Belphegor: I Forget But I Do NOT Forgive.

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Twst Otome Game update

Let me introduce you to... "Twisted Lovers" A game where you can romance your favorite twst characters...

All voting poles and game suggestions are taken in the server! Link.

two and a half studios really woke up and chose violence when they gave us a cocky white-haired never-been-kissed pretty boy who calls us sunshine and blushes at the drop of a hat

needless to say, i’m hooked. so here’s a little post-ending 3 fluff (and kissing. lots and lots of kissing). hope you guys enjoy!

(also send me prompts pls! would love to write more for our little reaper ❤️)

light, which i stand in, warmed (grim/casper x gender neutral!reader, a date with death)

“You’re gonna have to relax, you know.” Your voice lilts with that teasing edge that Casper has come to expect, but even his familiarity with it isn’t enough to stop the heat from spilling into his cheeks. It’s your fault - you’re too damn close, too damn bright, and the way you’re looking at him, all soft and fond and wanting - it’s too much. 

“I am relaxed,” he lies, hiding his burning face in the crook of his arm. The bedsprings creak as you shift on top of the mattress, and his face flares hotter. 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t imagined this moment or others like it - he had, especially as those first faint stirrings of affection had begun to bloom within him every time you hopped into the chat. But his imaginings failed to hold a candle to the reality of your weight nestled against him, your warmth, the scent of your bed linens and the gentle curl of your fingers around his biceps as you lean over him. 

“You sure about this?” It isn’t the first time you’ve asked, and though Casper wants to snap that it should be pretty fucking obvious how certain he is, considering the whole absconding-from-his-reaper -duties-and-going-on-the-lamb-for-you thing, he can’t help but feel a gentle curl of warmth in the pit of his stomach as you squeeze at his arm, your gaze patient and soft.

“I’m sure,” he murmurs, retreating from the crook of his arm to meet your eyes. “Trust me. I can’t lie, remember?” 

Your lips quirk into a slanted smile. “I remember,” you tell him, and then you’re curling your fingers around his jaw and leaning down, leaning in. 

Casper watches your approach with bated breath, his heart leaping into his throat the moment your eyes slip closed and your lashes fan across your cheeks. Your breath is warm against his chin, your fingertips twitching against the line of his jaw, and when your mouth touches his, Casper is certain that the sound he makes will haunt him for the rest of his days.

His lids flutter as your lips move gently against his, soft, bare pressure that starts off a little dry, a little cautious, but soon becomes smooth, wet, deep.

Having no experience to speak of himself, Casper grudgingly allows you to take the lead. You guide his head with a warm palm against the apple of his cheek until you seem to find an angle you’re satisfied with, your lips fitting perfectly against his own, and Casper gasps into the kiss as your chest falls against his, your heartbeat just as quick as the one pounding at the base of his throat. 

“Ah - “ he whimpers as you pull away, before realizing what sound he’s just made and hurriedly jerking his gaze from yours. His face is on fire, his limbs tingling at every point of contact between you, and your soft laugh, colored with a fondness he can hear as well as feel in the sweetness of your touch, certainly isn’t helping. 

“More?” You murmur it against the curve of his jaw, your lips following soon after, and suddenly bereft of the ability to speak, Casper merely jerks his head in a nod and chases the curl of your smile, his hand rising to your cheek to pull you into another kiss.

You sigh against his mouth, a sound so sweet he immediately aches to hear it again. He shifts restlessly beneath you, unsure of how to make that happen and determined not to ask, until ultimately deciding that allowing his body to do as it wishes - to follow his impulses - is as sure a way to go as any. It’s gotten him this far, after all.

Winding his arms about your waist, he marvels at the heat of you, the way your shirt bunches beneath his hands, the sound you make as his knees press against your hips. His head feels fuzzy with affection, with desire, with fear, a heady cocktail that quickens his breath and turns his blood to rocket fuel.

And then your tongue grazes the seam of his lips, gently pushing through to tangle with his own, and the frazzled grim reaper can do little but gasp against your mouth and clumsily attempt to copy your movements, spine melting into the bedding below as his desire builds and builds, fire burning through his veins and settling hotly in the pit of his stomach.

Casper had never expected it to feel like this - so all-encompassing, so overwhelming, so hot. It’s like the moment he’d slipped into your soul and found the brightness residing there, brilliant and confusing and a little bit terrifying. He can’t control the noises spilling from his mouth - needy whimpers and hungry moans wrenched from the core of him, embarrassing if not for the fact that he’s managing in the midst of his own delirium to coax the same delicious sounds from you. 

He doesn’t want to let you go, but the need for air soon becomes impossible to ignore. Still, he doesn’t allow you to pull away completely until he’s pressed another kiss to your lips, and another, and another, until you’re laughing against his mouth and easing away, pushing gentle fingers through his pale hair in an apparent attempt to compromise. 

It doesn’t feel as good as your kisses did, but it’s just as sweet, the rhythmic strokes of your fingertips along his scalp sending pleasant little shivers down the reaper’s spine. 

“You’re so cute, Grimmy,” you murmur, and caught in a blissful haze, Casper can only grumble unconvincingly at the teasing moniker.

“Grim reapers are not cute, Sunshine,” he protests, though his words lack much in the way of conviction. He’s too content, his lips kiss-swollen and his body thrumming like a plucked string, to worry about your rather skewed opinions of grim reapers. 

Your eyes light up at the nickname he’d given you, given in sarcastic jest but now carrying far more meaning than he’d like to admit. “Former grim reapers, then,” you laugh, pillowing your head on his chest, and though the reminder of what he’s given up - rebelled against - should frighten him, your words only serve to bring a flush to Casper’s cheeks.

“You, too.” It’s a clumsy attempt at misdirection, but it serves its purpose, bringing a warmth to your cheeks that Casper can feel, muddled though it may be through the fabric that separates your flesh. 

That’s all that does, he realizes suddenly, a lump forming in his throat. You’re no longer just another soul out in the ether, extraordinary but unfamiliar, no longer just a collection of pixels smirking through a screen, no longer just a voice, a number, a name.

You’re here, a warm weight against his chest, the taste of your mouth lingering on his tongue. Soft breaths, shining eyes, a sweet curl of lips settled just over his heart.

His.

This is what keeps me sane.

Drawing by me :))))

Lucifer: very hungover and pissed off "Why the hell is my underwear in the freezer?!"

MC: "You said, "this is gonna confuse me so much tomorrow." Apparently drunk you likes to play pranks on sober you."

Lucifer:

MC: "Luc-"

Lucifer: "I've been blaming Satan and Belphie for centuries."

Bro istg its not funny anymore

Y/n: Now Idia, I know we don’t always see eye-to-eye on things, but—

Idia: That’s because you’re short

Y/n:

Idia, sweating: I take it back