. His face is flushed a delicate pink that travels all the way down to his chest.

“What-” he clears his throat, “What would you have me do next?”

“Take your trousers off. Remove your briefs too - and your socks.” His hands hover awkwardly over his waistband. His reluctance is obvious. 

You lean forward and kiss his temple before placing a gentle hand on his neck. Your voice is soft and warm in his ear. "Do you remember my first order? What’s your color?”

“...Yellow.”

"Good job. Do you want to leave them on?”

“I…" he exhales with great difficulty, shoulders tense, "I am not sure, I apologize.”

"Mm, what if you took off your briefs and then put your trousers back on?”

“That’s ridiculous. Why would I-”

“Would it make you feel better?” He doesn’t say anything and you can feel his cheek burn against your own. “Would it, Lucifer?”

He sighs, and the annoyance in his voice is tinged with something like relief. “Very well.”

You make a sound of agreement and then kiss his neck before drawing back to your full height.

“Briefs off, then. Put your trousers back on but leave your fly open and belt off.”

You give him privacy by turning around and adjusting the pillows behind you, waiting until you hear him still.

You’re met with the sight of his pink, flushed cheeks. The heavy meat of his chest is partly hidden by his open shirt. You follows the delicate trail of hair leading from his navel to the dark curls between his legs, just visible in his open trousers.

“Look at you -” you breathe, “ Fuck  - you look good.”

He’s caught between pride and shame. He’s dizzy, his heart is hammering in his chest, and he wants to tell you exactly what you’re doing to him. The throbbing between his legs is almost unbearable. He wants to beg. He wants to touch you, he wants your hands on him, but he can’t, he can’t. Everything is too tight, too tense, his mind is too  fast-

“Please - “ he whispers, before he can stop himself, “Tell me what to do. Give me an order.”

"What do you want, Lucifer? How do you want to feel good?”

"It does not matter what I want.”

Your gaze softens as you consider him, leaning down to kiss his temple. You speak low in his ear. "It always matters what you want. Answer me.” You kiss his neck and he whines a desperate little  "oh-"  shuddering as he inhales, delicate and wanting, before resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“I…” he licks his lips, “I want you to use me as you see fit.”

You kiss the shell of his ear. "You’re sweet and submissive just for me, aren’t you baby?” He nods, unable to voice it, unable to touch it, but he can acknowledge it and that’s good enough. “I want you back between my legs, but this time I want you to touch yourself while you please me. I want to hear you. What do you say?”

He whimpers. “Yes - I...” He pulls back from your shoulder and shifts down onto his knees between your open legs.

Your hand runs through a few strands of his hair. “Touch yourself for me, gently, slowly. Wanna see you feel it.”

One of his calloused hands disappears into his unbuttoned trousers. He sucks in a breath, eyes fluttering shut.

“That’s it… slow circles.” You lick your lips and savor his soft keening. “I want to take my time with you tonight.”

He’s already a little breathless.

“Mm…” You start to play with yourself, getting off to the image in front of you. Lucifer on his knees, stroking his clit at your command, a beautiful, willing submissive.

“May I…?” His eyes dart to your folds, wet and glistening, just a few inches away from his mouth.

You ignore him. “How do you feel?”

“G-good, ah - I-” he keeps his eyes on your, groaning when you part your lips. His breath is hot against your.

“What do you want, Lucifer? Be specific.”

“May I please you while I - while I touch myself?” His face burns.

“Good man… go ahead.”

“Thank you.” He breathes. You shift your hips forward to meet his tongue. He groans when they connect, dipping his tongue inside of you, breathing harshly through his nose, mouth open wide, lips wet. He’s rocking his hips into his own hand, legs spread, sinking lower.

“That feel good, baby?” You whisper.

He moans what sounds like an affirmative.

“You’re stunning…” You run a hand through his hair, “So fucking perfect-" your chest constricts at the way he looks at you, up through his lashes, completely adoring. “You make me so…  fuck  I wanna come. Make me come?”

You can barely see his irises, his perfect hair tousled and thrown to the side. He pulls away, just for a second, just long enough to whisper a desperate  please. 

“Fffuck - Luci- baby…” You fall onto your back and let the pleasure wash over you. He knows just what you like best and his little noises spur you on.

