#it was fun to think about my fandoms. especially about my first ones

[dr-spectre]

Ok... is it safe to talk about Sonic Movie 3 spoilers yet? The movie is out on digital and it's been over a month.

Idk. Anyways.

I am both curious and utterly terrified on how they are gonna write Metal Sonic and Amy for Sonic Movie 4.

I will start off with my boy Metal first.

Metal Sonic to me is a very interesting character due to his goals and motivation. His goal to prove that he is the REAL Sonic and that he's better than the "fake" one. The way that he acts is a near perfect replication of Sonic's attitude, from the finger wagging to the poses he does in Sonic CD and the OVA, he is all about proving that he is Sonic the Hedgehog.

Metal Sonic is just not a simple robotic clone, he has depth to him and they expand upon GREATLY when he becomes Neo Metal Sonic and becomes SO OBSESSED with proving that he's the real Sonic by turning into a monster and trying to rule over everything, just so he can finally kill Sonic.

EVEN EGGMAN IS LIKE "Yeah naw dude we're fucked, we NEED the chaos emeralds to have a chance at beating him."

After his Heroes appearance, he became nothing more than a robotic clone used in spinoff games and in terrible mainline games like Sonic 4 and Forces. He only had splashes of depth to him in the IDW comics with this phenomenal scene.

So when i see Metal Sonic and a whole army of him in the post credit scene of Sonic Movie 3, i can't help but feel VERY WORRIED on what they are gonna do with him.

I mean don't get me wrong, the design is nearly on par with the game version, aside that fucking mouth piece thing, it looks AWFUL!!!! I HATE ITTTT!!

WHAT IS THIS!?!? WHY DOES HE HAVE AN ANGRY MOUTH!? ITS NOT SCARY AT ALL LMAO!

But now I'm just wondering, will they give Metal Sonic that depth he used to have? Will we actually see Neo Metal Sonic or will the main Metal Sonic be the coloured one we saw?

I don't want Metal Sonic to be like his appearances in Sonic 4 Episode 2 and Forces. I want it to rival his appearance in the OVA and Heroes dude. I want a fucking great antagonist, not a cheap robot that shoots out energy blasts.

I want a god damn intimidating robot Sonic.

Now... Amy Rose.

As some of you probably know, i like a character wrapped in pink, is hyperactive, wields a giant melee weapon and is always mischaracterized in the fandom they are from. When i was younger, i used to dismiss her or think she was just funny and move on. But as i've gotten older, i've actually grown to really like the character, especially in the older 3D games and with retranslation mods. Her story with Gamma was beautiful, her speech to Shadow, her jokes, her flirty/fangirl attitude towards Sonic. It's really fun to watch. Most media has a boy fall in love with the girl, but with Amy and Sonic, it's the opposite. Their dynamic is unique.

I also love how in some stories, Amy can get REAL PISSED OFF and have anger issues. Even roses has thorns.

However... in more recent stories like Frontiers, her personality has been mellowed out by a lot and her crush for Sonic is pretty much gone now. She's all about "sharing love with the world" now and her anger issues are gone.

Some say she's grown up and "oh she changed!" But we actually don't see this character growth at all. It's one thing to tell a story about how Amy learns that maybe her love for Sonic is too much and she learns to just be a good friend to Sonic. But it's another when the character has a MASSIVE personality change between Lost World, Forces and Frontiers. AND THEN THEY CHANGED GENERATIONS TO MAKE AMY LESS FLIRTY AND ANGRY LIKE.... HUH!?!? WHY!?!?!? THAT'S NOT HOW YOU WRITE A CHARACTER ARC!!!!! YOU GOTTA SHOW IT!!!! (A lot of Sonic characters have this issue too so it's not just an Amy problem.)

And them also doing the whole "Amy is no longer a damsel in distress anymore and her love for Sonic is over" is just... no dude. Amy was a damsel a couple of times and they never lasted that long. She's not on the same level as Peach. And the IDW comics tried to make her a Sally Acorn type character for some reason as well at first. Which was REALLY WEIRD! But maybe it's changed idk, i haven't kept up with the comics these days.

The only Amy that i really like in more modern stories is the one from The Murder of Sonic The Hedgehog. Now THAT'S how you write Amy.

So now, when i see Amy come in with a hood on and destroying Metal Sonics with ease, I'm left wondering, "oh no... how are they gonna write her?"

Will they actually show Amy's crush on Sonic? Will Amy just have Sally's personality? Will they give her some damn thorns? Will they make it to where SONIC IS THE ONE WITH THE CRUSH!?!? PLEASE DON'T DO THAT! DO NOT GO THE GENERIC ROUTE PLEASE!!

If they make it to where when Amy takes off her hood in Sonic Movie 4 and immediately falls for Sonic I'll eat all of my words, but i doubt that would happen....

Anyhow, those were my thoughts, i know that it's too early to make a definitive statement on things but i just wanna voice my concerns due to other recent Sonic stories not landing in the characterisation department for me.

[trafficblrpositivityproject]

For me, the phrasing of “it’s valid if it’s a canon win for you or not” did not pass judgement on those who do consider Cleo a valid winner, and so I decided the ask was valid to post. This blog is about fandom, not CCs, and since it was not judgement against other fans, I decided on posting it, even if I was somewhat iffy on it.

Additionally, art is very difficult and takes a lot of time and effort. Especially when it includes many characters—in the case of winners art, six or seven. On top of that, winners art tends to be very detailed with designs and have elaborate composition. It is often very difficult and complicated work, and I can see why, if someone does not consider Real Life to be canon, they may not want to expend the effort for a seventh piece of this kind of difficult composition when they are already drawing six complex portraits. It is perhaps not the choice everyone would make, but it is an understandable one.

I personally prefer when winner art includes Cleo, as Cleo is one of my favorite CCs in the Life Series, among my main POVs, and generally one of the first three I watch. But I do not feel, if I am not the one making a piece of art, that I can demand an artist do an additional seventh complicated and detailed piece just because I prefer when artists do this.

No one is entitled to this extra time and effort by any artist, and the fact fans are not entitled to an artist’s work is something I think can be generally agreed upon. Fan artists are working for free and for fun, and we are not able to demand a person’s time or creation. And I have seen some fans who are willing to be demanding or rude in the comments of artists who do not include a character who is “optional” in another fandom (regardless of my personal feelings on those characters being considered “optional”), so I knew that some artists could probably benefit from this ask.

I can always make my own art which includes Cleo if I want to, especially if I feel strongly about it, but I cannot force others to draw what I want them to.

Again, I am sorry that this ask was upsetting, because that is not ever what I want for this blog. But I hope this explanation does help with understanding where this ask is coming from and why I thought it was valid to post when I queued it.

Shout out to those who don’t include Cleo in life series winners art. It’s valid if it’s a canon win for you or not.

To anyone who does not include Cleo in the Life Series winner art!!!

[utilitycaster]

The reason those C3 fans shit the bricks over the Charity stream was because they viewed the charity stream as a win for them and bells hells. Not like you know, an actual good thing to help people in need. Because when it was announced they were in the qrts and on twt yelling that the cast closing to play as Bells Hells was cause they loved them above all. That BH were "winning" because MN didn't get one shots while airing. No1 expected anyone BUT BH to be played so they were fighting air tbh.

[Cont. So when Laudna got yeeted and Beau joined it, it's like they suddenly hit with the fact that the cast like all the times. All character sheets were available and BH was being played by default of the one shot happening during c3. But they hung their entire world view on BH being extra special that they broke. Saw them also being PISSED at Ashley and Liam for getting MN members to the top before everyone else and especially the gate was "showing up BH".]

Here is what gets me, as a person who does not follow sports in any form: The Mighty Nein are a juggernaut of popularity within the fandom. I think this is for the most part deserved and I also think a lot of fans of C1 who never vibed with any later campaigns are simply not active in fandom any more since it's been 7 years, and Critical Role had more recognition with Campaign 2, so like, numbers within active social media fandom are not a perfect indicator of quality, itself a subjective measure.

HOWEVER. If you want your team to win, the most efficient way to do that is to start rooting for the winning team. I get that this is considered treasonous to genuine fans of sports. But like, if your biggest priority is Number Is Bigger then there is an obvious solution and it's called jumping on the bandwagon. Otherwise, perhaps you should consider a different metric, such as "did I have fun at this game? Were the snacks good? Were there some cool plays?" (from this you can see my priorities re: live sports namely are my friends here and did I get some nachos and a beer but you get my point). Honestly, this is how I and a lot of other people have been approaching Bells Hells week to week for some time now: were there some cool scenes? Did the character they liked most at the time say something funny? Did NPCs do anything? Were the fight mechanics interesting?

I have a post that I am saving for next week about specific elements of C3 that goes into more depth but I feel like Campaign 3's fandom in particular fell to a certain attitude that feels very specific to a younger (to me, an ancient crone, so like, mid-20s) crowd, of obsessing over numbers: how many fics. how many notes. how much screentime. can you believe that Episode 100 didn't even have Bells Hells in it????? And it's like. who the fuck cares. Is it good? Is it satisfying? Because right now we're watching you guys all admit it hasn't been and 120 episodes in you were waiting for the campaign to REALLY begin.

I don't think the cast dislikes Bells Hells! I think they all like all of their characters, and frankly when the cast gets asked directly a lot of them go with a "you never forget your first" and give their VM character anyway so like, the vitriol at the Mighty Nein really is a petty popularity contest in the end. But Bells Hells are the party that the cast happened to be playing during the Moon Plot Campaign and the party that the cast happened to be playing at the time of the livestream. None of the three main parties are uniquely special. They are special to their individual fans.

I made the Elon Musk comparison for C3 fans earlier this week and I don't want to go too hard since like, he is truly horrible, and I do think that a lot of C3 fans, while currently shitty self-absorbed people, are also quite young and it is my hope that a sharp but ultimately harmless disappointment like this campaign might shock them into fixing their hearts, but the final lines of this post came to mind while writing up a lot of my responses: "And in fact I would argue that seeking to put yourself above other people is inherently going to leave you empty, because egotistical as you may be, you've adopted a values system where your sense of self worth intrinsically depends on other people. Congratulations, you played yourself."

If your day can be ruined because your blorbo wasn't present for 100% of a live stream for charity and the cast likes all of their characters? You should work on that! I'm not saying it's easy or fun but it really is a thing you should work on because right now, the worst thing that's going to happen to you is people laughing at your misfortune on social media. But if you keep up this behavior, you're going to be bitter and miserable forever, and it will be your own fault because you're getting mad that something that was never about you continues to not be about you. Learn to accept that you had a good time (if you had a good time, anyway) and it's over and that's okay.

[goldyluna]

WAIT I DIDNT REALIZE YOU AKREADY ANSWERED 16 IGNORE MY LAST ASK

hmm how about 19 or 20 instead ?? :0

haha, dw :3

19. Your current fandom(s)

There is a lot. Through years I loved a lot of media and my favourite fandoms change a lot, but usually I go back to some after some time.

My all time main fandom I love and I am actively participating is Your Turn To Die. If I'm being honest, it is the ONLY fandom I interact with people so much. Usually I just enjoy the oryginal or the fan content (and sometimes do something myself).

