mosskelp

[mosskelp]

Mmmmmmmmm new pfp,,, haven't drawn up a new self portrait in a while ::3

[mosskelp]

024. Found

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.9k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: You've both been keeping track of each other's letters.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

Part 1 ---- Part 2 ---- Part 3 ---- Part 4 ---- Part 5 (you are here!)

The air sizzles with aroma and spices in the cooling night. It’s been a long first day of travel, and Vash can feel his stomach gnawing at his insides in anticipation. Can you blame him? You’re cooking one of his favorite meals, and he hasn’t had it in near a decade.

He does his best not to hover. You need space to move, and you’ve already slapped his wandering hand away from the sliced sausage twice. So, he putters around camp, unpacking essentials, sleeping bags, feeding your tomas her pellets. She’s small for her kind. She blinks gratefully at him when he offers his canteen of water for a sip.

“There you go,” he murmurs, petting her neck as she drinks. “It’s nice to have some water, huh?” He caps the canteen when she shakes her head, finished. “You’re lucky, you know? Getting to travel with her all this time…makes me a bit jealous.” He lets out a small laugh and gives her a good pat on her side.

“What are you muttering to my bird, Stampede?” You call from the fire, a curious and teasing lilt to your tone.

He smiles, finishing up and heading back. “Just wondering how she’ll taste if I cook her. You’re taking forever with dinner. Ah!” He dodges the bit of sand you kick his way. He warms at your laughter. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me.” You retort, settling back down and stirring the meat and sauce in the pan. “It’s almost done. You think after how long you’ve lived you’d have some patience.”

Vash huffs and takes a seat. It’s automatic, his hand reaching to his pocket with your folded and refolded letters in it. The firelight and cool air act like Pavlov effects on him. He pulls one out, then stops and stares at it, wondering how it got there.

You eye him from the side. “What’s that?”

He blinks and clears his throat. “Oh, just…one of your letters.” He acts like he’ll fold it away again but stops. This is weird. How does he play it off? He sees you still and feels a blush creep up his neck. “Must’ve…uh…”

A shuffling draws his attention. You’ve started rifling through your pack. He watches. In a moment, you pull out what looks to be a deep metal box, dented. It squeals when its lid opens on rusty hinges. You pull out a tied pile of letters and show it to him. Tentatively, he takes them from you. He recognizes his handwriting. It’s the letters you’ve kept yourself.

His breath leaves through his nose, and he glances up at you. “You…kept all of them?”

“Of course I did! I loved getting your letters.” Your emphatic reply almost bowls him over. He hadn’t even thought…

Suddenly, he reaches into his pockets again and drags out the letters you’ve written, piling them to his side as the papers come out. All of them are folded and refolded into small squares, trying to take up as little room as he can so he can get more. He’s careful with them; he really should have tied them together like you had, but he was always so busy and always ready to just whip one out and read it…As the letters come out, his ears redden at your gasp.

“Are those…? You kept all of them?” Your eyes shine with something he can’t name.

He pauses and gives you a shy look. “I…really loved getting your letters, too.”

You reach out and take one, gently unfolding it. The paper is worn and torn, the ink faded from weathering what the Humanoid Typhoon goes through daily. Your eyes scan over it, jumping here and there. You laugh at the end. “I always had to take so long to come up with a joke at the end of each one. I’m not gifted in corny jokes like you are.”

Vash snorts and unfolds another letter of yours. “I’m gifted, what can I say,” he mumbles. His eyes can’t read the words in front of him. They’re too drawn to the woman sitting just a few feet away. He watches your expression as you read your letters again, one by one, laughing and remembering what you’ve written. His own lips quirk up. “Hey,” he says, and waits for you to look up, “Where do pirates get their hooks? Secondhand stores.” He drums a beat on his lap and ends with a ‘tss.’

You groan and roll your eyes. “Boo, get off the stage.” You sidle up closer though, reaching for one of his letters and opening it up. “You remember this one? ‘What do you call a sad cup of coffee?’”

“Depresso!” He laughs and grabs at one of your letters, eagerly opening it and looking at the bottom for your joke. “Which is faster, hot or cold?”

You hum for a moment, eyes squinting. “I can’t remember this one. What is it?”

“Hot, because you can catch a cold.”

“Ha! That’s a good one.”

So it goes for the hour and into the night, both of you opening each other’s letters again like new presents and telling bad jokes over dinner. And maybe your fingers brush when you reach for the papers, maybe they linger just a little longer than needed. One thing is for certain – there will be no need for letters again, not while you two are together. Not when you’ve been found again.

[mosskelp]

posting consistently? never heard of her

[mosskelp]

@ayyydra I feel like we could have big thoughts on this. Biiiiig thoughts

wolfwood and his oral fixation

[mosskelp]

He’s just so… wow

[mosskelp]

Crowd—Nicholas D. Wolfwood

Summary: You watch as Wolfwood tries to find you in a crowd.

Word Count: ~1.5k

Pairing: gn!reader x Nicholas D. Wolfwood

Content: down bad reader and Wolfwood, mainly fluff, gets a lil cheesy but oh whale

A long day of traveling calls for a long lunch break, you and Wolfwood decide. Tucking yourselves into a restaurant at the edge of town, Wolfwood lets a low whistle out at the populated cafe.

“Just our luck to pick possibly the most popular restaurant in town when we’re starving.”

Your stomach grumbles aggressively at the smell of fresh food wafting in from the kitchen. Your nose twitches. Ahh, grilled Tomas. You cast your eyes to the menu hanging from the wall, immediately honing in on the longest description. You wanted something filling as a reward for the amount of steps you’ve accumulated for the day.

“Mind ordering me the Tomas Special? Gril-”

“Grilled with a side of hot sauce. Want some fruit juice too?” Wolfwood finishes. You smile at his thoughtfulness, nodding. 

“Exactly that. You already know me.” You pinch his side, Wolfwood yelping and jolting out of your reach. “I’m gonna go find us a table before someone takes our chance to rest our feet.”

“Don’t go too far, sweetness.” 