Your whispered praises and directions flood his mind. He’s dripping onto his own hand, viscous fluid staining the inside of his trousers. He revels in how you writhe above him, in the heady taste and smell of your arousal - all because of him. He throbs and he wants this, he wants to feel your release, to hear more, more. He moans when you grab his hair, needy and wanton, suddenly muffled by your cunt as you starts to fuck his face.

“Keep - right there, right there-!” He does exactly as you’ve instructed, doubling down, licking your clit just right, and finally you tense, muscles tight, before an elastic  snap  washes over you, throbbing and lingering, a wet sweltering heat. He takes his time, just how you like, gently licking as you come down.

Your chest heaves and you drop your tight grip on his hair, instead running your fingers through it. Soft praises leave your mouth, syrupy sweet, too good for him, but he relishes in it, still touching himself on his knees.

There are a few minutes of blissful calm as you catch your breath, before sitting up to place a hand on his cheek. Your hazy expression meets his own. “So good at making me come, so good on your knees - thank you.” He leans into your hand and his flushed, red lips press into your skin.

“So gorgeous,” you whisper, “Still touching yourself… You need me baby?”

He nods into your leg, now completely doubled over. He shivers at your soft hands on the back of his neck. “When was the last time you made yourself feel good?”

“Weeks at least,” he murmurs, surprising himself with how easily he answers.

“Oh sweetheart…” he throbs at the sincere affection in your voice. “I want you to take some time for yourself, for some stress relief, even when I’m not there. Especially then.”

He starts to shake, now resting his weight against your calf, head bent between your thighs.

“Lucifer… let me look at you.”

He slowly raises his head with purpose. The plaintive, needy look in his eyes makes your heart stutter.

“Come here, Lucifer.” You pull him forward into a kiss, leading until you’re both standing. The blood rushes to his head and he sways a little, but you hold him steady. He shivers when you lean in close and kiss his neck, hands wandering from his shoulders back down to squeeze his ass.

“Mm… I want you on your back.” He does as he’s told, settling where you’ve arranged the pillows. You crawl over him, shadows falling across your body, stunning and ethereal above him.

You kiss his jugular and his breath hitches when you slide your tongue up his neck. He's achingly conscious of the hands on his hips and your breath in his ear.

“You need me?”

“Yes,” He whispers, arms wrapped around your back, feeling your skin flush against his.

“I love you like this. Love you all the time but…” he’s so wanting and open and  vulnerable , “I wanna find out just how wet you are, wanna make you feel incredible. You want that?” His pulse is racing.

He wraps his arms around your back, dragging his blunt nails up your spine. He breathes in deeply, nose pressed into your neck, nodding yes, yes.

You lean to the side and trail your hand down his belly, stopping at his waistband. You wait there for him.

He swallows, voice cracking. “Go ahead."

He lifts his hips and you pull his trousers down, dropping them off the side of the bed. Your hands settle on his thighs while your eyes wander.

He glistens. Sticky, viscous fluid string between his parted legs. His curls are damp and stick to his lips, clit heavy and swollen, flushed red. He’s taken by the way your breath catches, pushing him away from the edge of doubt. You did this to him. He trusted you to do this to him, to make him wet, to make him ache.

You catch his eyes as you straddle him, hovering just over his clit. He reaches for your hips.

“Above your head.” He reluctantly retracts, stretching his arms above to grasp onto the pillows. His chest arches forward, face flushed, and beads of sweat line his forehead. He’s quivering, dripping wet, but he obeys and withstands. The way you look at him makes the room fade into the background and muffles his every passing thought.

You grasp his waist and lower yourself, adjusting until you find it, until you brush his clit with your own  just right.

He gasps, eyes squeezing shut, and you groan. His clit is hard, brushing through your folds with every gentle thrust.

“Yes…” he sighs in relief, fists clenching into the fabric above him.

You've been sated by your first orgasm, able to focus on his pleasure. The pace you set is slow, feeling him slick against you. 

“I…”

“You want something, Luci?”

His chest is blotchy, mouth dry, panting. “More - I… faster, please-” You continue at a slow, steady pace.

“Missed this sight,” You whisper, lips kiss-bitten and full above him.

He aches to say every passing saccharine word, dripping with pride at how you make him feel, how you look, who you are. He feels a cool hand on his cheek. “I think I’ll let you simmer. How long can you hold off for me, I wonder?”

