#[ Thorn can defend himself

[cc1010fox]

Fox: Don't touch him. Natborn, who just shoved Thorn: Why? What are you gonna do about it? Fox: I'm going to have a headache writing the witness report... Natborn: What? Fox: It's always a pain to fill out a witness report when a clone breaks a civilian... Natborn, backing away from Thorn: It's not that serious... Thorn: Then walk away. Fox, watching the natborn walk away with his hands raised where they can see them: ...You know I was about to kill him. Thorn: Thank you for at least acknowledging I can defend myself. Fox: You're welcome, nau'ika.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Black and Blue.

Yan Blade x GN Reader.

Synopsis: Blade has a habit of leaving swords on his opponents’ graves. You have a habit of picking flowers near those who are dead. Unfortunately for you, those two things combined had you meet the immortal Stellaron Hunter for the first time.

Warnings: Yandere themes, descriptions of past violence, and implications of a future unhealthy relationship/stalking.

Word Count: 700.

*~*~*~*

“Why… are you staring at me?”

Your body isn’t well covered, Blade notes as he steps a bit back to take in the full sight of you. Your arms are paler than the snow here.

One of your hands grasps the stems of the flowers you had just plucked from an important resting place. It’s deep and just as old as Blade is judging by the crumbled stone bricks and withering vines yet none of the winter elements seem to cover it. Someone or some people must keep it clean to honor the dead. 

Your grip is so tightly that the thorns have dug into your skin and have started to make you bleed. Aside from the roses, your wounds and Blade’s eyes are the only bright red things in the vicinity. 

The clouds of Morana haven’t set in a long time. They cast over this planet like a mist so thick Blade had trouble navigating himself to the top of this mountain. The humans here have angered the long-fallen Aeon, causing her to seek revenge on her people.

It isn’t the first time an Aeon has made sure their followers have tragic fates ahead. Blade knows, and so do people that the Xianzhou have long removed from their historical records.

“You’re a thief,” He replies, his voice slow and steady – afraid that you will run if he is too harsh. “This grave belongs to the late Caterina the Great.”

“Flowers only grow here and nowhere else,” You reply, your tone less scared but more annoyed now. Perhaps you have realized that Blade isn’t from Morana. “It’s too cold down there. This is the only way I can pay for food without stealing it. Please understand…”

He only hums as he listens further, yet he only tries to make sense of his emotions in this present moment.

Is this pity he feels?

No. It’s something else.

Something not like pity, but relatability. 

You have been through plenty; it is as obvious as a fact like a dog’s nature is to be loyal. Your clothes are tattered. You’re shivering from having no warm place to go. But unlike when he was a wanderer with nowhere to go and nothing to hold but his sword, you could die in so many ways here. Someone can have you executed if there are other witnesses to you stepping on a war hero’s grave so carelessly. The elements can freeze your bloodstream if it gets too cold. The mountain itself can have a tree fall on you like your fallen Aeon put all of her hatred into a singular action and positioned it at a singular person. 

The old sword is pushed into the snow in front of your bare feet, and you stop speaking.

“Be more careful next time,” Blade says. “You’ll get hurt if someone sees you.”

He points and you follow his gloved finger. 

“Take it.”

“What?”

“Take the sword,” He orders, and then quickly removes his gloves. He puts them in your palm. “It’s old. It should be enough for a while.”

“Do you mean… sell it?” You are bewildered.

“If that is what you wish, go ahead.” Blade then removes his jacket and sets it on your shoulders. “Or use it to defend yourself. I am not familiar with Morana culture, but you most likely are. Trust your gut when making this decision.”

He’ll follow you after, he decides. For a while. Maybe forever, if Kafka doesn’t allow you on the ship.

[krys4h]

𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 ◞﹒୧ .

✧ ⁝ 𝐚𝐤𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 ◞ ྀི

— my thoughts & headcanons on how i think he would be as a lover (or not...) fluff, nsfw, hurt.

𓍯 a silent lover. the type to love in secret, hidden from sight. cold facade, worried heart for his loved ones. you feel his affection in the little things like when you feel down and he always prepares your favorite meal without a word, trying to create comfort and affection that he can't express with words. a confession would be too loud for him.

𓍯 he prefers to watch, observe and protect those he cares about behind their backs. the type to lie to you about his schedule - because it's physically impossible for him to verbalize his feelings - and go secretly confront a devil who was giving you a hard time.

𓍯 aki loves to make love to you during rainy days, forehead pressed against yours, his breath brushing your lips. it's intimate, despite the fact he run away from any emotional intimacy. he can't say i love you with his mouth, makima's shadow covering his heart and his words but he can convey his feelings in his kisses, his hands that circle around your clit, touching in spots nobody did.

𓍯 his eyes that soften only for yours will always follow you, everywhere you're going.

𓍯 he spend his night looking at you when you're sleeping, wondering why God gave him such a gift in his life but not enough time to cherish it.

𓍯 you always felt it even though it was silent. he seemed so detached from you, always careful that his eyes didn't linger on you for too long - attempt failed, they always found you -, you had to squint, see the unsaid, and understand the innuendos to perceive the love he had for you.

𓍯 it takes time. it takes time to go from a cold look when judging a stranger, to the first nods, the first half-smiles that precede the softened glances. it took him time to get used to having someone who cares for him like you do. maybe it was complicated to accept the fact that he was finally the first choice for someone, and not the forgotten youngest of his family like he always was. your warm air when you saw him coming from afar felt weird for him, almost inappropriate. when you seemed too happy to see him he couldn't help but frown at how your eyes always looked illuminated for him. weird. almost inappropriate.

