#<- hi snuf btw!!

[kitten4sannie]

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pairing: werewolf! mingi x hunter! reader (fem)

genre: fluff, romance, smut

summary: you seemingly end up biting off more than you can chew upon discovering that the beast you hunted down for dinner is not what it seems.

w.c: 4.5k (more plot than smut this time hehe)

warnings: needy soft dom! mingi, sub! reader, pet names + praise only (shocking ik), pheromones mentioned, possessiveness, kissing, groping, tit play, spit + drool bc wolf mingi is a messy boy <3, mingi eats out reader like she’s his last meal 🫶🏼, SIZE KINK,,, feral unprotected sex, knotting <333, bulge kink/cum inflation, breeding kink ofc

a/n: IT’S FICTOBER TIME BITCH LETS FUCKING GOOO 🗣️ i am fashionably late ~ but i have come here to humbly offer you lovestruck werewolf mingi 🐺 <3 this is the softest my fictober stories will get btw lol it’s gonna be depravity from here on out ^^ oh and i’m sorry if this fic seems disjointed in any way,, i have a lot on my mind these days but regardless i hope you enjoy ~~

pssst: thank you so, so much for 5.5k followers !! it’s honestly insane to me and i still can’t fathom it hehe but the support and love means so very much to me <333

song rec: say - keshi

fictober 2024

You knew better than to hunt at night, but your rumbling stomach begged to differ. The evening air was frigid, sitting heavily inside your lungs each time you regrettably breathed it in, your hefty pelt only doing so much to keep you safe from the powerful winds that continually blew through the vast forest around you. You pulled the hood of your pelt down for a moment, the familiar sounds of wildlife finally making their way to your now exposed ears, though a freezing breeze made its mark on the soft flesh of your rosy cheeks and nose. You bit into your chapped bottom lip, surveying your surroundings for something you’d be able to feast on once you were back inside the safety of your cabin, thanking the gods for the decent visibility you had from the full moon above. 

The longer you sat there in silence, your body never growing acclimated to the fierce winter temperatures, you began to fall susceptible to exhaustion, the kind that had sunk its way deep into your bones in the same way your loneliness had for years at a time, feeling so heavy you retired from your once rigid stance and slumped down against the oak tree behind you. A few winks of sleep couldn’t possibly hurt you, not when you were quick to rise and fight if need be, your trusty bow and arrow at your side, as well as a pocket knife always sitting in its holster at your hip. You would be up as soon as you had the strength to open up your eyes and go on. 

You eventually woke up to the sound of howling. It had been so distinctly powerful that it was most likely produced by a large wolf, perhaps the leader of a pack. It was then that the culprit of the noise stalked past a few nearby trees and bushes, its dark shaggy coat leaving it virtually impossible to see due to the way it blended in so seamlessly. Leaving abnormally big paw prints behind in the ground below, it slowly paced back and forth in front of you, still quite a distance away from you, but getting closer and closer with each step it made, its large brown eyes piercing right through yours and seemingly gazing upon your soul, deeply fixated on your presence. 

It was much larger than any wolf you had seen in your entire lifetime, more akin to a dire wolf, which you had only seen in books, as it had been extinct for hundreds of years before, yet it was…so familiar. Still trapped inside the limbo of the dream you were initially having and your reality, you weren’t completely sure if what was happening before you was actually real. Not only that, but you had the sudden urge to be at the mercy of the wolf, even if it meant that you’d end up with your throat between the beautiful creature’s ragged teeth. However, you weren’t going to roll the dice with death, not when you’ve seen past loved ones get their lives snuffed out by a predator half the size of the one that was suddenly eagerly making its way towards you. 

Just before the wolf could reach you, your bow was drawn, the feathered arrow slicing into the cold skin of your cheek as it sailed through the air and lodged itself into the creature’s shoulder, your eyes shut tight all the while. What you expected to hear were the familiar pained whines of a canine but you instead were exposed to the lower pitched groans of a man, causing you to freeze, your eyes opening back up, now widened like marbles. The last thing you were expecting to see was another human, not when you lived alone in the woods for so long, and especially not a man that was stark naked and cowering in pain, with tears in his glistening eyes, looking at you as though you had betrayed him. 

You dropped your bow in favor of being at the strange man’s side, surveying his wound, realizing you were so exhausted and hungry, you must’ve simply imagined the wolf. “I-i thought…” you whispered, mostly to yourself, your voice trailing off, almost surprised to hear it after not using it for so long.

“Is that your way of saying hello?” The man hissed in pain when you touched the site of his wound, pushing your hand away from the broken shard of wood that was still lodged inside his bare shoulder. 

“I thought you were…going to kill me…” You reached down and tore off a portion of your thick linen blouse, about to wrap it around the man’s wound when you blocked you with his forearm. “I saw a wolf…” 

“Do I look like a wolf?” he pouted, reaching over to hold his shoulder in pain. 

“I’m sorry, I–…Please, let me help you. I need to apply pressure,” you reasoned, your face contorted with growing regret and concern. 

Studying your body language, the man cautiously let go of his arm and allowed you to wrap the torn linen around the wound site, biting into his lip all the while, letting out a few pained grunts. “Hurts…” 

“I know, I’m almost done, I promise…” you whispered softly near him, taking a second to share a look with the man, apologizing once again with your softened gaze and upturned brows. 

Once you were done, he leaned forward slightly into your personal space to study you, his eyes widened once again, this time with curiosity and admiration, already trusting you despite remnants of your arrow still left inside him. 

You bit into your lip, letting out a small breath, which turned into condensation as soon as it left your mouth. “I didn’t think anyone else lived in this forest…Where did you come from?”

Afraid that you would find his true identity to be far too much for you to handle, he thought it would be better to hide it. “Some would call me a nomad…I’m here, there, everywhere, really.” 

You nodded at his words, noticing once again that he lacked clothes when you were finally able to pull your attention away from his hypnotizing likeness, never having been drawn to someone like this before. It was then that you averted your eyes with diligence, your once cold cheeks growing warmer the more he stared at you. It took all your strength to return his gaze for just a moment. “Do nomads usually wander around the woods without proper clothing?” 

“Well–” The werewolf’s vision went dark for a second, as your pelt was thrown onto him. He pulled it down just enough to continue admiring the human he had been watching from a distance for so long, blowing a few strands of dark shaggy hair out of his sight. “I’m Mingi, by the way. What’s your name?” 

“Y-Y/N,” you answered sheepishly, not sure why the strange man was so keenly interested in you, especially after you just shot him with an arrow. 

“Y/N,” he repeated lovingly, enjoying the way it sounded, slowly sitting up until little white dots began to dance around his vision. “I don’t feel so good.” When Mingi fell forward into your arms, he couldn’t help but smile. You smelled so pretty, just like he had imagined. Warm like cinnamon, smoky like the fire you always kept burning inside your cabin, sweet like flowers in a garden he would roll around in when no one was around. You smelled like home. 

-

It took most of your strength helping the injured man back to your cabin, immediately laying him down in your bed and pulling your warm blankets up over him. To beat the freezing temperature inside your cabin, you quickly tossed a few pieces of wood in the fireplace and lit it up. You stayed crouched near the controlled flames for a little while to make sure the fire stayed alive, until your company let out a soft groan of pain. Now at his side, you pulled the pelt from his shoulders and frowned at the extent of the damage you caused, tears pricking at your eyes. “You’re still bleeding, Mingi…I’m so sorry…I need to stitch you up.”

Just as you stood up, Mingi reached up to hold onto the corner of your torn blouse, blinking hazily up at you, a few beads of sweat cascading along his straining neck. “Please, don’t worry about me, love. You’re the one who needs rest.” 

“Nonsense.” You shook your head, pulling away to find your sewing kit, your cheeks hot to the touch. Once you found it inside one of your drawers, along with a sleep shirt that had belonged to a previous loved one, you returned to Mingi’s side. “Now, stay still, okay?” 

“I’ll do whatever you need from me.” Mingi slowly sat up and rested his back against the headboard, watching with interest as you expertly sewed his wound closed, quite fond of the way you took care of him, and of how close you were to him, your hand resting on his chest for stability as you worked. Before you could pull your hand away from his body, he placed his over yours, unintentionally allowing you to feel his rapid heartbeat. “Thank you for this. Anyone else would’ve left me for the wolves.”

Biting into your lip, you couldn’t help but take into account the way his hand completely enveloped yours, truly forgetting just how important physical touch and connection with others was until this very moment, now that his warm skin was pressing into yours. “I-it’s nothing, really…”

“No, it’s not just nothing,” Mingi pouted, slowly bringing your hand up against his cheek to gently nuzzle into it. He couldn’t believe he had gotten this close to you, the special human he had been head over paws for ever since he had seen you for the first time. “It’s everything. You saved me.” 

It was almost as if this stranger had escaped one of the novels you read over and over, seeming too good to be true. “It was the least I could do after I hurt you…” 

It was when Mingi began to look at you for too long, with that unwavering longing in his eyes, that you cleared your throat and stood up, announcing, “I think I’ll make us some nice, warm soup. How does that sound?” 

It took everything in Mingi not to let out a few celebratory howls, instead nodding his head eagerly, his shaggy brown hair bouncing. “I’ve always wanted to try your food. I can smell it from outside sometimes and it always makes my stomach rumble.” 

You began to expertly chop up vegetables, stopping mid slice when you digested Mingi’s interesting choice of words. “So you know of me?” 

“I-i do,” he nodded shyly, despite your back being turned away from him.

“Have you been watching me, Mingi?” you asked after a few more minutes of silence, your knife now slicing into the last few potatoes you had pulled from your garden before winter began. 

“….Admiring you,” he gently corrected, knowing his big fluffy ears would be splayed out in embarrassment if they were there. 

Just as you began to pour the cut up vegetables into the pot of boiling broth, you blushed and jolted suddenly from the implications of the handsome stranger’s words. Your elbow knocked into the side of your cleaver, causing it to slip off the edge of the wood counter. Before you could blink, Mingi had already caught the handle of the cleaver, slowly standing up by your side, officially displaying the sheer size difference between the two of you. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you, love…” Mingi set the cleaver back down onto the counter, reaching over to touch your hand with a gentleness you hadn’t experienced before. 

The speed and quickness of Mingi’s reaction was incomprehensible; you were still reeling from it. Now he stood beside you, his size and stature more akin to a beast in human form than a simple man. Not only that, but the hand that was overlapping yours felt hot to the touch, like Mingi had a furnace burning away inside of him. You had heard stories of shapeshifters that lived in dense forests much like the one you called home. They had been around for centuries, living amongst themselves, never interacting with humans, able to take the form of beasts at will. You glanced out your window, peering up at the bright orb looming over you. It was a full moon, after all — but did myths like that really exist in the real world? 

“Mingi…are you…?” Your words began to die inside your mouth as soon as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place inside your mind. You couldn’t deny the connection you felt with Mingi, knowing that your total isolation played a part in your desire to let him in. It clouded your mind. You were growing so tired, you almost didn’t seem to mind if he wasn’t strictly human. 

Mingi smiled softly down at you, one of his canine teeth poking out past his plump lips, leaning himself down a bit to shorten the distance between you. He waited eagerly for you to finish your question, tilting his head to the side, having to blow his hair out of the way. 

“Are you hungry?” you finally asked, lowering the flame on the stove so that the soup could settle now that it was ready to serve. 

Mingi’s lips formed a silent ‘o’, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He thought you might’ve been on the same page about your mutual attraction, but he was beginning to suspect that his obsession with you was one sided. It’s not like you had imprinted on him; it was the other way around. Silly wolf. 

Before Mingi could cry about it, he tasted something so delicious, he couldn’t help but let out an enthusiastic ‘mmm!’. You had slipped a soup spoon into his open mouth, allowing him to try the first homemade meal he’s ever had in his life, one that you had made for the both of you to share together within the sanctity of your cabin, away from the bitter isolation of the forest. He was a silly wolf, after all, because this, this was love. 

“Good?” you gauged softly, your eyebrows upturned with sheepish anticipation. 

“Good! Ahhh~” Mingi licked his lips and opened up again, savoring the warm, comforting feeling inside his stomach once you fed him another bite. “I’ve never had something this delicious before.” 

“Oh, stop,” you blushed, pouring some soup into a bowl and handing it to Mingi, shocked to see him bring it up to his mouth and gulp it down. “Oh, you weren’t lying…were you?” 

Mingi’s brown eyes were round, shiny like marbles, filled with unwavering sincerity. “Everything tastes better when you’re with the one you love…” 

You almost choked on your own soup, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. “D-did I hear that right…?” 

Mingi was a romantic at heart. He couldn’t help it, especially when the moon was so big and bright, glowing with everlasting light. She was reminding him to be brave. “Y/N, do you believe in love at first sight?” 

Your heart thumped away inside your chest, a steady reminder that you were alive, and not alone for the first time in a long time. “I think I might…Is that crazy?” 

Mingi brought his hand up to his face to hide the way it scrunched up with pure joy, his cheeks rosy and full of warmth. “If it is, then I must be too.” 

“Where…have you been all this time? I’ve been waiting…for someone like you…” You slowly reached up to pull his hand down, bringing it to your own face, pressing your cold cheek into his large palm. “For someone to keep me warm.” 

He had been there all this time; you just hadn’t seen him yet. But now, you would see all of him. Without thinking, Mingi brought his other hand to your face, gently cupping your cheeks and bringing himself down so that he could press his lips onto yours. It took everything in him to pull away just enough to whisper, “I’m here now. Is that…better?” 

For the first time, you felt like you could let your guard down, not be the lonely, hardened hunter you had to be. Now that you were safe, you could take a rest. “Better,” you whispered back, wrapping your arms around Mingi’s neck just in time to lay against his chest, losing the strength to stay awake. 

-

You woke up to the sensation of something intensely warm wrapped around you from behind, someone’s lips idly pressed to the nape of your neck, what felt like fluffy ears twitching near your hair, the soft fur tickling your exposed skin. The air around you was hot and heavy like you were stuck inside an oven, an enticing aroma of spiced cinnamon and woody musk clouding your senses. Your eyelids fluttered open, first noticing two strong arms locked around your middle, realizing Mingi was holding you close to him, his heated chest pressing into your back. 

Overcome by the memories of earlier, the forgotten intimacy of being touched and held by someone, the intense pheromones you were practically doused in, and the want, the need to be truly seen by Mingi, despite having just met a few hours ago, you attempted to turn around to face him, only to have him tighten his grip just enough to keep you still. “M-mingi, I want to look at you…I’m not mad, I just–”

“Do you know what you’re getting into, love?” he whispered in a gravelly voice into your ear, sounding like he had just woken up out of a deep sleep, sending a rush of goosebumps across your skin with just his words. “I’m not…what you think I am.” 

You sheepishly pushed back against Mingi, hearing him let out a soft groan, knowing he was just as satisfied with the way your body felt against his. “I already know, Mingi…I trust you. I’m not scared.” You felt his grip loosen up around your waist, opting to cement his hands around your waist.

His lips were now pressing directly onto the shell of your ear, making you shiver. “Do you know what I am, Y/N? Do you wish to see?” 