“As - as long as you desire,” he breathes.

“Then tell me when you’re close.” You speed up, just enough to make his head tilt back into the cushions. His biceps flex as he fights to stay still, to stay exactly as he’s been instructed.

You lean forward and starts fucking him faster, panting and reveling in the way he starts to writhe.

“I’m… ah - I’m getting close-” You hum in acknowledgement and keep going until you hear a familiar rise in the deep pitch of his voice, and feel the way his body tenses.

“There- I-!” You still.

“No-! No, fuck,  please- ”

“Not yet baby, not yet,” you pant in his ear, “Hold it back…” and smile at his trembling effort. “Focus on how it feels to be denied what you need so badly.”

You pull back and he groans at the translucent, sticky fluid that stretches between you. You sit on his thighs.

“Look at you… so needy and wet - you want my fingers, sweetheart?”

“Yes, yes please-” his chest heaves as he starts to forget himself.

It's after the third edge that he really starts to beg. He is held in place by your gentle fingers, letting him whine, watching him finally let go. It’s not enough, not enough and then too much, until it only takes a few small circles to get him close, until he's whispering  please, please, please  under his breath, as you bring him to the edge and back again.

His perfectly pleated sheets are a mess and his legs are spread wide before you. He can’t think and it’s utter bliss. Your soft fingers tease him, pushing the hood of his clit up and over the head, back down again, and again, watching him twitch. He's torn between keeping his eyes shut and looking directly at the erotic sight of your hand jerking him off.

“That feel good? Answer me, Luci.”

“So - so fucking good, so - keep-!” You smile, savoring him like this. “I’m - I’m close, oh there - please there-” he begs, gasping, whining, but you pull back just when you feel him start to tense, leaving him just on the edge without anything to push him over.

“No, no, no I was - I was there, please keep going,  please-!”  He pitifully tries to hump your hand, wanting anything, any more friction, he was so close, so agonizingly close.

You drag your finger just over the tip of his clit and he sobs.

“What do you want, darling?”

“I want - I want to come, I need - please make me come, please,  please-”  His eyes are misty, his cheeks are red, and hair is a tousled mess. He can only feel and want and beg, overwhelmed by the feeling of your fingers still stroking his clit, but it's not enough, not enough. He wrenches his head to the side and covers his eyes with his forearm.

“That’s it Luci, let go - tell me..." He shivers and jolts at your fingers on his abdomen, tracing up his belly. “You need it, baby?”

“Yes,” he whimpers, “Yes, please, I need - I need it.”

You shift down his body, nails soothing over the tops of his thighs. Just as he removes his forearm you finally lick his clit. He gasps, before whining, high pitched and utterly debauched. He covers his mouth, embarrassment flooding his cheeks, but you rub your thumbs into his thighs.

“Wanna hear more of that,” you whisper, “Wanna make you come, since you asked so nicely, since you’re doing so well for me.”

He tilts his head back when you start licking his oversensitive clit. His thighs tremble.

Finally, finally you wrap your lips around him and suck. His clit is heavy and thick in your mouth, full and swollen.

“Yeesss, yes, yes…”

He sobs your name, feeling himself clench,  “- shit-!”  You suck hard and it takes all your strength to hold his hips against the bed. He thrashes, white knuckling the sheets. “Oh fuck - yes I’m - there, there, please -  please -!”

You keep going, just as promised, sucking and licking, exactly how he needs, for just as long as he needs. His voice gets higher and higher, breathy, tensing, toes cracking until all is still and he freezes, forehead touching the pillows behind him, neck delicately exposed, and he lets go.

“ Yesss  … ohhhh fffuck,  fuck yes , yes-!” He sobs with deep seated relief, euphoria flushing his body.

You want him to linger in it, to feel tension dissipate as the embers die down and warm his body. He gasps, writhing as his entire body jerks with intermittent aftershocks. You hold him there for as long as you can, sweet caresses of his clit, doing your best not to overstimulate him, to let him down gently.

As his body starts to relax you kiss his inner thighs and nuzzle into his skin, tracing your nails over his legs. His breathing slows as exhaustion matures into a hazy comforting wading pool, until the world spins in slow motion and he's finally still. You slowly slide up his body, taking him in. His half-lidded eyes follow you, face slack, lips curled into a barely there smile, genuine and gentle. The hand on his cheek is met warmly.

