#I'm like excited about this fic

[nopingitoutme]

I've written two chapters so far, should I post it? oh no now I have to write a summary

[science-lings]

God, I love it when people who clearly have personal experience or expert knowledge on certain things write obscure AUs that incorporate those things so hyperspecifically that I feel like I'm learning something.

I love nurses who write hospital AUs that have accurate medical knowledge just thrown in there because they went to medical school and when people who clearly had a phase where they obsessed over a certain time period write an AU set in that time period or location it's just so fun.

Tell me about the 1950s Chicago culture and history and how the characters are interracial and how that affects their life, I love when the money is accurately converted and the personal histories of the characters are thoughtfully woven to incorporate the new setting they're put in, I love it when people care so much about making something and use their own expertise to aide them.

[forgettable-au]

hi! I’m just curious, have you ever read I Am In The Past, Never In The Future?

NO?? OMG????

THERE'S A FULL PAPYRUS WAS GASTER FIC AND I DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT IT????????????????????????????

WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME THIS IN ALL OF MY YEARS GOING CRAZY ABOUT THE CONCEPT

AND IT'S FROM 2016????????????

I'm gonna go crazy about this for a bit... definitely will give it a read later

[mayhemspreadingguy]

@magnusbae, not expecting I'd follow through, suggested to sketch Anakin but with cat fangs... Things got out of hand.

Also, look! Magnusbae gifted me with a most lovely fic inspired by my art (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) (fic under the cut, 3,800+ words).

That’s it. Anakin had resisted long enough. 

All through morning, noon and even dinner. He had done his Katas, had finished his chores, even went through his studies, all without so much as a single comment. He deserves to be commended personally by Master Yoda for being an exemplary Jedi. He deserves to be knighted right this moment seeing how he never even mentioned just how force karked awful his Master’s hair looked like for the past week. Sticking in all directions, it grows in uneven patches, the addition of a beard is somehow making his elegant Master look like a beggar from the streets and that, that is intolerable. 

Anakin growls quietly, muscles tense. He knows his Master most likely can feel him staring holes through him, and yet he simply continues reading his datapad, not asking nor looking, radiating calm in the force. Anakin wonders if he could tidy that mess with the power of thought alone. Would that be considered a frivolous use of the force? Even if done in the service of the republic? After all, his Master’s good looks are the cornerstone of the… 

Obi-Wan scratches at the back of his head, clearly bothered and Anakin can’t tolerate this anymore, cannot accept this anymore. His tongue is itching something fierce, his hands are sweating, he cannot sit still like there’s fire ants filling his pants and crawling up his spine. He cannot tolerate this. If not for himself, he must do this for his Master. If not for his Master, then for the order. If not for the order, then for the Galaxy. If not for the Galaxy, then for the Force itself. For he can swear by all that he holds dear that the Force itself is embarrassed by his Master being so unkempt, so ungroomed. 

Unacceptable. This is absolutely unacceptable. His Master has to always look neat and nice and put together, smelling fresh and looking proper. That’s the only right way for his Master to be. Anakin will not stand for it being any other way. He will not. He will make it right. 

His Master ignores the first lick. He often does that, pretends to not notice in the hopes of Anakin stopping after catching himself at his instincts. Oftentimes it works. Oftentimes it is an accident. But not this time. This time it’s very much on purpose and very much intended to continue until Anakin is satisfied with the results. All Anakin needs is for his Master to continue pretending to not notice long enough for him to fix this mess. 

Two more licks, lower neck up the scratchy beard and—

“Anakin—” his Master stops pretending so suddenly that Anakin’s tongue moves over his jawline and across the beard in a way that tickles funny. Anakin likes how it feels, rough and interesting, makes him curious about how it’ll feel like to lick across the jawline, where the beard is the thickest.

Knowing he does not have much time before his Master attempts to stop him altogether, Anakin leans in with renewed urgency, tongue ready, mouth starting to water— “Anakin, stop!” a strong hand pushes against his shoulder, moving him a distance away without being as rough as to push. 

“Mrrphh!” Anakin protests, pushing against the hand but not fighting it actively. His Master can be so bossy when he gets like this, so unreasonable. The only way to win is to use his words, otherwise his Master might just walk off and hide in his rooms instead. Or worse, go meditate in the halls, where everyone will see this shameful disaster.

“You need the grooming, Master!” Anakin starts with the foundation and heart of his objection. His Master always teaches that it’s important to be able to pinpoint the problem early on and address it quickly so as to not let it fester and become bigger than it must be. Granted his Master spoke of interpersonal disputes however it absolutely does apply here. His Master simply cannot deny this reasoning, ergo, will not be able to dispute it as untrue. “So just let me!” Anakin adds, before his Master could somehow find a way to object.

Can’t his Master see that Anakin is offering him a service? Out of the kindness of his heart, no less. Him enjoying the way his Master’s flavor sits on his tongue, the way it makes all the small hairs on his body stand on end, how it fills him with excitement— His Master’s scent, rich and spiced and safe— how he favors it above all else even when the exotic teas make him sneeze and sneeze— the way a single point of contact would narrow his senses into a single point of focus, clear his mind of all worries— the way his vision relaxes, the way his nostrils flare and he inhales and inhales and inhales— the way his heartbeat peaks and then slows, the way his mouth goes dry and he feels thirsty, hungry even— all that, all that has nothing to do with his altruistic motivations. He’s just looking out for his Master. Obviously, duh. 

“Master.” He can hear his own voice, can hear how it takes a whiny note his Master often teases him for. It’s hard to care when he has a goal bigger than his own ego. “Just let me.” He demands, he can hear it and he still doesn’t stop himself from reaching for his Master’s flowing robes, claws catching on the material and making him shudder. Maybe he does need trimming just like his Master insists each time they spar. Maybe Anakin will allow it, if his Master is good and allows him this. Maybe he’d even let his Master groom him too.