“I do…” 

It was then that Mingi climbed on top of you, his broad naked body keeping the glowing orange light of the fire from reaching you, the pelt you had offered him earlier falling into a pile on the side of the bed. Filled with a sense of lustful wonder, you studied Mingi, your half-closed eyes trailing along his tan skin, noticing how his wound had already healed completely, unable to ignore the arousing addition of his elongated canine teeth and the way his tongue ran across them. “You’re a…werewolf…”

Mingi’s fluffy wolf ears twitched slightly, listening closely to the way your breath hitched. “Most would be scared of me, but you…you like this.” 

You swallowed harshly, still finding it very difficult to breathe in the air around you, Mingi’s dominating presence further encouraging you to submit. “Will you eat me?” 

Mingi let out a small puff of air through his nose, the corners of his mouth curling up into an amused smile, lowering himself further onto you, knowing his heavy cock was pressing into your heat through your linen trousers. His lips ghosted along your jaw, the bushy end of his tail gliding back and forth along one of your ankles, replicating the light strokes of a paintbrush. “Only in the way that would have you begging for more.” The small moan that escaped your throat didn’t go unnoticed by Mingi. He nosed at your neck, resisting the urge to lick and bite at it. “Though, i won’t do anything without your permission, love.”

You cupped your hands around his heated face, your insides feeling as if they had been set ablaze. “Do with me what you will, Mingi. I insist.” 

When Mingi’s lips parted, you pressed yours onto them with a fervor you didn’t realize you possessed. The kiss grew more and more intense, the two of you holding onto one another as though you were afraid it all would end too soon, taking turns licking into each other’s willing mouths, breathing in each other’s air when you grew dizzy. 

Growing frustrated with the lack of skin on skin contact, Mingi pushed his large hands up past the hem of your woolen top and slid it off of you, admiring the soft curves of your exposed breasts, before his desperation kicked in and he nuzzled his face against them, sighing onto your skin. “Beautiful…” He dragged his tongue up in between your tits, grabbing one while he sucked desperately on the other, a low growl erupting from his throat. 

“Mingi,” you moaned out, your back arching, only encouraging him to see what other pretty noises he could get you to make, gasping when his sharp teeth teased your sensitive nipples. 

He licked over them to ease the sudden bout of pain, unable to keep himself from sucking one of them into his mouth, apologizing with his upturned eyebrows and his big, round eyes. 

You simply couldn’t take it anymore. You needed him to make a mess of your aching cunt, feeling your wetness stick to the thin linen material of your pants as you kicked them off. “Mingi, more, please, need more…” 

The werewolf knew what you needed when your fingers slid into his soft hair, leaving kisses along your bare body as he moved down south, getting himself comfortable between your spread thighs. “You want me to eat you up, yeah?” He spread your pussy open with his thumbs, nosing at it to inhale your flowery scent, quite aware that it bumped into your clit when he gave your slit an experimental lick, just enough to collect your essence on his tongue. “My beloved needs me to ravage her?” 

“Yes, plea–oh, my god,” you reacted whinily, your thighs involuntarily pressing into the sides of his head just as he dove in, which he grabbed onto, pushing them up and out of his way, his lips and tongue already working in tandem to drive you to a place of pleasure you’ve never been before. 

Mingi devoured your cunt in true animalistic fashion, licking and slurping up your juices as soon as it spilled out of you, just to spit it it back onto your slit and drink it all down, eventually plugging you up with his large tongue to feel you throb, unable to keep himself from fucking you with it until you began to cry out his name in between unintelligible words, your fingers tugging on his hair.

So good, it’s so good, nnnghh, i’m–” You cut yourself off once your impending orgasm took over your body, barely able to register Mingi rubbing soft circles into your shaking thighs and leaving kisses across your inner thigh and on your sensitive clit. You were finally brought back to earth when Mingi’s arousal coated tongue slipped into your mouth, his heated body pressing heavily into yours, gasping into his mouth as soon as Mingi began to desperately rut against you, doing your best to swallow his drool. It was when he whimpered that you broke the desperate kiss, asking softly, “What is it, dear? Tell me what you need.” 

“Need you, need to be inside you,” Mingi exhaled against your jaw, letting out a few shaky breaths, unable to keep himself from sinking his claws into your sheets, clearly at his limit. “Can I…? Please?” 

“Have your way with me, Mingi,” you granted his wish, welcoming him with open arms, just as he folded you up into a mating press and began to pound himself into you.

Mingi knew that such an intimate position would almost guarantee that you would home his pups after the very first knot. It drove him crazy. He couldn’t help but fuck into you as hard and fast as he could, emitting a animalistic grunt or growl with each thrust he made into your dripping cunt, a few drops of drool escaping past his plump lips and landing on your flushed, sweat-ridden face. “You’re mine now, love. My mate. I’m going to breed you.” 

“Y–ours…!” you could barely enunciate, not when he kept punching the air out of your petite body when his oversized one came in contact with yours, his heavy cock continually slipping back into your willing hole with so much ease, it was clear that you were made for him.

“Mine. My pretty little mate, all for me.” It was then that Mingi bit down into your neck, hard enough that he could leave his mark on you, a white hot streak of pleasure shooting through your spine as he did so. 

It felt so good, you could’ve swore you were already cumming, dragging your nails down his broad back, your eyes disappearing underneath your fluttering eyelashes. The werewolf didn’t seem to get tired, no matter how many times you came undone, his large hands still tugging on your hips, forcefully guiding you back onto his cock as though you were a simple doll, at least until you felt a new sensation, something stretching you open even further. “Haaah, it’s so big…”  

“That’s my knot, love. Will you take it, Y/N?” he panted into your ear, licking and nibbling at it as his husky voice finally penetrated your hazy mind.

“Yes, give it to me, please, Min…”

He hummed against your skin, running his hands along the soft edges of your heated body. “I’ll breed you full…so full of my cum, you’ll be carrying my pups by the next full moon.” 

Something about what Mingi said altered the state of your mind on a primal level, your thighs automatically hooking around the werewolf’s waist, your arms around his neck to hold him impossibly close. You wouldn’t be alone anymore. You had a “mate,” like Mingi had lovingly coined the phrase. You would be his, and he was yours, and something so simple made you feel safe. 

“Yes, please.” 

It wasn’t the heavy knot that stretched you wide and locked you in that brought tears to your eyes, but the sudden, hot, seemingly endless rush of cum that flooded your womb that made you cry. Mingi rubbed gentle circles over the small pouch that joined the prominent bulge his cock made inside your abdomen. “You did so well, love, so good for me,” he cooed at you, giving your cheek a few loving licks. “You were made for me.” 

“I was just thinking that,” you sighed softly, running your fingers through his matted, sweaty hair, loving how it felt to have him still stay inside you, keeping all his love from pouring out. It just felt right. Being here with Mingi felt right, like you had always been waiting for him to fall into your life. 

“That’s because you’re my other half.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, before resting his against yours. “It was destined.” 

“For me to shoot you with an arrow?” you joked, reaching up to gently play with one of his furry ears. 

Mingi nuzzled into your touch, wanting to stay with you in that moment, that warm bed, that cozy little cabin that kept you both safe for as long as he could. “I would get shot a million times over, if it meant that I could meet you again.” 

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[the-original-skipps]

|| Babe, peel my orange. || Kaiju No. 8 Reactions ||

more kaiju trio incoming! i swear they are so fun to write lol i also have an idea for a series but im worried i cant commit lol btw the white veins on the orange are called "pith" apparently hahaha

Orange Peel Theory: If your partner can perform small acts of service such as peeling an orange. Indicates your partner’s willingness to please and care for you. Theorized to be a sign of a healthy relationship.

: Ichikawa Reno. Narumi Gen. Hoshina Soshiro.

❥ Reno sees you walking over to him with an orange in your hand, he immediately knows what you are going to ask him. As you stood in front of him before you could even utter a word, Reno kindly asks you if he could take the orange. Stunned, you give him the orange only to see him masterfully peel it, even going as far to take out the pith. In only a matter of moments he hands you a cleanly peeled orange, which leaves you in awe. Your eyes turn soft as a bright smile graces your face, you peck him on the cheek as a thank you - offering to share the orange with him. Reno flushes red, trying to decline your offer but you already held an orange piece to his lips. He didn't know if he could blush any harder but now he can practically feel the heat coming from his cheeks.

"O-Oh umm, thank you... Is it o-okay if I feed you some too? It's o-okay if you don't want me to! You want me to? Umm, o-okay...!"

❥ Narumi sits on his futon, his eyes glued to the screen before him. He doesn't even notice you come in and sit beside him. Maybe he did but he's too busy with his game. The volume of the game is loud, slightly raising your voice you tell him that you felt like eating an orange but you didn't want to peel it. At first, he doesn’t hear you replying with a "huh" - so you scoot a little closer. You ask him again, he takes a while to think before responding that he's busy - eyes still fixed to the screen. You pout, disappointed at his lackluster response. So you leave his office, slamming the door with a loud bang which has Narumi grimacing. He puts down his controller with a sigh, he knows he's screwed up big time. You spent the rest of the day entirely ignoring him. Only to open the door to your office to be met with Narumi groveling on the floor with a plate of freshly peeled oranges in his hands, begging for your forgiveness.

"I fucked up, I'm sorry...I'll buy a whole crate of oranges and even peel em too, if that's what it takes for you to forgive me! N-No? P-Please, (Y/N)…! What am I supposed to do with all these oranges?!"

❥ Hoshina looks up from his paperwork to see you standing over him. You give him a shy smile as he patiently waits for you to speak. You tell him that you want to eat an orange but you don't want to peel it. Hoshina takes a moment to think then placing his pen down and standing up, gesturing you to follow him. You feel giddy at how easily your plan working as you trail behind him. He takes you to the break room. He then takes an orange from the bowl that sits on the counter, silently peeling it. You could see his nails slightly staining with juice but he pays no mind to it. The gesture brings a warm feeling to your heart. When he's done he hands you the orange but before you could reach out and take it, he takes a huge bite out of it. That feeling is quickly snuffed out.

"You should have seen the look on your face!! Hahaha, I'm just messing with ya! I'll peel you a new one. I'll even peel you three, what a steal!"

⋆˙⟡taglist: @stunies @maruflix @hayatoseyepatch @17020 if anyone wants to be added lemme know!

[cursedcola]

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw(Here!), Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia(Pt.1)(Pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. I've been thinking about maybe programming a small fan-made mini-otome using these ideas. Just for some practice for school while also being self indulgent hehe

Leona Kingscholar

Let’s just rip the bandaid off. Leona dates to marry. He’s not someone to invest his time in something troublesome, and frankly? Not many people catch his interest. Sure. He might think someone is physically attractive, but there’s a difference. He doesn’t follow the traditional path either. The ‘dating’ stage doesn’t last long because he’s already made up his mind prior to it.

Dating is pretty much just formality. The moment you agree to it, you’re essentially agreeing to marry him. He’s not going to put in effort for just anyone. Bonus points if he’s the one to confess his feelings first. That is basically concrete confirmation that he intends to marry you.

Leona proposing is inevitable. Only two things stand in his way: time and pride. Time, because he is no idiot. Your ways are unlike his people, and unlike him. He’s patient. He knows how to play the game. He can wait, but not forever. He’ll observe you over time and slip in questions here and there about your goals in life. Then he’ll find a good time frame. Please remember that Leona is not just an ambitious hot-head. He’s a smart one.

Then there is his pride. He will not put himself in a position that has a chance to fail. No. He will play dirty, and wait until you are tinkering with the idea of marriage. He’ll steer conversations towards talks of the future, and make it so you’re the one who starts them. All to get you warmed up to the idea of spending your life with him, and to a stage where he can clearly tell where you lie emotionally. He might appear neutral on the outside; however, it’s all according to plan. While you are just beginning to imagine your lives together, Leona’s already had the thought process long prior. You don’t need to know that though.

The icing on the cake is when you visit his home. Checka is Leona’s secret wingman. Your soft spot for the boy is something he takes advantage of, and lets Checka consume your attention during a tour of the palace. You meet his elder brother, who irritatingly pries for details about your relationship. Leona lets it go. Just this once, because he knows you feeling at home is more important in the long run. You share a room with him during your stay, and he made arrangements for small changes according to your tastes. You’re also gifted with a new wardrobe of traditional clothes for your stay, and given free reign of the area. Naturally you are guarded in secret, as per the King’s orders. His brother knows as well as Leona does that it is imperative that your stay goes well.

You will be touring landmarks and tourist spots within the continent as well. While Leona would much rather laze his free time away in his room (away from his family), he goes. Word spread that he was bringing home his partner. Thank the gossiping maids for that. Walking with you makes the rumors official, and is safer than having you walk alone with Checka and some royal guards. That would have arisen suspicion, and been troublesome. More troublesome than walking around and confirming to the public that you are not to be touched.

Ignoring the many remarks about how Leona is unusually active during his visit (thanks to you), his pride is high. You’ve thoroughly been slotted into his life, and are accepted. Any apprehensions about you denying him were snuffed out. The way you took to living with him so easily proves it. If you weren’t welcomed by his family? Well, it wouldn’t change anything. This scenario just makes what he’s about to do easier.

The first night you arrived, Farlan presented Leona with a Kingscholar family heirloom. A ring that has been in their family for generations. Not meant to be worn permanently, and only for proposals. Farlan used it to propose to his wife, and at the ceremony presented her with the ring he picked out. Now Leona will use it to propose to you.

One look at it and Leona declined. He’s spent his whole life chasing things that he couldn’t have because of his birth status. He would not yield this moment to tradition. Farlan was shocked, but rescinded the offer with a supportive smile. His brother had found himself, and the King was proud.

On the evening of your final night at the palace - Leona finds you alone on the balcony of your shared room. If he was going to do anything, it would be now. Initially he was 100% confident in getting your acceptance, but the longer he watches the less sure he becomes. Deep down there is rooted fear that he will once again become second choice, and that you’ll choose to return to your world over him. His hands are in his pockets, and one of them fists around the ring he prepared long ago.

Right when he moved to back out, you turned to come back inside. Your serene stature brightened at the sight of him, and he gained back some confidence. If you could only look at him that way forever…well, here goes nothing.

“What are you doing out there without a coat? It gets extremely cold in the Savannah during the night. Do you want to get sick? I won’t be the one taking care of you….” he sighs and crosses the open threshold.

The dipping temperature has your arm hair standing attentive. Leona clicks his tongue, shrugging off one of the outer wraps tied on his waist and covering your shoulders.

“Stubborn mule,” he chides but there’s a reserved affection in his tone, “I’m sure you could’ve pieced it together by this point, but this isn’t just some normal vacation.”

Leona ties the cloth into a secure knot across your collar, taking a moment to linger. His tail flicks with nerves against the sculpted railing. Tch. There are a million ways he could do this. Like an infinite checkmate, where the king could be taken by any available piece all at the same time. An impossible scenario in Chess, yet Leona’s all about breaking the mold. He pulls the ring from his pocket, pinching it between two fingers in front of your face. Your eyes cross to focus and he feels that familiar sensation of fulfillment.

“I brought you here to ask for your hand. What? You want me to say it so plainly? Ain’t the jewel enough?….hah, someone’s getting greedy for a little herbivore,” Leona smirks, taking your hand and sliding the ring over your finger. He kisses the band, fiery citrine holding your gaze all the while, “I’m here for your hand in marriage. Nothing less.”