But to do a list, the fandoms (not in any specific order) I am active on different levels, as I search posts, fanart and whatnots are:

Your Turn To Die - not very big fandom, but it feels so cosy here. I hope to stay in this fandom for a very long time <3

My Hero Academia - it is a come-and-go kind of interest, but now that it is so close to the end, I went back into the rabbit hole. I should pick up my AU too. It is a little dusty, oops.

Puella Magi Madoka Magica - I am more of an art-searching type of girl with this one so this fandom is more in the background. But I have my own AU and I like searching some deep analises about this anime sometimes (usually if I need something to the AU).

Project Sekai - I am pretty new to the fandom and it can be really tricky, but I love the story and characters and all things people make. And I love reading posts about my favs.

Trash of the Counts Family - one of my favourite manhwas that I keep up with and I find people interacting with this fandom really interesting.

There are more fandoms I am in, but I don't think they are so significant right now. There will be a new season of Sweet Home, so I may be more hyped about it then. But also the fandoms I may not be so active in interactive with, but I still like and I don't scroll away if I see them are: My Little Pony, Undertale, Omori, Fran Bow, ATLA, Alice in Borderland and Hunger Games.

20. Your very first fandom!

Ohhhh, this question makes me nostalgic. I don't know if it was my first first fandom, but I was so into Phineas and Ferb! I don't remember how young I was—I think it was during my primary school—and I looooooved reading fanfics about Phineas (he was my favourite character). I know that because of that I started to learn more English, as a lot of things were written in that language, so I google-translate it and learnt new words in the process. I can't say I was really aware of the fandom as a whole then, I loved reading and looking at art, but I didn't really interact more than leaving a like. But this makes me remember something that—I think—is a nice anecdote. I always was interested in writting, but I wasn't good in it. So, young me got the brightest idea to google translate the fanfic, make it more grammaticaly correct (as the translation was kind of shit) and to take it as my own fanfic. FORTUNATELY, I didn't go with the idea, because I got bored with it. And well, now I write my own stuff and younger me can be proud now (if she wouldn't try to steal it again, this time from myself XD).

But there was another fandom I really loved when I was young. Vocaloids. Tbh, I don't know if I really was in the fandom, I just really loved KAITO. I am more into the Vocaloids now as I play Project Sekai.

[imclou]

can't believe fnaf brought me out of art hibernation man what a turn of events

[ahalliance]

i’m gonna keep pretending vague qsmp stuff isn’t being teased

[oddly-casual]

Homura Hc’s (or a mini appreciation post tbh)

Homura is one of those characters we see only a handful a times. I think we see her maybe three times in the show, and a couple times in the merch. Mostly Hesokuri wars.

But despite the fact that she has about two speaking roles in between three seasons and a movie, the writers try to keep her personality in tact and I like that they do that.

Most of this comes from Jyushimatsu Dolphin (season 3 Ep. 8). Where Homura sticks her neck out to help Jyushimatsu follow his dream of being a dolphin.

We don’t know exactly how cannon these skits are, but certain characters are chosen for a reason and I think we can take away a lot from some of Homura’s decisions and actions.

Like the fact that she even agrees to help Jyushimatsu at all despite not knowing him (in this skit at least). She tells us directly that it was because she was moved by his passion, but staking your job on something as flaky as passion would be- what some people call- a dumb risk.

Despite being the only one in his corner, Homura gives her all into training him. In her first appearance in season one, Todomatsu call her “Weird” And I think this skit goes into depth about how weird she actually is. Homura hardcore trains him in the ways of being a dolphin that she is familiar with, even if that means nearly drowning him.

This girl that we met in season one, who we knew as soft and sad, is in fact a weirdo.

Like just look at how everyone reacts to her! Go off queen!

I really like how this skit gets rid of any assumptions about Homura’s character. From her first appearance alone you would think maybe she’s weak willed or fragile- but she really puts her all into the things she cares about and doesn’t let anyone slow her down.

Homura doesn’t even call it out or try to explain herself, it’s just how she is and I love that for her.

We also see pretty consistently how she handles conflict, or failing.

In season 1 she calls off ever seeing Jyushimatsu again because she has to go home, and you can tell it hurts her to just outright reject him like the that.

The fact that we possibly know her background also adds context to her decision.

It’s possible she just wants to get away from that industry and the people, maybe too many people know her from the porn dvds and she just needed a fresh start somewhere else. Maybe she felt like she was lying to Jyushimatsu because she couldn’t tell him all she’d done- who knows?

There’s a lot of ways you can look at it but I think most of all, the skit in season 2 could reshape how we looked at her reaction to conflict in season 1.

When faced with failure, Homura gives up.

She gave it her all, and it still didn’t happen. Homura is grounded in reality to an extent. While the Matsuno’s live by their own rules and do whatever they want- it feels like Homura found a way to work within the rules. To try everything she can, but not to exhaust herself with something that’s not baring fruits.

She doesn’t seem disappointed that Jyushimatsu will keep trying, she’s angry. Homura yells at him and calls him a block head because he’s being stubborn- but why try so hard to get him to give up when it’s his dream? Why does she want him to quit? He will continue with it without her so why?

There’s a possibly that she doesn’t want to see him hurt. Like season 1, Homura distances herself from Jyushimatsu specifically after he confesses.

We can assume it’s because she would be in a whole other city, and with the past attached to her, she didn’t want to hold him back. Either that, or she didn’t want to face rejection if things didn’t end up working out.

But I also think it’s important to note that Homura was moments away from ending her own life. In the end, she chooses to take herself to a familiar place rather than to attempt again- showing signs of gaining some perspective or some motivation to keep going.

My main take away from Homura as a character, and outside of her potential relationship with Jyushimatsu, is that Homura is a character ground in reality who is a little silly.

Homura takes things seriously, no matter how goofy they are (like wanting to be a dolphin- like an actual dolphin), but she also likes to laugh and have fun like everyone else.

Homura knows not to spend time on something that possibly won’t work out, and this could be because she’s been beaten down before and knows the prolonged pain of hope. She also has a past we know nothing about that could’ve shaped the person she is today.

Homura is a silly weird girl, but unfortunately life got to her first. That doesn’t stop her from being weird and silly though.

[heloflor]

After seeing a playthrough of Bowser’s Inside Story, I gotta say I’m kind of mixed on Starlow, and no, it’s not just because of the Luigi bullying.

The thing with Starlow is that, on one hand, it’s great to see a female character who has no hesitation talking back and who can be a bit of an ass. But at the same time, the way they wrote her just…it really makes it hard to like her sometimes.

I think the main issue is that she’s written as someone who talks back but most of those interactions are with people doing their jobs and messing up. This leads to moments with Starlow criticizing someone for the things they’re doing, but then proceeding to do nothing whatsoever to help. On top of that, she’s kind of useless in the game, making her “I’m better than you” attitude really come off in a bad way.

(btw that moment with the doctor/fortune-teller calling her out on it is very satisfying)

The best way to describe the issue, and that’s when it gets interesting, is to compare her to how Bowser is written in this game. There are essentially two things that are similar yet different about those two.

1. Like I said, Starlow is often criticizing people for what they’re doing, which is something Bowser does as well. But where Starlow goes “Man you suck at your job. Do better !” Bowser goes “Man you suck at your job. Here, let me do it for you !” and that automatically makes Bowser more likeable. Because instead of just complaining, he actually does things (the section with the Monty Moles for example).

2. A bit longer to explain but the Tl;Dr is that Bowser actually learns from his mistakes and grows while Starlow doesn’t. To explain this, I want to describe two interactions between those two.

The first interaction is when Bowser forgets the code to his safe and orders Starlow to find it, to which Starlow gets angry with his tone and tells him to fuck off, only accepting to help once he politely asks her to search. That right here is really good, and is an example of a moment where I really like Starlow’s attitude.

But then you have their next interaction. Bowser just spent hours stuck in a safe (btw someone stuck in a liminal space like that is a form of torture), was thrown into the garbage so hard the safe broke, and understandably is in enormous pain. Because of that, Bowser asks Starlow to help with his back, and his dialogue here echoes the previous one in a good way.

He starts off his sentence as an order, only to catch himself halfway through and ask politely. Bowser just went through hell, is in a huge amount of pain, and yet still finds it within himself to be polite because he knows that’s how Starlow wants to be addressed. This also shows that he respects Starlow since he remembered that detail about her and is willing to avoid falling into his usual bossy attitude despite his terrible state.

And what does Starlow do in return ? She basically calls him a whiney bitch for complaining. Yeah….this is not a good look.

This actually reminds me of one of their first interactions, when Bowser can’t produce fire and panics about it, with Starlow telling him to just deal with it. The first time I saw this dialogue I was like “Hey Starlow, buddy, how would you feel if you suddenly lost your ability to fly, with no idea of why and the only one that might help is some random voice you don’t know anything about coming from your stomach ?” Although, I’d cut Starlow some slack for this one since this is very early on, so Starlow has every right to be mad at him.

And more on that topic, the thing with comparing Bowser and Starlow is that you quickly realize how much better Bowser is than her. I already mentioned Bowser doing things himself and showing respect to her, but then there’s also moments like him being humble enough to eat Wiggler’s carrot when being ordered to to “take responsibility”, or when he out loud says he will break the rocks in his path to free the Koopas, and decide to commit to it upon realizing the Koopas heard him. In that second case, he could’ve easily gone a different path and tell the Koopas to shut up if they were to say anything, but he didn’t. Instead, he said he will break that rock and that’s what he’s going to do ! Same for the Wiggler btw. He could’ve beaten them up instead of eating that carrot, which he does end up doing afterwards when Wiggler loses their shit.

So yeah, when you look at how not-very-useful Starlow is compared to Bowser, when you look at how they treat others, and when you look at their interactions with each other…it’s kinda hard to find Starlow likeable when a literal villain is a better person than she is (granted Bowser is more of an anti-hero in this game but the point still stands).

Funnily enough, some of those moments like the Wiggler, the Koopas and him saying please to Starlow while in pain actually show that yes, Bowser is a pretty decent king. At the very least, you can understand why his people respect him.

So all-in-all, yeah, I’m kind of 50/50 on Starlow. It’s great to have a female character on the hero team who has a lot of flaws for once, but it’s also hard to find her attitude likeable. Ultimately, I think the issue is how she’s acting the same with everyone. Like I said earlier, it is satisfying when Bowser is being a dick and she tells him off. But when Bowser is being nice, or when she’s interacting with someone who’s only trying to help, Starlow really comes off as an ass, which is not a good look.

And yes, while still a minor thing in BIS, her bullying Luigi doesn’t help either.