𓍯 it takes time, but the slight pang in his heart he feels every time he feels your affection for him is slowly starting to disappear. he can't be openly expressive like you, but he's starting to accept it. it takes time. his love is silent when yours is so loud that it becomes overwhelming and he feels like he doesn't deserve it.

𓍯 it's understandable, everyone is dying around him. he's the only one who hasn't lost his humanity yet and mourns the deaths of those who defend the people of this city. it touches him. death scares him so much that he can't allow himself to truly get attached to someone, it would be like welcoming someone with big arms for a hug with arms full of thorns. to engulf you, to make you dive with him. no, he can't. he really can't.

𓍯 it doesn't matter how his breath hitches every time he feels when your silhouette towers over him, your hips undulating in the most exquisite way, so eager to please him. he doesn't even need to guide you with his hands on your hips, it's already too good. it doesn't matter the almost painful but sweet feeling he has in his stomach when the lights are out with the only sounds being the creaking bed and your soft breath. he feels so safe with you, you make him so wanted that he starts to think that life might be worth living outside of his desire for revenge.

𓍯 but it doesn't matter, he can't say "i love you", the poor man doesn't even manage to smile normally. there's always an awkward look.

𓍯 he was so caught up in the curse of his family's vengeance that he had closed himself off from any relationship that went beyond the professional sphere. but... it was hard not to succumb to you. he couldn't give you the bright future and romance you deserved, but he could give you the remnants of his heart he had left. working with you, doing missions and hunting devils together, and sometimes, when you were a little too drunk, kisses on the neck that would slip into panting. no commitment. that was what he could offer you. he thought it would protect him from the loss of not putting a word on your relationship, like a wall for pain. he lied to himself so much. he was already madly in love, and if he were to lose you right now, it would be the end of him.

𓍯 it was up to you to decode if the hands that brushed you at night sought only for pleasure or for your heart, because even if for a moment, you would lose control of your emotions and let your love for him express itself, an "i love you" that should have remained hidden, he would not answer it.

𓍯 aki loves you too, that's a fact. but he wouldn't let you see it. he wasn't going to make the mistake of investing too much in a relationship that was inevitably going to go badly, and make you hope. you deserved better, he thought. you were his heaven in the hell that was the daily life of a devil hunter. so dear, so precious to him.

𓍯 𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬

[melanieph321]

Hello :) could you do an imagine/story where Ruben and reader have a boy and he is a big momma’s boy like he’s jealous when Ruben kiss reader please (sorry for my bad English btw) if you don’t feel comfortable writing it that’s okay

I LOVE THIS REQUEEEST! 🤭💓🤭💓

Please keep em coming!

10 DAYS OF REQUESTS

(DAY 1)

Ruben Dias - Mommy's Boy

This one is so funny 😭

Enjoy!

Having a six year old boy seemed more of a challenge than having a four - or three year old boy.

Six was the age of discovery. Discovery of how spicy a Portuguese pepper can be when devoured raw. Discovery of how fast a bicycle can travel downhill when you take off the training wheels. Or your son's most recent discovery — How high the swing in the backyard goes before its ropes snap and lunges him across mommy's neatly pruned rose bushes.

"My arm!" Your son cried out, as you and Ruben rushed down the steps to the backyard.

You had witnessed it all from the kitchen window. The last part at least, when the swings ropes snapped and your son's body was thrown across the yard. Before then, Ruben had your back pressed against the refrigerator, his lips tracing ever so gently down the slope of your neck while his rough hands crept up your thighs and under your dress. Nedless to say that your son's cries stopped it all, to your husband's annoyance, of course.

"Help, mommy. It hurts!" Your son cried, as you fought to get him out from the leaves and thornes. He was all bruised up once you did.

"I'll go get the band-aids." Ruben sighed. He returned to the house while you carried your son to the steps leading up to it. Your son cradled in your arms, his dark hair head nuzzling into the pit of your embrace as the two of you settled down.

"Oh, hubby." You cooed. "Why do you always have to get yourself into such trouble? Can't you see how you keep scaring mommy to death."

Your son sniffled in response. "I'm sorry mommy."

"Oh, no. There's nothing to be sorry about. It was all an accident."

"Yeah, right." A voice scolded behind you. Ruben, appearing in the backdoor with the band-aids in his hand. He dropped them in your lap and joined you and your son on the steps.

"Baby, what's gotten into you?" You said, noting the bitterness in Ruben's comment.

"Nothing, nothing." He muttered. "It's just funny that..." He paused to reconsider his words.

"Ruben?" Your narrowed gaze challenge for him to go on.

He shook his head with laughter and disbelief. "I dunno Y/N, but don't you think that it's very coincidental that every time the two of us....well...."

"Well?" You frowned, rocking the sniffling boy in your arms.

Ruben looked to your son, however, not with the same empathy as you. "If I put it this way. Last week, the two of us were in our room, in bed, doing what adults do during late hours, especially after a well played game like mine—."

"Ruben." Heat suddenly flushed to your cheeks. You knew exactly what events of last week that Ruben was referring to. However, it was highly inappropriate to bring up such subjects amongst children. "Your point is?" You emphasized.

"My point is..." Ruben declared. "I barely got to touching you that night before little Romeo here came running into our room with a burning tongue." Ruben's eyes darted at your son, who snickered at the phrase "Little Romeo."