{ 'Everything the light touches...is our kingdom' - A golden sunrise. Befitting. He used to hate them. Hate that phrase too. Yet you are the sun that Leona has been searching for. He continues to fight against fate in hopes that his efforts will bare fruit, and you are living proof that there is a chance. Maybe not easily. His life might not be what he originally dreamed. He may not get to sit on a throne of light . Yet there is a light in his life, and he likes to think that fate did not bring it to him. No, he found you all on his own.}

Ruggie Bucchi

'I don't see why you haven't proposed to that young darlin’ yet. Keep waiting and you'll miss your chance, boy'

Well, of all the things Ruggie expected to hear during his visit home, that wasn't one. Normally he'd be nagged over being away too long, or not writing home enough. This? It caught him off guard. Grandma was always sticking her nose where it didn't belong...but, maybe she had a point this time.

Your relationship. It's not something Ruggie has given much thought. It's uncharacteristic of him to get comfortable enough not to look a few steps ahead, but he's gone soft. A fact that he begrudgingly accepts with a grain of salt.

Naturally, he doesn't admit this out loud and instead changes the topic. On the outside, he acts normal and helps out around the house. However, internally he is thinking over his grandmother's prying.

Marriage. It's not necessarily 'beneficial,' to say the least. With only a few months left until graduation, he'll finally be entering the rat-race to secure himself a comfortable position for life. He's worked hard and developed connections to make it happen. The finish line is right there.

Where does that leave you? He can't necessarily be as flexible if he has a partner to worry about. It's a weak link, and might cause problems in his plans. The smart thing to do would be to break things off. After all, how many school romances get a happy ending? It's so unrealistic. He'll be busy with work, you'll have your own responsibilities, and eventually it will be like you are strangers with a title tying both of you together.

This reasoning alone is enough to settle the problem. It's just - he doesn't like it. It's the most realistic path and he hates it. If it was about finding a companion, then he could do it later in life.

But when he tries to picture that lifestyle with anyone other than you, it doesn't sit right. It's physically upsetting, and makes him nauseated.

Sleep evades him that night. Ruggie finds himself sitting in the kitchen doing homework, burning the midnight oil until he can think with a clear head. Naturally, his all-knowing grandmother finds him there and makes him spill his thoughts.

She's direct with her advice. It's rare for Ruggie to be stumped considering his quick-wit, and understanding emotions is a wisdom you gain with experience.

For someone like Ruggie, who's always maximized every outcome and thought ahead - you're a weakness. Something that he can't control, and yet exactly what he needs in life. We don't get to choose who we love in life. Love is unpredictable, and Ruggie's found it at a young age. Career opportunities come and go, but he will never get back the time spent at your side...so why not maximize that instead? Hm?

He leaves for NRC the following day. For the last time, considering it is his final year. On the way he stops at multiple markets and dips into his savings. With nothing but a ring and an idea, he ditches his stuff in his dorm and heads to Ramshackle.

He's not nervous. That left his system the night prior. His grandmother's tough advice hardened that up quick.

He knocks on the door, half expecting one of the resident ghosts to answer. Instead it's you, and he's down on one knee before you can speak. With one hand, he holds out the ring. The other itches his nose in attempt to hide his wobbly grin.

"Shishishishi~ I don't gotta explain what's going on, right? I'm sure you can put two-and-two together quickly. Are you really so surprised that you have nothing to say? Hmm, I guess that I can take the lead. You owe me! Pretty soon I'll be leaving this place. You still have another year here, and I can't promise I’ll be around much. Until now, I had no plan for us. Likely because being with you is the most natural thing I got outta this life. It’s always been about the short wins, y’know? Lookin’ out for number one. I've always aimed for a life of comfort, but now I want ya in that picture too. I can’t see it anyway else. So...when you graduate next year, will you marry me? I'll be patiently waiting, shishi~”

{Rose Quartz. The symbol of unconditional love and family. Something Ruggie hasn't experienced much in his life, and is grateful for. Ruggie did not want to choose a generic gem. Not for this. He may be known for cutting corners, but this is too important. He has done his fair share of trading, and knows exactly what to look for when shopping. No salesperson alive could convince him otherwise. You may not understand the meaning behind the gem, but that's alright. He doesn't mind, because this is the ring he'll see on your finger until you're both old and grey}

Jack Howl

Jack takes the longest out of all in his dorm. In result, his proposal is the most natural. Not to say that he does not put thought into it! Oh no, this poor lad hella overthinks the event. It's just getting him to the proposing stage is - well, anticlimactic?

All Jack requires is time. Once you've both settled in to your lives on an individual standpoint, with time comes thoughts of taking your relationship to the next level. As adults who have been together for years, it's only natural? At least for Jack. He has never been for or against getting married. So, there really is no internal battle for him to fight. He just? Lets himself be happy with the idea? I know, I know. It sounds too easy - but think about it. Jack is responsible, kind, and a bit like a golden retriever (or should I just say wolf?). He doesn't ignore his feelings. So if he feels that he want's to marry you, then why not? The worst that can happen is you say no.

There was no epiphany. No spark or overwhelming feeling of affection that made him want to marry you. No impending doom, nervousness, or special moment that he can pinpoint as 'the moment'. Nothing. You weren't even around.

He was merely finishing up morning jog and heading home. The thought casually entered his head, and he let it stay. Over time it reappeared over and over, until he felt that he'd heard it enough to act on it.

Jack is high-key observant and knows your likes and dislikes by heart. He feels that such an important moment is something he needs to think through deeply, and on his own. Many have been at the receiving end of his determination, and that doesn't exclude you. Once he's set his mind to something, there is no holding back. Over the course of weeks he proceeds to undergo self-reflection, and craft a proposal that he feels is perfect.

One question he spends time thinking about is 'where,' because Jack would prefer to do an intimate act like proposing somewhere private. The last thing he wants you to feel is pressure to accept, so he chooses to propose on a late night walk. This might arise suspicion since he isn't in workout gear, which is rare. Yet it's a price Jack is willing to pay. He's never been great with surprises anyways.

He tries to uphold some element of mystery though. Do not laugh, but he put the in a plastic bag and hid it inside the container for his protein powder. When times get tough, you have to get a little creative.

Right before your evening stroll, he says that he wants to make a shake (under the pretense that afterwards he'll work-out). In actuality, he takes an empty bottle and slips the ring inside.

While you're both walking, he shakes it around and 'complains' that nothing is coming out. With you completely unknowing, he opens the cap and feigns surprise. It makes you curious, and he hands over the bottle a bit too eagerly

It's light, you note instantly. A glance inside reveals the ring, and when you pull it out Jack stops walking. His face sets with determination despite the red hue overtaking his neck and ears.

“Will you marry me?? -- oh wait, that was too blunt, wasn't it? Hang on!” he takes a breath, and coughs into his fist, "So. I've been doing some thinking. We've been together for years now, and to me you've become irreplaceable. I don't know how else to describe how I feel, other than to say that you are the only person I want to spend my life with. I hope that you feel this way too…because there isn’t anyone else for me. Just you. It’s always been you.”

{He isn't a man of the arts. Jack has no eye for fancy jewels, or what's an appropriate design. He originally thought to have the shop keeper help him decide. Yet, that felt impersonal. So he perused many stores, and did his best to imagine your reaction to seeing each ring. Nothing caught his eye until this peridot. A simple cut with an eye-catching color. Sure, it's not what others would recommend but he liked it. Who would Jack be to deny his gut instinct?}

[aayakashii]

Hiii I was thinking a first kiss scenario (❤️21) with Lyca would be fun! Either fluff or smut works :)

21❤️ First kiss

Did I project myself into this? Yes, heavily. So I'm very sorry if some parts of it are too specific skdjdksjs 😭 but here it is!! Very fluffy btw!

You looked to your side and pursed your lips into a thin line so you wouldn’t break into a loud laugh.

Lyca was right by your side, legs crossed while he snuggled one of your pillows, with a bright and furious shade of red on his cheeks, neck and ears.

The poor boy was struggling, but powering through the grueling task he had forced upon himself.

All of that just because he asked you if you two could try to watch a romcom together.

“Why would you ever want to watch a movie like that, Lyca?” you had asked him, befuddled.

He growled, an angry pout plastered on his face.

“The blonde gigolo said I am not strong just because I can barely interact with girls! And he even said I would probably die if I ever watched a romance movie, so I have to prove him wrong!” he clenched his fists, absolutely mad with indignation.

You rolled your eyes. You had to have a serious conversation with Rui about him picking on poor Lyca, because you always ended up mixed into their mess.

“You’re walking right into his trap, Lyca. This will prove absolutely nothing and you will definitely hate it.” you tried putting a little bit of sense into his brain, but he was stubborn.

“But what if he really thinks that?! What if it's not a trap?! I have to prove it to him!”

You let out a loud sigh. There was no convincing him otherwise. He was willingly walking towards his own torture and all you could do was stand beside that dumb werewolf.

And it turns out Rui was almost right. Lyca did look like he was about to spontaneously combust while he watched those romantic scenes. You kept one eye on the movie and one on his reactions, eager to know how he would feel once the kissing scene popped up.

You didn't expect to feel disappointed though.

As the two main characters kissed passionately on the screen, Lyca began staring at the scene with what looked like curiosity. The furious blush was still there, on his cheeks, but more than anything, it looked like the gears in his mind were working overtime.

And then, he turned to you.

“Have you… have you ever kissed someone before?” he asks in a mumble, glaring at you from under his long lashes, like he was ready to fight and not talk.

The question took you by surprise. It wasn't really something you liked talking about, but you also had a weak spot for Lyca. If he was curious about it, then you wouldn't mind answering.

“Just a few times, I guess” you shrugged. You decided not to mention you regretted it mostly every single time. That was the type of talk you didn't really want to have with him, of all people.

Lyca growled and angrily pouted beside you, crossing his arms. Your hand went straight to his hair, scritching his scalp soothingly.

“Why are you mad?”

He grabbed your wrist, withdrawing it from his head. You gave him the sad puppy eyes – trying to use his own weapon against him – but he turned his head away and was adamant in not looking at you.

“Hey, tell me why you're mad. Did I upset you?” you asked, genuinely concerned.

He pouted even more.

“You already had all these experiences.”

You blinked, confused.

“And…?”

“It makes me mad!” he huffed.

You paused to think about his words. A little part of you tried to entertain the thought that he was jealous, but you quickly snuffed that little flame out. Maybe he was upset that you both had similar ages and he hadn't done the same things. That was more likely. But it’s not like his circumstances allowed him to have said experiences, though. Lyca's life was anything but mundane like yours used to be.

You put your hand back on his head again despite his warning growl.

“You don't have to be mad about that. I only did it because people were pressuring me. I have never actually kissed anyone I liked.”

It was a half-truth. Intimacy was actually a very sensitive topic for you. You always watched in horror as colleagues and friends around you had such an easy time mindlessly locking lips with each other. 

For you, it was almost physically impossible even thinking about doing that without caring about the person you'd kiss and consequently, you ended up not kissing anyone for a long, long time. 

Embarrassingly long. 

Eventually, you had forced yourself to get your first experiences out of the way just so you'd stop thinking there was something wrong with you. Obviously, they were all with people who didn't care much about you.

And you didn't exactly regret it. It made you realize that things like that aren't that big of a deal and, honestly,  sometimes it could be a sensory nightmare. So it's not like you'd be missing that much.

But deep, deep inside, you kind of wished you had them with someone you liked and who liked you back.

“Why would you do something you don't like just because of other people?” Lyca had now turned towards you, ears perked up and one eyebrow raised.

You sighed. Sometimes you think that if the world was as simple as Lyca thought it could be, everything would be a lot better.

“I'm sure you've noticed humans are very weird and stupid sometimes. That's another proof of that.” you didn't feel like explaining too much.

He hummed, deep in thought.

Suddenly, as you searched for whatever else he was thinking in his golden irises, you felt anxiety bubbling up in your stomach. Your mind was plagued by the thought of him being kissed by some random and uncaring person and you definitely didn't want him to make the same mistake as you.

“Listen. I don't want you to feel pressured when it comes to these things though.” you blurted out.

He looked at you quizzically, and then scoffed.

“I'm not feeling pressured.” he puffed his chest, as if the thought was unimaginable.

“No, I'm serious.” you tugged his hoodie's sleeve to keep his attention on you. “Even if it's not a big deal, I don't want you to kiss someone you don't like.”

He stared at you.

“Why?”

You felt your cheeks get warmer under his gaze.

“... Because I want you to have good memories. I want you to be able to remember most of your experiences fondly. I don't want you to regret anything nor feel hurt.”

Lyca stared at you, thinking. He had no problem with making eye contact even when he wasn't speaking and it served to make you even more embarrassed. Were you crossing a line? You were extremely protective of him, but he never asked any of that from you. What if you were just meddling in his business and annoying him? What if you were being a hurdle he had to cross over in order to feel more like a human? What if–

“Can you do it then?” Lyca suddenly said, snapping you out of your thoughts

You looked at him, eyes wide. Maybe you heard him wrong.

“What?”

“I wouldn't mind if you were the one who kissed me for the first time. I don't think I would regret it.” he said, scratching his head and, finally, breaking eye contact. 

He was embarrassed.

You blinked fast a few times, trying to gather your thoughts.

“A-are… are you sure?”

He dropped his arm to his side and nodded, serious as ever.

“Uhum. I am sure.”

“Don't you want to save it and do it with someone you like?”

“I like you.”

Oh god. Oh GOD.

“N-no, Lyca, I mean-”

“You don't want to kiss me?”

You rubbed your face with your hands, feeling how hot your skin was, and groaned.

“It's not that! I do want to- to kiss you! It's just-”

“Then do it.” he said, as matter-of-factly as he could possibly say.

You sighed and shifted in your seat.

“Are you sure?” you asked again. He rolled his eyes.

“I already said I am.”

“But are you REALLY sure?”

Lyca began growling, his wolf ears going flat against his head.

“I am sure!”

“Okay, then” you gulped, straightening your back and gathering all the courage you had inside “I'll have to come closer, okay?”

“Okay.” he nodded, also sitting up straight and watching your every movement.

You tentatively reached your hands towards Lyca's cheeks. He flinched as you touched him and you mouthed an apology before cupping them gently. You could feel how warm his skin was getting as you got closer and closer to his face.

His eyes were wide, and his shaky breath fanned your skin as your lips were barely apart.

When you locked your lips against his, it felt like he was melting under your touch – you felt his shoulders sagging and he unconsciously placed his hands on your waist.

It didn't feel like any kiss you had before. He was clearly clumsy and didn't know what to do (and, honestly, neither did you), but the warmth of his body embraced you gently and, when you glided your hands to his neck, you could feel the fast and loud drum of his heart under your fingertips – it was so endearing, it made you dizzy.

As you softly sucked on his bottom lip, you wondered why it all felt so sweet – were you falling for him? –, but right as you began thinking too much about it, he let out a little gasp that scrambled every coherent thought.