“Good job love,” you whisper, “So good for me. You okay?”

He licks his lips and leans up with just enough energy to meet you. You guide him back down and kiss him like he deserves, whispering little affirmations between them. It’s like he’s floating in a space of unreality and he lets himself linger, for just a bit, enjoying the way he can quietly give and receive a softness he’d forgotten he was capable of.

You gently run your hands over his skin and he does the same, tilting when you kiss his neck, sighing when you kiss just under his ear. You lay there for an indeterminate amount of time, until one of you starts to recognize the sound of a clock ticking. You nuzzle against his sweaty skin.

“Wanna get cleaned up? I don’t feel like a shower tonight but I’ll take one if you want.”

“Washcloth is fine,” he murmurs.

“Okay.” You kiss his temple and then reluctantly slide off the bed and head for the bathroom. You pee and clean yourself up a little bit before returning to him with a washcloth in hand.

He’s slowly unfolding another comforter, back in his discarded trousers and unbuttoned shirt.

You come up behind him and kiss his shoulder. “M’sorry, I forgot to put a towel down.” He shrugs, still a little out of it, eyes glazed over.

You let him finish before having him sit in front of you, gently wiping his face clean as he leans into your hand.

“I’ll get changed,” he murmurs, faded and wobbly. You give him his privacy in the bathroom and change into a pair of pajamas left in his room for nights like these. He returns wearing his own and immediately sinks into bed. You roll onto your back, beckoning him, and he settles into your side.

After a few moments of peaceful silence, Lucifer speaks. His voice is muffled against your skin.

“If you do decide to delete those pictures you’ll have to do it twice - once in his phone and once in his backup.”

“Mm. Why don’t I pick Leviathan’s brain - I want it to be permanent.”

“Might as well be if you’re going through the trouble.”

“It isn’t trouble.”

The tension in his body slowly dissipates, yielding the enormity of his weight.

“Then… I’ll let you take care of it."

[fallowtail]

fighting for my life to try and get back into the groove of commenting on fics instead of just leaving kudos like a loser but the depression adhd brainfog is so severe i'm barely managing to read the fics in the first place. aughh god i am such a bad friend/supporter

[horrorgirlreads]

About to start my final round of edits before posting a fic that has taken me out of my comfort zone

[mushiewrites]

Sleepy Experiments

It is officially lee!George week! :D I'm so excited I finally got to do something like this - I've had this idea since @fluffallamaful did an incredible lee!Dream MONTH last June, and truthfully I've wanted to do this since last August but....better late than never, right? 😇 I also wanna just thank @awkwardtickleetoo for helping me with everything - prompts, ideas, proof reading, etc. Cal is literally there for me always and Im so grateful for him, he truly is my lil knight ):

day 1 - soft tickles / prompts found here!

(lee!George / ler!Dream : 3.8K words)

“Dream! Stohop!” George was met with yet another poke to his side, jerking his body to the left to escape Dream’s finger. He let out a sigh in fake frustration, fully aware that Dream was bound to become bored as they’d been attempting to nap with no success for a little while now. George had almost drifted to sleep multiple times, but every single time he did, he was met with a poke from the restless blonde boy.

“George! I cahan’t!” The elder couldn’t help but giggle at the mocking as Dream leaned his cheek against his right palm, elbow propped onto the bed beside him while he wiggled his free pointer finger in the air in front of George’s face to tease him. The brunette quickly swatted it away, making Dream let out a huff of amused air through his nose before making a move to poke George again. “Just a little!”

“Nohoho! Leave mehehe alone!” 

“Come on, Georgie, please? I promise I’ll be reaaaaally gentle. And maybe it’ll help me sleep!” Dream stuck out his bottom lip as far as it would go as he held out his words, the pout matching the puppy dog eyes he was using to melt the Brit. George let his head fall back onto the pillow beneath him, letting out a groan and bringing his right arm up to cover his eyes to prevent him from seeing how closely Dream was focusing on him. 

“I- I mean- why? Just- …ugh, fine.” George winced when Dream let out a squeal of excitement, dropping his arm back against the blankets and cracking an eye open to see Dream quickly push himself into a kneeling position beside him. “You have to be so gentle though, Dream! I mean it! One wrong move and you’re done.”