You wave your hand behind your back, focused on your search for a table. You find a tabletop outside, right beneath some fans. Perfection. You take a seat, watching as Wolfwood walks up to the counter to place your guys’ order. Your mind wanders, disassociating from your surroundings as you observe every detail that is Wolfwood.

His long eyelashes caressing his sternful eyes, the gentle slope of his bumpy nose, leading you to his plump lips forming the words of your order. You gaze down to his lean but broad shoulders that constantly tote the monster of a cross across his back, his long legs that are in a wide stance, demanding space and authority from those around him. Your eyes catch on his sturdy hands that quickly grasp the change that the cashier hands to him, pocketing it as he turns to look around the cafe.

You decide to toy with him for a bit, letting him look around for you. You wanted to continue your ogling a bit longer. His sunglasses are for once not obscuring his eyes, but instead hanging from his coat pocket. Wolfwood’s regal face is set in a way that the crowd flows around him, choosing to not get in the way of someone whose looks could kill. If you didn’t know him, you’d also avert your eyes. 

Instead, you lean your hand against your fist, softly smiling at the man you call your own. Whenever you are separated, you love to watch the people around Wolfwood as he searches for his other half. Wolfwood has a mission, and that is to be at your side again. 

“Why don’t you make it easier for me to find you in this hell? Raise your hand next time, sheesh,” Wolfwood admonishes you.

“That’s no fun, Nico. You look ready to murder someone if you don’t find me within the next minute, yanno that?” 

“So what I’m hearing is you do want me to put someone six feet under? Never took you to be violent, babe.�� You shove him, only able to push him one foot away with how sturdy he is. If you didn’t know better, he let you push him so far. He chuckles at your antics. 

“Not what I mean! It’s just fun to see what you look like to other people when you aren’t looking at me.” He goes silent. You peer up at him, wondering where the usual witty remark is. You smirk at his pink cheeks. “Aw, is someone embarrassed?”

“Ugh, shove it.” He looks away, mumbling his next sentences. “Can’t fault a guy for wanting to look at his sweetness. You’re a sight for sore eyes compared to the uglies that wanna test me.”

“Ohh, so you’re calling me pretty??”

He rolls his eyes before looking down at you, lips quirked, silently answering your question. 

You laugh at how childish he acted early in your relationship. It took some time to thaw the ice that surrounded Wolfwood, ice that had formed as a result of a hard life that he rarely spoke of. So it was no surprise when it was hard for him to admit his feelings for you, especially such soft and tender ones.

He wasn’t familiar with the warmth he felt whenever you smiled at him, wrongfully diagnosing his racing heart as a premonition to some unseen danger in the area instead of feelings of love. That was uncharted territory for him. He was glad now that he could show you just how important you were to him. Now where the hell are they?

A sudden, melodic laugh alerts his senses to his right, eyes finally seeing a charming sight. His eyes skip over the mounds of heads that stand in the way of you leaning against your hand, a graceful smile painted across your face as you watch him. Your eyes are half-lidded, a serene yet distracted look hidden beneath your lashes. 

His heart stutters. He hates when it does that. He’d been trained ruthlessly to maintain an even and lethal composure in his day-to-day work by the Eye of Michael, but when it comes to you, years of training are forgotten. He knows the admiration etched in your entire body comes from watching his every move. It’s what he sees everytime you two look at each other. You look at him as if he was better to look at than the setting suns. 

Your smile deepens, eyes crinkling as you watch Wolfwood’s stony facade melt. He has never turned that predatorial intent on you, only ever offering you the soft, slight joy that is carved into his features when he sees you. 

His long strides carry him to you in no time, dragging his stool closer to your side. He sits down close enough that your knees touch, an affirmation that he is next to you. 

“You’re just never gonna wave me down, huh?”

“Nah, don’t feel like it.” Wolfwood hangs his head, sighing. A couple beats of comfortable silence pass. You blink slowly at the hustle and bustle of the cafe, watching customers waving their receipts at the waiter. Are they killing the Tomas out back? What is taking so long? You manage to hear one of the angry customers ask.

“You did it again.”

“Did what?” Wolfwood looks up.

“You walk around like you own the place. Hell, the whole town. People move out of your way. You got that much power without realizing it, Nico.” He cocks his head at you. Of course he doesn’t notice. “You’re scary. These people know without you even saying it that you can be a liability.” You let out a short laugh. 

“Hey, what’s the big idea? You just said I’m scary!”

“Yeah, but never to me. I know where your technique comes from.” He leans into your space now, eyes fully focused on you, gaze sweeping over your features. His fingers play with yours on the table, lightly lacing your hands together.

“Oh, you know me that well? I can say you don’t know the half of it,” Wolfwood brings his lips to your knuckles, grazing them softly. You recognize him trying to turn the tables, trying to steer you away from your analysis.

“Did you know you look at me as if I put the moons in the sky? Or if I was one of the stars decorating the night sky?” Your comparisons stem from the way that Wolfwood looks when night falls: peaceful. Almost glad that the darkness helps hide whatever burdens he still carries.

He brings your hand up to cover his face, knuckles now brushing his forehead. Maybe that was too poetic on your end. “I know without you even saying it that you love me, Nico. It’s written all over your face–is what I’m trying to say.” 

He rubs his forehead against your hand. “...maybe you do know the half of it.” A quick peck to your lips throws you for a loop for the first time that day. He separates only by an inch, ensuring that the next couple of words are for your ears only. “Let me say it out loud, then. I love you.”

“ORDER NUMBER 56 FOR NICOLE! GRILLED TOMAS SPECIAL AND A TOMAS BURGER!”

Groaning, Wolfwood’s head falls onto your shoulder. 

“That idiot of a cashier can’t hear for his life.” You chuckle, hand coming up to pet his hair.

“Whatever you say, Nicole. Now hurry up and get our food before someone snatches it.” 

With that, Wolfwood kisses the side of your neck before jogging to the counter. 