You brought him closer to you and pressed your lips flush against his, squeezing his shoulders with your hands before letting go and finally pushing him away. You didn't want to cross any boundaries by deepening the kiss without his consent, after all. Just touching him without having him bite your hand off was a huge achievement, so the kiss felt like a trophy.

Once you opened your eyes, Lyca was already watching you with pupils blown wide; his golden iris was barely visible and he stared at you, wide-eyed and breathless.

“Lyca! You're supposed to close your eyes when you kiss.” you playfully tapped the top of his head.

His face was scarlet red and he hid it behind the sleeve of his hoodie.

“We-well, you have to tell me that first!”

You sighed, smiling at his embarrassment, but you were sure you didn't look much different.

As you tried to calm your own racing heart, a loud thump-thump-thump caught your attention, and you peeked behind Lyca.

You gasped, trying to suppress a giggle.

His tail was wagging wildly, hitting the couch in a steady rhythm.

“I guess I don't really need to ask if you liked the kiss, do I?” You teased him, hiding how big your smile was with your hands.

“ARGH” he pushed his tail down, trying to immobilize it. “Shut up!”

You didn't know if he was talking to you or to his own tail. You let your arms fall to your sides.

“Hey, it's okay, I really liked the kiss, you know? Don’t be embarrassed.” you said, between chuckles.

He stared at you wide-eyed, searching your face for any hint of a lie or of a joke. When he couldn't find any of that, his tail began wagging once again, much to his dismay.

“T-thank you.” he grumbled, again avoiding your eyes.

Right then, as you watched him blush and fidget on his seat, you thought that maybe you could say that was your very own first kiss as well.

[nausicaaandhermouth]

The Revolutionist

masterlist

pre-canon!silco x gn!reader [2.5k] [AO3]

cw: implied/referenced suicidal ideation, implied/referenced depression

summary: at a particularly melancholy night that drives you to the heights, you meet a stranger in the shadows who coaxes you from the edge.

tags: pre-canon, sexual(?) tension, depression, suicidal ideation, undercity, smoking

a/n girl iono what this is, but here's to my first one shot (clinks glass) idk why i'm nervous (btw requests & taglist are open if you're interested)

From this dizzying height, the Undercity unfurls below. A tapestry of ethereal greens and golds, luminescence piercing through the murky haze—stark silhouettes of buildings jut upwards, defiant sentinels of black and grey amidst the swirling miasma. Its signature sickly green fog blankets the metropolis; coils around structures and seeps into every crevice, a suffocating embrace.

Your feet graze over the edge, toes curling over where solid ground gives way to a yawning abyss. The boundary between life and oblivion is razor-thin here. One small shift, imbalance, and gravity would claim you.

The wind whispers seductive promises of flight, tugging at your clothes, daring you to test the limits—it’s a heady mix of terror and exhilaration.

The precipice beckons, a siren call you’ve never heeded this far before. Each step tracked each loss that then etched into your very bones. First, it was your father, consumed by the blight. Almost expected. It was a degradation the Undercity-born was familiar with. Then, your sister, life snuffed out by an enforcer’s merciless fist. The brutes. Now, your mother, long adrift in her own ocean of grief. You’d become little more than ghosts haunting the same halls, the world’s greed carving an insurmountable chasm between you.

Logic screams that your presence here is madness. The need for comfort, for solace only another soul can provide, wars against reality. You long to bridge the gap, find someone’s warmth, spit out the bitter poison fed by the relentless suffering.

If not today, then tomorrow, or the day after—the world will take again. This grim lottery where Death deals the cards. Will it be the fist of an enforcer or the invisible killers that saturate every breath?

Are you really contemplating this?

“Bit dangerous, don’t you think?” a voice, velvet and silk, cuts blade-like through your contemplation.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up. A jolt of surprise sends you teetering forward. Heart pounding, you stumble back from the edge.

Whirling around, you fix the intruder with a glare. His dark silhouette materialised a few feet away like some spectral apparition, leaning against the roof with an infuriating nonchalance. A cigar dangled between his fingers, wisp of smoke curling around his face.

His eyes, half-moons of disinterest, survey you with the casual indifference of someone observing an insect. It makes a look that makes your spine straighten, your earlier melancholy rapidly morphing into irritation.

“Sort of the point,” you spit back, words tasting of bitterness and bravado. You slide a step away, creating further distance between you and him. The roof suddenly feels too small. Who is he? What does he want? And more importantly, how dare he interrupt your affair with oblivion?

He responds with a half-shrug, somehow making it an eloquent gesture of his impassivity. Drawing a deep breath from his cigar, he exhales a cloud of smoke that hangs in the air like a tangible manifestation of your growing annoyance.

Your mind races and falters. Is he really just going to stand there? Not that you want to be stopped, but his nonchalance was… unsettling? A highly irregular response to finding someone conversing with non-existence. Though, the idea was not novel—a common fate for many under dwellers.

You turn back to face the sprawling cityscape, trying to ignore the insidious tendrils of smoke that start coiling around your senses. The question burns in your mind: What is he doing here? This moment was supposed to be yours alone. You hadn’t anticipated a witness for your last moments.

Unable to resist, you shoot him another glare, only to find him utterly disinterested in your turmoil. He’s busy scraping something off the underside of his boot, as if the grime of the city is more worthy of his attention than your life-or-death deliberation.

Frustration boils over, and your words escape you before you can stop them. “Are you just going to stand there?” the question cuts through the silence and he looks up, meeting you gaze with those half-drooped eyes.

His face remains a mask of calm, thoroughly unaffected by your hostility. It’s a further irritant how much your obvious displeasure slides off him.

“You want me to catch you, or something?” he drawls, tone a perfect blend of sarcasm and boredom that makes your blood even hotter.

His words hang between, a challenge and a dismissal all at once.

“What are you doing here?” you strike back, impatience sharpening your words.

He takes another languid drag from his cigar, smoke veiling his face. “What—can I not be?” his voice carries a hint of amusement as he pushes off from the wall. Each step towards you is a study in fluid grace, soft and languid. “Like you, I can appreciate Zaun’s skyline. Seems we just have a point of preference,”

He halts a few feet away, gaze drawn to the cityscape below. The proximity allows you to truly observe him for the first time, the details etching themselves into your memory with startling clarity.

His eyes, a stormy blue, almost grey when drenched behind mist. They’re set in a face that could have been chiselled from marble—all sharp angles and clean lines, giving him an almost shark-like profile. Long, dark hair is gathered into a careless bun at the nape of his neck, rebellious strands escaping to frame his face, softening the harsh edges ever so slightly.

A spark of gallows humour flickers to life within you, at last a defiant flame against the dark. “Ah,” you nod, wariness still evident in the tension of your shoulders while a sardonic smile curls your lips. “Planning a dive, too, are you?”

A huff escapes him—a sound that might charitably be called laughter, but falls short of genuine mirth.

Suddenly, the name snaps you back to reality. Zaun. The word carries with it its reputation and weight. So few people use the name that it stands more so for people that had “rebel” ideas rather than what it was created for. Your eyes narrow. “You’re one of those… revolutionists, huh?”

He turns to you, face still angled downward, but his gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that momentarily catches your air. You fumble for composure, scraping together the dregs of your wit.

“Nation of Zaun, children, brothers, sisters,” you intone, bobbing your head in mock-solemn gesture as you attempt to recall the group’s motto. The words taste foreign on your tongue, like reciting a prayer to a god you’ve never believed in.

His brow shifts slightly. “Is that mockery?” the question hangs, but not accusatory, rather tinged with a gentle curiosity that catches you off guard.

You shrug. “Sure is an idea,” you mutter, words running away before you can fully process them. You’ve never given it much thought before, too entrenched in the sorrow that’s dogged your family’s steps like perpetually wet shoes, leaving its trail of misery.

This time, he turns to face you fully, his complete attention zeroing in on you. It halts you momentarily, but you push through, averting your gaze as you continue.

“Idealistic. Hard-headed,” you pause, then look up to meet his eyes, your own gaze hardening. “Unrealistic,”

His head tilts slightly, reminiscent of a predator assessing its prey. “You don’t agree with us?”

You exhale sharply, a sound caught between a laugh and a sigh. The revolutionary ideals tumble around you head like a well-worn shopping list. Independence, rid of topside’s clutches, own leadership, own government. “No, I do,” you admit, surprising yourself. Your brows furrow, grappling with the contradiction between your words and your earlier mockery. “Just ballsy, I suppose. It’s never been done, uncharted waters and all that,”

He nods, absorbing your perspective with a thoughtfulness that makes something in you quiver as if in surrender. You find yourself studying his eyes, that stormy blue-grey gaze that seems to hold secrets of their own. They flicker with an inner light as he searches for his response, and you're struck by the intensity of his conviction.

“Then how are we ever to find new land?” he says finally, his voice low and resolute. The simple statement carries an undercurrent of determination that sends a shiver down your back.

“We seem to be surviving fine,” you say, your words dripping with trying humour, a brittle shield.

His response isn't the sad attempt at laughter. Instead, his brow quirks upward, a subtle gesture that feels like a probe into your very secrets. “Then what drove you here?”

You're caught off-balance. How did he read you so easily, peeling back your layers in mere moments? Your gaze darts away, then back to his piercing eyes, discomfort radiating from every pore. “That’s hardly your concern,” you attempt a smile, but it's a weak thing.

“But I can bet it’s one of the following,” he drawls, taking a long, deliberate drag from his cigar. The smoke curls around him like a living thing as he continues. “Lung blight from working in factories, lung blight from working in the mines, or a stray enforcer who got a little too… harsh,” the smoke drifts and drowns you both, swarming your heads in a little bubble.

You inhale, feeling the intoxicating tendrils crawl up into your head, a silent song of temporary escape. Your eyes fix on his cigar, mesmerised. Does it fuel his poetic responses and that maddeningly indifferent stare? You wonder, your hands rising of their own accord, reaching to pluck the cigar from his grasp.

You rest it between your lips, inhaling deeply. The acrid smoke fills your lungs, a familiar burn that grounds you in this surreal moment. With practised ease, you exhale, your tongue crafting perfect smoke rings that float lazily between you. They dissipate against his face, a ghostly caress that lingers.

Your lips twitch, suppressing a smile as his eyes bore into yours. Is he entertained? Infuriated? His face remains an impassive mask, giving nothing away.

“Been trying to learn that,” he says, gaze flickering between the cigar in your hand and your eyes. There's a hint of something else in his voice.

You shrug, aiming for nonchalance. You hope your demeanour mirrors his earlier bored facade. “It’s all the tongue,”

His eyebrow arches slightly. “Is that so?” he murmurs. “And here I thought it was about control,”

You take another drag, letting the smoke curl around your lips before speaking. “Control is part of it,” you concede, voice low. “But flexibility is key,”

He reaches for the cigar, fingers brushing yours as he takes it. “Show me,” he challenges, eyes never leaving yours.

You lean in, forcing your gaze to fixate on the smoke and its origin. Nothing else. “It’s all about the right pressure,” you pause, your breath a ghost drifting from you, as if absorbed by him. “Too much, and it falls apart. Too little, nothing happens at all,”

He inhales deeply, eyes latched onto yours, then attempts a ring. It’s clumsy, dissolving almost instantly. “Pitiful,” he huffs, frustration and amusement colouring him.

You can’t help but chuckle. “Close,”

As if instinctively, he rolls his eyes. “Don’t be kind,”

Is that a dare? Your brows twitch in brief process. You take the cigar back. “Relax your lips, circular,” your eyes fall to his mouth, mimicking yours subconsciously. “Bend your tongue down. Tip on the bottom of your mouth,”

“Mhm,” he hums.

You demonstrate, creating a perfect ring that quivers over his shoulder.

“I see,” he mutters, watching, mesmerised. Whether by the ring or your mouth, you don’t want to know.

Nodding, a slow smile spreads your lips. “Delicate,” you raise the cigar his way.

He takes it with his lips, hooking his fingers around and taking a long drag.

You find yourself captivated by his attempts at smoke rings. As he inhales, his eyes close, a moment of quiet concentration. They flutter open to witness his handiwork—thin, frail rings that dissipate quickly in the air. The corner of his mouth twitches, a hint of a smile breaking through his stoic facade.

He tries again a few times, clearly taken by this newfound skill. His presence has shifted, no longer infuriating but almost... playful.

Emboldened, you gather your courage and circle back to his earlier question. "All of the above," you say, your words herding his attention back to you. Your voice is steady, but there's an undercurrent of pain you couldn't quite strap back. “My dad worked in the mines, and my sister... she got in with the wrong crowd. Crossed some enforcers on the wrong day.”

His eyes soften, a wordless apology that's more than enough. You've never been one for overly expressed sympathies anyway.

“And mom's been showing…” your voice trails off as your mind drifts to your mother's face, the image of her becoming more gaunt with each passing month etched painfully in your memory. It's a familiar process, one you've seen play out in countless Undercity families. Someone's mother or father always showing signs of the blight. Now it's your turn to watch it unfold in your own home. “Declining,” you finish, the word heavy on your tongue.

The light atmosphere dissipates, replaced by a shared understanding of the Undercity's—no, Zaun's harsh realities. You stand there, smoke curling between you.

“It’s never easy, is it?” he says softly, words simple but sincere. He takes another drag of the cigar then offers it back to you. "But we endure," the tone seems to challenge your earlier actions—asking, are you still thinking about it?

You accept the cigar, fingers brushing his. With a long drag, you let the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly. "Guess it's just what we Zaunites do, right?" you take a step away from the edge, nearing his side.

An amused smile finally tugs at his lips.

He was a stranger mere moments ago, and yet here you are, mixing tastes and sharing ideologies. Names seem almost irrelevant. Still, you offer yours, falling from your lips like a confession.

He repeats it, sounding entirely new as his voice wore each letter in that silk tone, escaping his mouth alongside whispers of smoke.

“Silco,” he gives back, the name igniting a spark of recognition that raises your brows as you return his cigar.

The name echoes in your mind, often whispered in the same breath as 'Vander'—the two faces of the revolution. The muscle and the voice of a movement that promised to reshape Zaun's future.

“Mm,” you murmur, your eyes tracing the contours of his face with newfound interest, drinking him in. Each line, each shadow takes on new significance as you piece together the man behind the name. “Not just a revolutionist. The revolutionist,”

A short laugh escapes him, a rare sound that seems to surprise even him. He brings the cigar to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. There's a burning in his gaze that pins you in place, making you acutely aware of every breath.

He takes a deep drag, the ember glowing bright in the dim light of Zaun's eternal twilight. As he exhales, your attention is drawn inexorably to his mouth.

A more practised smoke ring emerges, expanding and drifting between you. It's a marked improvement from his earlier attempts, a physical manifestation of how quickly he learns, adapts. You find yourself wondering what other skills he might possess.

[highlordofkrypton]

my ACOTAR wips // you wanted a villain?

I've been sitting on this one for a hot minute. I wrote this as a response to my annoyance with the shift in narrative, specifically towards Rhysand in the ACOTAR series.

So, I figured I'd introduce my morally gray boy (idek if he's gray, either), and see how it holds up, but then I got attached to the sibling dynamic with Amren. I also really enjoy writing ancient horrifying creatures, so...

Not sure if I'll continue this, but it was cathartic to write.