The bewilderment in the force clues Anakin on the fact that yes, maybe he did forget to shield, again. He huffs through his nose, wrinkling it. He really doesn’t know what the big deal with this is, doesn’t understand the obsession everyone and especially his Master, has with hiding every single urge and instinct and thought they have. It’s not like he thinks anything he wouldn’t also say out loud. Maybe if the Jedi used less of those shields, it would have been much easier to communicate with them, to bond with them, and maybe then he’d feel less like an outsider, like an odd bird out of its cage.

“Oh Anakin..” Obi-Wan sighs, the tension loosening from his hold against his shoulder, rather than scolding, there’s the hints of the sadness his Master expresses each time Anakin feels alienated in this place. It is not his fault no one understands him, it is not his fault he is different than everyone. 

“Master.” Anakin chirps back, rolling his eyes. His Master has the oddest of tendencies to get hung up on the most particular of topics. Anakin not having enough friends, per his Master’s opinion, is one such topic. Nevermind the fact that Anakin had never seen his Master ever share a true conversation with a single person. Other than himself. Of course. His Master does talk to him.

His Master will get fixated on him instead of thinking about himself and nag him to half death. ‘Anakin get more friends’ and ‘Anakin don’t spread the droid parts all across the quarters’ and ‘Anakin I’m a grown man I can groom myself.’ And while some of those things might be true, obviously, the last one is not. “You look like a mess.” Anakin says it to his face, because he and his Master are real friends.

“Thank you Padawan.” His Master answer, no longer sounding sad, instead his voice is dripping with sarcasm. Anakin doesn’t like it, but he supposes it’s better than sadness. “I do not recall asking for your no doubt impeccable sense of— Ahnakin—!” his ranting stops mid warming up when Anakin uses the opening to dart forward and lick him again, from the lowest exposed spot of his neck, up the smooth skin, his rough tongue making a satisfying ‘shh’ sound as it catches at the hair of the beard and smooths it up with his lick. The flavor is… is… 

Obi-Wan had used some sort of balm… some sort of synthetic musk that makes Anakin’s brain swim funny and eyes to close and mouth to water even more. He has to swallow down the saliva lest he drool like a hungry Tooka. It’s hard not to, when his Master is so, so, so karkin yummy. He slams his shields up with a clumsy thud in the force, but maybe just a moment too late to cover up that last thought.

“Anakin!” his Master sounds properly scandalized, voice raising to a tone that always makes Anakin’s ears ring uncomfortably and the following lecturing tone is no better. “Cease this nonsense immediately, you must not—" 

Anakin licks again. The side of his neck and up to the point where skin meets ear. “Master.” He says there, voice dropping into a purr that morphs into a warning growl he didn’t even think of making, there’s no aggression, only the frustrated warning to not stop him in the middle of something so damn important. Grooming, is important. More than Katas or studies or meditations. Maybe even more than sparring. And Anakin loves sparring. 

All Anakin wants is for his Master to sit quietly and let him take care of him. The way he ought to, the way he was meant to do. It’s his job, after all, is it not? He is Obi-Wan’s Padawan, it’s only natural he would tend to his Master, that he would care for him, that he would help him. That just makes sense. That rings true in the force and that’s all Anakin needs to know.

"I will.” He declares, it is no longer a request nor a plea, it is a declaration of intentions. A declaration of intent. He presses his nose at the soft skin under his Master’s ear and inhales, deeply, the scent making him Master-stupid so he says what’s on his mind with no filters, with no thought. “Unless you hate me.” His voice drops softer, he can’t breath, having inhaled too much of the strongest drug known to him. “Then I won’t” he trembles, he waits, if his Master rejects him, if he does hate him for his care, he will, he

“Anakin, this is hardly related, I do not think that—”

The force between them sparks and Obi-Wan’s mouth snaps closed with an audible click of the jaw. There’s a tension and a heating of an eruption that is halted with the calming breeze of spring air, Obi-Wan’s Force Signature covering his own, soothing, embracing, calming. “Very well, Padawan.” Obi-Wan speaks with a voice of a man who’s been worn in battle, sighing out in exhaustion.b “Since you cannot resist your nature, I’ll allow it.“ He pauses, sounding not a little doubtful as he adds the obligatory “Just this once, Anakin.” A final form of giving in, one Anakin is familiar with. 

There’s an ‘You should be old enough to know better’ goes unsaid and so Anakin ignores it. It wouldn’t have mattered even if Obi-Wan did say it. He had before, many times, and it never mattered. Anakin somehow doubts it’ll matter even when he grows taller than Obi-Wan. And he will, he just knows it. He will grow tall and strong, and he will always take care of his Master, and Obi-Wan would not be able to argue with that. Because it’ll all make sense. It always does. Everything about them does. 

If only his Master understood him better, he’d know that one doesn’t just grow out of wishing to groom those he cares and…loves. This is something that is forever and always. That is something that only grows and deepens, something to be shared and relished. Something he will always give to his Master freely, even if his Master maybe doesn’t…. Really share it in the same way as him. Which is fine. He had decided a long time ago. It is fine. 

It is enough that he gets to care for his Master. So he smiles instead and purrs out a sweet “Thank you, Master.” In that respectful manner he knows his Master enjoys hearing. He giggles when he feels his Master’s breath hitching, giggles more when nuzzling against the neck tickles his nose. “This is so horrible.” He complains, wanting his Master to know how strongly he objects to this change, and yet he cannot stop giggling. “Master!” he doesn’t even try to hide his joy from his voice, nevermind from the Force.

His Force Signature is a slow pulse of contentment, securely tucked beneath Obi-Wan’s still. When he licks small licks under Obi-Wan’s ear, he can feel his Master’s breath catching, can feel the way he stops breathing entirely and the soft gasp when Anakin licks at his ear directly, once, twice, a few more times just to test how committed his Master is to this session. Very, it seems. His Master doesn’t object even when Anakin grows bold and nibbles at his earlobe, tugging ever so gently. His Master is always so sensitive around this area, always so jumpy if Anakin stays too long at this spot. It always makes Anakin want to lick there until Obi-Wan loses his composure entirely.

He never does. 

At least not too much.