You rub where his lips were, heart racing. Damn him. He always manages to leave you speechless. 

a/n: yeah i needed to distance myself from my upcoming vash smut so woe wolfwood fic be upon ye

divider by saradika

masterlist

[mosskelp]

Boop

[mosskelp]

Needy

Rating: 18+ Minor DNI

Pairing: Vash X GN!Reader

CW: Injuries, drugged, Horny, sensitive, jerking off, coming on yourself, Needy, trying to be quiet

Word count: .6K roughly

A/N: Well saw some Vash art that made my brain so brrrr so have some needy Vash, in between boops that is.

“Alright Vash, all patched up.” Carefully patting his stomach after you secure the edge of the bandage, leaning to kiss his forehead. “You just relax alright, I’m gonna take a shower then I’ll see about getting us something to eat.” 

“But Mayfly!” A whine in his voice as he leans against the pillows. “I want you, I need you so bad right now.” Jerking his hips and you’re quick to hold his body still. 

“Whatever drug they gave you is still in your system you just need to relax while you come down from that high alright?” His fingers trail along your cheeks before you pull away and he lets out another soft whine but nods his agreement. 

At least until the door to the bathroom closes. Vash arches his neck back a little as his cock throbs painfully in his pants, he’s been hard for hours. Even as you patched up the slice in his abdomen all he could think was how he wanted to be buried in your tight warmth.

His mouth feels full of cotton as he tries to lick his lips, reaching down to work his pants open the rest of the way and grabbing himself. A gasp as he almost cums on the spot with his eyes shuttering close from the pleasure that floods his system, a whine more like an animal in heat than the plant that he is echos in the room. 

Closing his eyes and biting his lip as he gingerly slides his fingers along his shaft, the heat coming from him feels scorching even though the fabric of his gloved digits. Pressing his thumb to the head of his cock makes him scream, a noise that has you calling out to him. “Vash?”

“I’m ok Mayfly!” You can hear him even over the shower and in his state Vash knows you’ll stop him, his prosthetic grabbing handfuls of his turtle and shoving it into his mouth. His teeth clamping on the fabric as he begins to pump himself in earnest. 

It isn’t long before he’s thrusting up into his loose fingers, pre cum from his slit pouring down his skin. He’s so needy he wouldn’t even have noticed the chaffing with the boiling in his gut demanding release. The thick fabric in his mouth is soaked from the drool now pouring from him, he isn’t thinking about his hand on his cock. 

No. He’s pretending it’s yours, your fingertips pressing against the vein that sticks out above his sac where the skin attaches to his length. Your thumb rubbing circles into the curve of the ridge of the skin of his head. 

Another whine from low in his throat that the black fabric does nothing to help with. Closing his fingers he imagines it’s both of your hands now, moving faster and tighter on his burning flesh as the burning in his gut grows more intense. 

“Vash?!” Gasping and arching his back as he cums, spraying white ropes of his release onto his wrapped stomach and some of the fluid spattering along his chest. The sound of your voice pushing him over the edge, his fingers still working his shaft as he opens his eyes to see your blurry form. 

“I need you Mayfly, please, touch me more.” 

You might be pissed he painted his own chest in cum, but damn if he doesn’t make for a sight with his body flushed and covered in sweat while playing with his dick.

[mosskelp]

yknow i said it as a joke but yall im not gonna sugarcoat it

i may be actually addicted now

[mosskelp]

Prince Vash arranged marriage AU headcanons - Part 1

Prince!Vash who grew up a free spirit and can hardly imagine getting married, let alone to a stranger like his brother, King Nai, is telling him to.

Prince!Vash who fights and fights and fights having to be in an arranged marriage.

Prince!Vash who finally gives in when war threatens between your two kingdoms, and the only thing either side is willing to do is have an arranged marriage – so both royalties have an eye on and a finger in each other’s pie. Vash loves his people more than his freedom, and he refuses to be the reason any of them perish in war.

He knows it’s a doomed marriage from the start.

Prince!Vash who is not stunned by his new wife’s beauty, or enraptured, or anything he expected if he ever got married. He’s heard about you. The eldest daughter of the kingdom – born to wield power, now forced to bend a knee and give up that right. You’re boring, that’s what everyone says, and he dreads that description more than anything else. But he does see the wheels turning in your head as you walk down the aisle, dress train dragging behind like a corpse. Like you’re still trying to find a way out of this. All grim-faced and tears in your eyes, he at least takes comfort in the fact that you’re just as miserable about this as he is.

No kisses are exchanged, only rings and sighs of finality. The newly bound kingdoms celebrate, and Prince!Vash is swept away in the festivities, getting drunker and drunker and not caring for the glares his brother sends his way. It’s his fault for this; the least Nai can do is let Vash get his woes out through alcohol and partying. Vash doesn’t care where you are – not now. Not until he stumbles to his rooms and is immediately sobered by the thought that it is his wedding night, and what that implies.

Prince!Vash who stands outside his rooms nervously for fifteen minutes. He curses Nai, bites at his nails, paces the length of the hallway while receiving strange looks from the staff. Then, comes to the conclusion that he’ll have to just grin and bear it through this, too, and opens the door.

You aren’t there.

You aren’t in the adjoining suite either, where your new rooms have been made. Perhaps you’re still out partying; doing the same thing Vash was to forget the awful situation you both found yourselves in. Fine by him. He heaves a sigh of relief and plummets into bed. He can’t sleep, though. Every set of footsteps he hears outside sets him on edge. Is it you? Finally come to claim your rites? He jumps awake at every noise for the next three hours, until, finally, the alcohol settles in him and he nods off at the break of dawn.

Prince!Vash who, despite his own feelings, tries his best to get to know you that first week after the wedding. But you’re slippery. Almost more slippery than himself. He tries talking to you, walking with you, even cornering you at one point, but you always manage to slip away with an excuse he can’t refute. There’s no nighttime visits between your rooms, no talking. You’re a stranger in his castle, just like you’re a stranger bound to him by rings and vows.

Until, one night, his sweet tooth hits, and he hops on down to the kitchen to grab a pastry. He opens the doors without preamble – the staff know him and his cravings – and is surprised to hear a quiet sound of surprise from the corner of the darkened room.