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Theyre going to think I like canon and purely canon if I keep going on like this

[arolesbianism]

Every now and then I get haunted by my past as a dr fan because someone mentions it or smth and lemme tell you the worst case scenario is if they bring up v3 in an even slightly positive light because nothing will make me start giving a shit abt dr again except for my burning hatred of that damn game, I just spent like 30 minutes ranting to myself about how much of a nothing character Kokichi is in the bathroom after showering just to vent it out because if I don't rant abt v3 every now and then I'll explode and kill someone

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

As someone who has played FE since FE7 came out in the west and have since played the games prior to and after it, I really don’t see how Engage is “the best FE game of all time” and yadda yadda that people keep claiming. Just because it has more customization and “freedom” doesn’t... automatically make it a better game? Personally I get more aggravated when there’s too much freedom and too many options for gameplay. Even Houses had a tad too much customization that I rarely use because it had so many menus and I love Houses.

Sure, I liked Engage, but I can’t see why it’s suddenly the bestest theeng evur just because it’s the newest entry. I had more fun with Hopes playing AG than the entirety of Engage, and I can compare them because they both reused old characters, so there was a similar feeling of interest being able to see old characters again. Other than that, I’m interested in like... two, maybe three characters tops in Engage.

Soren is pretty much the only Emblem perfectly on point who wasn’t almost entirely generic with conversations. Sigurd had fewer generic conversations and was completely ooc, so that was a big fat wah wah for me (because as we all know, IntSys pretends canon Sigurd does not exist in the whole franchise now and only uses ghost!Sigurd’s like five lines of dialogue as his only and whole personality).

Honestly I think I’m kind of getting bitter toward Engage as an entry because people keep saying it’s the best FE game ever made, especially for gameplay (big ol’ lel from me), but it’s almost always at the expense of Three Houses in one way or another, about how Houses is a worse game. It’s... really not. Oh noooo, they didn’t use anti-aliasing, the whole game suuucks. 😒

(Oh yeah, and FE9 was supposed to be the original hub world game where you got to run around at a base camp and all that fun stuff, so uhhh... that kind of thing has nothing to do with newer entries being better and all that stuff.)

Also, I am being 110% more critical of these people and Engage right now because I have a headache and have felt pretty crappy without even being sick for the past few days. :’)

[st-fanfic-bookclub]

Comment resources

Receiving comments means so much to fic authors so we’d love to encourage people to leave more. But we appreciate that leaving comments can be a bit daunting or draining, especially on days when we are tired or already stressed. So here are a few resources to hopefully encourage us all to leave more and to make doing so easier.

Archive of Our Own floating comment boxes

There are a couple of versions of these out there and they can be helpful. They are browser extensions that allow you to keep the comment box on the screen whenever you like so that you can easily comment as you read, rather than getting to the end and panicking about what to say.

Here are two different versions:

AO3 Floating Comment Box by ScriptMouse

Floaty Review Box by ravenel ← I use this one and think it’s great - Squid 💕

Feed The Fandom Fest

Have you heard of the @feedthefandomfest bingo cards? Because if you’re participating in these, maybe one of the recs on this blog could be the perfect way to tick off a square on these cards. Or, if you’ve not started one yet, why not pick one to encourage yourself to comment more and have some fun while doing so?

Here are the different cards:

Original Card

For Beginners

Fluff Edition

Angst Edition

Smut Edition

Old Fic Edition

Billy Hargrove Edition

Or put your own together!

I’d also just recommend having a look through the Feed The Fandom Fest blog in general, it’s such a wonderful resource 💖

Additional AO3 Kudos

Here’s some images of additional kudos for when you’re longing to mash that button again but all it greets you with is that mocking red smiley face. These are complete with the html to easily put them in!

AO3 Random Nice Comments

This browser extension will give you a short, nice comment from a list at the press of a button. It may be useful for beginner commenters who want to say something nice but are unsure what.

Comment prompts

If you want to craft your own comments but are unsure what to say, here’s a few starting points:

What is the first thing that comes to mind when you think back on the fic? I’m sure the author would love to know

Who was your favourite character in the fic? 

Where are you reading the fic?

Speculate on what could happen after the end of the fic

How did you react emotionally? Did you laugh? Cry? Smile? Scream?

Or there’s the simple but ever loved:

Keyboard smash

String of emojis

‘Loved this!’

Here’s some more lists of prompts:

Good and easy comment ideas by ao3-shenanigans

Some more easy comment suggestions by ao3-shenanigans

Unhinged fic comment ideas by magpie-murder 

Our comment stickers

Here’s a few stickers we made to use in place of comments if you want to leave something but still don’t know what to type out yourself:

html for the above, in order:

<img src="https://i.postimg.cc/yYRJxJ8C/readforbookclub-sticker.png" alt="sticker with stars and text reading: I READ THIS FIC FOR FANFIC BOOK CLUB AND LOVED IT" width=45% />

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[sleeplessdreamer14]

𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌

fandom: gravity falls

relationship: stanford pines x reader

summary: the moment Ford realized he liked you. 

contains: stan being stan, the uh-oh moment, and pining

Ford wasn’t the most social person, to put it plainly. Despite his popularity amongst his teachers at school and the odd handful of classmates, he normally preferred his own company, otherwise his family’s. It had been that way for a long time, and it seemed like it would remain so for the foreseeable future.

And so it did. That is, until he met you, which he did not see coming. 

You had this welcoming presence about you, that much was clear by the way you spoke to him for the first time in the seventh grade, remaining mostly unfazed by his sixth digit aside from the initial surprise. The first time he caught himself rambling about parapsychology and anomalistics, he found no judgment or disinterest in your expression. In fact, you were actually listening, setting down whatever you were doing just to give him your undivided attention. That was a first. It felt nice to have someone (who wasn’t his brother or mother) listen to him. 

And the energy was returned, as he indulged your interests too. Before he knew it, Ford would often seek out your company, whether his brother was available or not, and the two of you could usually be found bouncing ideas off of each other. The room seemed to brighten when you came into view, your presence made him feel comfortably warm inside. Whenever you two parted ways, it always felt too soon, just like it did now.

“Oh my gosh.”

Stan’s voice drew Ford’s attention away from you as you left.

“What?” he asked, mildly perturbed by the wily grin on his brother’s face. Stan just chuckled and nudged him, “You’ve got it so bad, it’s almost embarrassing.” he teased, to which Ford lightly shoved him away, beginning their route back home from the pier. 

“Stanley, come on. They’re my friend just as they are yours. They’re good company.” he said, glancing off to the side, as if that could conceal the rosy pink hue on his face, but Stan remained undeterred. “Sixer, face it. You’re whipped with a capital wh-pshh!” he said, smacking one hand with his other for emphasis. 

“I am not- look, [Name] is very kind and a good friend, I appreciate that. It’s not like I lie awake at night thinking about them.”

Several hours later, it was well past nightfall and everyone in the Pines household was fast asleep, save Ford. 

Up on the top bunk, he laid on his back, hands folded over his midriff as his chest heaved slowly and his heart thrummed steadily beneath its surface. That warmth was still present, especially around his face. His conversation with Stanley had been playing on loop all evening.

Of course Ford liked you, heck, he was crazy about you. You were so nice to him and fun to be around, your enthusiasm was so endearing, and you never treated his abnormalities as though they were defects.

And you weren’t bad to look at either, of course, like earlier that afternoon on the boardwalk when the sun’s light highlighted your features. He could stare at you for hours. The way you diminished his resolve just by looking his way and smiling at him was so positively-

Oh.

Oh. 

“Oh no.”

Ford could just faintly hear a sleepy chuckle from his brother in the bunk below him. 

if this gets enough notes I’ll write a part 2

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝒷𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎 𝓈𝓊𝒾𝓉 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒, 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝑒𝑜

· ───────⋆⋅♤⋅⋆─────── · 

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Who doesn’t love a good bunny suit fanfic? This little piece was inspired by the incredible artwork of @alienfreak124. I’m always in awe of her creations—her OC is so cool! Honestly, every time I see her work, I wish I had the talent to draw. T-T Always wanted to see what my OC would look like in the Tkatb fandom.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

Also, I’ve been thinking about branching out into other fandoms—Creepypasta is definitely at the top of the list since it was such a huge part of my childhood. Ticci Toby has always been my favorite, and I’m super excited to dive into that world. I’m also considering Death Note and Black Butler, but who knows? 

For now, I’m pretty set on exploring the creepy side first, especially with all the dark, twisted fandoms.

Anyway, I’ve got about three fics in the works for these lovely men—Crowe, Sol, and Geo. But it’s gonna be one day at a time because, let’s be real, I need to stop posting these things so damn late. College life is getting hectic, but I’m making it work, even if it means less sleep. Priorities, right?

· ───────⋆⋅♤⋅⋆─────── · 

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

You’re in your room, standing in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of a plain black dress.

It’s simple, safe, and exactly the kind of outfit you’d usually wear to a small party. You tilt your head, trying to decide if “simple” is too boring. The party isn’t exactly a big deal—just a casual gathering—but there’s a nagging thought in the back of your mind: 

Crowe’s going to be there.

Before you can overthink it, there’s a sudden knock at your door. “Hey! Open up!” Brittney’s voice is unmistakable—high-energy and impossible to ignore. You sigh, already knowing she’s about to upend whatever plans you’ve made for the evening. 

When you open the door, Brittney bursts in like a hurricane, her arms overflowing with what looks like… fur? No, it’s worse. It’s a bunny costume—a black bodysuit with matching ears, thigh high socks, and heels so high they look like a twisted form of punishment. 

“Oh no,” you say immediately, holding up your hands in protest. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on!” Brittney waves the outfit in front of you like it’s the Holy Grail. “It’s perfect! It’s fun, it’s flirty, and you’ll steal the spotlight! Imagine the look on everyone’s faces when you walk in wearing this. Especially Jericho.”

Your stomach flips at the mention of his name, but you shake your head. “There’s no way I’m wearing that. I’ll look ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous?” Brittney scoffs, planting her hands on her hips. “Please. You’ll look hot. Besides, when was the last time you did something bold? Live a little!” She leans in, grinning mischievously. “And, you know, like I said he might notice.”

You roll your eyes, before releasing a sigh, “Britt, I’m not trying to ‘steal the spotlight.’ I just want to blend in.”

“Blend in?” She gasps like you’ve just insulted her personally. “Blending in is for cowards. And you’re not a coward, are you?”

“...You’re guilt-tripping me.”

“Is it working?”

Unfortunately, yes. You stare at the bunny suit like it’s a wild animal that might bite you, but part of you can’t help wondering: What if Brittney’s right? What if Crowe actually notices?

“Fine,” you say, at last, snatching the costume from her hands. “But different heels and if I look stupid, I’m blaming you.”

Brittney claps her hands in triumph. “You’ll look amazing, trust me! Now, hurry up and get dressed—I need to see the final look.”

You sigh and shut the door, holding up the bunny suit with a mix of dread and curiosity.

This is either the best idea or the worst mistake.

The moment you step into the party, a hush falls over the room—or at least it feels like it. The warm glow of string lights strung across the ceiling doesn’t do much to soothe the nerves twisting in your stomach. You keep your head down, gripping a drink you barely remember picking up, and try to focus on anything other than the fact that you’re dressed like a bunny in a room full of people dressed... normally.  

Brittney, of course, is loving every second of it. She’s practically glowing as she flits around the room, dropping comments like, “Isn’t she adorable?” and “Doesn’t she look amazing?” to anyone within earshot. You glare at her from across the room, but she just winks and mouths, “You’re welcome.”