He does want to groom Obi-Wan after all, not only bully him into squirming because he is so damn ticklish there. That is not to say that he is above wanting to see his pristine Master squirming a little. So he licks there again, and when his tongue dips only a little into the ear, his Master finally jumps and moves away, breathing harshly and looking redder than his hair.

“Anakin I do believe that my hair is not located in that particular spot and—” his hands close on Anakin’s shoulders when he makes it to the ear again, wanting to nibble just one more time, just one last time… “Anakin.” His Master’s firm voice snaps him back into focus, tells him gently through the force to not overdo it. Fine, fine. He will not overdo it. This time.

"Just relax, Mastah.” Anakin pouts, the word slurring in the way his Master always corrects. Always, but not now. Anakin reaches for his Master’s wide shoulders and waits a moment until his Master’s grip loosens enough for him to actually move. It’s easy enough to shift to his Master’s lap. One knee over and sitting down in one smooth motion that has a practiced finesse to it. You either get to Obi-Wan’s lap swiftly, or you don’t at all. There is no room for hesitation for his Master will do enough hesitating for the both of them. So he sits down and nudges closer, right away. Inhaling, inhaling deeper.

Oh how he wants their scent to become one. They’re already nearly inseparable, living as closely as they do, using the same soaps, eating the same foods. Anakin wants more. Anakin wishes that they could smell and feel like one. United. Clearly bonded. Even more than they are through the force. He wants it so much that his fangs itch, itch, itch to bite and bite and bite. But no. No he is here to groom, to care. Not to bite, not to… mark. His cheeks are warm with it, knowing that he has, and is, constantly considering this. Wondering about this, curious about this. About marking his Master in a way that will be known, in a way that will be understood. He thinks about it, always. Luckily his Master has no clue. Luckily, Obi-Wan does not know. Or he wouldn’t let him sit here so carelessly, surely, he wouldn’t. 

“It’s part of it, duh.” Anakin says without truly knowing what he speaks of. The grooming, the licking, the biting, the sitting on the lap? He doesn’t know. He only knows of the happy, loud purr that fills his lungs when Obi-Wan doesn’t stop him from leaning back in, back to his neck, nuzzling, smelling, licking up that rough, funny tasting beard and to his hair, spiky and significantly softer than the beard. He giggles again, and purrs. It’s an odd combination of sounds he does try to stop but doesn’t manage. He is too preoccupied for dignity, or decorum, or class. He’s too karking pleased. 

When he licks at his Master’s neck again, the man tilts his head up and away, exposing his throat for him. Good. Good. Good, great, awesome.

His Master couldn’t have displayed his trust more plainly than this. No words could have conveyed the same level of commitment, of confidence and belief. Exposing one’s throat, Anakin thinks, is a universal sign. Even if his Master is less inclined to instincts as Anakin is, it still counts, it still matters a whole lot that he does it for him. His Master does it because he knows it matters to him and that— that matters more than all else.

His own purring is deafening, drumming in his eardrums and filling his chest with sound, he used to try to hide this in the past when he realized that most Padawans did not purr at every one of their Master’s compliments or gestures of kindness. He no longer bothers. He pulls and licks and purrs some more. He takes his time, licking small, measured licks, taking care to put that awful messy beard into something much neater, dignified.

“Maste-rrr.” He draws the ‘R’, nuzzling again under the ear and grinning when his Master shudders but doesn’t pull away, he always gives him a chance to be good. So he will be good. He does not nibble, instead he wraps his lips carefully around the bit of skin where no hair touches. Oh he wants to suck, to mark, to taste. Oh he does, so much. But he doesn’t. He will be good, because his Master believes him to be good, and proper, and nice. So he will be. 

His cheeks are fire hot when he thinks about what else he would have liked to be doing instead of the promised grooming. That is not something he should be thinking of, nor something his Master would ever permit, but…

Thinking is not illegal and he is not good at not thinking. 

So he imagines it. Imagines how his Master’s hands would feel on his hips, imagines his Master yanking him down to sit properly on his lap, Imagines his Master wanting him to lick elsewhere and—

“Ahnakin—” Obi-Wan protests, so strongly it rings in the force with his words. He feels and looks scandalized, even more so than before. He looks like he is considering all his choices and decisions. He looks like he’s about to call quits. He looks like he’d push Anakin away, he— places his hands on Anakin’s hips and pulls him down, to sit properly. 

The whine that escapes Anakin’s lips is nothing short of mortifying. It’s a needy, surprised thing, he feels like a proper youngling, confused and shy. He seeks the refuge of his Master’s neck and hides there, nuzzling while whining again, complaining, scandalized too by his Master’s audacity to follow his dreams up like this. He can’t mean it, he simply can’t! It is a mere coincidence, his Master would never follow his fantasies, he didn’t even hear it, his shields are up and proper, he’s sure of it, he’s sure of it, he’s… 

“Sorry…” Anakin murmurs out, because if he’s honest, he is not sure if his shields are worth anything with how excited he had gotten. Maybe his Master did hear, maybe his Master did feel something. Maybe he did push a little too hard. He doesn’t want to push too hard, he knows that sometimes his Master gets nervous because of his thoughts. Not angry, never angry.

He doesn’t want to make his Master nervous, he can feel the tell-tales of it in the force. Despite his Master’s secure hold on him, despite his Master’s unmoving frame. He can feel the building up hesitation. He does not want his Master to feel that way with him. 

“I’ll stop.” He promises his Master, assures him. He’ll try to, anyway. For his Master he’d try to go against his nature, even if his nature does tell him to think and do all sorts of things. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night when he can’t sleep and he thinks of his Master and every word they had ever passed, he does wonder about this. Is this truly his nature, his instincts that drive him to act as he does, or is it simply how he is with his Master? He suspects he knows the answer to that, but it’s easier for the both of them to call it instincts and be over with it, so he never disputes it. “Really.”

There’s a charged silence and then, blessedly, his Master says the two words Anakin loves more than anything else in the world, the two words for which he, not jokingly, thinks he might be willing to die for. 