"Honey." You felt obligated to defend your son. "He simply mistook your mom's peppers for a regular Bell one."

"Mistook my ass! What was he even doing roaming around in the kitchen that late at night? And do you remember that time we took the training wheels off his bicycle and he conveniently decided to send it down the hill. Do you remember that time?"

"Yes, Ruben. But what's that got to do with anything?"

Your husband ran a hand through his hair, looking to calm himself down. "All I'm saying is that you wouldn't leave his side after our son got his knees bruised up from his hell ride. Same thing as today. I mean, look at him."

You both tilted your heads to meet the bright beaming eyes of your son, who seemed delighted to be curled up in your arms despite becoming way too big to do so.

"Look, the thornes didn't even manage to cut him up that deep. I bet he just saw us kissing through the window while on the swing and decided to lunge himself off of it."

"Ruben?" You gasped. "Are you telling me that our son injures himself purposely just to get our attention?"

"Your attention." Ruben corrected.

You looked to your son and back to Ruben. "I can't believe you."

"Don't believe me? Fine, I'll prove it." Ruben's hand reached for the nape of your neck, tilting your head with the motion of drawing you towards him. Towards his lips, to be exact. But before his parted mouth could even brush pass your own, your son erupted in an ear shattering wail.

"Told you." Ruben grinned and let go of your neck.

You were perplexed, looking down at your son whose face had gone red from crying. He held up his finger, offering it to you. "It hurts, mommy. Kiss and make it better."

"I—"

Behind you, Ruben was trembling with laughter. "Huh, it seems like I'm competing with my son for my own wife's attention."

"But that...." You regarded them both in confusion. The whole thing utterly absurd.

"Don't worry." Ruben pressed a swift kiss to your cheek and rose from the steps, looking to return the band-aids. He paused in the door. "Our son will grow out of it. In the meantime, I guess he can have you....at least during the day."

The wink of Ruben's eye sent a tickling shiver down your spine. You quickly shook out of it to address your son. "You. Little. Gremlin." He giggled at your choice of words, and so you resorted to torturing him by tickling his belly. "You are such a mommy's boy, aren't you? A mommy's boy, that's what you are."

"Mommy, stop it. I can't breathe." He laughed.

"Oh, no. Not so fast." You continued poking his little belly. It was the least you could do for raising such a menace.

The tickling seized once the two of you were left breathless. By then, your torturing methods shifted to a serenation of kisses. Kisses you thought would annoy your son. Instead, he squirmed beaneth you, each peck of your lips making him errupt in joyous shouts. Perhaps Ruben was right that your sons admiration for you wouldn't last forever. Until then, you were going to enjoy having a little mommy's boy all to yourself.

[eringobragh420]

🖤 Pairing: Damian Priest x f!Reader 🖤 Summary: Sequel to Hatefucking. Reader thinks she can bad-mouth Damian live on Raw and get away with it. She’s very wrong. 🛑 Warnings: NSFW. Face-fucking, hatefuck (the characters do not like each other), degradation, cum 18+ 🖤 Taglist: In the comments. If you’d like to be added, please click here! 🖤 Requested By: @miss-kuki-nz. Hope you enjoy! 🖤 MASTERLIST

“You know, Damian Priest and I used to be really … really close,” she purred into the microphone, glancing around the arena as the audience murmured. “But I had to end it not too long ago.” She shoved her bottom lip out, blinking, leaning on the top rope, feigning sadness. “Honestly, I just got so tired of saying just a second … I have to get the tweezers every time he took his pants off.” The crowd erupted, mostly in boos, and she simply giggled. “And then,” she continued dramatically, “after he finished—” Her eyes slid sideways to the camera in the corner of the ring. “—that is, if he finished …” More hatred from the crowd, and she shared a proud smile with Liv Morgan.

Damian’s music blasted through the arena and the titantron came to life, and she and Liv unknowingly reached for one another. Surely he wouldn’t come out and try to attack two small women, no matter how big their mouths were. He was probably coming out to try and save face, defend himself from the harsh words they both knew to be a huge lie. When Damian slowly appeared in the entranceway she and Liv had just come from, she thought for sure that’s what was about to happen.

Until he broke into an all-out sprint, and the women scrambled out of the ring, over the barrier and into the time keeper’s area. They turned briefly to see if Damian was following them, and with his long legs and speed, he was already nearly on them. The Judgment Day’s music hit, causing the big man to pause only briefly, but it was long enough for the girls to put a bit more distance between them and disappear into the backstage area. Liv suggested they split up, and the two of them headed down separate hallways in an effort to divide and conquer. The thorn in Damian’s side broke off to the left, into a darkened corridor, grinning wildly because even if he did catch her, what was he really going to do? Yell at her? Chokeslam her? She hadn’t forgotten about the hatefuck from a few weeks prior, certainly not—sometimes, even now, she could still feel the sensation of his thick cock painfully stretching her asshole—but this hallway was a very public place, more public than behind an unlocked door. If she just laid low here for a while, until most everyone had departed the arena for their flights or hotel rooms, Damian included, she should be able to sneak out unnoticed and, more importantly, unscathed.