“I promise to be so gentle!” The blonde smiled at the warning, tapping George’s thigh twice before continuing. “Do you mind turning over for me, George?” 

George felt his cheeks fill with warmth, nodding his head with a quiet whine as he adjusted himself to lay on his tummy. He felt the familiar weight of the younger boy settling on the back of his thighs, jumping slightly when Dream hooked two fingers under his shirt and began revealing the pale skin beneath it. He felt goosebumps spread across the expanse of his back as the cool air blanketed every inch of it, making him squirm slightly with a shiver and growling at Dream when he giggled at the involuntary movement. 

“Do you really have to lift my shirt up for this?” His voice was more high pitched than he expected it to be and swallowed thickly, looking over his shoulder at Dream and coughing slightly to adjust it back to the normal tone. “I mean, it seems a bit excessive.” 

Dream let out a scoff at the passive protest, tilting his head slightly to the right when he saw the tips of George’s ears turning a light pink. He chuckled as he continued to slowly drag the black T-shirt up until it was sitting just below the bottom of his shoulder blades. George felt the fabric glide lightly across his skin when Dream released his grip, making him squirm briefly at the soft tickly feeling. 

“Oh George, if that bothered you, how are you gonna handle the actual tickles?” Dream cooed, smiling as the smaller boy began to squirm a little more at the thought of the soft tickles that awaited him. Dream swiped a pointer finger just below both his shoulder blades and chuckled when the smaller boy screeched, pushing his face into the pillow and muffling a nervous giggle that he couldn’t keep in any longer.

“Wahatch it! I can stop this right now, you know!” George threatened as he adjusted his arms, folding them underneath the pillow before laying his head back down against the soft fabric. 

“What?! No! Please don’t!” The tone of his voice sent a small dagger into George’s chest, melting him instantly. He knew that Dream was fully joking, but the fake hurt in the younger’s voice made George want to let Dream tickle him forever.

“I…I won’t,” He sighed in defeat. “Just…be careful, okay?” 

George was met with a small chuckle in response, giggling himself when he felt Dream’s fingers touch down just under his shoulder blades and wiggle lightly against the warm skin there. He twisted his fists up into the pillowcase, squeezing the fabric between his fingers in an attempt to keep his arms raised.

Dream continued to softly skitter his fingers over George’s back, spreading his hands further apart to trail up and down the sides of his spine. He arched into the bed as Dream’s right pointer finger traced back up his spine and between his shoulder blades, giggling harder and kicking his feet against the covers a few times to relieve some of the tickly energy that was coursing through his body.

“You’re cute when you’re all squirmy like this.” The blonde stated, no teasing tone to be found in his voice. This only further proved to fluster George as his face grew hotter, making him turn to fully bury his face into the pillow. 

“Shuhut up!” George’s giggles were quickly morphed to cackles as Dream used both pointer fingers to walk under his shirt, scratching lightly at the sides of his armpits and following George whichever way he twisted. 

“It’s the truth! What am I supposed to do, lie to you?” Dream giggled from his spot on George’s thighs, flattening his palms and dragging them slowly down before spidering his fingers along the boy’s lower back. The brunette jumped in surprise at the sudden tickling, giggling harder and visibly struggling more and more the longer Dream focused there.

“Ahaha, please! I- Dreheheam! Gehehentle, plehease!” 

“Thihis is gentle! I’m not sure I could get any more gentle if I tried!” Despite his rebuttal, Dream pressed his palms down again into the pink skin of George’s lower back and began rubbing to help soothe the tingly feeling. 

“Thahahank you!” George’s laughter was slowly calming down, the pitch raised into tiny squeaks but becoming less frequent as the time passed. Dream felt his own cheeks filling with heat at the reply, rarely experiencing that level of politeness from the Brit. He leaned his body slightly to the left  to look at George, feeling his stomach fill with butterflies at how wide his smile was, and how happy he looked with his eyes squeezed and nose scrunched. 

“Anything for you, my little prince.” He was met with a high pitched whine followed by chirpy giggles, making Dream’s tiny grin grow into a full blown toothy grin.

After sitting back on George’s thighs again, adjusting himself to balance comfortably, Dream used his pointer and middle fingers from both hands and slowly walked them up George’s back, pressing in and wiggling slightly as they continued their journey from his lower back to just under his shoulder blades once more.