It’s you. With a peanut butter and jelly sandwich clutched to your chest. You’re dressed in your nightgown, hair askew and eyes watering and certainly not looking like the put-together princess he had married. He doesn’t look much better, and for some reason, it startles a laugh out of him. He’s surprised to hear you laugh back, a weird tension falling off both of your shoulders as you eat your treat and he finds his own. He stays with you long after you’ve both eaten, talking and getting to know each other without the prying eyes of the court or staff to hear.

It starts a nighttime ritual for you two – a way to get to know each other on your own terms. He’ll take a jaunt down to the kitchens, find you there with some sort of new treat, and get his own. Sometimes you'll even share the other half of your PB&J with him. He's split more than a few pastries with you. You’re surprisingly easy to talk with, and certainly not boring like everyone warned him. He learns a lot about you –that peaches are your favorite fruit compared to his strawberries, what books are your favorite, how much you hate the play The Archipelago. Vash shares his own interests in technology, how his solar-powered arm works, his taste in music, some stories of him sneaking out to the farmlands to be a farmhand for a day or two before Nai marched his ass back to the castle. He likes telling those stories the most. You have a great laugh.

One night, you confide in him how much you miss your family – your brother and sisters, how you were always the voice of reason to their antics, and how much you worry what the court is doing to them now that you aren’t there to thwart their schemes. Tears come to your eyes as you describe the grassy fields and tall forests you’d ride through in the fall time. Vash’s gut curls, and he makes a promise right then to do his best to make his kingdom a new home for you, rather than the prison you view it as.

Prince!Vash who takes you out to the city to try his nation’s foods as they should be – on the streets and in his people’s hard-earned businesses. Vash is popular with the people (far more so than his brother, you note), and most greet him with warm, welcoming smiles while he traipses through town with his new wife. He’s eager every time you try something new – bowls of blackberry yogurt with orange slices and granola, strawberry shortcakes, and his personal favorite, the apple cider donuts from Riri’s, sprinkled with sugar. Every time your eyes light up at a new treat, he’s delighted. Food is a great way to bond between you two, it seems.

Prince!Vash who learns how to share secret looks with you across the room in meetings. He’s always bored in them, despite how he tries to pay attention for his people’s sake. It starts with your quick, wide-eyed looks at him whenever one of the dukes or other nobles makes a particularly scathing remark about someone else. You twitch your left eye to ask him a question about the discussion going on, and he tugs his lips to one side and shakes his head. He blinks twice and rolls a shoulder to tell you the answer to another inquiry. Somehow, you get it. It’s the funnest time he’s had in these meetings in a while. Sometimes you’ll throw in a cross-eyed look to tell him ‘I hate this, this is boring, I can’t believe this, etc.’ Nai’s given him and you more than one look for the snorts Vash lets out.

It's hard to get used to this new situation. It’s hard to get used to the ring around his finger, how some days it fits fine, and others it feels too tight and restricting. But you’ve made it easier. You’re kind, and willing to be adventurous alongside him, and have a great sense of humor.

Prince!Vash who finally accepts…maybe…you two can be friends.

[mosskelp]

Guess who's birthday was on the 20thhhhhhh (and, by extension, their party yesterday).

That's right, it was me!! Therefor yall are getting an unasked for face reveal. The people who know me on discord already know it but for those who DONT,,, here is Mossie. In their full dorky glory.

[mosskelp]

Plant Heat Headcanons

Millions Knives Edition

Rating: Explicit (18+ only, Minors DNI)

Pairing: Knives x F!Reader Cw: smut, heat cycles/plant heat, overstimulation, dacryphilia, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, breeding, orgasm control/denial, possessive and obsessive behaviour, dominance & submission, degradation, grinding, some religious symbolism (in Trimax Knives' portion). Word Count: ~3K A/n: A lovely person inquired about some Plant Heat Headcanons for Knives on my AO3 account. I was inspired, so here they are! Hope you enjoy them! 💜

Prefer to read on AO3?

Tristamp Knives

He is very aware of his heat and knows precisely what to expect and how to counteract it. Despite the physical symptoms that he suffers, Tristamp Knives only views this biological cycle of his as a minor inconvenience. He had always been prepared for it, overcoming the intense urges of his body with sheer willpower alone. Willpower alone had always been enough…until you came along.

Similar to Tristamp Vash’s heat, Tristamp Knives’ heat is also quite physically intense. His body aches and heats up to the point of fever. His razor sharp mind becomes slow and sluggish—obsessed and plagued with impulsive thoughts of grabbing you, ripping your clothes off, and pounding into your sweet cunt until you cry. He doesn’t quite care if he ends up doing it in front of an audience either.

Tristamp Knives’ plant markings glow exponentially brighter during this time, his fangs elongating to sharp points as his senses heighten. You become like a beacon of desire to him in this state. Tristamp Knives can sense your every breath, hear each beat of your heart, and smell the arousal that drips between your legs even across a distance. It’s infuriating for the prideful plant. It’s as if your lewd and tantalizing body were calling out to him—mocking him for his foolish attempts to control himself.

Eventually, Tristamp Knives does give in to his urges, but he holds fast and so desperately to that illusion of self-control. He dominates you physically and mentally, lording his strength, power, and superiority over you even if he’s the one moaning as he sinks his cock inside your tight walls.

Tristamp Knives’ stamina is unmatched. He can bring you to the brink of orgasm, only to then deny you and repeat the process. Tristamp Knives will do this over and over again until he has you sobbing and pathetically begging for release. He is in control. Not you, and not his heat. You will be the one praying to him, not the other way around.

I should also mention that Tristamp Knives’ cum and saliva acts like an aphrodisiac. This helps his partner keep up with him, but Tristamp Knives also uses this property of his fluids to torture, tease and taunt you. “Coming from just a little kiss? What a depraved little slut you are.”