“Good boy.”

The Coruscanti accent is thick and rolling, he sounds almost distracted, he sounds… 

Anakin shuts his eyes and bites his tongue, fangs digging into the soft flesh. He must not think of exactly how he imagines his Master sounding. He should not think about how his hands feel warm and human on his hips. He should not think about the lingering flavor on his tongue nor how his lungs are full of Obi-Wan, of his Master. He should not, is not allowed to. Promised not to. Instead he wraps his arms around his Master’s neck and hugs him, pulling the larger man to himself, having his head against his chest for a few long moments in which he is sure Obi-Wan hears just how fast his heart goes. He surely can feel it through the bond, it’s going crazy, ba-dum, ba-dum. 

He can feel a distant echo of his own heartbeat, almost imperceptible to his senses, and yet there. An answer. Thoomp-thoomp.

When he leans back, he moves his hands to cup his Master’s cheeks and makes him tilt his head up, to face him. “You look good now,” His fangs stretch at his lips as he grins wide enough to hurt. “Master!” he adds, cheekily.

His Master’s eyes are a bright blue, the deepest, calmest pond. He rolls them shortly, then looks directly into Anakin’s own eyes and smiles at him, sarcasm dripping with fondness as he says “Thank you. Ah-nah-kin.” With the most accented tone Anakin had ever heard. There’s so much black in his Master’s eyes, a beautiful, wondrous thing that makes him itch all over and want to see more of that soft darkness no one else gets to see. 

No one else, but him. 

[maaxverstappen]

help me hold onto you | T | 8/13

f1driver!max and streamer!charles

The man—Charles, Max assumes—sounds French. He loves that. He should be used to a French accent, he was forced to converse with Pierre often enough, but it sounds different coming from Charles. More melodic. Almost similar to someone he used to know once. “And that made me think,” Charles says, voice bellowing from Max’s speakers. “That it was stupid that we didn't have carrots before. Like, come on, it's a farming game.” Max has no fucking idea what the hell he is on about.

or: Max is lonely and finds Charles streaming on Twitch.

based on this prompt sent to @f1prompts

[aris-has-a-paracosm]

The first chapter of my sci-fi dystopian Team Rancher au, Finality’s Fault, is here! I worked really hard on this first chapter and am very proud of it, so comments and rbs (feedback in general) would be greatly welcomed!

Also, asks are always open if you wanna ask me about it, theorize, or just chat in general :)

[mozzygan]

Chapters: 1/10

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Tags: Ladynoir | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng as Ladybug, Time Travel, Identity Reveal, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, lovesqaure

Summary—

Little lady with a rose All alone without her kitty Because “us against the world” Became a solo job lately

When an akuma battle goes wrong, Marinette is left to fight Monarch alone, and Adrien is stranded in time.

Written for @rosekasa​ for being a beautiful human. Love you Alizeh!!

[devilevlls]

"In the depths of my soul, you reside."

3,259 words - Minors do not interact

TW 📌: "Satanic" rituals, abuse, explicit language, pornographic content, mentions of sexual abuse, hateful language directed at religious groups, blasphemy, corruption kink, demons being demons, unprotected sex, creampie, gay sex, MC is the bottom, MC trusts him to consume a piece of their soul.

MC is AMAB, I use they/them pronouns to refer to them because that's the way I feel comfortable in describing the character. They are called "boy, young man, son" and so. If you are uncomfortable with any of the warnings, please, do not read. Sumary:

After the former priest was removed due to accusations of sexual abuse, the authority place had to be filled by someone else and Lucifer, who owed a favor to his friend Simeon, took the spot, ministering that Saturday to fulfill his obligation.

He ends up finding a new motivation when he encounters MC, who is in conflict with themselves about their dark thoughts. Their desires and duty are fighting to see who would take the young human and the demon would like to help, with a price.

The sound of the chapel's heavy doors echoed, interrupting the stillness of the afternoon, as the man dressed entirely in black entered, moving with determination and agility, casting furtive glances around to ensure he was not being followed. His long, purposeful steps led him until he stopped in front of a cowering, sobbing, fearful figure.

The young human was kneeling before the bench, hands clasped in prayer, tears flowing freely.

"Why are you crying, son?" The newcomer's hoarse voice cuts through the silence, his imposing red eyes penetrating deep into the boy's soul.

They were startled, interrupting their prayer to look at the one who was getting in the way of their sacred moment.

"Forgive me, sir." They bowed gently, voice trembling.

The elder gentleman stood majestically, dressed in the attire befitting his vocation, exuding an aura of divine elegance. 

With a subtle clearing of the throat, they signaled their intention to speak further. “I believe you are the new priest responsible for our humble chapel this saturday. I am your assistant, aspiring priest, a... Deacon.” The human struggle with their words.

"It's nice to meet you, MC." The older man's husky voice delivered a playful tone.

"How do you know my name? I haven't introduced myself yet," MC replied, somewhat intrigued.

"Do not worry. I know everything," the man replied, his enigmatic smile seeming to widen even further. "My name is Lucifer." He took a few steps towards MC, his confident posture and penetrating gaze causing slight discomfort.

A frightening shiver ran down MC's spine, but they forced themselves to maintain composure, standing up and trying to appear receptive, although the nervousness was still evident.

"That's a pretty unusual name for a priest," MC commented, their voice a little shaky as the younger one tried to hide the fear that was beginning to settle inside.

"Do not be scared. I will only stay here while the other priest is being investigated for the rape of the young people in this chapel.”

The mention of the accusation made the boy take a step back, feeling their stomach twist with tension.

"Oh... yes."

"Did he touch you?", Lucifer asked, taking a step forward and reaching for MC's chin, forcing them to maintain eye contact, his imposing presence dominating the surrounding space.

"No, sir. Father Kahleus has always been very kind to me," MC responded quickly, feeling uncomfortable with the unexpected physical contact.

"Humans are so hypocritical, don't you think?", Lucifer continued, his voice filled with cynicism, as he watched MC's reaction with interest.