You hover near the edge of the crowd, trying to blend into the background. It’s ironic, considering the ridiculous outfit, but you figure if you keep still enough, maybe no one will notice. That plan works for about five minutes—until you catch a familiar figure out of the corner of your eye.  

Crowe.  

He’s leaning against the wall near the bookshelf, casually sipping from a glass, his posture as effortlessly relaxed as ever. Even in the soft glow of the party lights, he’s sharp, dressed in his usual clean, put-together style that somehow manages to look both formal and casual at the same time. He always looks like he belongs on a magazine cover—button-up sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he listens to someone talk.

You freeze, torn between retreating to the nearest shadowy corner and pretending you haven’t seen him, or... well, doing something else. But then, as if sensing your eyes on him, Crowe looks up—and the moment his gaze lands on you, it’s like the rest of the party fades into the background.  

You brace yourself, half-expecting him to laugh or make some snide remark. Instead, his eyebrows lift slightly, and the corner of his mouth quirks up into what might just be the faintest hint of a smirk. He takes another sip of his drink, sets the glass down, and begins making his way toward you.  

Oh no.

Before you can figure out an escape route, he’s standing in front of you, tall and composed, with that cool, unreadable expression that makes your heart do ridiculous things.  

His expression is calm and unreadable, but there’s a sharp glint in his eyes that immediately sets you on edge. The drink in your hand suddenly feels useless as you clutch it tightly, wishing you had anything to focus on besides the way Crowe’s gaze is very obviously trailing over your bunny suit. Slowly.

“Nice to see you decided to... dress up,” he says, his tone dripping with amusement as he comes to a stop in front of you. His eyes flicker from your bunny ears to the tights and back to your face, where your mortified expression only seems to fuel his teasing.

“This wasn’t my idea,” you say quickly, feeling the need to defend yourself. “Britt made me wear it. She said it’ll steal the spotlight or whatever…”  

Crowe raises a brow, “Britney suggested this..?” then soft smile appears once again as he leans just slightly closer. “Oh, I believe you. But she didn’t make you come to me wearing it, did she?”

You sputter, your face heating up. “I didn’t come to you! You walked over here!”

“Did I?” he asks innocently, his smirk widening into something outright devilish. “Must’ve been the bunny ears. Hard to miss.”

You glare at him, your mind racing for some kind of witty comeback, but it’s hard to think when his gaze keeps darting to your legs, the curve of your waist, and then back to your face, like he’s deliberately making a show of it.

“Well,” he says after a beat, his tone maddeningly casual. “She wasn’t wrong.”  

Your brain short-circuits. He did not just say that.

“Excuse me?”  

“About the spotlight,” he clarifies, his smirk softening into something almost... fond. “You’ve certainly got everyone’s attention.”  

You rolled your eyes, “I look ridiculous,” crossing your arms over your chest, turning your head away from his gaze.

It wasn’t long before you felt his finger under your chin to look at him once more, his deep blue eyes filled with warmth, “I wouldn’t say that now,” he counters smoothly. His voice drops a little lower, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Not that I’m complaining, of course. But I’m curious—how many people have tried their luck with you tonight?”

Your eyes widen. “W-what?”

You can’t decide whether to tell the truth to him or strangle him. 

“Come on,” he says, his smirk turning positively wicked. “In that outfit? Like you said, half the room is staring. Though...” He leans in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I doubt anyone else is appreciating it quite as much as I am.”

Your breath hitches, and you’re sure your face is about to burst into flames. “Crowe, you can’t just—”

“Say the truth?” he interrupts smoothly, stepping just close enough that you can catch the faint scent of his blueberry cologne. “Oh, I can. And I will.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Crowe’s gaze shifts, scanning the room. The teasing glint in his deep blue eyes is replaced with something sharper, almost protective, as he takes in the prying eyes of the other partygoers.

“It’s way too many people here,” Crowe mutters, his voice low enough that it feels like the words are meant only for him. Then he glances back at you, his eyes softening in a way that makes your breath hitch.

“Let’s leave.” He mumbled.

“What?”

“I said, let’s leave.” His hand brushes lightly against your elbow, the fleeting touch sending a spark up your arm. His gaze lingers on you, unreadable but heavy with something unspoken. “Unless you’d prefer to stay here and let everyone keep gawking at you like you’re... on display.”  

Your eyes dart around the room, catching a few glimpses of the subtle but unmistakable stares in your direction. The air feels suffocating now, and the idea of staying in this crowded space seems unbearable. Still, you hesitate, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of his presence.  

“Fine,” you say at last, forcing an air of nonchalance even as your pulse quickens. “But if you’re planning to tease me, I’m leaving the second you start.”  

Crowe chuckles—a deep, smooth sound that does nothing to steady your nerves. “Don’t worry,” he says, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smirk as he places a hand lightly on the small of your back to guide you toward the door. “I’ll behave.”  

You’re not entirely convinced, but before you can second-guess your decision, the two of you are stepping into the cool night air. The sharp contrast to the party’s stuffy warmth sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not just the chill that has you trembling.  

Crowe’s steps are deliberate, his presence magnetic as he walks you to his car. He unlocks the passenger door with a smooth motion, holding it open for you before rounding the car to slide into the driver’s seat. The quiet thud of the door closing feels heavier in the silence, the hum of the engine breaking the tension only slightly.  

“Brittney’s going to wonder where I went,” you say softly, partly to yourself, as Crowe pulls out of the driveway.  

“I’ll text her later,” he replies, his tone calm but firm. “She’ll survive.”  

The car is dimly lit, the glow of passing streetlights casting fleeting shadows across his sharp features. You can feel his gaze flicking toward you every so often, lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle.  

He doesn’t speak for a while, but the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s charged—like the air before a storm. You’re hyper-aware of every detail: the way his hands grip the steering wheel, the faint scent of his blueberry cologne filling the small space, the way his jaw tightens whenever you catch him sneaking glances.  

“You shouldn’t let her talk you into things like that,” he says suddenly, his voice lower now, almost rough.  

“Like what?” you ask, even though you know exactly what he means.  

He glances at you briefly, his lips pressing into a thin line before his expression softens. “Like wearing something that makes every guy in the room look at you like they’ve forgotten how to think.”  

The words are sharper than you expect, tinged with an edge of possessiveness that makes your breath catch.  

“I thought you didn’t mind people staring,” you counter, trying to keep your voice steady.  

“I don’t,” he says, his fingers tightening on the wheel. “Unless it’s you.”  

The confession hangs in the air, heavy and electrifying. You look over at him, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s no teasing smirk now, no easy charm—just raw, unguarded honesty in his gaze as he pulls the car to a stop at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

He turns to face you fully, his expression unreadable but his eyes dark with something unmistakable.  

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, the words rough with restraint.  

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. The heat in his gaze is overwhelming, and you feel pinned in place by the sheer intensity of it.  

“I’ve been trying to keep my distance,” he continues, his tone rough and uneven now, “but seeing you tonight, dressed like that, letting everyone else see you like that…” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It drove me crazy.”  

The air in the car feels thick, charged with an unspoken tension that’s almost suffocating. Your pulse pounds in your ears, your breaths shallow as you sit still, unsure of what to say—or if there’s even anything you should say. The silence stretches out, heavy and electric, until Crowe shifts closer to you, his movements deliberate yet almost hesitant.  

His hand rises, and for a moment, you think he might stop midway. But then his fingers gently brush against your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is light, almost feather-soft, yet it lingers—his fingertips trailing against your skin just long enough to leave a burning imprint.  

“Please tell me to stop…” he murmurs, his voice deep and velvety, the faintest edge of uncertainty in his tone. “…before I do something I’ll regret.”

A shiver races up your spine at the feel of his touch, and the heat of his proximity makes it impossible to think straight. Your breath hitches, and you swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. You manage to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and searching, as though he’s looking for any sign of hesitation.  

“And if I don’t want you to stop?” you whisper, your voice trembling but carrying a weight of undeniable desire.  

His breath catches, his chest rising sharply as though you’ve just knocked the air out of him. His eyes widen, a flicker of disbelief flashing across his usually composed face. His lips parted slightly as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to convince himself he heard you correctly.  

You don’t reply right away—words feel clumsy in the intensity of this moment. Crowe’s gaze still lingers on you, steady and deliberate, traveling down the length of your figure and then back up again. His deep blue eyes seem darker in the dim light, their usual warmth replaced by something unreadable, something that makes your pulse race. His soft smile was still there, faint but unshakable, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.  

Your breath catches, and for a second, all you can think is how badly you don’t want this moment to end. Then, before your mind has time to catch up, your body moves on instinct. Slowly, deliberately, you move your body forward—out of the passenger seat closing the distance between you and him.

His head tilts slightly as he watches you, his soft smile faltering, replaced by a soft gasp for just a heartbeat as you climb onto his lap. Your knees press into the seat on either side of him, the soft material of your tights brushing against his thighs as you warp your arms around his neck looking at him.

For a brief moment, neither of you speaks. The air feels heavy, charged with something neither of you can name. His reaction is filled with disbelief.He inhales quickly, his chest rising against yours, and his hands lift instinctively to your hips. His grip is firm yet hesitant, his fingers flexing slightly on the tight spandex of your bunny suitas though he’s testing the reality of the situation.  

You’re glad you caught him like this—off-guard, unguarded. It’s rare to see him anything but happily composed, but now? Now, his usual teasing and confidence feels shaken, his calm veneer cracking just enough to let you peek underneath.  

“Don’t regret this…” you whisper, your voice low and thick with emotion. “Please don’t stop, Jericho.”  

The tension in his shoulders eases, but only slightly. His body remains taut beneath yours, every muscle coiled like a spring. His hands tighten against your hips as if anchoring himself—or maybe anchoring you. He leans forward, and the closeness is dizzying.

His breath fans against your neck, warm and teasing, and goosebumps rise across your skin in response. His hands shift from your hips, sliding upward in slow, deliberate movements that leave you breathless. His thumbs trace over your waist, the faintest pressure sparking heat in their wake. His fingers move higher, brushing against your sides, and you can’t stop the way your body responds, arching slightly into his touch.  

Soon his lips hover near your ear, his voice low and husky, dripping with intent as he murmurs, “I won’t.”  

May got a little carried away here…

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

You don’t know how it happened. 

So okay, you do know how it happened—you were dumb enough to bet against Hyugo. The guy might be obnoxious, loud, and silly as hell, but unfortunately, he’s also good at literally everything. Somehow, that fact slipped your mind when you let him talk you into betting on the last round of a stupid game at a party.

It was one of those chaotic, anything-goes types of games, the kind where people are shouting over each other, rules barely make sense, and luck has just as much sway as skill. You don’t even remember what it was called—something involving a blindfold, ping pong balls, and a lot of yelling. I’m kidding here…

All you know is that Hyugo had that stupid grin on his face, the one he always wears when he knows he’s about to win.  

“Come on,” he’d said, his voice dripping with smugness as he leaned against the table. “You scared or something? What’s the worst that could happen?”  