Tristamp Knives’ iron will to stay in control is formidable, but it is not absolute. You can break him—forcing him to submit to his feral urges if you play your cards right. Put on a little show for him. Tease him by lewdly touching yourself, salaciously cry out your pleasure with rapture, fuck yourself shamelessly on his throbbing dick while chanting your devotion to him. If you can manage to rile up this control freak of a plant well enough, you’ll find yourself pinned to the nearest hard surface before you can blink. At that point all you’ll hear is Tristamp Knives’ feral growls in your ear before he starts to fuck you so hard you nearly pass out.

It’s a dangerous game that you’ve decided to play, but you’ll be damned if you’ll allow Knives to have free reign over every little part of you for a moment longer.

Yes, he is stronger, smarter, faster and infinitely more powerful than you--but at this very moment, as Knives denies you your orgasm for the third time in a row, you decide that those facts don’t matter. You have a hold over him too. A power so profound that he desperately tries to deny and curtail it, forcing you to submit and take what he gives you in an effort to hide his secret vulnerability.

No more. You’ll expose that nerve and grind it to dust.

Knives chuckles darkly as he removes his glistening fingers from your twitching cunt, plant markings pulsing an angelic blue as he pops his fingers into his mouth and savors your taste. 

“Couldn’t come in time, pet?” Knives taunts, those white fangs of his glistening as he elegently licks his fingers clean. 

“Pathetic.”

Your body is covered in sweat—exhausted and aching—but somehow you manage to muster your strength and reach forward to claw at Knives hips. The plant’s eyes widen with surprise, his breath leaving him in a choked gasp as you bury your fingernails into his flesh and swiftly pull his hips to yours. Knives moans, his hands slamming against the mattress on either side of your head, steadying himself while you bury his cock to the hilt in your eager pussy.

The ecstasy that flows through your body is unparalleled, and you mewl with abandon, arching against Knives’ burning skin as you come around his cock—hips grinding obscenely against his hardened flesh as your cunt milks him hungrily.

“Want you.” You gasp, breathless and delirious. Your gaze captures his own as your body rides out your orgasm sensually beneath him. Beckoning him. Breaking him.

“Please,” You whimper, body arching so that your lips brush sweetly against his perfect, pink mouth. 

“I want you, Nai.” You breathe against his lips. “I want you more than anyone else. I’m at the end of my rope, I’m aching for you. Please, fuck me. Please, please, please!!”

Knives is motionless above you, his eyes and body bathing your own in that ethereal blue glow. A moment of silence passes between the two of you, gazes locked in silent battle as your panting breaths fill the air.

Then a devious grin spreads across Knives’ face. The sight sends intoxicating shivers of anticipation down your spine. Like a predator, Knives leans down and whispers a dark and sensual promise in your ear.

“You want me, pet? Fine. Then I’ll give you everything you asked for.”

98 Knives

This stubborn plant tries to ignore his heat. 98 Knives is in complete denial and is the biggest brat about this biological cycle. He’s flushed? You’re seeing things. Had he been staring at you for too long? Only because he can't believe how ugly you are! Is he hard? Why the hell are you looking at his junk in the first place, pervert!?

Completely opposite to 98 Vash, 98 Knives tries his damndest to avoid you during his heat. On the surface, he wants nothing to do with you during this time and will actively leave the room whenever you enter. If you manage to touch him unguarded however, you swear you can hear him purr sensually under his breath.

Compared to his other counterparts, 98 Knives doesn’t go through the same physical changes during his heats. No fangs or distorted wings or glowing marks. However, 98 Knives is just as affected in terms of his sexual drive and he is in a constant state of horniness. He’s also super pissed about it.

98 Knives angrily jacks off every moment alone he can spare. It never fully relieves him though, and for the most part it only riles him up even more. 98 Knives’ head is always swimming with thoughts of you—both unbelievably aroused and severely irritated. How dare you cloud his mind like this? How dare you make his cock so hard? How dare you make him want you?

When he does finally submit to his heat, 98 Knives becomes the bossiest and brattiest little pillow princesses. This whining plant makes you do all the work while also growling his demands of what he wants from you through clenched teeth.

But rest assured, when you manage to edge 98 Knives just right—hitting that sweet spot of his with perfect precision—oh can you make that plant sing.

Knives groans, gritting his teeth as he arches beneath your hips. Those beautiful blue eyes of his squeeze tightly shut as he curses you under his breath. 

Ignoring his insult, your eyes linger on the straining muscles of Knives’ neck as he pathetically thrusts his cock against you. His leaking and throbbing glands just barely manages to breach the tight entrance of your pussy despite his best efforts.

“E-enough.” Knives rasps, fingernails scratching at the meat of your thighs—childish and demanding. Those wild eyes of his open again, pegging you with a petulant glare.

“Hurry up and sit on my cock, you idiot!”

Ah. He’s near his breaking point.

“Hmm, and what if I don’t? What if I leave you here aching and unsatisfied? It would be exactly what a brat like you deserves.”

The rage that flashes in Knives’ eyes lasts only a second. Quick as a flash you raise your hips, letting Knives’ cock slip from the warmth of your cunt. He growls, utterly livid as his dick lands pathetically on his navel with a wet slap. 

But before the tantruming plant can retaliate, you sit on his cock, harshly grinding your slick folds up and down his entire length. The breath explodes out of Knives’ lunges, as you grind your pussy along his length and his next words leave him with a pathetic whine.

“Th-that's not what I meant you disgusting, brutish—aaaahhhhh!”

You press your weight against his frenulum, grinding your clit mercilessly against that most sensitive spot of his—breaking him down piece by piece and smiling with satisfaction as Knives melts in your hands like butter.

He's such a whiny little thing.

The plant’s hips start to piston, his whimpering mewls now uncontrollable as he starts to grind against your sex. Knives' blue eyes glass over with lust as he stares at you with a mixture of hatred and need. Right now, you are at the epicenter of his world, and he hates that.

“Beg me,” You whisper teasingly with a smile. “Beg me to fuck you. Do it nicely and I’ll give you what you want.”

Knives’ teeth clench, his expression a conflicted storm. But in the end, the plant's lustful need supersedes his pride. Releasing a huff of air, Millions Knives swallows and then whispers oh so sweetly.