“I didn’t realize how sensitive your back was, Georgie. And here I am, just thinking I was the only one cursed with this weakness!” He continued to speak as he made little swirls with his fingers on the sides of George’s back, careful to not tickle too much over his back ribs in fear of disturbing the smaller boy’s state of sleepy bliss he was caught in. “I hope you know I’ll remember this.” 

“Whahahatever!” The brunette exclaimed, wiggling slightly as the soft tickling continued under his shirt and around his shoulder blades. He scrunched his shoulders up as high as they would go, shaking his head back and forth as tickly circles were drawn around the sensitive bones of his upper back, hugging the pillow as tightly as he could as a source of comfort.

The younger boy hummed in response, a smile clear in the tone as he removed his hands from under the shirt and made his way back down to the dimples of George’s back, tracing and skittering all ten of his fingers as he went. As much as he loved the sound of George’s cackling, squealing and giggling, he didn’t want to tire the boy out too soon. After another minute of gentle tickles around the sides of his lower back, Dream flattened his palms again and began to rub the entirety of George’s back, helping to calm him and work him through the giggles that continued to pour from him. 

Dream eventually made his way to George’s shoulders, helping relax them back down from being pressed up against his ears. He used his hands to squeeze the muscles there every few seconds, giving George a gentle massage as his giggles slowly dissolved. The blonde noticed how small George looked beneath him, his hands completely engulfing his shoulders and making Dream let out a chuckle at how tiny he actually was. George let out a contented sigh, ignoring the giggle and turning his head to lay his cheek on the blankets comfortably, closing his eyes just moments later. George could feel himself drifting off to sleep when suddenly his eyes shot open, Dream’s hands having moved closer to his neck and sending a horribly tickly sensation to his nerves. 

“Wait, whahat?! Nohoho!” The elder scrunched his shoulders up and attempted to block the sensitive muscle where his shoulders and base of his neck met, clearly surprised at how much it affected him. 

“Awh, what’s wrong, sweetheart, does someone have a sensitive neck?” 

“You knohohow I do!” 

The brunette buried his head into the blankets below him once again as he let out a squeal, feeling Dream’s fingers walking up the sides of his neck until he was directly under his ears on both sides. He began to gently flutter his fingers in the hypersensitive area, giggling to himself when George’s laughter rose in pitch until it was nothing but bright chirps and loud squeaks. 

“Listen to you, George! You’re like a little bird!” The older boy groaned through his giggles at the comment, not knowing whether to take it as a compliment or an insult. He didn’t have much time to dwell on that though as a tiny raspberry was suddenly placed below his right ear, making him screech and attempt to bring up his shoulder again. Unfortunately for George, Dream’s chin blocked it and another small raspberry was placed in the same spot. 

“NAHAHA P-PLEHEASE! G-Gehehentle, Dream!” 

The skitters against his skin turned into gentle rubs, taming George’s giggles almost instantly and allowing him to relax back into the touch.

“I know, I know. I just can’t help myself, George. You’re too cute when you get all scrunchy.” Dream giggled at his own words as he watched George melt into the blankets beneath him. He moved his pointer fingers to swipe at the shell of George’s ear to hear him squeal again before rubbing the ghost tickles out immediately after the action. 

“W-Well, you’re ahahan idiot!” 

“Maybe, but I’m your idiot. So that makes up for it, right?” 

George could hear the smirk in Dream’s voice and refused to answer out of spite, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing the stupid remark had made me smile, too. After a few more minutes of Dream soothingly rubbing over George’s shoulders, he tapped on the smaller boy’s back a few times to get his attention. 

“Is it okay if you turn onto your back for me? I wanna try something else.” The blonde was met with a small whine in response, but lifted himself slightly off of George’s thighs when Dream felt him begin to turn over anyway. Dream’s grin only grew when George flashed him a death glare, watching as he flopped himself down onto his back with an eye roll. 

“There. Happy?” 

Dream raised an eyebrow at the question as he looked George’s torso up and down, shaking his head slightly in disapproval as he lowered himself back onto George’s thighs. His eyes were glued to George’s shirt, which had fallen back down to cover his tummy as the smaller boy maneuvered himself just seconds before.