That’s when she noticed it. The shift in the atmosphere, the rise in temperature only on the back half of her body, the unusual sensation of not only being watched, but that whomever was watching her was incredibly close. The sum of all these parts sent her sprinting for the hallway in front of her, but she didn’t get very far—a hand clamped over her mouth, an arm came around her midsection, and she was yanked back into the dark corridor. Her heart pounded and she kicked her legs, but she never once attempted to scream as Damian wrenched her back deeper into the darkness. Eventually he returned her to her feet, and she would proceed to ignore the disappointment she felt at the loss of his hard body against her as he spun her around to face him. She could hardly see anything with the lack of lighting down this particular hallway, but if she didn’t know it was Damian before, the familiar hand around her throat, forcing her into the nearest wall, made it crystal clear.

“I am so fuckin’ tired of your mouth,” he growled. One side of him was a shadow, but all of him was huge, imposing, formidable. 

Her heart threatened to crack her ribcage, thighs twitching, pussy throbbing. He could throttle her at any moment if he wanted, and she just bet he wanted, which slowly formed a wicked smile on her wet lips. “Aww, did I hurt your feelings?” she pouted. A tiny trickle of fear slipped down her spine as she remembered what he’d done to her ass, realizing he could do it again if he wanted to. It would be risky and it would hurt and she would hate him, but wasn’t that just exactly who they were? A little toxic, a dash of disdain, and a whole lot of sexual chemistry? “What are you gonna do about it?” It was a question only half of her wanted the answer to—the half that Damian Priest happened to own.

Damian said nothing, which was a hell of a lot more unnerving than when he was degrading her or splitting her holes open, and the hand on her throat forced her body down until she collapsed to her bare knees on the concrete floor. He released her neck to fist her hair, forcing her head back, as his other hand worked stealthily to unbuckle his belt and open his jeans. He pulled his still-hardening cock out without the barrier of underwear, and she smirked—he’d either been planning or hoping.

“What else do you do with a filthy mouth?” he asked, stroking his length directly over her face, and she could smell him, that sexy man musk she always smelled whenever her mouth was about to get pummeled. She bit her lip, forcing silence on a desperate moan threatening from her throat, because yes, of course, she wanted this, but she didn’t want anyone to catch her wanting it. “Fuck it until it apologizes,” Damian snarled, still fisting his solid cock, so close to her face now she could feel his fingers grazing her cheek, and she salivated at the now constant craving she had for Damian Priest, especially his big dick—the very one she’d just told millions of people was tiny. 

However, the mere thought of apologizing had her mouth falling open in what would have been raucous laughter if not for the cock that was instantly shoved inside where it didn’t stop until it poked the back of her throat. She gagged, hands coming up automatically, and Damian’s much larger hand smacked both of hers away, his other grip tightening on her hair. After a moment, he pulled almost completely out of her mouth, knowing better than to give her an opportunity to clench her teeth, and then he stuffed himself in the wet cavern again. A deep, vibrating moan came from above, but it was muffled by her coughing and gagging, and she worried she’d be the one to give them away. But fuck, she loved it. She hated the douchebag, egotistical little boy he acted like most of the time, but she’d be a dirty, rotten, filthy liar if she said she hated the way his body made her feel, how much she yearned for his cock in her mouth, even more so in her pussy, and it may have hurt for a week after, but she wanted him to take her ass again. Nobody could satisfy her the way Damian Priest did, and she would never, even upon threat of death, admit to this fact.

“These are the sounds you should be making,” Damian growled. He was pumping into her throat at a leisurely pace, but his length and girth quickly caused her jaw to ache, the corners of her mouth to burn, and the drool built up from the foreign intrusion began seeping down her chin. “Nobody wants to hear you talk,” Damian panted, “we all just wanna hear you gag on my cock.”

Sometimes it’s all she wanted to hear, too—again, a fact she would never share with anyone—but then he forced himself all the way down her throat, her nose bumping his crotch, and she lost the ability to breathe. It was hot until it seemed as though Damian wasn’t going to pull out, and he allowed her this time to slap at his thighs and claw at his jeans before he yanked his cock out of her mouth. She gulped and gasped for air, a dense bridge of spit and drool and precum stretching from the head of his dick to her tongue and lips.

“Fuck you, Priest,” she blubbered, trying to collect herself by steeling her knees to the concrete and wiping her chin with the sleeve of her shirt, and she could feel her own arousal dripping down her thighs

“Yeah, fuck me,” Damian mocked quietly, the wet sounds of him jerking his length echoing throughout the hallway. “Fuck you.” 

She opened her mouth to retort, her words forced back down her throat by Damian’s cock, and he had both hands tangled in her hair now, and he wasn’t even thrusting anymore—he controlled her head, pushing and pulling, using her mouth like it was a fleshlight that felt no pain and had no gag reflex. Her fingers were vices on his jeans and she felt one of her nails crack, but she wouldn’t speak the safe word. Never in a million, trillion years would she allow Damian Priest to break her, to allow him to believe that he was just too much for her, that she wasn’t able to handle him. So she let him have his way, neither encouraging nor discouraging as he fucked her face, gagging, coughing, sputtering when she had to, and gulping down as much oxygen as she could when he allowed it. At some point, her own fingers had snuck within her slick folds, flicking gently against her clit before her middle finger slipped inside her aching cunt.

“Fuck yes,” Damian groaned, “this is what they should be paying you for.” She smiled around his dick, a breathy laugh coming from her nose—she couldn’t argue with the logic; her head game was fire, and the evidence was currently obstructing her windpipe. “You like that idea, don’t you?” Damian chuckled darkly. “Well, I don’t have any cash on me, and I guess you don’t take credit cards.” He was jerking her head back and forth at an uncomfortable pace, though her fingers kept a similar velocity in her pussy. “So I’ll just have to pay you in cum, huh?”