And like an idiot, you fell for it. “I’m not scared,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “You’re on.”  

Big mistake.  

Because five minutes later, you were standing there in stunned silence, staring at Hyugo’s triumphant face as he held up his winning ping pong ball like it was an Olympic gold medal.  

“Wow, that was almost too easy!” he said, laughing as he clapped you on the shoulder. “You really thought you could beat me?.”  

You scowled, already regretting your life choices. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. What do you want?”  

His grin widened, and you instantly knew you were doomed. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, his voice practically oozing with fake innocence. “It’s nothing crazy. Just a little outfit change for, let’s say... an hour?”  

Your stomach dropped. “What kind of outfit change? I have a movie night at Sol’s place later,”  

And now here you are, standing in Sol’s dimly lit studio apartment, wearing a bunny suit that makes you feel about three sizes too exposed and questioning every decision you’ve ever made.  

How the tf did Hyugo knew your size anyway?

The small space smells like popcorn and energy drinks, and there’s a paused horror movie on the screen, but all of that pales in comparison to the look on Sol’s face.  

He hasn’t stopped staring since you walked in.  

The guy is sitting on his beat-up couch, one leg tucked under him, the TV remote hanging limp in his hand. His mouth is slightly open, and his face?  

Bright red.  

Like, glowing tomato-red, borderline matching the devil on the movie poster behind him.  

“…What are you doing?” he finally chokes out, his voice cracking just enough to make you raise an eyebrow. He clears his throat and tries again, this time deeper: “I mean, what’s this?” He gestures vaguely at you, but his hand is shaking a little, so it’s not exactly smooth.  

You cross your arms, trying to tug the hem of the crotch area down to show less skin, but there’s no saving it—it’s just too short. “Lost a bet to Hyugo from party earlier today,” you mumble, your voice flat, as if that explains everything.  

Sol squints at you, the disbelief radiating off him in waves. “Hyugo made you do this?” His tone flips between outraged and incredulous. His eyes dart down to the whole getup— floppy bunny ears, the thigh-high socks, even a little button tie—and then snap back up so fast you think he might’ve given himself a neck cramp. “Ugh… He’s the worst sometimes.”  

“Yeah, thanks for the groundbreaking insight,” you deadpan, shooting him a withering glare. “I figured that out the moment Hyugo handed me this thing.”  

Sol drags a hand through his perpetually messy hair, clearly grappling with some kind of inner turmoil. “You didn’t have to wear it, though,” he mutters, his usual grumbly tone edged with something oddly defensive. “You could’ve just… I dunno, said no.”  

You blink at him, unimpressed. “Oh, sure. And let Hyugo post that video of me tripping like an idiot in front of the entire campus? An excellent alternative, Sol. Really genius stuff.”

He makes a weird noise in his throat, half a groan, half something else, and he mutters, “Still better than this…” But his eyes betray him.

Because despite the whole “ugh, this is dumb” act, Sol keeps looking. Like, really looking. His gaze lingers on your bunny ears, the curve of the bodysuit, and the thigh-high socks that are making you wish the couch would swallow you whole. Every time his eyes travel down, they snap back up so fast you’d think he got whiplash.

“What’s your problem?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest, mostly for your sanity. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not—” He cuts himself off, dragging his hand down his face with a groan. “Whatever. I’m not the one dressed like…” His words trail off as he waves vaguely in your direction, his ears reddening again as if even describing the outfit is too much for him.  

You sigh and plop down on his old couch because there’s literally nowhere else to go in this shoebox of an apartment. As soon as you do, Sol freezes like you’ve just stepped on a landmine. His whole body stiffens, his hands gripping his knees, and you swear he stops breathing.

“Relax,” you say, kicking off your heels with a sigh. “It’s not like I want to be here in this dumb outfit either.”

“You don’t look unhappy,” he mutters, barely audible, but you catch it.

Your head snaps toward him, catching the faintest flicker of his eyes darting to your outfit before immediately locking onto the popcorn bowl on the coffee table like it’s his last lifeline. His face is ‘burning’, and it only gets worse when he realizes you caught him looking.  

“Excuse me?” you ask, leaning in slightly because you can’t let him off the hook that easily.  

“I didn’t—” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat so violently it’s almost painful. “I just meant—uh, never mind.” But his ears are practically glowing, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.  

“Sure, okay,” you say, sighing as you settle deeper into the couch, before you mention, “It’s not like you’ve been staring at me like a creep since I walked in or anything.”  

“I wasn’t staring!” he blurts, far too defensively for someone who was. He drags a hand through his hair, the strands sticking up even more as he groans like he’s on the verge of losing it.  

“Oh, you weren’t?” you tease, tilting your head. “Are you calling me a liar?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his eyes flicking to your legs for half a second before darting away. His hands curl into fists on his lap, and his breathing sounds... uneven.

Fast.  

One second, you’re sitting on the couch, awkwardly avoiding his gaze, and the next, you’re swept up off the cushions. His arms slide under you, one wrapping around your back and the other hooking beneath your knees, lifting you effortlessly into a bridal carry.  

“Sol!” you shriek, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders. “What are you—put me down!”  

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lowers himself back onto the couch, keeping you securely in his hold. Your legs dangle awkwardly over his arm, your heels threatening to slip off, and you’re acutely aware of how close your faces are now—his warm breath brushing against your skin, his sharp eyes fixed on yours.  

“Relax,” he mutters, his tone gruff but oddly soft. “You were fidgeting too much. Thought you were about to hurt yourself or something.”  

“Hurt what now?!” you snap, glaring at him even as your cheeks flush. “I wasn’t—Sol, that doesn’t even make sense. Let me go.”  

“Not yet,” he says simply, his grip tightening slightly as if daring you to try and wriggle free.  

You glare at him, but the heat of his gaze makes it hard to keep your composure. His eyes flicker down for a moment—trailing from your flushed face to the curve of your legs draped over his arm. He’s trying to play it cool, but the way his jaw clenches and his ears turn a faint shade of pink gives him away.  

“Your legs are cold,” he murmurs after a beat, his voice quieter now.  

“I wonder why,” you deadpan, trying to ignore the way your heart skips at the hint of concern in his tone.  

His lips twitch a shadow of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “This outfit isn’t practical.”  

“Well, I didn’t exactly pick it,” you grumble, squirming slightly in his hold.  

“Stop moving,” he mutters, his voice dropping an octave. His hands shift slightly, one sliding along your back and the other brushing against your thigh as he adjusts his grip. The casual intimacy of it makes your face burn hotter.  

“Sol...” you warn, your voice shaky.  

But instead of answering, he leans back slightly, settling you more comfortably in his lap. The movement makes your head spin—partly from the sudden shift, but mostly because of how close he is now. You’re practically curled up against his chest, his arm still supporting your legs while his other hand rests firmly against your back.  

And then he looks at you again. Really looks at you. His orange-red eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, the teasing, grumbly version of Sol you’re used to is nowhere to be found. There’s something different in his expression now—something serious, almost vulnerable, and it steals the breath from your lungs.  

“You should be more careful,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing lightly against your knee. His hands slide from your hips to your legs. “These heels could’ve hurt me,” His thumbs trace slow, deliberate circles along the tops of your thighs, sending shivers up your spine.

Your mouth opens to respond—maybe to defend yourself, maybe to yell at him, you’re not sure—but then his hands shift lower, skimming over the curve of your calves. He grabs one of your feet, his fingers curling around your ankle as he starts tugging off your shoe.  

“Sol, I can do that myself—”  

“N-No,” he practically begged. His cheeks are pink, his expression strained like he’s trying to keep it together. “Please, just let me.”  

You’re too stunned to argue. He’s slow about it, almost hesitant, his calloused fingers brushing against your skin as he removes one shoe, then the other. When he’s done, he lets his hands linger for a moment, his thumbs brushing over your bare ankles.  

His eyes flicker back up to yours, and there’s something desperate in his expression now like he’s holding himself back from doing something stupid. “Why do you always have to make this so hard?” he mutters, half to himself.  

“I’m making 'it' hard?” you blurt, your voice shaky.  

“You showed up like this,” he counters, his gaze sweeping over you again. “Looking like... this.”  

He leans closer, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him. His hand slides up, tracing a line from your ankle to your knee, then up your thigh, stopping just shy of where the hem of the bunny suit begins. His knee presses a little closer, and you suck in a sharp breath.  

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me right now?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Your brain short-circuits. You don’t even know how to respond to that, especially not when his eyes are locked on yours like he’s waiting for an answer.  

“Sol,” you finally manage, your voice barely audible. “You’re being weird.”  

“I know,” he mutters, his lips twitching into a crooked, almost self-deprecating smile. “I’m always weird. But you make it worse.”  

And with that, he dips his head lower, his breath ghosting over your lips like he’s daring you to stop him.  

Please don’t make him stop…

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Geo hadn’t thought much about your text at first.

You were running late—what else was new? He was used to it by now. You’d told him to let himself in with the key under the mat since you were still getting ready, and, well, that’s what he did.

Your apartment was as familiar to him as ever: the faint smell of your scented candles. Geo plopped onto the couch, scrolling through his phone to kill time. After about ten minutes of waiting, he sighed loudly, tossing his phone onto the coffee table.

“Why do I let you do this to me?” he muttered, dragging himself to his feet. He made his way down the hall, the hardwood floor creaking faintly under his boots.

The door to your bedroom was cracked open, soft light spilling out into the hallway. He tapped lightly on the frame with his knuckles. “Hey, we’re gonna be late, y’know. What’s taking you so—”

He pushed the door open mid-sentence, stepping inside. And then he stopped.

His brain short-circuited.

There you were, standing in front of your full-length mirror, fiddling with a pair of floppy bunny ears.

A very, very skimpy bunny suit clung to you like a second skin, all shiny black fabric and sheer tights that showed just enough to drive someone insane. The plunging neckline, the dangerously high cut of the bodysuit, the tiny bowtie collar around your neck—it was absurd. Ridiculous. And yet somehow…

You looked stunning.

Geo froze in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His trademark sarcasm, his quick wit, his effortless aloof expression? Gone. His brain? Absolutely empty. 

His mouth opened like he wanted to say something—anything—but no words came out.

You noticed him then, spinning around so fast that your bunny ears flopped dramatically to one side. “Geo!” you shrieked, your voice an octave higher than usual. “What the hell are you doing? I thought you were on the couch.”

“What am I doing?” he echoed, his voice cracking slightly as his eyes flicked over you, up and down, up and down, like he couldn’t stop himself. He quickly snapped his gaze upward, focusing on the very uninteresting ceiling. “What the hell are you wearing?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “It’s for a charity event,” you muttered defensively. “Crowe asked me to help raise donations.”

Geo’s jaw clenched, his fingers twitching at his sides as he tried to keep his gaze anywhere but directly on you. His eyes betrayed him, though, darting back to your legs, your waist, your— “What kind of charity involves… that?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at your outfit like it was some kind of alien artifact.

You groaned, turning back to the mirror to adjust the bunny ears again. “It’s a themed event, okay? College students are more likely to donate if there’s… I don’t know, incentive?”