MC gave a nervous laugh, confused by the direction the conversation was going. "Humans...?", he began, before being interrupted by the tall demon.

"Please, refrain yourself from acting like you don't understand," Lucifer said, his gaze making them uneasy.

Swallowing hard, they turned away from Lucifer, looking down at the ground for a moment before taking a deep breath and gathering the courage to respond.

"Sir, we shouldn't make that kind of analogy in a sacred place like this. Would you like to accompany me, so I can show you your private room next to the tabernacle?"

"Show me the way," Lucifer replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes, watching as MC chose to ignore the reality unfolding before them.

— * 

Once inside the room, MC presented all the important documents, financial notes and accessories for the masses that would begin the next day.

"Do you have any questions, sir?" The human asked, briefly meeting Lucifer's gaze before looking away again, feeling uncomfortable under the intensity of those piercing eyes.

"Why were you crying earlier?", Lucifer asked suddenly, breaking the brief silence that hung in the room.

A shiver ran down MC's spine before he could respond. "Father Kahleus was never like that. I feel like the devil tempted him," MC confessed, voice thick with worry and confusion.

Lucifer held back an ironic laugh and sighed, shaking his head. "Are you that naive? People are bad and blaming the devil doesn't make them better," he replied with disarming directness.

"Don't you understand? We have oaths. We all do, and I'm sure you did too," MC insisted, struggling to comprehend the complexity of the situation.

"Many centuries ago, when my wings were still white as snow and my mind corrupted by the ideals of a cowardly creator," Lucifer murmured, a trace of melancholy passing through his eyes.

MC sighed, feeling scared and confused, taking a step back and inadvertently bumping into the coffee table.

"Don't be scared, but I must admit that the more time we spend together, the hungrier I get," Lucifer said, voice filled with a strange sadistic energy, he enjoyed watching his prey connecting the dots and becoming alarmed.

"You... You did this to him?", MC asked, voice cracking at the terrifying possibility.

“Ah… Now you have become aware of who I really am.” He smiled slightly and concentrated for a moment, making his demonic form apparent. “No, I didn’t do anything.”

MC tried to scream, but before they could make any sound, their mouth was immediately silenced by Lucifer's firm, gloved touch, which covered their lips with firm pressure. The demon's gaze conveyed a silent warning, a contained threat that echoed beyond the simple physical gesture. The air around them felt heavy, thick with palpable tension between the two, as MC fought the panic that threatened to wash over. The young human’s eyes widened in despair, but the words were suffocated before they could even come out.

“Let's not make a fuss, okay? You're safer with me than you were with that creep. Unlike him, I know how to keep my dick in my pants instead of molesting innocent young boys and girls.”

MC's eyes widened at Lucifer's explicit language, feeling uncomfortable with the description and lack of shame.

Stopping for a moment, Lucifer was truly stunning, almost mesmerizing, and he was so close already... It made the human's heart race.

The demon sighed and removed his hand from the boy's mouth, looking around before moving away, breaking the physical contact that had left MC so tense. “You don’t look very old, how old are you? Why are you so naive?” “I’m 23 and not a child to be naive.” MC hisses a little offended “I’m aware of what happened, but I can’t believe he would do such a thing.” “Then you are just stupid, young man," He says agressively before changing the subject. "Well, I believe your work is finished for today. I'll see you at mass tomorrow", Lucifer declared, his voice filled with indifference, as if the previous meeting had never happened.

"Why...", MC started to ask, before being interrupted by Lucifer.

"Why, you say? I'm just following orders, nothing more," Lucifer explained as he settled into the office chair, crossing his long legs with an air of nonchalance. "Please leave. You're making me agitated with all this excitement between your legs." Lucifer's final remark made MC feel heat flush their cheeks. “I’m not excited!” They complained.

“I can see your erection from here.” The demon states dismissively, opening one of the reports to analyze.

MC quickly walked away and left the room without saying another word, feeling embarrassed. The encounter with Lucifer left them shaken and confused, questioning how all this could happen in such a sacred environment.

Why didn't the demon attack him or do terrible things to them? These questions echoed in their mind as the panicked figure hurriedly walked to the quarters.

Once there, MC threw themselves on the floor and closed their eyes, trying to banish the disturbing thoughts. The human wondered if it was all just a nightmare or a bad joke, but the firm feeling of Lucifer's hand still hovered over their skin, making them feel indecently warm.

"I wonder if he's really going to minister tomorrow…", MC muttered to themselves, voice filled with uncertainty and apprehension.

They feared what the next day might bring.

—*

The other day, in the morning as promised, MC entered the private room before mass to organize all the accessories, but was surprised to find Lucifer dressed for the celebration, his attire highlighting his magnetic beauty even more. So handsome... So tempting.

"What...?", MC began, their shaky voice reflecting the confusion at seeing the demon there.

Lucifer turned and sighed, recognizing the human's presence. "You again…", he murmured.

"I'm your assistant. I-I mean... I'm the substitute priest's assistant!", MC hurried to explain, reeling in their own troubled thoughts as they watched the demon button his shirt and put on his chasuble with a disconcerting naturalness.

"So nervous early on. This way you won't make it through the rest of the day," Lucifer teased, approaching the young man with an intimidating presence. "Can we go or are you going to keep devouring me with your eyes? I thought you had a vow of chastity to keep."

MC stepped back looking away to avoid the temptations Lucifer offered. "We may proceed. The faithful are arriving," they replied quickly, trying to maintain the composure.

—*

It was truly surprising to watch Lucifer lead the mass. He delivered speeches and read bible verses as if had memorized them in his mind centuries ago. Well, in a way, he actually had them. After all, he was once an angel before becoming that.... Thing.

MC found themselves staring at him as he continued with the ministration, unable to look away. Lucifer's beauty was mesmerizing, every movement elegant, every word spoken with authority. Even though they knew who he really was, MC couldn't help but admire, getting lost in the details of his sculpted body and magnetic aura.

They tried to push away the conflicting thoughts, focusing on the church service that was taking place in front of them. But despite the efforts, the demon's presence continued to exert an undeniable fascination over them.