She really didn’t want it any other way, and she added another digit inside her pussy. Her jaw screamed, her throat would be raw for days to come, her knees would likely be bruised, maybe scraped, and she was a little pissed about her nail, but she loved every minute of it. And once she was alone in her hotel room later, she would pull out her toys and think of this very moment. Damian mumbled and repeated obscenities above her, pulling her hair and squeezing her skull, and she was so close to cumming herself that a roar tore through her chest and neck, consequently vibrating down Damian’s cock. He cried out through tightly closed lips, his length buried to the root in her throat, her nose crushed against him, and she could feel him twitching, but she never tasted his cum.

“Straight down your fuckin’ throat,” Damian mumbled. She could feel the warmth of his cum as it fell down her esophagus, and it was the strangest thing to swallow something that was never in your mouth to begin with, and she still couldn’t breathe, and Damian was blissfully riding out his orgasm on her face, and it was finally her turn to topple over the edge, coating her hand in her own juices, body quivering. He pulled out and took a few steps back, and she collapsed onto all fours, coughing, spitting, still drooling a little. A filthy mess. After tucking himself away, Damian squatted down in front of her. “No more talking about my dick on live television,” he advised.

She snickered, sitting up on her knees again. “Why? I only like you when you’re angry.”

[stormgrl19]

𝑁𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑 | 𝑃𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑃𝑎𝑛

Peter Pan x Fem!reader

Credits: All credits go to the authors / the producers / etc. of the show / the book / the movie. I own my OCs and their plot and any differences from the original plot.

Request: Idk if your requests are closed but if theyre not could you write for peter? Somthing like the reader came to the island to help find henry but shes fascinated with the island and peters fascinated with her? Ty if you can !! < 3 ( @akumazwrld )

Summary: You go to neverland with Emma and the others to help bring Henry back and on one of your secret midnight strolls you meet a really… fascinating boy.

A/n: I am so sorry it took so long! I hope you like it!

Warnings: use of y/n, not proofread /edited/ …

Wc: 799

Part two

You don’t know how many days you had been on this island, just that it couldn’t be a week since you arrived with Emma, Hook and the others to help Henry. Back in Storybrooke you lived alone in an apartment over a flower shop, where you worked. You weren’t a main character of any fairy tale, just a side character with no known family, but before you all got your memories back, you sometimes babysat Henry, which is why you were now here, in neverland.

Walking under the stars, in a jungle with beautiful plants everywhere, you let your mind wander and carefully craft on your silly dream of living here. Nature brought you the feeling of peace, it always had and even so, neverland was dangerous, you somehow knew deep down, that as long you were surrounded by nature, nothing bad would happen to you. It was foolish to rely on your feeling, the others would definitely call you delusional, but neverland was to wonderful to just walk through it, without taking time to really take everything in.

That’s why you had been secretly going on little adventures to explore the mystical island, while everyone else was sleeping. So far you had seen a lot of trees, flowers and last night you saw for the second time in your life real mermaids! If you hadn’t had to be silent you would’ve squealed like a child on Christmas. The more you saw of the island the less you wanted to go back to your boring and lonely life in Storybrooke. Why would you, when you could life here? Explore the island until you knew it like the back of your hand, nature always by your side and (and know you were really far gone from any reality) befriend the mermaids, swimming together and play around.

 Walking slowly, you stopped right before you walked into a bush with dark green leaves. It was dark, but the moon shone through the trees and you could see the little thorns. The stems looked like they were black and without any logical reason you reached your hand out.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

Hastily you withdraw you hand and turned around. Before you, a few meters away was a boy, looking at you with an arrogant smirk and his hands crossed before his chest, while leaning on a tree.

“Why?” You asked, cursing silently for not bringing something to defend yourself.

“Because that is dreamshade. It is poisonous,“ he answered, still looking, no scanning you with his eyes.

“Oh.” You looked around, searching for a way to escape.

“Well, I think I have to go, so… It was nice meeting you?” The last sentence sounded like a question, but you really had to get away from him. He probably was one, of the people that held Henry captive.

He laughed and pushed himself off the tree, walking to you. Now you could get a better look on his face, and God was he handsome, but you really shouldn’t talk to him, should you?

“That was certainly a short meeting. I don’t even know your name.”

“Yeah, well-“ You stocked. Talking to him couldn’t be that bad and maybe he could help you with Henry? “Only if you tell me yours!”

His brow raised and he answered: “Ah, a little trade? My name for yours?”

“Seems fair, don’t you think?”

He hummed, “You can begin.”

“I can- fine. Hi, I am Y/n!”

“Y/n? That is a pretty name.”

“Yes, now tell me yours!”

“So impatient, are you? Don’t worry, I always stick to my word.” “So?”

He chuckled and walked closer to you, only three steps away from you.

“Hi, I’m Peter.”

You stared at him with wide eyes, it couldn’t be…

“Peter as in Peter Pan?” you asked hesitantly.

His eyes darkened and his smile changed from arrogant to something more… dangerous.

“Why, yes!”

“I really have to go now.” Panic was a feeling you knew all too well in this moment.

“Not so fast!” He grabbed your wrist and spun you around.

“I know why you and your friends are here - without my permission by the way - but-“ he leaned in, now only centimetres apart from your face “You won’t succeed. You hear me? I always win.”

He stepped back: “You should go now before your friends wake up!”

He sent you one of his smirks and seconds later he was gone.