“Incentive…?” Geo repeated, “And Crowe ask you wear that? Crowe?” His tone was somewhere between disbelief and outrage. “What is wrong with him? Is he insane?”

“It’s not that bad,” you said defensively, though your voice wavered because, yeah, it was kind of bad. “It’s for a good cause!”

Geo crossed his arms, his lips pulling into a tight line. “No. Nope. Not happening. You’re not walking out of here dressed like that. I don’t care if it’s for world peace.”

You threw your hands up. “What are you, my dad? Relax, Geo. It’s fine.”

“Fine?” He frowns, irritated, his eyes accidentally drifting downward before snapping back up to your face. He looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. “You look like—you—ugh, never mind.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I look like what?”

“Forget it.” he sighed, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. “Just… just go change or something."

“I can’t!” you said, exasperated. “This is the whole point of the event!”

Geo groaned, dragging a hand down his face in pure exasperation. His usual sharp wit was dulled by whatever internal battle he was clearly losing. “Why do I have to be the one to see this? Literally anyone else would’ve been better. Anyone.”

You crossed your arms, giving him an incredulous look. “You’re the only one with a car who wasn’t busy,” you shot back, matter-of-fact as ever.

Geo huffed, throwing his hands up dramatically. “You should’ve just taken the bus, then!”

“And have creepy men ogling me the whole ride? Absolutely not,” you retorted, your tone sharp. “You’re a much better option. Like it or not.”

“Well,” he muttered, clearly flustered as his hand shot to the back of his neck, his eyes darting anywhere but at you, “I’m regretting it now.”

You sighed, turning back to the mirror and fiddling with the bunny ears again, your patience wearing thin. “Look, if it’s that big of a deal, just wait outside. I’ll be done in a sec—I just need to put on my shoes.”

For a moment, you thought he might actually listen. But then Geo took a step closer, his posture shifting. The embarrassment still lingered in his tense shoulders and flushed face, but there was something else now—something almost… resolute.

Before you could ask what he was doing, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, turning you around so fast you nearly stumbled.

“Geo?” you asked, startled by the sudden intensity in his gaze.

He didn’t answer. Instead, without missing a beat, he pushed you backward with a firm but careful hand, and your back hit the edge of your bed. You let out a startled gasp, barely managing to catch yourself as you propped up on your elbows.

“Hey! What the hell—”

You froze as Geo knelt in front of you, his hand gripping your ankle firmly but gently. His other hand reached out for your heels, which had been discarded nearby, and he snatched them up with a quick, fluid motion.

“You need to hurry up,” he grumbled, his voice low and laced with irritation as he slid the first heel onto your foot. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingers brushing against your sheer tights as he adjusted the strap. His face, however, was a different story—flushed red and rigid, like he was barely holding himself together. “So just—shut up and let me handle it.”

You blinked, your mouth opening to protest but no words coming out. Geo hadn’t spared you a glance, too focused on fastening the strap with a level of concentration that was almost comical.

“You’re—” you finally managed, but your voice wavered as his hands moved to your other foot.

“And you’re taking forever,” he shot back, not missing a beat. His grip on your ankle tightened slightly as he secured the second heel, his eyes resolutely fixed downward.

Is he blushing?

Your eyes narrowed, “You seem red there,” you teased, leaning back on your hands and watching him with a growing smirk. “What happened to all your sarcastic remarks, Mr. Smartass?”

“Shut up,” he muttered through clenched teeth, still not looking at you as he finished adjusting the second strap.

His fingers brushed against your ankle again, lingering just a second too long, and you swore you saw his ears turn even redder. Deciding to test your luck, you slowly crossed one leg over the other, making the movement deliberately graceful.

Geo’s aquamarine eyes flicked up instinctively at the shift in movement, and when he realized what he’d done, he snapped his gaze away so fast it was almost whiplash-inducing.

“Stop doing that,” he muttered, his voice lower now.

“Doing what?” you asked, feigning innocence as you tilted your head and batted your lashes at him.

“You know what,” Geo shot back, his jaw tightening as he focused way too hard on the buckle of your heel, his fingers fumbling slightly.

“Aw, is Geo embarrassed?” you teased, your voice dripping with playful mockery as you leaned forward slightly, one of your legs crossing just enough to invade his space. The toe of your heel pressed lightly against his chest, and you tilted your head, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “I didn’t think you’d get so flustered over a little outfit.”  

Geo, ever the picture of calm composure, froze mid-motion. His hands, which had been casually adjusting the cuffs of his jacket a moment ago, were now completely still. For a second, it was like time itself had paused. Slowly—deliberately—his gaze lifted, locking with yours.  

Fuck.

His aquamarine eyes, normally narrowed and calculating, were different now. They seemed darker, more intense, clouded with something you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t annoyance, nor was it the usual stoic indifference he wore like armor. Whatever it was, it had you swallowing hard.  

The teasing smirk on your face faltered just slightly as curiosity crept in. You tilted your head to the side, your lips parting faintly as you tried to read him, to figure out what was going on behind that icy stare. “Geo?” you prompted softly, your narrowed eyes searching his face.  

Still, he didn’t look away. He couldn’t seem to.  

It was unnerving—and kind of thrilling, if you were honest. Normally, a jab like that would earn you a dry, sarcastic retort, something sharp-edged that would put you right back in your place. But this time? Nothing. Whatever comeback he’d had locked and loaded vanished the second your teasing grin softened into something more uncertain.  

The silence stretched, tension thickening between the two of you like a coiled spring. You couldn’t tell if it was your own heartbeat hammering in your chest or his, but the moment felt impossibly fragile.  

“Seriously, say something,” you murmured, a hint of nervous laughter creeping into your tone. You pressed your foot just a little harder against his chest, trying to get any kind of reaction. “You’re starting to freak me out.”  

His gaze flicked briefly to your leg—the curve of your calf, the ridiculous heel perched at the end of it—before snapping back to your face. “You shouldn’t play games you can’t win,” he said finally, his voice low and even.

Your breath caught for half a second. His hand moved, wrapping firmly around your ankle—not harshly, but with enough pressure to make your pulse skip a beat. With one smooth motion, he guided your leg away from his chest.

“You don’t get it,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm, his tone a complete shift from his usual snark.

The intensity in his voice caught you off guard, and your expression faltered. “...Don’t get what?” you asked, your playful tone slipping into something more hesitant.

Geo’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as if he were trying to hold something back. He stood abruptly, the sudden motion making you flinch slightly. His eyes immediately flickered with regret at your reaction, and he took a deep breath, trying to collect himself.

“Shit,” Geo muttered under his breath, running a hand through his already messy hair. His back was turned to you, but the stiffness in his posture betrayed his frustration. He exhaled sharply, shoulders rising and falling as though wrestling with something he couldn’t quite say.  

“Geo…” you started softly, the sharp edge in your tone from earlier now replaced with concern.  

“Don’t,” he cut you off, his voice strained and hoarse, like the words were being dragged out of him. “We’re not going to the charity event. You’re staying here. End of discussion.”  

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “What?” you exclaimed, still perched on the edge of the bed. “You can’t just decide that for me!”  

He turned to face you, amber eyes blazing with a mix of irritation and something you couldn’t quite place. “Watch me.”  

Before you could react, Geo stalked toward your desk, snatched a hoodie draped over the chair, and swung it around your shoulders with surprising precision. His hands lingered just long enough to tug it snugly over your frame, the fabric swallowing the delicate silhouette of your bunny suit.  

“You’re not going anywhere in that,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. He stepped back slightly, his gaze flicking over you as though ensuring his makeshift cover-up was secure. “If Crowe wants donations that badly, he can wear the damn bunny suit.”  

Your jaw dropped, words caught somewhere between outrage and disbelief. “Geo, you’re being absolutely insane!”  

“Yeah, probably,” he admitted, flashing a grin that was more sharp edges than warmth. “But at least I’m not letting you walk into a room full of idiots who won’t be able to keep their eyes—or their thoughts—off you.”  

Heat crept up your cheeks at his bluntness, and you folded your arms tightly across your chest. His words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, and the tension between you grew like a palpable thing.  

“You’re seriously overreacting,” you muttered, but your voice lacked its usual bite.  

“Am I?” Geo shot back, stepping closer. His towering frame cast a shadow over you as his gaze locked onto yours, burning with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. His voice dropped, low and deliberate. “Do you even realize how—” He stopped abruptly, his jaw clenching as if swallowing the words was the only way to keep them from spilling out.  

“Realize what?” you pressed, your own voice barely above a whisper now, caught somewhere between defiance and curiosity.  

Geo’s eyes darted to the floor, then back to you, before he let out a low, frustrated growl. In one swift movement, he stepped forward, his hands gripping your shoulders as he pushed you gently but firmly down onto the bed.  

“Geo, what the hell—”  

Your protest was cut short as he followed, his weight settling over you in a way that was far from aggressive but left no room for escape. His arms slipped around you, pulling you into a tight embrace as his head dropped to your chest.  

The world seemed to stop as you felt the warmth of his breath against your collarbone. He didn’t say a word, his face buried against you, his grip almost desperate.  

You froze, your hands hovering uncertainly in the air. “Geo?” you murmured, your voice soft and unsure.  

“Just… shut up for a second,” he muttered, his voice muffled against you. His tone was softer now, tinged with vulnerability that made your chest ache. “Let me have this.”  

Your hands hesitated before they slowly lowered, one settling against his back, the other threading cautiously through his hair. His body tensed at first but then melted into yours, his hold tightening as if he were afraid you’d disappear.  

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he mumbled, his voice raw and unguarded. “And not in the way I’m used to handling.”  

For a moment, neither of you moved, the weight of his words—and his closeness—stealing the air from the room. Whatever you were going to say died on your tongue as you let the moment stretch, the sound of his breathing steadying against you.  

“Oh,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, “You’re not making any sense. We’re going to be late for the event,” you murmured, trying to keep your tone soft but firm.

“Good,” he muttered into your chest without lifting his head.

“Good?” you echoed, your brows furrowing. “Crowe’s going to kill us if we don’t show up. And you promised to drive me, remember?”

“I don’t care about Crowe or the stupid event right now,” he grumbled, his voice low and slightly muffled. “It’s not important.”

“Not important?” You leaned your head back against the bed in disbelief. “You’re acting like the world’s ending because of a bunny suit, Geo. What’s really going on?”

He finally lifted his head slightly, just enough to look at you. His amber eyes burned with an intensity that made your breath catch. “You still don’t get it, do you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, a mix of irritation and something deeper. “I don’t want anyone else looking at you the way I am right now.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his words sinking in and leaving you momentarily speechless. “Geo…” you started, but he didn’t give you a chance to finish.

Instead, his arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer as his lips brushed the curve of your neck. You tensed under his touch, your breath hitching as his teeth gently grazed your skin.

“Just give me five minutes,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His lips pressed softly against the spot he’d just bitten, lingering for a moment before pulling back slightly. “Five minutes, and then I’ll get up, and we can go. Deal?”