“I would be, but you messed up your shirt! Now I have to pull it up again.” Dream sighed in feigned annoyance. He made sure to meet George’s gaze as he slowly began to push his shirt up once again, this time stopping at the middle of his ribs and dragging his fingers down his sides once he was satisfied with the amount of tummy exposed. The brunette writhed with a high pitched giggle at the tracing on his sides, bringing his hands up to hide his face out of embarrassment. 

Dream slowly skittered his fingers lightly over George’s lower tummy, feeling the smaller boy squirm a little more than he had been as he kicked his feet pathetically against the bed behind him. The blonde used his pointer fingers to continue to trace up and down the sides of George’s tummy, listening to the many different types of giggles it produced while George continued to squirm. The elder did his best to try and allow the tickling, stopping his hands every time they moved from his face to try and grab Dream’s hands on instinct. 

“Do you know you scrunch your nose sometimes when you laugh?” Dream commented nonchalantly, making the blush from George’s cheeks spread to the tips of his ears and down the front of his neck. 

“I dohohn’t!” 

“And you blush like crazy. Right now you’re like a little rose, your cheeks are so red! It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen! My little blushy baby.”

“SHUT UHUHP!” George removed his hands from the safety of his own face and lunged forward, trying his best to clamp them over Dream’s mouth but squealing when his wrists were scooped up into one of the blonde’s big hands instead. 

“Oh, you want me to tickle your palms? You could’ve just asked, gorgeous!” Dream brought his chin down and began to lightly drag his beard over George’s palms, making him break out into bright cackles as he threw his head back. 

“N-Nahaha please! Nohohot there!” 

Dream knew that George had extremely sensitive palms, but also knew they worked incredibly well as melt spots when done correctly. Dream continued to slowly drag his chin back and forth over George’s hands until he felt the small fingers relax against his own cheeks, smiling and letting George press his fingers into them as he giggled along with the elder. 

“Dreheheam!” 

The blonde could tell that George was getting embarrassed, giggling quietly as he watched him squeeze his eyes shut while he attempted to hide his face into one of his shoulders. Dream decided to take pity on him, smile wide as he pulled back slightly to stop the tickling. 

“Okahay, okay. I guess I’m done experimenting....” Dream spoke with fake disappointment as moved his chin from its place hovering over George’s hands, holding them in his own and using both of thumbs to rub against George’s to help calm him. 

“Thahahank God.” He dropped his head back down against the pillow as he closed his eyes with a contented sigh, intending on allowing the rest of the giggles to run their course while he attempted to relax again. Dream raised an eyebrow at that, taking it as a small challenge and smirking when a new plan formed in his head.

“But actually, you know what? Maybe not!” Dream spoke suddenly, fingers releasing George’s hands and allowing both of his own to fall down to rest on the tops of his thighs.

“Wahahait, why?!” George felt a slight panic at the idea of more tickles after everything he’d already been put through, bringing his hands back to himself and crossing both arms over his torso for protection.

“I just realized I never got your poor little feet! How could I forget them, they need just as much attention as the rest of you, don’t they?”

“What?! Nohoho! We- We’re supposed tohoho be nahahapping!” George was quick to protest, launching his hands forward and gripping onto Dream’s wrists as tight as he could to keep him in place. Dream’s grin grew wider at that reaction, getting the desired results and deciding to continue the teasing.

“I could even do that thing you like so much!” Dream flashed him a smile as he ignored George’s words, only interested in continuing the topic he had introduced. George knew by asking he would only get more flustered, but he was too curious and too stubborn to allow Dream to get away with gatekeeping whatever thought he was currently having at his own expense. 

“...What thing…?” He was hesitant, his voice wavering when the question finally spilled out moments later. The blonde giggled brightly at that, pulling at his arms a little to feel that George still had a tight grasp on them.

“Well,” Dream began to explain, shrugging his shoulders as he thought for a moment before continuing. “You know that thing. The shoe thing! The one where I take one off and leave one on?”

“Dre- NMM HMM?!” George opened his mouth to speak, but Dream was quick to break out of the smaller boy’s grip, placing a hand over his mouth to muffle the protests as he continued. 

“To be gentle, of course! Not for any other reason. And then I’d take the one sock off, too. And I’d leave the other foot alone, still protected. Isn’t that nice of me, only focusing on one foot instead of two?”