“Fuck me, pet. Please.”

Trimax Knives

Trimax Knives regards the period of his heat with virulent disdain. To him it is a primitive mechanism of survival derived from the disgusting remnants of the human DNA that poisons his every cell. Among many things, Trimax Knives detests his heat.

Luckily (or perhaps unluckily) for you however, your touch he does not detest.

Similar to his brother, Trimax Knives also goes through a lot of physical changes and a significant amount of pain during his heat. At the peak of his heat, razor sharp, almost crystalline wings involuntarily tear outwards from beneath his skin. His eyes glass over to a milky bluish white, and his fangs practically double in size. Each fang is razor sharp, easily capable of tearing anyone limb from limb. Trimax Knives is exceptionally beautiful in this form, but he is also dangerously aggressive.

Trimax Knives is possessive, and obsessive on a good day. In the midst of his heat however? Those tendencies of his magnify tenfold. Once his heat hits, the vastness of Knives’ mind becomes singularly fixated on you. Your scent, your soft skin, the sound of your voice, the beating of your heart. Every aspect of you is impossible for Knives to ignore. He wants to claim you, mark you, and fuck you until you are begging for mercy.

The compulsive and feverish thoughts of breeding you—of mating with you so thoroughly and completely that he gets you pregnant—nearly drives Trimax Knives to the brink of insanity. It’s not necessarily because he wants offspring (honestly even if you’re incapable of such a thing he couldn’t care less), it’s more so because Trimax Knives is so madly possessive of you that he wants no doubt in anyone’s mind exactly who you belong to.

Woe is any idiot who decides to breathe the same air as you (let alone touch you) while Knives is in the throes of his heat. People have been maimed, and several of the Gung-Ho Guns have the scars and the psychological damage to prove it.

Also similar to Trimax Vash, Trimax Knives’ heat is slow to build but quick to peak. You will see the warning signs before the full force of his heat hits, and when it does, it’s like a storm of biblical proportions.

When mating with you, Trimax Knives comes quickly and abundantly. His refractory period is short though, and this man will have you coming on his cock over and over and over again, pumping you full of load after load with each round. Trimax Knives takes what he wants, having little regard for your tearful cries for mercy from being sore and overstimulated. He knows your breaking point, and despite the feral state he is in, he will never cross that line. Instead, Trimax Knives balances you perfectly on that edge, watching you come undone beneath him time and time again with blissful satisfaction.

The urge to nest is intense for Trimax Knives during his heat, although he’s not exactly one to build a comfy place for you. Trimax Knives is more interested in finding a safe place over which he has full control. An isolated space where no one either than himself has access to you. This is where you will experience the full force of his heat.

Trimax Knives will also very strangely take good care of you during the entire period of his heat. In spite of the physical exhaustion you will endure, you will be fed, given water, and held tenderly. It’s in Knives’ silent actions where you can truly see how much he cares for you.

You awaken from your deep slumber. Eyes bleary and clouded as they open. Your vision finds the faintest of light above you, and you focus on it until your senses sharpen. 

Once your vision returns you look around. A thick layer of crystallized, shimmering glass is spread beneath your aching body. It looks cold to the touch but it is strangely…warm. As if it were a living, breathing thing cradling you, comforting you, and protecting you.

You shift and in that moment you realize that you’re still connected to something. Heated skin shifts with you and a soft groan sounds in your ear. Turning your head, you look over your shoulder. Memories of the last few days slowly snap into place like puzzle pieces. Knives lays behind you, his alien and unreadable stare fixated on you.

A burning throb commands your attention. You look down, and it’s at this point you realize that Knives’ cock is still buried deep inside you—the evidence of his dizzying girth a demanding pressure between your hips.

“Don’t move,” Knives commands. 

He twitches again inside you and the pressure increases. You mewl at the pleasurable ache. He's still coming.

“Knives…” 

The raspy tone of your voice does not escape the plant’s notice. He tsks, attention turning to something just beyond your reach. His powerful arm snakes past your line of vision, and then returns with a flask of water clutched in his hand. You watch, parched and mesmerized as Knives brings the flask to his perfect, pink lips and pours.

His Adam's apple bobs deliciously as he takes the water into his mouth. After two gulps Knives places down the flask and reaches for you, his fingers grasping your chin. Your mouth opens instinctively, like a baby bird desperate for nourishment, as he leans down and seals his lips with yours.

You whimper, lapping up every precious drop that you can from Knives’ mouth while his tongue glides sensually along your own. The kiss is cut short however, leaving you licking at the little remnants of water left behind. Knives smirks, then from his hand he produces a slice of apple.

“Eat.” He commands.

So you do. Obediently, you take the apple slice from his fingers, wet tongue kittenishly and shyly touching the tips of his fingers as you receive your blessing. Knives hums his approval, his gaze possessive and intense as his thumb gently glides over your bottom lip as you chew. 

The exchange is powerful. Primal. Like a god of creation, Knives institutes himself as the source of life. Of your life. From his lips you drink, from his hand you eat, and from his cock you are filled with euphoric purpose.

“Are you satisfied?” Knives’ purring rumble echoes like an ancient melody upon the crystal glass.

You nod, and no sooner do you show your satisfaction does Knives turn the both of you. His body remains flush against yours as you are maneuvered from your side and onto your hands and knees like an animal. Your face and breasts press firmly against the makeshift glass bed below as Knives lifts your hips into the air—keeping them connected with his own. 

A pathetic moan escapes your lungs as Knives resumes his rut, his cock plunging as deep as your pussy would allow. His burning glands kisses your cervix with each surge forward as his balls slap deliciously against your clit. You arch and sob. You’re so swollen and sore, but Knives feels too fucking good.

“Who do you belong to?”

Of course. This ritual would be incomplete without your pledge of devotion to him.

“Y-you, Knives.”

The powerful being bears down on you, his sharp teeth on the shell of your ear.

“Who do you worship?”

“You.” 

“Who do you love above all else?”

You tremble, the confession vibrating like an explosion in the air as it spills from your lips. 

“You. O-only you Knives. I love you.”