You stared at the spot, were he stood only seconds ago. Scrunching up your face, you think about how you thought of him as handsome, he really is, with his hair, and his green eyes and-

You had to focus! You crushing on the enemy was not helping or useful.

At least you now knew: neverland was really fascinating.

[oogie-woogle]

OH DEAR LORDT

nothing that boils my blood more than seeing people base their version of kurt on the one from the reboot movies and making him like this cutesy moe innocent virgin who at worst still IS a teenager (jail) and at best just acts like one or is BARELY legal BUT they're also aware that his most popular ship is w logan wolverine so there's a lot of Big Bad Gruff wolverine banging the christ loving out of this little uwu oh noes ive never seen a p-p-p-penis before!!! kurt which is both gross and creepy and COMPLETELY INNACURATE because kurt loves to fuck and also hes like 30. 45 if i had my way frankly. like if i have to see one more anime-fied kurt kyaaaaing around logan wolverine i'm gonna lose it he FUCKS THAT OLD MAN in the ASS and they're both fucking HAPPY ABOUT IT

[violinios]

Corrupted!Dream

What if he ate the golden apples? More information below! (This au is not finished yet)

Some facts about him:

I wanted to use roots with thorns to reference Nightmare's tentacles, and also to recall the roots of a tree, like the tree the two guardians used to protect. It comes out of Dream's back, and the first time they came out, right after being corrupted by positivity, they tore the back of his clothes and his cape, so he eventually changed the clothes he was wearing, but the old cape remained. Another reference to Nightmare in his design are the yellow and purple carnations in his left eye, not only because of the meaning of the flowers themselves, but because Nightmare of the goo covering one of his eyes, so I decided to do something similar, but with plants instead of slime. Dream is blind from the left eye after gotten attack from defending his brother from the villagers.

As for the meaning of the colors of the carnations that come out of his eye, I did very brief research, so don't take the meanings I'll write here for certainty. Yellow carnations represent rejection and purple ones represent loneliness. Although they are attached to Dream's body, they represent Nightmare's feelings towards the villagers who often mistreated him. The flowers grew after the corruption and after Dream discovered what they did to his brother.

What is controlling Dream's body now is not Dream himself, but rather a parasite that has taken over his body and identity, while the real Dream remains semi-conscious and unable to regain control of his body.

He feeds on positive feelings and his objective is to exterminate negativity for his own survival. He is not capable of feeling remorse, and will not be afraid to exterminate an entire universe if it has a very strong negative aura (like universes that follow the genocidal route, for example), but he cannot visit these universes alone since his magic works using positivity as "fuel", so he's dependent on allies to travel to negative universes.

He doesn't kill because of his moral compass and doesn't really care about what's right or what's wrong, who's good who's bad, he will kill them anyways if their negative aura is enough to give him a headache. This means he will kill innocent people who hold suffering on themselfs only to end with their negativity.

He calls himself a hero/savior/angel to manipulate people with false promises, when in reality, he only acts out of his own needs and survival instinct, not actual kidness.

There's only one who is full of negativity that Dream wants alive; for now, names won't be mentioned (who the person/monster is still not decided, it can be an already existing character or maybe i'll make an OC for this, but for now, feel free to imagine whoever you want to imagine) but their aura, somehow, makes the burning feeling of overwhelming positivity inside of Dream feel a bit less like it's burning. Yes, the positivity is too much even for Dream to the point it feels like it's burning from inside (remember how in original Dreamtale, a human body would barely even survive with the amount of energy the magic held inside the siblings body? Well, now imagine that now the magic way more powerful to the point that even his skeleton body hurts sometimes), and their negativity makes it feel less painful.

He is not completely incapable of feeling negative feelings, but it is VERY rare. Some examples are his fear of owls, a trait from the original Dream that remained, or the anger he feels when he is disobeyed.

He killed the citizens of the village when he saw the amount of negative feelings they caused his own brother. At first, he didn't want to kill Nightmare, but after he saw Nightmare attack him after the genocide he caused, Dream now seeks to kill him as well. He thinks of him as ungrateful for trying to hurt him after finishing off the people who caused him so much suffering, and he blames himself for leaving him alive, knowing that he is also the result of negativity.

Nightmare doesn't want to kill Dream, because he knows that the balance in the multiverse is important and it is their existence that causes it to exist, he just fights against him to not be killed and when some universe/being is being hurt by Dream. He wants to find a way to bring his brother back to consciousness, he still wonders if he could kill the parasite without killing Dream too. Dream, on the other hand, doesn't care about the balance.

His spines possess a poison that gives his prey the illusion of comfort, hiding the sensation of pain and fear within his own positive aura so that they do not escape when captured. It is rare for their prey to regain consciousness to realize the danger they are in, but not impossible, and some may be immune to the venom or his aura, like Nightmare, who'd feel a big pain if he got captured, which is a good advantage if you don't want to be trapped with Dream forever or eventually die.

[alasoi]

Boxcap Demo is convinced that Lizard Sniper jarated his bottle again.

Gecko Sniper is very curious, don't mind him

some reptile Snipers (technically the far left one isn't + 3rd reptile was left out). From left to right:

Snipey: The Cloth Thief. Sleeps on a pile of clothes in a cavern. Gets himself into trouble whenever he steals something. Could run on his fours.

Lizard Sniper: Mysterious prankster. Can move on his fours very fast. More on this post.

Gecko Sniper: Curious & Timid. Slightest of movements make him flinch away. If he gets comfortable enough with you, he can come up closer and inspect. Flees when attacked, can try to bite right before running off on his fours. Sometimes stands in a way like he is about to climb up a tree. Neck prone to crane forward. Hunch.