After concluding the morning mass, they both retreated to the private room once more, where Lucifer intended to change.

"And with that, I'm free from this stupidity," Lucifer remarked with disdain.

"But there's still Sunday mass," the other replied.

"I couldn't care less. Saturday was my agreement, and I've fulfilled my part," Lucifer retorted coldly.

"Please, I don't know how I'll find another priest!" they pleaded, their voice tinged with desperation before clearing their throat. "Not that you're truly a priest, but..."

"Perhaps I could assist... for a price," Lucifer interjected.

The human sighed disapprovingly. "And what do you want, demon?"

"Fear not, nothing of a carnal nature unless that's what you desire. Just a small sampling of your soul. It won't be painful..." Lucifer's voice dripped with mockery, knowing full well it would inflict torment.

"Okay... but..." They fidgeted nervously. "What if I desire... to explore something more?" The young man struggled to articulate their thoughts, aware that the words might inadvertently reveal the weight of something deeply personal. Despite the embarrassment that lingered, they saw this moment as an opportunity to confront a long-standing question that had lingered since their teenage years: exploring intimacy with someone of the same sex.

"More...? Pray, enlighten me," Lucifer responded, already aware of the human's desires but relishing in their embarrassment nonetheless.

"What if I desire... to be intimate with you?" they whispered, their cheeks flushing crimson.

"Ah, you are a naughty one," Lucifer chuckled, crossing his arms. "Very well, then. You've piqued my interest enough to indulge your curiosity."

Lucifer drew nearer, enveloping them in his embrace, arms around their waist, and swiftly initiated a fervent kiss, his tongue forcing the other to yield while they squirm, their kisses growing sloppy.

"Ngh..." the human moaned softly.

"Hush," Lucifer whispered, pulling them closer until their backs met the desk, eliciting a startled squeak. "We wouldn't want anyone overhearing, would we?"

The boy felt his heart thundering as they attempted to match Lucifer's fervor, but this was, indeed, their first kiss. Delicate hands roamed frantically over the demon's back, grasping at his clothes, while their legs trembled, on the verge of collapsing.

Observing the human's struggle, the avatar of pride seized their waist and gently positioned them on the table, slipping his hands beneath the fabric of the shirt to caress the delicate skin underneath.

The young assistant was already swept up in excitement, their cheeks ablaze as they breathed heavily. Their eyes darkened with lust, body craving more with every heartbeat. There was a slight twitching inside their pants and Lucifer noticed right away, brushing his long finger on top of it.

Lucifer leaned in closer, their lips grazing the human's ear as they whispered in a low, sultry tone, "You're quite eager, aren't you?"

They shivered at the sensation, their whole body tingling with anticipation. "I... I want..." stuttered the assistant, their voice barely a whisper as desire flooded their senses.

With a smirk, the demon gently lifted their chin, his gaze locking with the assistant's as he whispered, "Tell me exactly what you want." Swallowing hard, their heart race in their chest. "I want... I want to feel you," they confessed, voice trembling with a mix of nerves and longing.

A predatory gleam sparked in Lucifer's eyes as he leaned in, capturing the assistant's lips in a searing kiss. They melted into each other again, the heat of their desire igniting a flame that consumed them both.

The demon quickly starts undressing, taking off his clothes and tossing around before doing the same with them, until they are only with their underwear. Feeling both exposed and exhilarated, the human experienced a rush of courage as they reached out, their finger tracing along Lucifer's firm chest and abdomen. His physique wasn't overly sculpted, but it was undeniably defined in a way that stirred desire within them. It was fucking sexy.

Biting their lip, they chastised themselves for entertaining such thoughts about him. Yet, with every movement, their mind spun with vivid imaginings of what lay beneath his clothing, igniting a wild frenzy of desire that threatened to consume them completely.

“Now let's begin…” Lucifer cast a spell, conjuring a bright red light that momentarily dazzled the priest assistant. As their vision cleared, they blinked in surprise to find Lucifer holding a bottle of lube in his hand.

MC's cheeks flushed crimson with a mixture of arousal and astonishment. "What... what did you just do?" they stammered, their voice betraying a blend of curiosity and anticipation.

“I just got something to assist you.” He spreads some of the liquid on his hand and comes closer, sliding their underwear down. “Now, be a good boy and spread your legs for me.” As they opened their legs, Lucifer adjusts himself in between, sliding the underwear off his body, making the hardened shaft plop against his abs. The human widened their eyes, admiring how thick and perfect it looked. It was way better than they could ever imagine. Taking a deep breath to steady themselves for what would come next, they fix their gaze on Lucifer as he spread the lube over himself with deliberate care.

Anticipation coiled in the air between them as he stepped closer, now caressing their thighs. “Hold into me and enjoy your ride.” His low voice echos into their mind.

As Lucifer aligned himself and pushed into their entrance, MC gave a sharp intake of breath, instinctively clinging to the demon as a wave of intense pain surged through them. Tears welled in their eyes, and a soft sob escaped their lips, the sensation overwhelming and unexpected.

"Oh, do not cry," Lucifer murmured with a smirk, his voice a blend of amusement and a hint of something more complex. Despite his earlier taunt, there was a surprising gentleness in his actions as he continued to push himself deeper,the movements careful and deliberate, attuned to the human's sensations.“I almost feel pity of you.”

As the older man's hips pressed against theirs, the human's moans and pants grew louder, caught in a mix of pain and pleasure unlike anything they had ever experienced before. 

With each thrust, MC's member pulsed with desire, coating their belly with slick pre-cum, a testament to the overwhelming arousal that coursed through them both. 

"L-Lucifer... I..."

“Already?” Lucifer teases, moving faster and pushing forcefully inside them. They didn’t answer, only digging their nails into Lucifer’s back, nodding while moaning desperately.