And with a hot groan, Knives comes inside you, his fingers bruising your hips as he grinds his cock against your puffy walls, filling you up with yet another load of his hot cum. When he’s done, his hands come to gently rest on your swollen tummy and you are rewarded with a tender kiss.

“Mine.”

Interested in some Vash plant heat headcanons?

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[mosskelp]

Sleep Date—Vash the Stampede

Summary: Most of your and Vash's dates consist of getting cozy beneath the covers.

Word Count: ~1.2k

Content: fluff, cuddling, slight angst on Vash's side but nothing cuddling can't fix

Several rhythmic knocks echo into your living space, eyes lifting from your TV in your room. Instantly recognizing your and Vash’s shared knock pattern, you jog to the door. Living in Julai isn’t always the safest, so Vash came up with a way that you know it’s him at the door whenever he comes over. 

A second barely passes by between you opening the door and him launching himself at you, engulfing you in a hug. You can tell from the soft texture tickling your nose that he is wearing your favorite red hoodie of his. You plan on stealing it later.

“Well hello to you too lover,” you tease, head burying into his chest to inhale the very unique scent that is clearly him. 

“Couldn’t help myself. It’s been too long.” He waddles you backward, closing the door with his foot and reaching back to lock it. With how often he’s over, this is second nature to him. Your safety stays on his mind.

He continues waddling you back into your room, swinging you around so he’s the one to fall onto your bed first. Hugging him isn't enough. Your hands inch their way underneath his expansive hoodie to seek out his warm skin. You mentally cheer when you feel an instant connection to his skin beneath your fingertips, seeing he decided to come dressed simply in his sweatpants and hoodie, with no shirt underneath. Gotta love your boyfriend for knowing exactly what he wants when he comes over–as much skin-to-skin contact time he can get with you. Leaning back with an idea, Vash whines at the loss of your soothing skin on his, quieting with a blush to his cheeks as he sees you take your sweatshirt off.

Returning to his side, you burrow your way under his hoodie, popping out from his neckline to nuzzle further into his neck. Vash hisses.

“Mayfly you need to turn on your heater once and a while. It gets real cold at night. Your nose is freezing!” At the feeling of your arms wrapping around his torso, he reciprocates the movement. 

“Why need a heater when I have one now?” You poke his side. “You come over six out of the seven days a week. You should leave your apartment lease and just come live with me.”

“That would be nice, but Nico would bite my head off. He claims he’s strapped for money and needs a roommate to split the rent. But he’s always out at that one bar…”

“Well, looks like Wolfwood and I will be sharing a roomie.”

Vash reaches beneath his hoodie, fingers rubbing along your spine, lightly grazing his nails. Goosebumps rise on your skin, a shudder running through your body at the feeling before relaxing back into his caresses. Humming, you close your eyes, finally indulging in Vash’s love after a long day. It doesn’t get better than this. 

“You know the reason why I wear this hoodie every time I come over for the night?”

“Because you know it's my favorite~ plus it looks good on you. The color suits you.”

He hums. “It looks better on you when you have nothing on- hey!” you pinch his sides, ending his teasing. He exhales through his nose, collecting his thoughts, before continuing. 

“I wear it because it's stretched enough to fit us both. I don't even see it as mine anymore. It smells like me and you whenever I put it on.” You look up slowly, seeing his eyes focused on the screen behind you. Anytime Vash admits a tiny secret of his, one where he is obviously vulnerable and open with you, he finds it hard to maintain eye contact with you. He loves looking at you, taking in every curve and angle that makes up the face of the one he loves most in this lifetime. But seeing the way you look at him, with complete devotion and ardor, it's enough to make the man drop to his knees. It's hard to handle. 

You love it when Vash gets to be open like this. You love knowing he confides his feelings to you, even the ones he’s used to bottling up, especially ones connected to his past. Running all his life has led Vash to have trouble admitting any type of feelings. He was always forced to keep a smile on his face to hide any anger, sadness, frustration. Any sort of emotion that could lead the people around him to believe that he can live up to his nickname if pushed to extremes. You avert your eyes, giving a slight squeeze to his backside to let him know you’re listening. To give him time and space to confess what’s on his mind.

“I love that we can share moments like this all the time, but I wanna be able to feel you in these moments. Being able to physically touch you…it’s a privilege, Mayfly. I never had this before. I couldn’t, with how often danger followed me. I can’t imagine putting you in front of any bullets meant for.”

You sense his mind is taking a dark turn. In an attempt to pull him back to you, you recall one part of the sentence to him.

“Physical touch…hm. So that’s why you hardly ever wear shirts under your hoodies…”

He brings his hands up to cover his face, Vash’s muffled groaning sounding from beneath them.

“Sheesh, am I that obvious? Can’t fault a guy for wanting to touch his angel.”

It's your turn to groan. “Cheesy bastard…” you tease. It's your way of calming the fierce love blooming in your chest, shoving your face into the crook of his neck. Several beats of silence pass. Suspicious, you peek at him. He seems to be “watching” the movie. 

“...Vash.” you deadpan. His nose twitches, before he opens his eyes back up to watch the movie.

“Oh I like this scene coming up-”

“You liar! You fell asleep! I felt your breathing change.”

“Not true… I was just resting my eyes for a couple of seconds.” A fit of chuckles overtakes you both before you two burst out laughing. 

“I've been in a relationship long enough with you that I know exactly when you fall asleep. You can't lie to me.” His arms tighten around you before rolling you over, smothering you. You continue giggling as he lays a path of kisses up your neck to your face. 

“Can't hide anything from you! Plus, you're all warm now,” he sighs, ceasing his attack on you so that he lies his head down next to yours, content with feeling your heartbeat sync with his own, fully feeling connected with you.

“Vash, as much as I love our cuddling, I'm running out of air,” you wheeze.