You blinked, trying to process what just happened, your body feeling like it was on fire where his lips had been. “Geo, that’s not—”

“Five minutes,” he repeated, cutting you off. His tone was quieter this time, almost pleading as his eyes locked onto yours, filled with a vulnerability he rarely let you see. “Please.”

Wow. Five minutes it is then.

· ───────⋆⋅♤⋅⋆─────── · 

[peachpitfics]

Wildest Dreams

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Your Father has betrothed you to his eldest, most despicable friend. You confide in your closest friend, Benedict Bridgerton, that you wish your first time could be with somebody else, somebody you liked.

Length: 3.5k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Propositioning a friend, first time, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, orgasm.

a/n: Wildest Dreams is part i of iii ~ requested by anon here.

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

The blood drained from your face, your hands clasped together in clammy nervousness – your father had just told you that since you have failed to successfully find a husband within the first year on the marriage mart, he will be arranging a betrothal between yourself and Lord Roger Howard. Lord Howard was six and sixty, he was your father’s eldest friend. Every interaction you ever witnessed was filled with contempt and disrespect, especially with service staff. His words were often filled with bigotry and unfairness. You found him repulsive, his yellowing chipped teeth in his villainous smile. The way his poorly maintained fingernails curled at the ends. His white moustache stained into unsightly colours from cigar smoke. The thought of having to be near this man, be intimate with this man, nearly drove you toward deaths door.

Your knees shook, standing from your armchair in the sitting room, not speaking a word to your father as you exited. Scurrying up the stairs, throwing yourself onto your bed, you felt your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Tears streamed down your face, you did your best to suck in deep breaths, but panic continued to wash over you. There was nothing you could do to save yourself from this fate. There had been some suitors interested in you, but you had chosen to wait, to see if the one person you had wanted would make himself available to you. Now it was too late, those suitors had moved on with other young ladies, and the man you wanted was nowhere to be seen.

Your lady’s maid knocked meekly on the door, having come to prepare you for this evening’s ball. The Queen would be there, and you knew she would be disappointed in this match your father had forced upon you, not that that would help you.

“Shall we get the family jewels out miss? I hear it is to be quite an exciting night” You could tell she was putting it on, trying to sound excited. It seemed to come off as patronizing instead.

“Whatever you should think is appropriate” You tried to keep your feelings to yourself, but the streaks through your makeup sold you out at first glance. You spent the rest of your preparation in silence, usually the two of you indulged in a little gossip, it was supposed to be fun.

All evening you hid behind larger groups, behind servers carrying trays of champagne, doing your best to ensure the inevitable could not happen. Finally, considerably late in the evening, your closest friend deigned to arrive. Almost surging across the dance floor and into Benedict’s side, you linked arms and impishly whisked him out through the conservatory doors.

“Miss Y/n” Benedict exclaimed, “What is the meaning of this?”.

You breathed heavily, ducking, and weaving through overgrown plants and florals. You scouted each entrance, paranoia clinging to your side like a child in a sack race.

“My father has committed a most heinous act” You spill to Benedict, there is only concern etched on his face, “I am to be married to Lord Howard”. Your breath never steadied, sweat beaded where your forehead met your hair line. There was that panic you remembered so fondly, only hypervigilance had eliminated that feeling from the centre of your chest.

“Oh lord,” Benedict’s mouth hung open, utterly flabbergasted, “I cannot believe he would do that to you” Both of his hands found their way to your shoulders in compassion.

“And yet he has. My own father has bargained me away to some elder beast! There is nothing I can do to stop it” Your hands ran through your hair, untangling one of the twists.

Benedict did not know what to say, all he could do was lurch forward and take you into his arms. His strong arms reached around you, pulling you tight. The sound of his steady breath and rhythmic heartbeat calmed you quickly.

“When I was a little girl, I wished on a falling star I would find someone who loved me as their equal. I now wish for that same thing on this very night. To think that I have wasted my life dreaming about love, finding someone like me, with the same interests, the same age as me even!” You thought aloud. Benedict was always someone you could tell your innermost thoughts to, he never judged you once, and he was the kindest of listeners.

Benedict Bridgerton also knew exactly who you were dreaming about – it was him. You had been friends for several years, and it had always been obvious to anyone with sight, that you and Ben were infatuated with each other. But Benedict was young, and impulsive, unlikely to marry at this time.

“I do not want to spend my life with that old simpleton! I want to experience life and love!” You cried out, “My elder sister divulged what it is married couples do on their wedding night – I do not want that with him! I cannot live my life without having ever experienced the touch of a man who cares for me!” Your cries turned into whispers; whimpers scattered throughout.

He held you close to him, making a caring swishing sound, it kind of sounded like the ocean. Benedict sure knew how to comfort you when you were in need.

“Y/N! Where are you?!” Your father’s voice echoed off the glass walls, sending you into a frenzy, quickly separating from Benedict, dabbing your cheeks with a handkerchief.

“Yes father?” You responded.

“Lord Howard is here with me. There is something he would like to say to you” Your father called. Benedict hid low amongst the broad-leafed plants, the darkness of the conservatory shading him. You appeared from the shadows without explanation, not that your father was seeking one. Lord Howard stood hunched next to your father, who was 20 years his junior. It appeared as though he bowed, but it was hard for you to discern.

“M…m…miss Y/n?” He stuttered, struggling to see through the spectacles at the end of his nose, “There is a question I must ask you. With the permission of your father, I am here to ask for your hand in marriage” Spittle flew from his mouth in between sharp consonants. Dread flooded your body, you felt like you were being submerged in a pool of water, the tears in your eyes, simply the only way for the water to escape.

There was animosity in your father’s gaze, warning you there was simply one answer to the question asked. Taking in a deep breath, “Yes, Lord Howard, I will accept” You murmured. Lord Howard did not look pleased, he did not appear bothered either, he simply nodded once and turned about, marching back to the main ballroom. You wondered if this was what your marriage was going to be like? Would he ignore your existence and leave you to your own life if you produced an heir? You could not ascertain whether this was a good thing or not.

Benedict hung his head, having watched this entire exchange from the shadows. There was an element of guilt on his part, he blamed himself, unable to give you what you wanted in time to save you. When your father had left you standing still, tears staining your dress, Benedict slid out from the darkness.

“I think I am going to ask the footman to take me home… I only have so much time before my time is not mine any longer” You lower lip trembled; the peaceful silence of the conservatory disturbed by the soft sounds of sobs.

“Y/n,” Benedict muttered, his hand running down your upper arm. Electricity connected your flesh in a zap, your breath caught in your chest as his skin joined with yours. His tender hands grazed yours, tickling the palm of your hand.

“Benedict” You shook your head, moving to take your hand away before he closed his around it. His tongue flicked over his lips several times as he contemplated what he had to say. Sometimes you heard the other young ladies tell stories about Benedict, you never knew if they were true. They spoke of how he was finest of the Bridgerton brothers, they also spoke of his rakish tendencies, however mostly in a jealous fashion.

The forecast in Benedict’s eyes swiftly shifted from clear blue to a stormy grey. You had not noticed how tall he was before, looming over you like a dark cloud. His face illustrated apathetic gloom, his hand boring you into him, like he was the eye of the storm.

“There is something I must speak with you about, in private” Benedict rolled his tongue aggressively on his teeth as he spoke. Everything about his demeanor was confusing, you felt strangely like prey, wondering why it felt good. Benedict snuck out the conservatory door, your hands clutched together while he led you to his carriage, asking his footmen to make way for the Bridgerton house.

“What is this about Benedict?” You asked as soon as the door was secure and the carriage moving.

“Y/n, please give me a moment and I will explain everything. I do not know if I have a solution to your problem, but I may be able to offer a compromise. Something I would only do for you, if you asked, because I care about you so deeply” Benedict paused, this intense look of thoughtful worry about him, “If you would be agreeable, I would like to suggest that I… bed you for the first time” Benedicts voice was low and resounding.

Your lips parted abashedly, your cheeks flushed pink, blinking became uncontrollable. All you could do was sit completely still, astronomically stunned by what Benedict had proposed. You understood that for whatever reason, Benedict could not give you everything you wanted, but he was offering you something. He was offering you an experience you may never have gotten to have otherwise, a chance to feel loved and wanted in intimate affection with another person.

“Say something, anything, please. I cannot stand this silence” Benedict rubbed his temples after a few minutes. His eyes were still dark with longing, he looked over with you a deviating sense of ownership.

“You would do that for me?” You entreated, hands shaking so hard you nearly sat on them to make it stop.

Benedict nodded surely across from you, the carriage pulling up at the Bridgerton house. Your eyes locked, the carriage completely still and silent, you took a moment to consider the ramifications of your choice. Ben’s posture was resolute, his gaze expansive, eagerly waiting for your reply.

“Yes” You swallowed hard, Benedict snatching your hand from your lap and dragging you from the carriage, running up the walk and into the house. You made short work of the very many stairs on the way up to his bedroom, sure that nobody could have seen you, as you ran that fast.

Blood rushing around your body, you stood just inside Benedict’s door, trying desperately to catch your breath. Benedict shuffled about the room, lighting a few candles, closing the windows for the evening. He looked back at you, having already stripped into your underclothes while his back was turned. A most shameful lust driven smile sketched lightly onto his face, he made the long voyage acrost the bedroom to stand a foot or two in front of you.

“Thank you for doing me this favor. I will owe you always” You remarked, your eyes dancing figure eights on the lush carpet squishing under your wiggling toes.

Benedict’s shoulders were more relaxed than you had ever seen them, his posture always just so. Strands of hair bled onto his sticky forehead, dark eyebrows brewing overhead transfixed eyes. That charming smile, filled with foolishness, had not been seen since leaving the ball – this was something so chronically serious to him. He effortlessly tugged at his maroon cravat, casting it to the floor, his proud neck craning to get another glimpse of you from another angle. His throat bobbed when he stepped closer again, just one more step. Fiddling with his waistcoat buttons ardently, watching the frustration set into your eyes, Benedict finally shed his coat and pitched it across the room, knocking over something unbreakable in the corner. It did not steal his gaze; his eyes were set on you. Benedict lifted his suspenders off his shoulders, allowing them to dangle by his hips, the chest of his white, silk undershirt gaping open. Your teeth instinctually bit into your lower lip at the slightest sight of skin you had not ever seen before. The corner of Benedicts mouth upturned smugly, his lips rolling together as his breath became audible. Standing just one foot apart, the tension between you was palpable. You wondered if someone had struck a match, might the room simply explode, there seemed to be so much chemistry between the two of you.

“Please, continue” Your hands pressed to your stomach, you watched as Benedict unlaced his boots, one foot at a time on the stool at the end of his bed. His blistering eye bore into you even still. Making his way back to you, still at hardly an arm’s length, his brawny arms crossed his body to pull his undershirt off over his head.

You swooned audibly, almost gasping seeing the entirety of his torso bare for the first time. Your lips wet, your eyes unblinking, Benedict smiled cheekily, knowing the effect he had on you. His hands moved past his navel, your eyes following, to the button atop his breeches. Benedict made quick work of his trousers, having teased you plenty. Your back straightened, your gob smacked jaw snapped shut at the sight of his naked body.