TL;DR - There's a new menace in town, and he's... Amren's older brother? Beware of depiction of violence, if ever you're not cool with that. Read the WIP under the cut.

TAGS: YOU ASKED FOR MY OC, YOU'LL GET MY OC. @watcherintheweyr @amalhe-kofee and @feyres-divorce-lawyer this is my anti-IC WIP that I mentioned... IT'S NOT FEYRE FRIENDLY BTW IM SORRY

The House of Wind rests on the side of a mountain, atop a valley, overlooking the beautiful city of Velaris. It is the throne upon which the high command of the Court sit, watching over the peasants who rebuild after war and knitting fanciful tales of proximity. From high above, behind their wards and between wild oak walls, they tell themselves—these are my people, this is my court. 

Lights wink shut across the city, like candles snuffed out by a violent breath. The darkness creeps in from the outskirts, slithering towards the House with frightful purpose. A blanket of silence hushes the people, though most are already asleep. There is no such thing as the winds of change; change simply happens when it is least expected and least desired.

A mouse tiptoes against marble floors, silent as ever. Years of hunting to survive have taught her the habit, even if the need for discretion has long vanished. This is her home and these are her people. She has nothing to hide. (Oh, but who said she is hiding?) The smile that spreads on her face is wicked as she circles her prey, settled in the foyer, looking pensively into the fire. The bond between them remains firmly shut, an important part of her game, and the rest of her family has been ordered to bed in hopes of avoiding an… unwanted spectacle.

Rhysand looks as handsome as ever, if not more tonight. He stands tall and confident, broad shoulders in a dark suit that seems to drink up the dance of the flame. Feyre yearns for him—her love, her male, her mate. She creeps closer and closer, until she can wrap her arms around his waist. She has to stand on her toes to kiss his neck, nuzzle the fine hairs there and breathe in the scent of him. Crisp, cool, like the evening breeze. 

“You seem different today, I like it.”

Rhys always finds a way to take her breath away. The house rattles with the impact of Feyre's body against its walls and she sobs.

“Do not touch me,” he clips.

Rhys always takes her breath away, and he would, had he been the one here.

One by one, the Inner Circle of the Night Court appears. First are the three Illyrians, two of which are armed to the teeth. Their armour and weapons are familiar—discarded iterations of better inventions that this realm never did see. Their battle stance implies that they are trained, but not enough. Not for the villain they face now. 

“Let her go.” The very shadows warble around them as Rhysand makes his demands and utters his threat. “Or I will tear your throat out.”

Johan’s icy gaze slithers from the pseudo-Fae to the false prince. His face remains handsomely impassive.

“Oh, would you? I’d rather like that.”

There’s a glint in his eyes that betrays the rest of him. His tone is dead, like his soul at this very meeting. Is this all they are? The famed Night Court? Children, all of them.

The High Lord of the Night Court moves. Probably to save his mate. The second he starts, Johan squeezes harder. Feyre’s head turns red, then a little purple with suffocation. Her eyes bulge a pretty hazel. It is still a struggle, after all this time, for him to piece together recognition in the form of faces. He can scent the anger, the soaps they use to clean themselves and even the nature of their magic, but he cannot—will never—see them.

Threat of his mate’s death is enough to stop Rhysand in his tracks. The other two had started to circle him and they mirror the movement of their lord. While the demonstration of reason is reassuring, the clear weakness is disappointing. Johan squeezes a bit more, each increment with the end goal of snapping her neck and watching the life blink out of her. An unsatisfying end, but there are many of them here and he has many questions. One answer for one life, that should do. The first murder is always meant to send a message.

“Hanni?”

Amren enters the room, her voice so soft, it’s unrecognizable to the Illyrians she’s known for years. The way she looks at the stranger makes her seem much younger than her fifteen thousand years; it’s the longing that fills her expression, shattering every knowledge they’ve had of their friend. (Did they ever really know her? A creature this old and devastating?) She spares no glance at the violence against her friend, only bolting towards Johan to tackle him in a tight hug. He remains unmoved.

“I have missed you.” Her eyes wrench shut as she holds him. Not even the sound of Feyre hitting the ground and her friends darting to care for the once-human High Lady will take this moment from her. “You’re back.”

Johan’s hand rests in her hair, jet black to mirror his. (And their eyes, brighter than any stars in the Continent’s skies.) The touch is awkward. Stunted. “I am.” He says, flatly.

“You know this asshole?” Cassian whines.

When she pulls back, Amren puts little distance between herself and the visitor. “Yes, he is my brother.”

“Your brother?” Cassian sputters, choking on his own saliva. The room stills, every soul in it staring at their ancient friend who only ever hints at her past. The thought that Amren, a creature just barely contained in her flesh, could have family is beyond them. The younglings swallow audibly. They are afraid.

They should be.

Rhysand stands while Morrigan tends to the High Lady of Velaris, a boy defending his territory. “Tell your brother he is in my house and he will not lay a hand on my mate.”

How could you mistake him for me, his voice echoes down the bond and into… nothing?

“So long as I am here, all bargains are off,” Johan drawls. Even the ones made with the heart and the soul. Something he said must be amusing because he can feel Amren’s amusement bubbling up beside him, despite her mimicking his impassive expression. 

The rest of the children in the room are of mild interest to him, part of a task. Nothing less, nothing more. Tilting his head, he inspects Amren. He towers over her, both in stature and demeanour. If she was cold, then he is the ice that drew the world to a standstill. If she is distant, then he is the yawning crevasse between humanity, faeries and whatever they are supposed to be.

A metal finger slides beneath her chin, tipping it upwards towards him. His lips part to speak to her, but before he can get a word out, a wheezing useless sound interrupts him.

“What does that mean,” Feyre breathes, struggling to her feet. It would have been a better show of strength, had she not needed two people to keep her standing. “What… happened to the bond? Amren?” She looks to her friend, expecting their relationship to sway the situation in their favour how it always has.

Amren rolls her silver eyes towards Feyre, then back to Johan. “These are my friends.” She chooses her words carefully. For they all have been through together, the being before her would not understand the notion of family. Not with these people.

Johan’s handsome features twist into a brief scowl, but he smooths his expression just as suddenly. Her relationships mean nothing to him. They are infinitesimal before Amren, even smaller compared to himself. It is only out of affection for Amren that he does not flay the once-human. He does not bother with answering her question, he owes her nothing.

“What are you doing here, little one?” He finally asks, gleaming the answers from the cosmos in her eyes. “This is not your home.”

From the outskirts of the room, Amren’s friends flinch. Velaris had been her home. For now.

“I was trapped in this realm when you all left.”

A frown mars Johan’s features, no matter how slight. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers. She does not need to say it for him to understand. Left behind. He mourns the injustice in his own way. “Do you wish to return home?”

It’s not a question she can answer now, not without betraying one (or both) of her families. Amren steps back, schooling her emotions into their usual iron. Johan’s gaze follows her with the same attention a predator would offer his prey. One wrong step and he could have her between his teeth. All this time, she wrought fear to all the Fae around her—a bedtime story to keep them in line—but she is nothing compared to her brothers. (If Johan is here, then the Other must be, too, wreaking havoc across the continent.)

“Why are you here?” She speaks on behalf of their house.

You know why.

“Speak it, so that we all may hear.” The order is bold, a risk she has weighed out. Her friends stand at the ready; she’s still on their side and they trust her.

Johan surveys the cast before him, properly this time. There is Amren, standing in a new light by allying herself with children playing politics and heroics. The High Lord shares a handful of similarities to Johan, calling back to the origins of his line and his Court, but still only a shadow of its former glory. He is pleased to see the way Illyrians have developed. Still strong in build and character, with no visible adversity to techno-magic (despite its archaic shape). His gaze lingers on Azrael. Not his face, never the face, but the whole of him. The fae’s magic whispers to him—shadowsinger—and Johan’s nostrils flare in the only visible tell of amusement. This will need to be revisited. There is the female fae who is of no discernible interest to him and lastly, the High Lady who’s stature as fae decreases with every waking moment.

“This world is corrupt. I am here to return it as it should be.” Simple as that. “Your bond is no longer and so is your Making. Neither were earned, but if you are truly worthy, I am sure you will be able to gain one of those back.”

Shadows warble around the room as the High Lord winnows across the room, dagger in hand. He aims right for Johan's heart. Metal clangs loudly as the blade’s tip collides with Johan’s false hand. His other one slides behind the High Lord’s neck to pull him close. “Anything you can do, I can do better.” Johan purrs.

Rhysand would not be the ‘strongest of all High Lords’ if he did not have a vast arsenal of weaponry to use against any assailant. (In the background, Feyre tries to help, but stumbles when she comes to the sudden realization that she is no longer High Fae.) He barrels into Johan’s mind with the ease of daemati, and the mistake is his. Johan puts up no shields, welcoming him into the chaos of his mind. 

“Rhys, no!” Amren shouts, but it is too late.

Johan’s mind is—

A wasteland made of shadows. Light withers in his presence, basking him in primal darkness. Fear in its purest form lives in him, surrounded by the souls of the dead. (Failed experiments, blood on his hands and ghosts beyond even his explanation.) They haunt him endlessly, robbing him of the ability to connect with the living. (He is one of them and they will never let him go.) 

Rhysand claws at his face, fighting invisible monsters after spending a whole second inside the mind of an ancient demon. His eyes roll to the back of his head, body hitting the marble floors and seizing violently.

“What did you do to him?!” Feyre shrieks, crawling over to her mate and cradling him.

Nothing. Nothing was done to him, but the answer seems so obvious, it’s not worth speaking. What happened to Rhysand is a product of his own making. What point is there to all the power if he does not know how to wield it? Power pales in comparison to pure skill, and skill is nothing without the intelligence to know when and how to apply it. Johan simply tilts his head questioningly and looks down at the famed couple.

Cassian steps forward, ready to avenge his master, but the shadowsinger rests a hand on his shoulder, halting the thought with a shake of his head. Johan watches Azrael for a long moment.

Good boy, he presses into his mind. The thought is made of warmth and velvet. It slithers down Azrael’s spine and curls in his belly. The Illyrian flinches, glancing away from the invader. “What does that entail? Returning the world as it should be?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“What could—” Azrael’s question fades to nothing. Whatever he was going to ask, there’s no point. The man—the being—or whatever he was is already gone, clearly uninterested in entertaining their curiosity (and their fear).

Wisps of black smoke dance across the room as Amren is slammed into the wall. Johan manifests himself. “That is the last time you will question me on behalf of your mortals.” Her breath hiccups in her throat.

With that final word, he vanishes to finish his investigation of what this world has become.

[ikkosu]

HEATED

(prowl.gn.cybertonian.reader)

While rooked into a case he needs to solve, and aside from getting a new partner for, well, reasons — the enforcer is faced with a certain 'predicament' he needs tending.

reader is taller than prowl btw. like, a little bit taller. Or like super tall. I just like the height difference ok. ever since I saw this fanart I just went AWOOGA he's so ndjdjdn his waist damn. I need him submissive. posted this at one am too :D warnings : mild robot gore, and mentions of valve spike. all that stuff.

CHAPTER ONE

UP at the south, Kaon's underground road network hasn't been fairing well these last few solar cyles. The tunnel, swarthed in ink, stretched across from both sides of the labyrinth with each end unseen, fading off into the deep chasm. The only light source now was Swindle's flashlight that lit a soft halo on the ceiling.

The tunnel was extremely obscure under radar. After several Deceptions attempted another revolutionary feat it was then banned of entry. You can barely trace any energon trails entering and leaving the tunnel. Small wonder it was chosen as a hideout — disregarding, of course, the daily patrols now that occured at fixed intervals.

Grimacing, he shifted on his pedes to avoid the murky puddle on his right. The shroud of sulfuric egg, rotten scum and the churn of garbage danced by, and Swindle wouldn't have chosen this place at all if it weren't for the pleasureable sum he's about to be gifted with.

This better be a good deal.

And, on cue, the silhouette of a mech emerged from the shadows, quelling any sense of irritation he had for the late timing. Chastise would be normally an appropriate response. But he figured there'd be no point about huffing now when he's sure this mech's not a force to be reckoned with — and is frame shouldn't be : optics a darkly blue, gold platings a pulsing radiance under the beam of light.

He's a physical embodiment of a shanix-jacked aristocrat. The ones those 'cons' would surely give a good beating to. Him, on the other hand? They're good customers. The best, if any.

"Traffic, eh Senator?" Swindle approaches, servos itching for a good deal. He's already skimming through the many treats he's got under his sleeve.

"Hardly." He grunts with a dismissive wave. "Just some mindless cogs trying to interfere with my work. I ought to establish some policy to prevent them from being this, ugh, trying."

"Believe me, those coppas are as persistent as sparkeaters leechin' off a snuffed mech." He mused.

The mech laughs, a deep rich rumble pricely enough to conjure gold bars. "It's a mystery to know when they'll emerge unannounced."

" Now, onto business. What do we have, here?"

Between them, a barrier, is a table. Producing a rectangular black box from his subspace, the mech sets it down on the surface. Inside, a clink of something can be heard like wind chimes fluttering against the breeze.

"All the crystals from the best of all cities and planets." He said. " Iacon, Vos, Teran, Xaraen — Camien delight, your favorite, is also a plus."

"Ohohoho!" Swindle unlatches the cover and beams at the myriad of vibrant gems. "You can't be giving me these beauties all for nothing, eh? What do I owe you the pleasure of?"

"Oh, nothing grand. I'd just like the usual."

Swindle, for a moment, visibly sags. " Sorry to disappoint but with all the bots cracking down on all of my sources. I don't got too many interesting Intel these days from hiding."

"Oh, no, no,no, no." He waved a servo to stop him." Not the surveillance. I don't need that. I've got enought. What I need, however. Or, rather — my boys on the air has been lacking in some...condiments for their next heist. See to it that they're sufficiently provided."

Now, that's a target he could aim.

"We-ell, why don't'cha just say so?" Swindle grins, interest piqued. "Y'got a benefactor to spare?"

"Quite. He's not very compliant at the moment and I'd rather he is. Could you, perhaps, 'alleviate' that stubbornness of that dear mech?"

Swindle chuckles and does a half-bow, servo on his chassis."Well, my good sir. Anythin' for the customer is a good go. It's in my policy to do so much more than just alleviate his stubbornness." He pinched his foredigit and thumb. Then, rubs it." For a small extra charge, of course."

He throws in several more shanix onto the table.

"I take it you'll be swift?"

"Quick as a turbofox in heat, I assure you."

Ivory white flashes as he grins. "Happy hunting."

THE sun peered between the dark blue clouds of the smothered the sky. Iacon and it's stretching towers loomed above like jagged mountaintops, abstract and austere in all it's glory.

Prowl grips the railings tight. He leant over and rested his helm against the cool metal. Much too cool against the feverish temperature of his helm. Slow and steady he vents, attempting to cool down his heating frame.

The chronometer beeped five thirty. He's outside. Outside in the barely risen morning, disturbed from a barely slept slumber and dragged out to barely risen city straight into a murder scene.

The scenery fleets by in a thin film of blue. Enforcers litter the region, half a mile at most, rousing nearby apartments and living spaces for questioning. Gradually, front porches open. Dawdling mechs and their slow blinking optics, half sleep-induced, are jostled awake at the sight of the officers.