Without a word, he rolls you two onto your sides, so that you can still stay cuddling chest to chest. You slump into the comfort of your pillow and his arms, closing your eyes as Vash intertwines your legs, pulling you impossibly closer. Your leg rests on his hip, finally hearing Vash’s evened and spaced out breathing hit your neck. Smiling, you lift the blanket over the two of you. 

a/n: oh to cuddle with vash...cries. part two will be out soon for this piece. it might get a lil...steamy. i'll link it here when i put it out! enjoy! muah x

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[mosskelp]

Vash being so in love with you that he attempts poetry.

It's something he does when he's feeling madly in love at the moment and he isn't on the run and you're off doing something. It's all in a small black book he bought; something he's fiercely protective about and does not let you look, because that would be embarrassing. He wants the poems to be perfect, and there are so many scratched out lines and fumbling words trying to describe what he feels for you on the daily.

It's messy at the start and he can't get the rhythm right. He describes you as the stars, the dust of them having settled on the planet just to make you, a beacon of light in his life. He tries to say how the suns have nothing on your smile, but crosses that line out because it's too cheesy and cliche. Even if it is true.

He still falls for cliches. He watches your movements, wishing he knew what a swan actually looked like to properly describe how graceful and beautiful you are. All he has are worms to compare, and he isn't going to do that. So he settles for the stars, the suns, the moons, the grains of sand on the planet he would count over and over if it meant to see you look at him with the love you do.

Vash buys books and scraps of paper that have love poetry on them. He wants to get it right. He wants to love you the way you deserve.

He gets better the further he falls in love with you. The poems turn more into statements: "I was drawn to you, and am profoundly lucky that you're drawn to me" and "we're making a masterpiece with the work we're doing with our love." It's more sincere this way to him. More real. He shares a few lines with you, and knows he's done something right with the way you melt into the kiss you share.

Just wait until he gets his marriage vows down, and he's sure to have you bawling like a baby.

[mosskelp]

Reblog if you’d be okay if your friend came out as transgender

let’s see how many transphobics we can weed out

[mosskelp]

I am once again asking Nicholas D. Wolfwood to manhandle me like the Punisher.

Please.

Ik he can do it. I weigh half of it.

PLEASE, sir. Mr. Priest? Undertaker? Edge lord via Stampede behavior?

I just wanna be swung around. Like a ragdoll, even idc.

Especially BLR Wolfwood his waist DOES THINGS TO ME in that movie

[mosskelp]

THE GREAT WAR (PART I) — ANNOUNCEMENTS AND CONTENT WARNINGS

Well, this one has been a long time coming, hasn’t it?

My goal is to get Part I completed and published this weekend. It will be roughly 25-26k words in length.

I’d really appreciate it if y’all can read through this before you read Part I. The Great War is very different from my other fics, in terms of both style and the general setting, so I feel it necessary to give some context.

First, The Great War is a non-linear story. This might seem a bit confusing, given that Part I takes place over the course of a little more than a year. However, you’ll likely notice there are some gaps in the story as you read through — these are intentional. While Part I is a chronological telling of Reader and Giyuu’s relationship, Part II features several major flashbacks to events that occur during the timeline of Part I that are not actually shown in Part I. So if you find yourself getting curious about when a character finds out a bit of information, or referenced some past occurrence that you didn’t read — know that it’s intentional, and it will show up in Part II.

Second, Part I of The Great War follows the canon timeline as closely as possible, with a few minor deviations. There are references to multiple canon events in the series, and I tried to follow it as much as I could. Huge shoutout to @/demonslayedher her incredible timeline.

Third, the reason TGW has taken so long is that I tried to be as historically accurate as was feasible to both Japan and its culture. That said, Shinto shrines and the practices of Shrine Maidens in particular were heavily cracked down upon by the Imperial government during the Meiji Era (the era immediately preceding the Taishō period in which Demon Slayer is canonically set). Obviously the reality of Shinto shrines and their practices during that period complicates the setting of TGW, and particularly, the Reader character, so I took some creative liberties. However, I do reference the fact that the Shrine where the Reader trains is not what it once was, and it functions more like a girl’s boarding house/school, where the girls who live there just happen to also be educated in Shinto practices/Shrine keeping.

Fourth, because there are a lot of references to Japanese culture and practices, I will link an addendum for your reference. The most important things to know is that Miko means “Shrine Maiden,” which is why it is used frequently.

Finally, I do want to acknowledge that the Reader is given a slight description — namely, in terms of her hair. It is described as very long, and when discussed from Giyuu’s perspective, he frequently depicts it as “silky.” This is not meant to be exclusive in any way — lots of hair types can be silky. I do make a very conscious effort to avoid using physically describing my Reader inserts (apart from acknowledging their beauty because, guess what? You’re all beautiful!!) But as the story is set in Taisho Era Japan and Reader is a Shrine Maiden, I found it difficult to avoid giving some vague description of her hair — especially given its importance with respect to a certain gift she receives from Giyuu during Part I. Please know that these references come up very sparingly, and again, I do avoid going into greater detail. Beyond that, she is only described as beautiful from Giyuu’s point of view.

Now, onto the content and trigger warnings.

Like most of my works, The Great War contains explicit sexual content, so minors do not interact.

This next warning is not so much centered around Part I, but more for the story in general. TGW is heavily centered around Giyuu attempting to deal with his trauma following the end of the canonical series — and it does feature violence as well as instances of PTSD. I don’t believe anything is too graphic, but it’s just something to keep in mind. That said, his PTSD will not appear in Part I — however, it will be a main focus of the story from Part II, on.

So, here are the warnings for The Great War

CW: explicit sexual content • MDNI • loss of virginity • unprotected sex • virgins being virgins • oral sex (F!receiving) • squirting • fingering • Giyuu is obsessed with Reader’s pleasure • creampies • semi-public sex • tbh they fuck everywhere but the bed • mention of pregnancy • protective Giyuu • possessive Giyuu • Giyuu is a simp for one person and it’s Reader • pregnancy (later)

TW: canon-typical violence • strangulation • PTSD • depictions of trauma • nightmares • some angst • Giyuu struggles with communicating his feelings • brief instance/implication of stalking by a non-canon character • mild description of panic/anxiety

My goal is to have Part I posted this weekend, so here’s to hopefully seeing y’all soon!