Seeing the opportunity, the demon smiles sadistically and turns into his demon form, dark wings spread, growling like a wild animal. His tone was demonic, it had something almost disturbing in it. Without a word, he sinks his fangs into the boy's shoulder, the sudden surge of pain and pleasure caused the boy to gasp and squirm uncontrollably, their body convulsing with ecstasy as they release their load, splattering a mess across both of them in a wild climax of desire and darkness. As Lucifer indulged in consuming the ecstatic piece of soul, relishing its delectable taste, he exercised restraint, ensuring not to take too much.

It was a corruption that came so natural, so enticing, it only fueled his insatiable hunger further. With each taste, he felt himself sinking deeper into them, reveling in the delicious sensation of it all.

He couldn’t hold himself anymore.

He grips into their hips, his nails digging into their skin as he thrust himself deeper with a primal ferocity, ignoring the human's pleas for respite as they get overstimulated, he moved with an unrestrained urgency, becoming increasingly feral as he relentlessly massaged their prostate with his tip. With a primal roar of release, the avatar of pride surrendered to the overwhelming intensity, emptying his pent-up load deep inside them. Groaning and trembling from the sheer magnitude of the moment, he gasped desperately, seeking solace in the warmth of the human's neck as he nuzzled against it. That was the most vulnerable moment of Lucifer, the afterglow. Holding their body tightly, Lucifer ensured they couldn't escape from his corruption, his embrace a mixture of possessiveness and longing, binding them together in the aftermath of their shared descent into darkness. "Hells..." he murmured, his voice heavy with satisfaction. He threatens backing away but gets pulled back into the embrace.

"Please... Don't go yet," the human pleaded, their breath still coming in ragged pants as they hugged him back.

"Listen... I'm just here because I was in debt with a friend of mine, so I had to hold a stupid mass, now that I'm done with it, I will go back to Devildom. I'm just catching my breath," Lucifer explained matter-of-factly.

"Oh... So I'm not going to see you again?" There was a slight hint of sadness in their tone.

"What? Are you switching sides now? Want me to take you to hell with me?" Lucifer smirked, nuzzling against the MC's neck once more, inhaling their sweet scent mingled with salty sweat.

"No! Of course not. How could I...?" they replied, their tone falsely offended.

"Don't deny me like we didn't just... you know, fucked" Lucifer teased, his smirk widening as the human blushed and caressed the back of his neck.

“D-Don’t say such a thing.”

"Since you are so inspired… Maybe I could indulge you in a second round, but I don't think your human body will handle me again," Lucifer suggested, his voice laced with amusement.

"Please... Again," they whispered eagerly, desire evident in their eyes.

"Guess I will visit you more, human," Lucifer agreed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

With smiles exchanged between them, they resumed their passionate embrace, forgetting the world outside the private room as they risked getting caught in the most sinful act they could ever do.

Ok, this took me too long... I really really really hope you guys liked it. ＞﹏＜ AO3 version OH! And thanks for the 300 followers! You guys are amazing, thanks for the support, for rebloging my stuff and interacting in the posts, I'm loving every part of it.

[wikiangela]

tease tidbit tuesday

tagged by @bidisasterevankinard @tizniz 💖

more bucktommy the will talk (they're getting there, the conversation went a bit off track lol) - it might be done this week, and then I can focus on the smut, and the buddie fics, and I have a new bucktommy idea inspired by that video of lou barbecuing with his shirt off that I sooo wanna write🙈

prev snippet

___

“Well, yeah, of course.” Buck answers easily, his heartbeat speeding up. He’s a little anxious about putting too much pressure, too many expectations out there, but he also knows that even if he did, they’d get back on track, they’d be fine. And besides, Tommy’s smiling, he doesn’t seem freaked out at all. And that’s after Buck brought up children. But if they’re moving forward with their relationship, they need to know what they want out of life. It seems reasonable to have this conversation this early on.

“Good.” he responds, grinning widely. “Now I won't have to stress about your answer when I ask.” he adds, and Buck feels himself blush, butterflies in his stomach going wild. Oh. Oh. This is- this is real. They’re talking about it, and maybe someday soon- he might marry this man. He will marry this man. Tommy wants him forever. Tommy wants him. Tommy wants to marry him and have children with him, and just be with him. Sometimes it’s still so shocking to Buck that someone as great and amazing as Tommy wants him, but he does. Buck’s not sure he remembers the last time he felt this wanted.

“How- how do you know I won’t ask first?” Buck asks, moving his head slightly closer to Tommy, just enough to look into his beautiful blue eyes. It feels surreal, talking about this, when they only dated for a few months, but it also feels… right. It feels like they’re on the right track to get there one day.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwaterninja13 @exhuastedpigeon @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @your-catfish-friend @theotherbuckley @daffi-990 @dangerpronebuddie @hoodie-buck @aroeddiediaz @diazsdimples

[bumblingbabooshka]

I think Vulcans should be little alien freaks about their marriages, especially during the pon farr

[ruvviks]

The Dobrynin family is a corpo family through and through, rooted in Arasaka and Orbital Air going back by several generations; though their powerful position within the corporate world ends with the children of Nadya and Matvey Dobrynin. With Vitali and Daniil fired from Arasaka and Kang Tao respectively— the former indirectly getting his parents fired, too— and Roksana having refused to set foot within a megacorporation from the start, the family begins crumbling apart at the very seams when clashing interests lead to grudges, betrayal, and pointless acts of revenge. ↳ read the unrevised fic here if you're interested!

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @roseeway, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree;

@kanos, @swordcoasts, @ordinarymaine, @claudiawolf, @strafethesesinners

[all-too-unwell-13]

i'm about to read Art Heist, Baby! for the first time, wish me luck LMAOO

[blasphemlm]

On Sight

7/7 chapters, 26.5k words, Explicit, SanZo, CW in end notes.

Zoro didn't mean to kill the drunk guy who climbed through his window at 3 AM, honest. Deciding to dispose of the body, however, was definitely on purpose.

Turns out the bastard was his new neighbor and very much still alive. Talk about first impressions.

[celestialseawitch-ff]

🌹😘

The doors slammed shut behind them. 

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Hermione breathed.

Sirius turned and began to walk away. 