A passing mech was jogging around the vicinity when he supposedly stumbled over a concrete slab. A quick double take proved it wasn't a slab but a dead mech sprawled out on the road, a mini crater indicating the weight of his fall.

And, looking up to the nearby building, where he supposedly fell, a smashed glass on the perfect teeth of windows indicated clear where the incident occured. Obviously, the mech is long gone : grey and parched of color; helm tilted to one side, optics black.

Prowl let's out another breath. It seethed through clenched dentas, hissing out as steam. His servos shook. Footsteps patter behind and Prowl grips it taut to reign it in.

"Sir? Are you—"

"I'm fine." He cuts off the mech. " Who is it?"

The junior officer blinks in surprise, a waver in his voice. "Uh— they, uh. It's someone. They...They claim to be your partner, sir." He trails off, unsure and also surprised at the prospect.

Partner? Prowl skims languidly across the ample litter of mechs bustling about. Only until his optics land on a familiar one, he nods stiffly. "They're with me. You can leave, now."

"Understood."

And not long after did his 'partner' emerged, lifting up the yellow tape, chatting with the passing enforcers amiably before sauntering towards where he stood.

"Not so bustling as I expected to be." You said. " Is it usually this quiet? Or, you could say — dead silent?"

The smaller Praxian had to take several steps back to regard you fully, an unimpressed look on his face. As usual, a loose smile eased at the gesture but you turned away to hide it.

"Enforcer." You bowed and held out a servo.

Instead, he eyes you with a cold reverie, nose raised high and haughty. "Doctor."

"Spoilsport."

And that's what it only took to carve out the familiar, seething scowl. "It's Commander, doctor."

"Actually, it's medic." You mused, optics fleeting over his frame."New paint job?"

"Excuse me?"

Even when he's scowling, the confused puppy look and the flicker of a doorwing alleviated the intimidating factor.

"You look different." You said.

"I don't."

"You kind of do."

"Just—" He rubs his face. "Just what on Cybertron are you trying to insinuate?"

" Come on, now." You nudge him. "Can't a mech compliment a good polished frame?"

Prowl makes an exasperated sound when you gesture to his body. You can't help it when really is shinier than usual. The Ivory veneer plating is practically glowing under the soft rays of the sun. Prowl, however, rubs his face.

"I take it you're aware of your current position?" He eventually says after a moment.

You rubbed your helm thoughtfully, reminiscing the words of Ironhide this morning. All you remember from the debrief was: 'He's a stick down on tha mud'. And also, a stick up his aft? A stick in or stick out? You're not sure.

"Quite." You snort. "Takes a while to get used to it. Especially when Prime didn't inform the reason why. "

"You don't need to know the details behind the transfer."

"Oh, trust me." You said. " I dont think want to, Praxian."

He regards you for a moment before shaking his head, whirling around to inspect the nearby scathes and scratches. Meanwhile, you knelt next to the body and grimaced, sliding on protective gloves. From the corner of your optics, Prowl does as well and he does it with prim and precise movements. It's been a long time since you're out on the fields.

"Why do I have to do this, again?"

Prowl tilts his helm, observing the body at a different angle, the last digit slides inside the sleeve with a plap. "You're experienced with helmichular fracture. Or, working with Cybertronian helms, for that matter."

You scanned the dried energon smeared under the poor mech's helm. Primus, how in Unicron's two aft did he get here? You swivel up. Oh, right. Falling.

"I work with the inner parts. Nothing the same like Chromedome does. That's heinous work. Mine's more on the anatomy, actually."Plating fracture, check. Spinal strut loose and fragile — check. Stiff joints, check. " Couldn't you have figured this out on your own?"

You prod the neck cables, feeling it flaccid. Prowl was silent for a moment. If he was irritated, you could tell by the scowl deepening from the reflection of the puddle beside you.

" I could," he says eventually. "But I don't need your input. I simply.... require a presence to rectify my hypothesis."

Oh? "That's a statement I never thought I'd hear you say." You mutter.

Prowl knelt beside you. He angles himself in a way you would have to look over his shoulder to see the body. The soft scent of datapad and office paperwork wafts by.

"This mech, here, is Strongholt." He said. "He's a member of the High Council. Tasked with handling ammunitions. Obviously, on close inspection it appears as though this body is conformed to the fall."

With the way he worded it, you're sure he doesn't think that way.

"The spinal struts is smashed." You said, optics quick and scaning. "....and everything else is broken. It could be ruled out as suicide but with you here I don't think that's the case."

He lets out a sound you're not sure if it's a conceding one or something else entirely. But he juts out a digit and you look at where he points. Disregarding the scratched plating, some regions of the surface were unusually glossy and some were worn.

"He hasn't gotten his plating polished." Prowl says.

"A bit late for that now, don't you think so?"

"He rushed all the way here in the dead of the night. Why else would he do that?" Prowl rests a servo on his face, mumbling into it thoughtfully. " Senator Stronghold is have said to taken care of his plating with precise delicacy. But this time—" Slowly, he traces a digit along the platings. " —Observe the fringes. It seems indelicate along the seams. His arm is polished but the rest isn't."

"Oookay." You try to grasp the pieces together. Trying to fit in the missing cogs from the machine. "So, he didn't jump. Is that what you're saying?"

"Not suicide."

" Then, what could it be?"

"He brought himself to a place." He muttered. " To somewhere. Unless it's someone and if he complied then it's not a matter of force-handing, is it?"

"I'm assuming things aren't as what they seem to be, apparently."

Prowl taps his thigh in an irritated manner. Either he was talking to himself or to you, it was hard to tell. But with how he disregarded your questions and looks — it was obvious he's cooped up in his thoughts.

"Dragged up there." He continues the muttering to himself. You noticed he's a little restless with the mini-movements he makes. From the rock of his kneeplates and the subtle, but often, flick of his doorwings. " No, down here. He walks. Over there. Then, close to the pole. How many footprints?"

You snapped out of your thoughts with a jolt, scrambling for an answer at the sudden question. Lamely, you said. "Five?"

"No, it's three." He waves at you dismissively. "Foot prints indicate long exposure to standing. Disagreement ensues. Blunt force trauma to the helm. Dragged up—" On cue Prowl swivels up. "Then pushed. Guise of a murder. Two mechs. An accomplice, to be precise."

" A what— Wait— so, hold on." You tug him close, lowering your voice. " He orchestrated his own death?"

Prowl leans away.

"Were you even listening to what I said?" He gives you an incredulous look." If you have so much to lose, would you really do that?"

You groan. He's not helping one bit."You're being real cryptic right now and I'm trying my best."

"No, not orchestrated." He vents. " That'd be ridiculous. But miscalculations did occur during the 'composing' of the Orchestra. He's compliant all but for the money. Both a victim to his faults and thinking."

You turn over his words in your processor. The lingering feeling that this isn't some kind of suicide rules out clear and Prowl had, somehow, figured it beforehand.".... You dont need me here to help you figure out case, don't you?"

He gives you a look that basically confirms it : a smug, but begrudging tug of his lips.

"I need you to confirm a certain theory." He points to the helm. " Blunt force trauma — Zero point."

You move over to the chassis and unlatched the plating. As expected the spark chamber indicated clear signs of restrictive energy flow from the burnt out, damaged ports. This could only occur if—

"He had suffered heavy blunt force trauma." Prowl stands up, gripping the railings with a vent.

" So, this is murder." You follow him, pacing around, a bit reeling from the new turn of events. "Its— it's murder, right?"

" We can't prove it is yet. We..." He trails off, then shake his head. "Tommorow when the warrant comes we'll able to consult his company....and...."

"Prowl, mech. You good?" You turn to the Enforcer who's looking a little off to be well, right now. "Hey, you need a moment?"

Crime scenes aren't the most pleasing sight to behold. Especially, the brutality of it all. You just didn't expect Prowl to be affected this badly.

" I'll—" He clutches his chest, shudders and groans lowly, stumbling forward.

"Prowl!" You caught him before he could hit the ground and instantly limps against your body, venting hard.

His frame was warm. So warm that once you touched his shoulder every moisture on the tip of your digit sizzles into steam. He's shaking and Primus, he's burning!

"You're sick and you didn't tell me?!" You laid him against the railing, loosening his taut platings to let air inside. Steam practically chuffs out from the pistons, smoldering your face with vapor when you unlatched the clips.

"I'm not sick." Was his weak protest and he pawed your servos away, attempting to get up. "The warrant—"

"Don't even try." You push him down. "Your optics are glazed! Plating is burning even worse than a typical fan-clog fever!"

"I'll get through it." He grits out.

"I'm sending you back. Doctor's orders."

He lets out an exasperated sound. " You're stalling the process! I need to solve the case before some overcharged single brained processor messes it up. "

"And you'll smelt into alloy by then, little mech." You clicked on your comm. " I'll deal with the body and I'll deal with the paperwork. You, on the other hand, need ratchet. If you preach for efficiency — then be compliant to it. "

Prowl opens his intake but ozone burns his tongue and another shudder sears through his platings. He turns away from you, groaning lowly. Maybe it's better if he complied because, right now, all he feels, is like a mech doused in gasoline and set on flames.

"Will you be fine?" Ratchet cocks a brow

Prowl grunts, swinging his legs off the medical berth. " I'll manage."

"Sure? Your internal processors are charged up than usual, Prowl." Ratchet grimaces at the datapads. Doesn't look much too good, if he had to be hoenst. " I wouldn't recommend you going about your tasks if you don't want your battle computer burning out out."

Prowl keeps quiet. He can feel the wanton heat pooling in his panel, itching, clawing to be spring free and abuse.

" Prowl?"

He sucks in a breath. "I need to go." And with that he turns on his heel and leaves.

He shouldn't have known it would be today. Especially, when the signs are clear enough these past few weeks : frequent mood swings, strange cravings at strange hours

He could've have pieced it all together and prevented the inevitable — but when he onlined this morning on his berth and felt the familiar trickle of lubricant coating his inner thighs, it was over.

He was too late.

Heat cycles.

Just the worse.

It was easy to know when it's coming just as easy to know it's going to get worse : the numbness on the tip of your digits, restless frame, unfocused and glazed optics. The desire to lodge a hole into every walk you find. All typical sign.

Some frames are more accustomed to such a cycle. Unlike the smaller frames, larger ones are able to disperse heat more efficiently. So, it was a tolerable task to wait it out during work and return home and take care of whatever problem they had with their conjux. Even better, take heat suppressants and the charge, while not entirely taken care of, is reduced.

But given his Praxian frame slim build, demure size and all, the heat isn't so well dispersed and the intake of suppressants just happens to make it worse. His tanks are sensitive to the chemicals; he took it once and it wasn't fun taking turns purging his tank and satisfying himself.

Prowl groans, squeezing his thighs together as the words blur out from his optics. The datapad in his servos dented from his grip and he discards it on the table, landing across with a tack. Blasted report. He keeps reading the same line over and over and his processors won't digest the damn thing.

He leans against the chair and his helm tips back until his optics met the ceiling. An experimental servo glides down his abdomen and he shudders as it clamps on his heated panel. He gives it a little stroke, venting when lubricant smear the seams. A low whine churned from his throat. Prowl flushes, chagrined.

Mhn. Hot. He feels hot. So, hot. So Restless. He needs to purge out this excess energy or driving him insane. He could head out into the sparring range and punt in a few dents jn the testing dummies but he's too restless for that. He needs something and that something has to be inside and pumping his valve until he's all but a writhing mess on the floor.

The panel slides and a throbbing spike springs out. Ivory in color, grey outline, it stands at attention and the tip weeps with transfluid. Prowl slides his digits inside the swollen valve. He groans as he feels his calipers pulsing around his digits, spreading the folds out.

He can't keep going on like this.

On cue, the door opens. Prowl jolts in his seat and swivels up at the intrusion, lodging his digits deeper inside in tandem of his fluster. It was you. You're by the doorway. Stiff and straight to the brim, optics wide. The datapad you were holding drops from your servos just as your jaw had flung open in surprise

[sun-of-4-gun]

seeing your six ear macaque design (btw so freaking cool) makes me so curious about him :0! do you have more info about him?

AHH thank you!! that makes me so glad to hear (≧⁠▽⁠≦)♡*⁠。I have a whole idea of how he was made but nothing too solid! if anyone has any other insights I'd love to read them!!

this is something I've decided recently that when Six initially popped out of the ground, he looked a lot more like Monkey King. a scruffy, young adult six-eared macaque with dull red fur. he is an exact clone save for minor details that will kickstart big changes

it was instant for him to go out explore & experience the world, learn about this & that. he found his way to Flower-Fruit Mountain and it's clear to him that regardless of people, monkeys, and even demons just don't like him. his freakishly gross amount of ears certainly don't help or an underbaked unsettlingness about his whole vibe being uncanny & off, but he don't give a damn (yet). he just wants to be received positively for a change, so when he quickly found kinship in the legend of the Monkey King, he thought to seek him out in the hopes of understanding, but that idea is immediately snuffed out in favour of straight-up just becoming the Monkey King himself instead! he wants all the blind adoring glory and none of the work, but he needs help. assistance if you will, 'cause there's no Monkey King without his Stick. that's the whole reason he is where he is

long story short, Six is able to clone Stick and forge his own staff; Suixin Tie Ganbing (or Rod/dy) who I haven't designed cause I'm struggling (⁠^▽^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ I don't imagine it's as characterised as Stick, if any. like a soulless copy y'know? Six knows Monkey's heart & mind so intimately, but lacks an awareness in that he is still more like the guy 500 years ago + caught up with knowledge to present time. of course, by becoming a specious macaque, he sacrifices his ability to predict the future & utilise that sixth sense, as Monkey isn't a six-eared macaque, but one of ✧ numinous wisdom ✧ and ultimately gets the upper hand to destroy this imposter, who apparently all along is a split aspect of his very own psyche & soul, a literal two-minds & double-heart situation. unlike Six, Monkey is a complete-ish person, and his counterpart has a lot of growing up to do. its a big difference between 500 years of self-reflection to 5 years of figuring out one's desires & purpose!

so Monkey aims to kill Six, a rotten part of himself that he tried to bury years ago, kept hidden from his master out of shame and deep inner conflict that it literally ate him up on the inside, and when it was too much to bear he cut open his chest to find an actual root of wickedness growing from his heart like a tumour, festering from the back of his mind and manifesting into a second organ that desperately needed to take control and get out. I imagine Sandy witnessed this and Horsie knows about it, but nobody said anything because Monkey seemingly "defeated" it when he buried this parasite into the dirt, thinking it would quietly die with nothing to leech off of anymore. this came back to haunt him, obviously, his own self or at least some corrupted mirror staring him in the flesh

but he doesn't kill him, seeing himself within literally and metaphorically, the second thoughts are clear and instead of destroying the six-eared macaque, he buries him alive instead. because if Buddha can stick him under a mountain for 500 years and that turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to him, why can't he do the same for this guy? he's a screwed up version of him, but like him nonetheless. he was 5 years old himself when he got mountained anyway!

except that well, it's still the six-eared macaque, his own species, and for whatever reason it was after that Tightening Fillet Spell by Guanyin that Six is cursed to be tethered to Monkey King in every physical & emotional way, especially by their own doing. all thoughts, joys, grief, love, rage, pain, pleasure and else of Monkey's will be second-hand to the specious macaque and he has no choice but to listen to & feel everything his creator feels & experiences. it sickens him, infuriates him, these sensations are tormenting regardless of his own desires for 1,000 years of complete depravity & deafness to everything of the outside world but the Monkey King and once he's freed from the earth by chance of a quake, he wants nothing to do with Sun Wukong. though that's impossible when he's literally connected at the heart & mind by some one-sided chain. so logically, he has to kill him.

his time underground allowed his sense of self to develop & ultimately change his appearance, so now he's also somewhat complete-ish as a living being. except he can't exactly move on with his creator in the way, as how can he trust his own emotions & sensations when all he's known are another's the past millennium? he'll get help & some assistance again, and he'll use the same jade dagger that was discarded after getting rid of him the first time to stab Monkey in the heart and sever their connection once and for all

[nick-nocturne]

Hi Nick! It's Slendy from your chat last night. I just wanted to stop by and say thank you for such a fun and interactive stream. Truth be told I've been... in a bit of a bad rut mentally as my physical health seems to be in a steady decline as of recently. But you and your community really helped brighten up an otherwise dark outlook on life last night during your Slender: The Arrival stream. I know it might not seem like you did much, but last night you and your chat helped put a spark back into a light I thought was snuffed out long ago. Interacting with people, having a genuine giggle and a laugh over a spooky game I know way too much about that I'm... honestly too scared to play, was so, so nice. Like I can't even put it into words how nice it was.