Monitor (Perentie) Sniper: Super Chill. Laid-back pose with a hunch. 'Emotionless face'. May sleep with his body twisted in odd ways. Calm movements. Defends himself after being attacked (slow reaction to pain?).

2nd Gecko Sniper(Spotty/Crocogecko): Swift & Wary. Has scaly skin spotted with white and grey colors, and a few pointy spikes. Forked tongue that vibrates when feeling uncomfortable. Stiff posture, especially when around strangers. Easily irritable. Won't hesitate attacking/snapping when threatened by something that steps too close. (May/may not have a tail) (the lesser thorn-tailed gecko)

[chaolimez]

A small and simple question for your lovely AU, if this Espio can still teleport/ninja vanish, would he have flowers instead of leaves?

Also I came up with another question while I was typing the other one, if Espio had to defend for himself/harm others, how would his powers be able to do so? For example, growing a large thorn wall for defense. 💖

I don’t think he know’s what a ninja is… but he can do this!

Thanks for the question!

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

Ghost x City Girl Reader

No pair of people hated each other more than you and Ghost. To him, you were just another loud-mouthed, obnoxious, and immature little princess needing to be humbled. To you, he was just a boring, broody asshole hellbent on not liking you. Things between you two couldn't be any worse. And then, tonight happens…

NSFW 18+ Eventual Smut, Porn with Plot, Romance, Drama, Clubbing, Dirty Dancing, Mentions of Alcohol, Slight Slow Burn, Hatemance, Jealousy, Bickering, Teasing, Flirting, Reader is a mean girl, Ghost is an asshole, but the chemistry's there, Slowly gets steamier as it goes, slight hints of Reader x Gaz, 'cause why not

Word Count: 4.2k

Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Masterlist

A/N: Finally finished this (was super nervous to post this for some reason)! This was inspired after binge-watching a shit ton of Bad Girl's Club on Tubi. I just know Ghost and a City Girl wouldn't get along at first, but I love dynamics that look like they wouldn't work. Part two is where the smut is, but I like build-up and stuff, so I turned a one-shot smut piece into a two-parter. I hope you enjoy ू(ʚ̴̶̷́ .̠ ʚ̴̶̷̥̀ ू)

"Ayy~" You rest your hands on your knees in a joyous fashion, readying yourself to start shaking your ass. "Let's get it bitch!"

Music blared on the club speakers, the crowd growing hyped as the sounds of Pink Panties from Baby Keem serenaded the drunken patrons all looking to have a good night.

That third daiquiri had caught up to you, your mind buzzing and your heart racing. The swell of the crowd dancing around you puts you in a euphoric trance. All you can comprehend is the warmth in the air, the taste of alcohol behind your teeth, and the way the beat makes your skin vibrate as you dance.

Your face expresses every bit of the drunken euphoria you were feeling, letting it bring your hands seductively down your body, pulling in any who dare come, if they're brave enough.

You and the rest of 141 came just at the perfect time; the club was just starting to get busy but it hadn't yet grown too packed. Chatter and laughter picked up and the music got better the more you drank. The vibe was just right…

…Almost.

Across from the dance floor, at the corner of the bar where he'd been standing all night, Ghost watches you dance, unamused, with dark eyes leering at you from afar.

He observes the way your hips sway to the music like it were his own, private video. All night he's been watching you, his gaze lingering just a little longer each time; though, it hadn't been any less unwelcoming.

If he watched any longer he might just excuse himself, so that he may relieve the tension that's built between you. Deep down he knew you knew that too. It's thus created a notable, stormy cloud over his head all night, one you undoubtedly took joy in seeing.

Your eyes play with him across the sea of dancing heads between you, taunting him, teasing him, and letting him know just how much better than him you thought you were. The same eyes he's grown accustomed to for a long time now.

Codename: Spice. He couldn't think of a more fitting name for such a hot-headed woman, seeing as "Bitch" wasn't acceptable. You joined the team maybe a year or so ago. Much too long for Ghost to have counted.

When Laswell initially brought you in, the entire Task Force was in an UPROAR. You'd been a well-decorated soldier, to say the least, however, what merits and awards you held almost paled in comparison to the rap sheet of complaints and discrepancies you possessed.

Fighting. Disobedience. Disorderly Conduct. Fraternization. Etcetera. Etcetera.

And as if that weren't enough, you were a complete and utter bitch as well. Especially to Ghost, who you've singled out in particular. If defending your country was your day job, then being the thorn in Ghost's side had become your newest evening hobby.

Any chance you had, you were picking on the man. Your comments teetered back and forth between being harsh and petty, and once you knew he didn't like you, you just doubled down on the behavior. And it didn't matter what approach the man took to this; he could ignore you, or he could get loud, but nothing deterred you.

It wasn't often that someone got under Ghost's skin; he always did model himself on control and discipline. With all the horrible people he's managed to meet in his lifetime (and not even being in his mid 30's yet either), naturally, it would take a lot to truly irritate the man. And by no means were you the worse person he's ever interacted with before either.

But you've always been more akin to that of a tick; any time you got a chance to get under his skin, you dug in, and you dug deep.

Ghost would applaud you for how intensive you were with your pettiness. Nearly as cold, ruthless, and calculated with that as you were with your enemies on the field. God forbid someone actually steps up to you, less they suffer a broken nose or a black eye. You were Queen B and you wanted everyone to know it.