Benedicts tongue flicked over his teeth, “Would you like me to redress, y/n?” He badgered, pretending to reach for his shirt on the floor. You careened forward, lessening the space between you to essentially nothing.

“I do not know what to do, not truly” You admitted, feeling yourself choking on nothing. Benedict reached out to your hands, taking them in his, placing them on his chest. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head at the feeling of his light chest hair beneath your fingers. His sculpted pectoral muscles and taut stomach, a trail of dark hair leading you downwards made you feel ravenous for him. He looked at you as you looked at him, eyes filled with desire, faces pink in the candlelight. Benedict leaned in to kiss you, pulling away left at the last second to place a single kiss on your neck.

“You. Are. Wicked” Your face flitted over his, grazing your noses and lips together in potential kisses. Benedict leaned into you, his kiss soft, warm, and breathless. You gasped at the first separation, taking in hasty breaths before crashing back into each other. Everything you were doing felt completely wrong, reprehensible – but with a kiss as intoxicating as Benedict Bridgerton’s, you were afraid not even heaven could help you.

Your hands slipped into his thick, dark hair, pulling him down and into you, wrapping your arms around his neck and climbing up onto him. His hands rested under your thighs, carrying you toward his bed, you could feel his hardness pressing against you. 

This was not what you had been expecting, this was no impish boy. Everything about his movements was intentional, well-practiced. His hot, amorous kiss; the way his tongue slipped thankfully over yours, how his teeth greedily nipped at your auspicious bottom lip. His hands moved passionately across your back, his long kisses surprisingly hard on your neck, laying you down on the pile of bedding. He frantically shoved it off the bed, throwing pillows, knocking himself in the face once or twice. You laughed together, slow sizzling tongues dancing as one as Benedict removed your floor length under gown.

Benedict knelt above you on the bed, gently stroking himself, looking down on you. There was that dark cloud you had noticed earlier.

“I want you to enjoy me” Benedict rumbled, making you a promise. You did not yet understand, but you would. Taking his finger, Benedict dipped it into your mouth, bringing it to your nipple, rolling it between his finger and thumb at a glacial pace. His touch was peculiarly possessive, his lips rested around your other nipple now, sloppily dragging his tongue around in spontaneous circles. Big open-mouthed kisses surrounded your breasts, your shock and surprise manifesting in noiseless writhing.

Benedict positioned himself between your legs, lying down forcing your legs apart. Wanting to snap your legs shut, you refrained, trusting Benedict with your life. His breath was agonizingly warm on your inner thigh, his lips parted and gliding up from your knee. Benedict dotted small, chaste kisses along your hips – you deduced he was headed for the pinnacle of your thighs, a place you had never felt burn and ache quite like this.

His tongue slid gently up the slit of your pussy, you breath shuddered, his harmless laps amazed you with every movement. Eye lids fluttering, breathy moans filling the room, Benedict’s graceful tongue swirling your clitoris in curious patterns, drinking in your wetness as though you were a drug to him. Your fingers crawled down into his hair, your hips bucking toward his retreating tongue, you squealed lowly for more.

“Are you quite alright?” Benedict groaned into you, the vibrations of his voice set you on edge, your toes clenching in different ways.

“I do not know what you are doing, but I would like for you to keep doing it” You moaned intermittently, between gasps as his tongue flicked roguishly at your clitoris.

Benedict spread your legs wide and high, taking his finger and resting it at your entrance. He tediously sunk his finger inside you, curling up, making you yelp out in astonishment. Finding a steady pace, his finger already snug inside you, Benedict began at you again, never failing to find exactly the spot he was looking for. His alteration of speed and pressure backed you onto a cliff face, body incandescent and damned to revelry. Pressing his fingers into you rhythmically, Benedict pushed you over the edge, the sensation of falling and flying all erupting at once as you moaned and yelped uncontrollably. In the aftermath of your pleasure, you watched Benedicts eyes, his head still clutched between your legs gently sliding his tongue over you, his charming, sexy smile reflected in his eyes.

Slowing rising to his knees, Ben positioned your legs higher, resting your calves on his shoulders. Taking his cock in his hand, his pressed his tip against your wet skin. Your skin erupted in a tingling sensation, unbridled attraction and hunger liquefying your brain.

You looked up at Benedict in clear understanding, nodding gently, your eyes focusing on the powerful look of restrained urgency on Benedict’s face. He pushed forward smoothly, eliciting a groan from each of you, not even pressed to the hilt yet.

When Benedict filled your pussy fully, it felt like being winded. Panting like a dog under him, Benedict stilled himself, noticing how full and tight you felt, his cock twitching with pleasure. Benedict moved slowly at first, long unbroken strides forward, thrusting into you. Every drive forward, simultaneously blissful, and hot, curving to pound into that sensitive spot just inside you. While every drawback, was likened to slow-motion, devastating deprivation. Ceaseless, savage moans made Benedict grin above you, thrusting harder, wholly triumphant in setting you alight. You knew you would burn for him for the rest of your life.

“Make that sound for me again” Benedict grunted sinisterly, thrusting back into you brutally, forcing that loud intonation from you again.

Your fingers clawed at his back, your hips moving with his in most divine unison. Benedicts teeth grazed your ear, your breathing syncing in ceremonious adoration; his momentum increased, driving into you with new eagerness. Your nails buried in his plump behind, pulling Benedict tighter into you. With propulsive sureness Benedict plunged into you one last time, his cock twitching inside you to his irrevocable release. Never had you felt so full before, his face exquisite above you, leaning down to a soulful kiss.

“I’m proud of you, taking me like that” Benedict panted, taking a second before withdrawing and rolling next to you. He lay on the flat of his back, chasing his breath, his heart thumping through his chest, beating so hard you could almost hear it. His words made you blush, hiding your face in your hands, his seed leaking out of you onto the linen.

“It is not always going to be the same, is it?” You pondered aloud, staring at the detailing on the ceiling above you.

“I will not lie, y/n darling, I do not think every single instance will be the same” Benedict reached over, gently slapping your thigh in solidarity.

“That is disappointing to hear” You sighed dramatically.

Benedict chuckled sweetly, “Perhaps at his age, he will not have the capacity to complete more than the marital act”. You knew he was joking, trying to lift your spirits, but you genuinely hoped that might be true. Other worries began to plague your mind, worries of potential children. What if you were unable to conceive his heir due to his age?

You rolled onto your side, looking into Benedict’s clear, sky-blue eyes, “There may be another favour I ask of you, dear friend”. Benedict's eyes widened curiously, prepared to do most anything for you.

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Tag list: @cringycat24 // @blckbarbiedoll // @freyagallileaevans // @junkie05 // @rosabeetroot // @flamewriterr // @marvelouslyme96 // @moreover-clover // @saintmagx //

If you would like to be tagged in Bridgerton fanfiction written by me, please let me know!

[lxkeee]

MY LOVE, IS MINE ALL MINE

pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x angel! fem! reader

fandom: Hazbin Hotel

genre: semi-angst

notes: will probably make more parts to this if anyone wants me to

PART TWO | PART THREE

Lucifer paced back and forth in his chambers, avoiding the piles of rubber ducks as he anxiously bit his nails. He had just opened the portal for his daughter to enter heaven for a meeting. He never felt this much fear in his whole life, he's worried for her daughter—he fears the higher beings would crush her the same way they had crushed him.

“I am sure she'll be fine...” he mutters, his eyes landing on the picture frame of him and charlie that's on his table—beside his newly created fire breathing rubber duck. It's not fine, Charlie is his pride and joy. He wants to preserve her smile and shelter her but she's a grown woman now and he regrets missing out on her life as he was busy wallowing in self pity.

Lucifer's shoulders hung low as he let out a long and tired sigh, his legs brought him to the balcony of his chambers, grabbing his newly made fire breathing rubber duck in the process, pushing the doors open and leaning against the railings, placing the duck on the railings. “Now that I've thought about it, I made so many regrets in life.” he mutters sadly, his eyes gazing at the smoke filled skies of hell. He couldn't see any stars or moon. He remembers when he was still up there, always gazing up in the sky with, “[y/n]....” says sadly. She was the only angel who believed in him, who agrees with him. They were best friends, he used to fly around the skies with her. She was one of the first few angels God created, he is one of those angels of course. His the one that got away.

“....and with that, I think humans should have free will, they shouldn't be stuck following so many rules.” Lucifer mutters, avoiding the gaze of his best friend, “I know, you probably think it's idiotic to think like tha—” his voice was cut off as the girl beside him placed a shushing finger over his lips. His wings fluttered from the contact of her skin against his lips, cheeks heating up slightly. “Don't think like that, your dreams for mankind are amazing and I agree, too many rules aren't fun.” [y/n] giggles softly as she removes her finger away from his lips.

At that moment, Lucifer was able to gaze at her smiling face. Her three pairs of wings flutter behind her—so warm whenever she hugs him, her hair perfectly framing her face—so soft to touch, the golden halo on top of her head—like a crown, her beautiful smiling face—especially her lips, he wonders what it feels like against his own. Oh god, he's falling for her isn't he?

Lucifer shakes his head, he shouldn't be thinking inappropriate thoughts about her. He just composed himself and pretended his golden heart isn't pounding so hard against his ribcage.

Lucifer laughs softly, gazing at the city of hell. “I wonder what would've happened if I didn't back out of my confession that day, she looked excited too..” he wonders.

“[y/n], can I please talk to you... Alone.” Lucifer nervously says as he looked at the female angel before him, he had to take a deep breath in hopes of his beating heart to calm down for a second or else he'll end up with a heart attack. “Oh? You needed me for something?” she asked him gently with a smile, he would've responded “I needed you in my life” if he had the confidence, “I just needed to talk to you, that's all.” He answered meekly and [y/n] was worried because he seemed nervous, she nodded and followed him to an area where there were no other angels.

“Is there something wrong?” [y/n] asked him softly, holding his hands. Her hands were soft against his own. He avoided her gaze and he could hear his heart thumping loudly in his chest. This is it. “I just wanted to tell you that...” he pauses, voice shaking. [Y/n] looked at him expectantly, “that I like you...” he continued and her eyes widened, her cheeks heating up slightly, her heart beating loudly too unknowingly to Lucifer but the poor man misunderstood her reaction and quickly panicked, “to be safe out there when you do your roundly checks on the Garden of eden.” he finishes quickly and nervously.

“I couldn't forget her reaction, she looked so disappointed.” Lucifer mutters with a sad chuckle as he remembers how her face fell in slight disappointment. He didn't know why back then and it took him years to realize that she wanted him to confess. “I am such an idiot, right?” he says and looks at the rubber duck beside him. No response.

Even though he regrets not confessing as he planned that day, even though a part of him wished the outcome was different. He would've been happy with [y/n] but part of him is thankful he didn't, because if he did, Charlotte wouldn't be here.

Speaking of Charlotte, he is now back to worrying for her. “I spent my time thinking about my past love when my daughter is up there talking to them!” he exclaimed, running his fingers through his blond hair. He hopes someone is kind enough to help his daughter up there.

Unknown to him, a certain angel he was just recalling is currently talking to his daughter up in the skies and showing her around.