It felt great to be a part of a community again.

And I have you to thank for that. 💖

Until then I'll try to focus on my health and not let the cards life's dealt me get me down. But if my internet ever gets better, I definitely want to try picking up streaming again thanks to you. :) It was one of the things that I honestly enjoyed doing in my spare time.

Btw here's this lil guy that I take care of. He just turned 10 last month. :) His name is Tony.

Bless you, Slendy, and bless Tony, too! I'm very glad (and know my community would be as well) to know the stream did anything positive for you. It's tough to go through hardship like this, but finding the light is what gets us through, and if the stream granted you that, then it's quite worth it to be streaming. ::3 Thank you!

[kindersurprisebacterium]

Bloody, Dead, and Sexy (DabiHawks/reader)

Explicit sexual content, MDNI

CW: threesome, knifeplay, choking, biting, spit, double penetration, rough sex, overstimulation, murder (not reader), blood

WC: 2.8k

Gender neutral AFAB reader

Title is the name of a band btw

The door squeaked as I pulled it open, rusty springs being nudged to life and quickly shooting back to a resting position. A rush of warmth from the space heaters wafted over my frigid skin. My eyes scanned the room before settling on a partially covered head of blonde hair.

“You got a light?” I asked, stepping toward the disheveled couch. The man reached for a pink lighter that sat on the fold-out table. He handed the lighter over to me. I grasped it in my frigid hand as my other fumbled through my pockets. I pulled out a single cigarette, perched it between my lips, and sparked the light. I held the flame up to the end of my cigarette and watched as small plumes of smoke began to rise. Pulling the light away, I held it out for the blonde and sat beside him. 

“Kinda dead tonight, huh?” I mumbled as I took a drag. 

“Maybe twenty, twenty-five. I forget how many I invited.” He spoke with a self-assured tone and a crooked smile. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I guess I didn’t realize you were the host,” I mumbled, looking across the room for an ashtray. “Let me put this out-”

“You’re fine, man, It’s all good.” He chuckled, putting his arm over the back of the couch. “It was mainly my…friend's idea to have this whole thing. I just wanted to get high and kick back.” He flashed a toothy grin and ran his fingers through his messy blonde locks. I quickly looked away as my cheeks began to heat up.

“I think I was gonna head out, but that sounds like a nice evening,” I smiled as smoke poured from my nostrils. 

“Come on, you’re here now. Why don’t you join me,” he leaned in, eyes flicking across my face. “Take some pills and play games with me.” He plucked the cigarette from between my lips and took a drag. His golden eyes were locked onto mine. His painted fingers tapped against the cigarette as he awaited my answer. 

“Okay,” I said with a small smile. He inhaled, hands reaching into his hoodie pocket. He pulled out a clattering bottle of pills and twisted the lid open. 

“Open your mouth,” He mumbled as he took a pill between his fingers. My eyes darted across the room as an intense heat sparked in my face. I opened my mouth and watched as he placed the pill onto my tongue. I closed my lips around his fingers and swallowed. His fingers nudged my mouth open, aureate eyes looked at my tongue. His lips curled up into a smile. He removed his saliva-soaked fingers from my mouth, only to grab another pill, this time one for himself. After swallowing he took a drag from the cigarette. The embers had consumed most of it. He snuffed the ashes out in an ashtray. He quickly leaned forward, hands coming to push at my puffer jacket. 

“It’s a bit too warm for this,” he spoke, eyes scanning up and down my body. “The pills make you feel warm too,” he pulled the jacket away from my arms and let it drop to the floor. I impulsively reached out and tugged at his hoodie. He chuckled as I pulled the fabric from his body. I couldn’t help but stare at his muscular frame. 

“I thought you’d have something on under that…” I mumbled as I handed the hoodie back to him. 

“It’s laundry day,” He shrugged, leaning in. He gripped onto the arm of the couch, caging me against the plush fabric. “You feelin’ anything?” He asked, chapped lips just barely brushing against my neck. A rush of euphoria flooded my senses, whether it was his touch or the pill, I didn’t know. I nodded. He pressed his lips against my neck. His hand moved from the couch to my thigh, tugging my body further down the couch. 

“What was that?” I asked, hooking my legs around his hips.

“Oxy.” He smirked as he rolled his hips against mine. I could feel his stiffening cock through the layers of denim that separated us. I whimpered and gripped his arm. Just over the sound of our voices and the faint pounding music ringing from the house arose a scream. My body stiffened, eyes jutting toward the door. 

“Baby, I’ve got you. Probably just pushed someone into the pool,” he slid his hand up my shirt. His frigid hands made goosebumps rise on my skin.

“It’s cold out though,” I mumbled. His other hand quickly yanked my jeans down my legs. I unhooked my legs from around his waist. “What if someone comes in?” I asked, gripping his wrist tight.

“It’s my fuckin house, I’ll do whatever I want,” he pushed my shoes off of my feet and continued tugging my jeans down my legs. Once they were off, he sat back on his shins, looking over my partially unclothed body. 

“What’s your name?” I asked, grabbing his hand and guiding his fingers to the waistband of my underwear.

“Keigo,” he smirked as he began tugging my underwear down. The seams creaked as he roughly pulled the fabric from my body. 

The door suddenly pushed open, I quickly grabbed my jeans and pulled the denim over my bare legs. My gaze darted to the door. A man with jet-black hair stood in the door frame. I quickly sat up off of the couch and pushed my body toward Keigo as my eyes met the splatters of blood that decorated his white shirt. The man dropped the stained knife in his hand. The metal clattered as it hit the concrete floor. 

“Bitch wouldn’t stop running,” the man groaned as he stepped toward us. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Keigo's lips as if he’d done it a million times before. Then his cerulean eyes dropped to me. My body was still pressed against Keigo. “Well you’re cute, ain’t ya?” He grinned, reaching out to grab my chin. “Forgive me for barging in so suddenly, but I think you were about to fuck my boyfriend,” his tongue darted out and licked across his lips. Despite my previous shock, I melted into his touch. My shoulders dropped, fingers losing their grip as I let my body loosen up. He leaned in, pressing his lips to mine. I gripped his shirt with one of my hands and tugged the bloodstained cotton over his head. He broke from my lips just to pull the tainted shirt off. Keigo pushed me back onto the couch. I waited as the two men sat on either side of me. 

“Dabi, go get the lube,” Keigo pointed to a table in the corner of the room. The brunette got up off of the couch, cushions dipping as he moved. Keigo's hands pulled at my top. I let him slip the shirt over my head, leaving me completely bare. 

“This doesn’t seem fair,” I mumbled as I undid the button on his jeans. He bit down on his bottom lip and watched as I pulled his cock out. Spitting into the palm of my hand, I guided my slick fingers over his length and began stroking him. 

“Fuck-“ he groaned, hips bucking into my hand. He grabbed my face, pulling me close and smashing his lips against mine. The couch dipped as dabi sat next to me. His warm lips trailed across my shoulder. His fingers kneaded the flesh of my thigh. He tugged my leg so it sat on top of his lap, leaving me spread open. He spit onto his fingers and brought the soaked digits to my cunt. The tips of his fingers started moving in slow circles around my clit. My lips broke from Keigo. 

“Dabi,'' I whimpered as I palmed his hard cock through his blood-stained jeans. 

“You like that?” He chuckled as he slid his fingers down to my entrance. He slowly slipped inside of me and started a rough, slow pace. I nodded and leaned in to press a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to his lips. He pulled back. A glimpse of silver caught my eye. He flicked open a switchblade and pointed the tip at me. 

“Use your words.” He grunted. 

“I like it,” my words came out as a jumbled mess. “Mm, faster please,” I whimpered. He smirked and brushed the edge of the blade across my shoulder. He put pressure on the steel with his hands. A sharp sting pricked my skin. My breath hitched as his fingers sped up with every centimeter of skin he sliced. A flood of endorphins made my body quake. I clenched around his fingers as I came, gripping his wrist tight. My other hand stalled its movements as a haze washed over my brain. 

“Keigo, I think we got a real whore on our hands,” Dabi chuckled, bringing his soaked fingers to his lips. He moaned and stuck out his fingers for the blonde. Keigo opened his mouth and brought the fingers over his tongue, closing his lips and sucking roughly. Keigo moaned and pulled off of the fingers with a pop. He stood up off of the couch and moved between my legs. I watched as he tugged me toward the edge of the couch. His hot breath tickled my skin. His tongue darted out and quickly flicked over my clit. My hips jerked forward, my fingers locking onto his hair. A burning sharp sensation on my stomach jerked my attention away from the blonde. 

“Stay still,” a set of half-lidded cerulean eyes stared me down. He pulled the blade away and gripped the handle between his teeth. He began to ease his jeans over his hips. His flushed cock sprang free and hit his abdomen. I glanced down, noticing the array of silver that adorned his length. He gripped my chin tightly. The cool metal of his rings pricked my skin.

“Look at me, baby,” he smirked as he began stroking himself. I quickly glanced down at his cock. Another prick of sharp pain sprung up from my thigh. “Up here,” he spoke sternly. 

“Mm fuck- sorry,” my voice was broken, my words came out as high-pitched sighs between breathy moans. 

“You better be,” He said, pressing his lips to mine. Keigo slipped two fingers into my cunt. My thighs began to quake, muscles aching as I forced myself to stay still. Keigo moaned against my core, sending vibrations straight to my overstimulated nerves. Dabi pulled back, blue eyes scanning over my face. 

“He’s good with his tongue, ain’t he?” He said with a sigh as he stroked his cock faster. I could merely muster up an “mhm” as my body lit up. “You gonna cum, baby?” He said, pinching one of my nipples. Again, I could only speak in broken, incoherent mumbles. My hips jolted, toes curling as I came. A desperate cry slipped from my tongue. I leaned against Dabi, my body falling onto the cushions as he stood up.

“You okay, baby?” Hawks asked, peppering gentle kisses over my cheeks. He slipped his hands underneath my hips and turned me so my body was parallel to the couch. He quickly stepped out of his pants and moved to kneel between my legs. I hooked my legs around his hips, pulling him closer to my aching core. Dabi handed him the bottle of lube and a condom before removing his pants. Keigo popped the cap open and drizzled some over the length of his now-wrapped cock. I reached forwards, wrapping my hand around his cock and smearing the cool liquid over his heated skin. 

“You want me to fuck You?” He asked as he brushed the tip of his cock against my cunt. I nodded, teeth sinking into my bottom lip. His hand wrapped around my throat, fingers squeezing my carotids. I gasped, tongue lolling out of my mouth. “Want me to fill this pretty cunt?” He grunted as he slowly pushed the head of his cock into my entrance. “Fuck,” Keigo grunted. My blurred vision focused on the man behind him. His painted nails sunk into Keigos as he slowly sunk inside the blonde. Keigo pushed further in. His golden eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he started rough thrusts. His hands moved onto the armrest as he used the leverage to fuck me hard. My body bounced with the force of the two men.

“You’re sucking me in, baby” Keigos voice came out as a high-pitched whine of sorts. 

“I’m fucking that cunt next,” dabi mumbled as he kissed Keigos neck. 

“Mmf fuck-sogood,” Keigo moaned. Sweat began to drip down his forehead, rolling off his chin and down his toned chest. He brought one of his hands to my clit, index, and middle finger circling the overstimulated skin. My back arched off the bed. A suffocating heat wrapped itself around my body as I drew close to another orgasm. 

“Harder,” I squeaked. The couch cushions began to creak as I dug my nails into the fabric. My head began to smack against the armrest with the force of his hips. My breath left my chest, mouth agape as I panted. 

“I’m close, gonna cum in you,” he groaned, circling his fingers faster.

“Fuck!” The word fell off of my tongue, “cum for me, cum!” I panted. I gripped his biceps. Red streaks sprang up from his flushed skin as I scratched at his arms. His eyes squeezed shut, nose scrunching as he came. Static washed over me as my body was flung into another orgasm. My sore muscles and aching nerves cried for relief. The couch quickly shifted. 

“Hey,” dabi tapped my face. The white taking over my vision began to dim, revealing the flushed face of the brunette. He was smirking, canines showing as his eyes flicked over my fucked out form. “You on the pill?” He asked as he pulled the condom from his cock. I nodded and leaned forward to kiss him. He bit down on my bottom lip before pulling back to look at me again. “Good ‘cause I haven’t cum yet and I wanna fuck you raw,” he said, lining himself up with my cunt, “you want that?” He asked as he toyed with my chest. 

“Fuck me,” I mumbled. He stuck two fingers in my mouth, pulling my jaw down. He spat into my mouth, laughing as I quickly swallowed.

“Fuckin’ slut.” He groaned as he slipped inside me. He grabbed my calves and swiftly brought my knees to my chest, folding my body in half. He started a relentless pace, earning squeaks and creaks from the couch below us. “Oh fuck yeah, you like that?” He grunted as he leaned down to kiss me. His lips trailed down my jaw to my neck. I moaned as his teeth sunk into my skin. Something close to a growl emitted from his throat as he clamped down on my skin. He pulled back, just to mash his crimson-stained lips against mine. 

“Babe, you want in on this? ‘Cause I’m about to cum soon,” Dabi spoke between grunts. Blonde locks soon appeared by my side. The two men flipped me onto my front, laying on top of dabi. The brunette pressed a kiss against my cheek as he slid inside me once more. Cold, wet fingers prodded at my ass. Keigo pressed kisses along my bloodied shoulder. He slid his fingers inside, whispering praises with every inch. I moaned and leaned forward to press my chest against dabi. 