“Sirius, wait!” 

He kept going.

“Padfoot,” she hissed.

Sirius froze. He spun around and pinned the witch – his betrothed – with wide eyes.

“Please, don’t run off.”

He grabbed her hand and tugged her through the house. He shoved her into a closet and slipped in behind her. A magical light floated above them.

“A closet?”

“No one ever goes in the closet,” Sirius returned. “We have house elves for that.”

Hermione’s head tilted. “Clever.”

“Not the only thing I am, sweetheart. But something tells me you know that?”

“Don’t call me sweetheart. And yes. Sort of. I’m from the future.”

“I know. But I didn’t know you knew me. God, don’t tell me you’re my daughter. That’s fucked up even by our standards.”

“Ew! No. I’m a muggle-born.”

Sirius stared at her. “Does my grandfather know that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Alphard said they’re going to claim I’m the daughter of a pureblood squib. I don’t know much beyond that.”

His head cocked to the side. “Huh. We knew each other?”

She nodded.

Sirius’ eyes narrowed. “You called me Padfoot.”

“Padfoot, Moony, Prongs… Wormtail. We had the map at one point.”

His lips twitched in amusement. “We?”

“Me and my best friends. Ron Weasley and… Harry Potter.”

Sirius’ grey eyes flickered. “Interesting. I can’t get you home.”

Hermione sighed. “I know. I didn’t ask for this. I never would have said that line if I knew it would have ended here.”

Sirius frowned at that. “Line?”

“In genere providit pudicitiam tutandam esse, eique omnino gratuita.”

His eyes widened. “Who taught you that?”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “You did. You told me to use it if I ever fell back in time.”

“I- what?” Sirius shook his head. “Did I say anything else?”

“Just to use that. Oh! The crest.”

“Crest?”

“This one. Here, on your arm.” She touched his forearm where she knew the tattoo was hidden beneath his robes. “It was your first tattoo. You were ten. You have it, right? And a few others. There was a paw print and leaves. Lots of flowers.”

Sirius stared at her with wide eyes. “You can see my tattoos.”

“Yes.”

He leaned closer. “You have no idea what that means, do you?”

She looked up at him with wide eyes. “What does it mean?”

Sirius kissed her. Hermione squeaked in shock. He pulled back and stared into her wide brown eyes. Sirius opened the closet door and fled.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

can someone please banish this writer's block for me 😫

it's the worst i've had in such a long time and i've tried to be patient with it but it's been fucking weeks now. i want to write so much but whenever i try they just feel like words on a page. every evening i sit down and rearrange them a little here and there and add some new ones, but they all just feel empty and and shit and my brain feels totally devoid of the creative spark i need to make everything come to life.

i know in large part it's my perfectionism getting in the way, but i don't know how to break through it. i don't know how to feel connected to my writing again. i don't know how to shift this fear of not being good enough that surges up every time i pick up a pen.

it's something that's always been there - but usually it at least comes in waves, or my love of what i'm creating is big enough to muffle it. right now, it's all i can hear. my inspiration has been totally drowned out by it. and i hate it so, so much. the fact that i can't access the one thing that brings me the kind of solace and joy and escapism i can't get anywhere else and is so vital to my soul. that i am blocking myself from engaging in the one thing that makes me feel like me.

i just feel so stuck and so lost and i miss being in that creative headspace so much it’s like a physical pain. it feels like part of me is missing, and it terrifies me that i don't know how to get it back.

[agentravensong]

thinking about lex foster.

she has the Gift. she can pull a gun from the void. as a child, she was friends with an eldritch entity. in one timeline, she defeats an avatar/incarnation of another eldritch entity to save her sister.

but, there, that's the thing: lex has a younger sister, who is even more gifted. that sister is the lynchpin of the multiverse. and lex is her protector.

that sister, hannah, is only alive because lex, as a 5 year old, used her Gift to save her from dying before she was born. she didn't even want a sister before that moment. she doesn't remember doing it.

lex wants to be a normal teen who can hang out with her boyfriend and do stupid teen stuff. compared to hannah, she's grounded, practical. she forgets her own power, her own potential, as she grows up and has to learn to fight and scavenge to survive. but at heart, she's still a dreamer. she doesn't want anyone's pity, but still believes (wants to believe) in angels. if she had the money, she'd take the three of them to california. she'd be an actress.

her sister sometimes makes her life hell. lex will still risk, give up, anything and everything for that sister. she's been the closest thing to a mother hannah has known. but she's far from perfect. in multiple timelines, she's the cause of hannah's hurt, the one who puts her in the path of danger, however unintentionally. there is a gap in understanding between her and hannah that they may never fully close — but she keeps reaching out, keeps trying to work around it.

when lex is about to die in black friday, she wonders if she, all along, needed her sister more than her sister needed her — or maybe that's just her trying to reassure herself in her final moments, hoping beyond hope that hannah will be okay without her.

lex has the Gift. but she's not webby's favorite. she's not the Hero. her little sister is.

was lex meant to be the hero, originally? did she somehow fail in webby or the greater universe's eyes to live up to that position, requiring that her sister take it up instead? dooming hannah, before she was even born, to bearing the burden of being the one targeted by the most sinister forces in the multiverse, again and again, and the responsibility of stopping it?

or was the purpose of lex's existence always for her to be her sister's caretaker? to ensure that hannah could fulfill her destiny? to be the one to save her, from others or herself? through taking action, realizing her potential as the second-strongest foster girl (yellow jacket) or less directly, through just being someone hannah knows, can count on and believe in (witch in the web)? to play the kind of supportive role women are often pigeonholed into?

was hannah always meant to be the special one, the star, with lex as her prologue (and occasional understudy)? or was lex the original choice for the role, only for her to turn out to be... not enough? leaving hannah with the job of weaving together the pieces of a shattered universe?

either way, lex foster's existence is defined by her sister. has been since before she can remember.

and yet, though she probably wouldn't be able to say why, i don't think lex would change that. not unless she truly believed it would be to hannah's benefit. (and we all know it wouldn't be.)