George let go of the wrist he still was holding and grabbed the hand over his mouth, pulling it off and flinging it away from himself as far as Dream would let it go. He quickly brought his arms up and flung them over his face once again as he felt his cheeks grow hotter by the second. George was shaking his head quickly, not saying anything verbally out of fear his voice would sound small and weak from how flustered he was.

“You can relax, I’m just teasing. That’s a little too intense for you for it to be considered gentle, isn’t it, sweetheart? You’re just too ticklish and too flustered, huh?” 

“What?! Dream, just- whahatever, shut up!” George whined behind his arms, letting out a small hiccup in surprise when Dream gripped his elbows and lowered his arms to reveal his face. He opened his eyes and was met with bright green ones staring back, rolling his own and pushing at Dream’s chest to move him back slightly.

“Alrihight, angel, I’m done tormenting you…for now.” The blonde adjusted himself from straddling George’s thighs to kneeling next to him again, this time pressing his knees against George’s side in an attempt to stay connected. 

“More like forever.” George made a move to sit up as he mumbled under his breath, pushing himself up onto his elbows only to fall back against the bed suddenly when he felt rapid squeezes digging into his inner thighs. He let out a wail and thrashed around frantically, his legs kicking out and arms flailing in every direction. 

“NAHAHAHA! D-DREHEHEHEAM NOHOHO!” One of George’s hands gripped tightly into the comforter below him, pulling at it and trying his best to keep his arms to himself in an attempt to save himself from slapping Dream and making the tickling far worse than it already was.

The pinching stopped as quickly as it had started, allowing George to take in deep gulps of air as he continued to laugh himself silly. He pressed his knees together as he turned to the left side, curling in on himself and bringing a hand down to wedge between his inner thighs in an attempt to tame the ghost tickles that were still flowing throughout his legs. His free hand was covering the side of his face that was visible to Dream, attempting to keep the blonde from seeing George’s rapidly growing blush.

“I’m sorry, but I had to! You were getting cocky with me,” The blonde giggled, stretching his left arm out and placing it on the smaller boy’s arm and rubbing it soothingly to try and help calm his nerves. He let out a bright giggle when George jolted at the sudden touch, clearly anticipating more tickles. Dream moved his hand up George’s arm and into the older boy’s hair, gently ruffling it. “But it was only for a second! I promise I’m done now, baby.”

“Ohohonly a second?! It’s my thighs, Dreheheam! You know how they are!” George rolled his eyes as he moved his hand to reveal his face, barely meeting Dream’s gaze. He felt a chill run down his spine as soon as the words passed his lips, noticing the flame they ignited in Dream’s eyes as he stared down at him with a smirk.

“Oh yeah? Do I know how they are, Georgie?” The brunette squirmed at the words, moving to cover his face once again to hide himself from Dream.

“Yes!” George spat back in annoyance, feeling his face heat up once again at the teasing tone in the younger boy’s voice. George felt the bed dip and suddenly he felt lips against the shell of his ear, barely grazing it and causing him to yelp. He made a move to cover the spot with his hand instead, but Dream had anticipated this and was quick to lightly grip George’s wrist, keeping it where it was against his blushy cheek.

“Hmmm…maybe I do. But don’t worry! We can explore that another day, just to make sure I really know,” Dream purred into his ear, making George let out a high pitched whine from the sudden closeness of the blonde. “Preferably on a day where I’m feeling particularly cruel. Does that sound good, kitten?”

Dream released his grip on the tiny wrist in his hand, chuckling when the brunette scrambled to sit up while the blonde made a move to crawl to the edge of the bed. George could do nothing but watch with wide eyes as the younger boy stood up, making his way towards the door with a mischievous look on his face; like he was immediately planning George’s demise. 

“W-What about our nap?” 

“How could I possibly sleep now when I have, like, ten different ideas on how to absolutely wreck you floating around in my head? I’ll nap later.” Dream turned around one last time to flash him a teasy smile before exiting the bedroom and disappearing down the hallway, leaving George bright faced and breathless, anxiously sitting with the many questions that swirled through his mind of what Dream could possibly do to further tear him into ticklish little shreds.

[kingofanemptyworld]

happy one year fandom anniversary to me!

to celebrate I’m dropping the fics I’ve done in the last year because, well, why not? might as well advertise my involvement in the fandom

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