“They’re clenching hard,” Dabi said with a laugh as he wrapped his arms around me. “Put it in,”

I was met with a burning, stretching feeling. My eyes watered, clit throbbing as the pain blended with the pleasure of feeling utterly filled to the brim. The two started a slow pace as I adjusted to Keigo's cock. My voice was splintered, instead of moaning, I let out strained pants and clawed at Dabi’s shoulders. The slapping of flesh against flesh filled the room along with groans and grunts coming from the two. Their pace accelerated, and the movement of both of their cocks inside me was enough to flood my brain and scramble my thoughts. Drool spilled from my swollen lips as I approached another burning climax. 

“Mmmf want me to flood your cunt?” Dabi babbled as his thrusts became erratic. Keigo's grip on my hips tightened as he began to lose his tempo. My body began to quake in one final release. A scream crawled its way out of my chest, accompanying the flood of sensation that swept across my spent body. Trickling warmth spread through my insides as the two stalled their motions. 

“Shit…” Keigo muttered as He pulled out. A thud sounded throughout the room as he flung himself onto the other couch. Dabi held me tight, pressing kisses to my temples.

“Hey babe? Can we keep them?” He asked

[bunnygrl-femme]

My Official AEW Wrestledream Review

Let’s start with Zero Hour!

I absolutely love the energy that Renee, RJ, and Jeff have on the desk. They’re so much fun to listen to and watch

Same with the commentary desk. Excalibur, Tony, and Nigel are so good at what they do

It’s good to see Anna Jay back in AEW. She looks Amazing since her time in Japan, and she looked great in the ring with Harley.

The 8 man tag with Dark Order, Premier Athletes, Outrunners, and Conglomeration (“The Conglome-runners vs. Dark Athletes” thanks Excalibur) was good. Not a huge Outrunners fan, myself, but Kyle looked great. Kyle going after Okada afterward is perfect, and I would love to see that program.

Now, on to the show!!

Switchblade and the Hangman. This was an amazing match for the two of them. Jay’s return to in ring competition (he looks AMAZING, btw), Hangman getting shit from the crowd and hating it. They looked great in the ring together. Jay’s early work in this match looked so smooth and quick. Hangman’s strikes looked LETHAL. Jay’s Dragon screws (most underrated move in professional wrestling) paved a perfect road to the ending of the match. Excited to see where Jay goes from here, and how this contributes to Hangman’s decent into madness

Willow vs Mariah. This match was great. Willow looked awesome coming in. Mariah, I just wanna be you Jesus Christ. Willow’s offense always looks intense and ruthless (Queen of the Street Fight), but I do wish she would have won here. I know, they’re probably waiting for Toni to come back and take the title off Mariah, but I do think Willow has more than earned her flowers here. (Also, the fact that there was only one women’s match on the card is a major disappointment. Tony Khan, you should have shad at least 2. I mean, your double champ wasn’t even on the card. I have loved the AEW women’s division since I started watching, and they’ve always treated their women’s division with more respect than WWE, but this is a low point. Hopefully, they get better treatment on the next PPV)

Swerve’s Return. God, it’s good to see Swerve, man!! One of the guys of all time, ya know? I really liked this promo with MVP and Shelton Benjamin. Giving Shelton his flowers for all he’s done for Black wrestlers in the last 20 years was a great moment. I loved Swerve pointing out that, yes, Nana has dropped the ball a few times, and Swerve took some major hits under his management, but Nana is FAMILY. They’ve been together for so long, been through so much together. I was hoping we’d get Bobby Lashley debuting during this segment, but I’m not disappointed with what we got

Jack Perry vs Katsuyori Shibata. Seeing the Wrestler in action. He looked phenomenal! I love that grapple-trading style of wrestling, and Shibata is among the best. The man is a beast. You can tell that Jack’s in-ring psychology is just getting batter, and the moments he slows down or accelerates, especially with a star like Shibata, really shine. I do think the title should have changed hands here, however. I know Garcia is coming after the title, and yeah, that program might not be as compelling with Shibata, but Perry’s held that belt for a minute, and I would have liked to see a change.

Garcia, MJF, ADAM COLE, BAY BAY. God, what a night for arrivals!! I love seeing Danny Garcia, he’s a serious talent. MJF’s surprise return, reigniting the feud with Garcia, only to be IMMEDIATELY snuffed by Adam Cole! Free Garcia up to go after the belt, Adam Cole and MJF get to relight their feud, maybe finally get a decisive winner. Great spot for everyone

Osprey, Ricochet, Takeshita. Man, what a match! I really loved that they didn’t focus too much of the match time on Osprey and Ricochet going at each other, since we got that on Dynamite. Takeshita looked downright LETHAL in this match, and that Blue Thunder bomb spot (2nd most underrated move in wrestling) was awesome. Obviously, the highlight of Kyle Fletcher turning on Osprey, hitting him with that Tiger Driver 96 (which, did Osprey’s shoulder look fucked up to anyone else??) was heartbreaking. Fletcher looks MASSIVE, and so, so dangerous. Really excited to see him become a bigger player on the singles scene. I liked the title changing hands here, I think Osprey doesn’t need a title to get over, and it sets up Takeshita as a kind of “Dark Belt Collector” opposite to Don Callus’s run with Kenny Omega. Great match

Hologram vs Mortos, 2/3 falls. I didn’t have a ton of investment in this match, tbh. I haven’t seen much of Hologram, and the turn from LFI on Hologram didn’t reach me until a couple hours before Wrestledream. Still, I do love a Mortos match, and he looked great here (that SKY HIGH Samoan drop spot looked great!) A 2/3 falls stipulation never does much for me, cause every one has the same formula (one for A, one for B, big dramatic ending), but this was a fun match for Lucia Libre fans

Darby v Brody King. Man, what a match. There’s a reason Darby is one of the major faces of AEW. He always pulls insane spots, and this was no exception. Brody looked so dominant and destructive, and really shined in those early spots. I think this match, combined with what happened later, really moved Darby from “gimmick match guy” to World title contender, and I’m excited for what (I hope) comes next

Bucks vs Private Party. Really enjoyed, like, 70% of this match. The stuff at the beginning with the false quit was eh, but the in ring stuff looked great. I used to like the Bucks, but these EVP characters are so damned unlikeable (I know, point of heels) that at some point, they have to lose the titles. Personally, I think that should have happened here. You have all these great tag teams week in and week out, and it’s starting to feel like the Bucks just don’t want to give it up cause they’re in charge. Hopefully, with what happened later, they drop them before the end of the year

Mark Briscoe vs Jericho. Look. I am on the record as a Jericho hater, and not just with his heel work (seriously. The man sucks). Briscoe looked great here, and the appearance of Big Bill, the Bad Apple Brian Keith, and the Conglomeration was super fun. Shout out to Jay Briscoe, RIP, dem Boys 4ever

Moxley vs Danielson. Wow, contentious match. I really loved the match. I think it highlighted their styles well (Mox the ruthless brawler, Danielson the perfect technician with a mean streak), and the spots were great. I think it elevated Mox’s new character, and his new faction with Marina Shafir, well. Danielson, obviously, looked amazing here. I like that it ends with a technical knockout, but I think I would have preferred an actual knockout win. I like Mox winning the title here, not because I think he needs another title, but because it shifts the story

The Aftermath. Okay, wow. Just. What a way to end a PPV. The beat down from Mox and crew, then Yuta comes out. The heartbreak when Yuta turns on Brian, and then doubling down on Wheeler with the bag. The utter dominance Mox and team showed over the ring here. Seeing the locker room come out to defend Brian. I think the crucial things here are; what did Brian say he needed to do with this match, and who comes out to defend him. Brian said he was defending AEW from Jon Moxley. That Jon Moxley was a threat to the very existence of AEW. And Brian lost. For all intents and purposes, he was right. Brian lost, and Mox wrecked havoc. But who comes out to defend him? Orange Cassidy, Daniel Garcia, Darby Allin, Private Party. All guys who have been with AEW since damn near day one, and all guys thought to be gimmicky, jokey, or just plain not serious enough to be world title, company-carrying guys. If you think about it, Mox was right. AEW is going to change. And he is the avatar of that change. He is going to rally the likes of Orange, Darby, Garcia, and make them into the caliber of wrestler they need to be to defeat him. And this was the catalyst: the slaying of the Dragon. I think we’re going to see some major changes in Darby and Orange moving forward

All in all, I think this was a great PPV. Some things I would have done differently, some changes to the card, but great. Really excited to see how we move through the rest of the year with these storylines, and the big shakeups I think are coming to the tenor of some of the biggest stars.

[soxendanso]

Snuf and moomin resting during the comet situation. I might colour it... at some point...

this is the song snuf is playing btw i headcannon that his voice sounds like this

moomin looking like a rayman teensie fr

[redrandomposts]

Hello I’m the anon from the abo Ivan dies timeline ask u just responded to (btw I see everyone is like picking emojis so can I be 🖤?)

my first idea is that post death they eventually get approached to do a documentary about his life and death (maybe go like increase awareness about the complications that killed him so more people can be safe) and all of Ivan’s loved ones get interviewed- and I just, I wonder what they would say !! What words would they put to him?? And how does Till sum up all his mixed feelings into one interview

also I was thinking about the kids and since no one saw it coming Ivan definitely didn’t update his will- so Till can be extra confused as to why everything went to him instead of some one else. Since he doesn’t know the kids are his yet- he can’t comprehend why he would get all this (all this stuff that normally goes to a mate) I also have a lot of thoughts about single dad till raising two kids all by himself and being floored by how similar they are to Ivan. I do think both kids would look more like till in my head because that means till will never have the solace of seeing those features he loved so much look back at him again

The features that made Ivan - Ivan are gone, Till seethes as he thinks that the kids must look exactly like their father-no their sure because whoever abandoned Ivan had no right to that word-because their resemblance to their mother is completely gone. And till hates it sometimes- sometimes he looks as his beautiful children who have slowly become his whole world and loathes them for daring to look like the awful alpha who caused this mess. The alpha who’s absence arguably killed their mother

and once he knows that the kids are his? He won’t know what to do with himself. Because now he looks at the children and all he can see is himself- and no matter how much he strains to see the pin pricks of Ivan in them- he can’t escape the fact that they are his children. That Ivan died because till failed to be there for him- and that in the scheme of things Ivan’s life is forgotten and only his death remains , he’s remembered as a bright star snuffed out too soon and Ivan’s legacy is nothing but an echo of tills greatest mistake.

but the kids act a lot like Ivan once they are older! They are very curious and smart but aren’t the most emotionally intelligent- and they always have their curious eyes turned on till! Plus they will buy at their lips when they are thinking hard in a way that reminds Till of Ivan’s snaggle tooth (and maybe once they get their adult teeth they with get snaggle teeth of their own) (altho till can wonder with how long it’s been how much of these traits Ivan truly had and how much of it is grasping at straws to make his heart hurt less)

At some point Ivan is just a footnote in Tills story of stardom, and he is only rembered by the world as the omega who produced Tills children, and a title to one of his albums. And it makes till sick. —————————

I went kind of overboard but I hope this isn’t like cringe to send 🫥

xoxo🖤

hey its not nice to hit me with this first thing in the morning 🖤

you have to spare me okay? i was thinking happy thoughts from my happy dream ready to make a nice happy once-in-a-lifetime tillivan au and then suddenly bam documentary never see ivan again even in his children and ivan only being known as an omega.

i refuse! ivan will not only be known as "ivan an omega," because his fanbase is large. alright? and mizi and sua and luka and hyuna and till and everyone else in the whole damn industry won't let that happen! ivan deserves respect!!!

on another note, no its not cringe to send otherwise im a cringey creator... which is bad for the both of us.

guys i think its time to retire dead ivan au. my heart can't take it. i love him too much to just discuss what happens after death.

...in the documentary, it mentions how ivan was briefly a musician who mainly collabed with till, or was apart of till's band at the time. and till breaks down when he realizes that ivan learned the piano, and maybe the guitar, to play it for him and with him.

[gotyouanyway]

obsessed with the descriptions in this book btw hiiiiii

As he pulled, so the claw-like thorns punctured his skin and sank deep into the softness of his inner arm. Twig yelped with pain and watched, terrified, as tiny crimson beads of blood grew and burst and trickled down over his hand.

'No, NO, NO! Twig screamed. But the air was dead, and his cries were snuffed out by the blood-red light.

[emper1on]

Abueloier and Ghost story hc

the ghost was a member of the federation who started a family and had a son ( cellbit's dad ) the federation was small at the time but just as controlling over its members and island residents

the ghost similar to cellbit started to find out about the horrible stuff the federation was doing and was thrown in jail because of his snooping around. abueloier although probably in his 40s ( the ghost I think said he died around 40 years ago I think and I imagine abueloier is around 80 in current time ) and not senile he was still very... crazy he was very abueloier so he ended up in prison for his usual antics ( he's also a federation member btw )

and in the prison the two bonded, or maybe they already knew eachother. maybe when they were younger they were even more than just friends.. and maybe some of those feelings still linger. but either way the two bonded and started to plan a way to escape the prison. but abueloier had grown paranoid stuck in jail, he couldn't get over the fact that maybe his dear friend was going to betray him ( or something ) and the night they were supposed to escape together he killed him

I think abueloier was praised for this by the federation, that he snuffed out a flame of rebellion and he was allowed to stay on the island and watch his family grow! he got to see his grandkids grow up, one of them going on to join the federation as well the other... well he can't really remember what roier did

and one day he comes back onto quesadilla island because he heard his grandson roier is back! and he sees a face so familiar to him but he can't really place from where.. he sees cellbit and learns that he is roiers fiance and he can't let that happen he can't let his grandsons romantic life take a turn like his did he can't let that familiar face haunt his family

[theravequeen]

Weird Nightwing Powers Master Post

Hey gang these are all my Nightwing/Nightwing hybrids with weird mutated Nightwing powers. Enjoy!

Btw: Base used is by PaleoPrince on Toyhouse!

Starting off with my WoF Sona, Stormpetal!

Stormpetal has mind reading abilities, but they only work if she touches the dragon or which she wants to read the mind of. If she's in a crowded place, she can read anyone who bumps into her or who sits too close to her's minds.

Next up, we have Shiftbringer!

Shiftbringer has the ability to sense the aura of another dragon. He can tell if someone is approaching him before they even enter the room, and he can read the emotions of other dragons as well. He can even use his power to block his own emotions from other people. (I forgot to give him a teardrop scale 😭)(Honestly I wouldn't put it past him to like. Scratch it off.)

Next, Prismbreaker!

Prismbreaker has the ability to snuff out other dragons' powers. Even animus dragons. Leafspeak, Nightwing powers, firescales, frostscales, and any special abilities a dragon may have are snuffed by his power. Fire and frost breath are not. Neither are hivewing abilities.

Next, Dreamscape!

Dreamscape has a mutated version of mine reading, where if he is laying beside you while sleeping, he can walk into your dreams. (Sort of kind of like Jayfeather in warriors.) If it is a blood moon, sleeping next to him will cause terrible nightmares.

Lastly, Doomwatcher!

Doomwatcher actually has just normal future sight and mind reading, but he's basically cursed to see the worst case scenario, and they almost ALWAYS come true when he sees them.

That's all, I hope you enjoy :)!!