Ghost, however, was less than interested in feeding into your silly little ego.

Even now, your eyes haven't left Ghost's since you started dancing again, time moving at a snail's pace in your gazes. Knowing that the sight of you pisses him off.

Right then, as you danced, some poor woman made an attempt at courting him as he sat alone, brooding to himself. You never were one to diss a girl's taste, you guess. Not out loud, at least.

This woman, wearing her ill-fitted skirt and tacky make-up, had been getting sloppy drunk with her friends in a corner for the last hour, eyeing Ghost from across the bar just as long. At some point, she thought it'd be a wise time to swoop in and make her move.

Ghost notices this because he's now felt a stranger's hand touch his arm. Had he not looked first to see who it was, he would have been seconds away from instinctually sending his elbow back to flex their hand from him, which would have definitely connected with the woman's face.

The woman practically jolts once she sees she's startled him, however, she attempts to cover it with a laugh. "Hi," she greets.

"Can I help you?" Ghost asks, though he couldn't sound any less interested.

"I was just over there with my friends and-"

"You should get back to them."

A state of shock whiplashes on her face before she huffs and stomps back over to her friends. Ghost didn't even watch as she left; he had more pressing matters to attend to.

You smirk at Ghost, seeing this from where you dance. The man makes it so easy to push his buttons, just look at him. He doesn't even look like he wants to be here tonight, more dressed like he was about to rob a bank than go out drinking with his mates.

Frankly, you're shocked he even showed up. Clubs seemed like the last place you'd catch him, and you were right. However, Gaz and Soap giving the lieutenant a hard time as of late finally pushed him into coming out with everyone. And of course, it had to be on the night you got to choose the spot too. You'd been sick of dive bars and small get-togethers, however, so you chose a club in a heartbeat, naysayers be damned.

"Hey Kyle~" You wave for Gaz, catching his eye in the crowd. He and Soap had both been drinking just as much as you since arriving, getting dragged off by every single woman within a five-foot radius of them.

You lost Soap fifteen minutes ago, and here Gaz was now, having been able to finally rid himself of his unwanted groupies. Good thing too; you need someone to dance on, and you wanted to give your lieutenant a show.

Gaz has already grooved his way over to you the second your eyes invited him over. Lord knows he's wanted a piece since you arrived, though you saved the real promiscuity for men outside your workplace; less messy that way. You'll gladly have them chase you though.

Once in reach, you bring your arms to his shoulders and wrap them loosely around his neck, smelling the Gin and Tonic on his breath and the citrus scent of his cologne, though it's since been mixed with an array of other colognes and perfumes. His hands find your sides, settling into your hips, with drunken smiles growing between you the more comfortable you grew.

What were once innocent brushes of the legs and hip twirling, soon devolves into something a little less PG. Before long you've both found your rhythm, swaying your hips along to the music and moving together as one unit.

You whip your body around, grinding your ass against Gaz, pressing yourself back roughly against him. You make sure he can hear you laugh at him after you've heard the little gasp he let out too. However, you can play with more than one person at a time, and the Sergeant hadn't been the only one you were playing with at the moment.

The whole time, you've kept your eyes locked on the lieutenant's from across the floor, a devilish smile forming. Had Soap not bumped into Ghost suddenly, who's to say how long Ghost would have spent watching you, his bourbon held sternly in his gloved hand.

"Ghost!" Soap bellows out, cheeks a rosy pink from his drink, and lips painted in a large grin. The man had certainly been attempting to give you a run for your money in terms of enjoying himself tonight. The smeared lipstick stains near the base of his neck only said as much. Both men and women tonight had been swooning over his accent and muscles since he stepped foot in the building. Ghost had already written the man off for the night altogether.

"Still standin' 'ere all by yer lonesome, L.T.?"

"Been the best seat in the house," Ghost says dryly.

Soap follows Ghost's gaze, until he's found you on the dance floor with your eyes closed and your head cocked back, Gaz's head buried in the crook of your neck. Immediately, he knows what's going on, having seen this before.

"Tsk. Tsk. What a she-devil," Soap shakes his head. "Poor lad."

"Should know better by now," Ghost comments. "Girls like that love bein' teases."

Oh, Soap knows already; he learned that the hard way the last time you all went out drinking and you sent him home with the deepest set of blue balls he's ever felt in his life. "Aye," he sighs.

"I've no idea what you lot see in 'er," Ghost says.

"Eh, she's not so bad once you get to know her," Soap shrugs. "You two are a lot more alike than you think."

"I doubt that," Ghost turned back around at the bar, settling in his seat and placing his drink back on the counter. Soap had been ready to join him, however, some tiny woman that's been attached to his hip all night returned (who also conveniently wore the same shade of lipstick as what was smeared on his neck), pulling his attention away. Before long, the lieutenant was alone once more.

You two are a lot more alike than you think.

Now that's a joke. Ghost can't imagine you've gone through even half of what he's been through. Still, it wasn't like you two have ever actually sat down and talked to one another before. It seems nigh impossible to.

Though it wasn't for a lack of trying on your end.

The presence of another human at Ghost's side brings his eyes drearily over, until they've begrudgingly fallen onto you. It seems you grew bored of dancing, and now decided to take your teasing to the source itself.

"Enjoy the show?" you ask him teasingly, knowing you'll most likely not receive a reply, which you don't. Ghost doesn't even fully face you, keeping his eyes pointed ahead of himself at the bar. He hadn't been looking to talk, and it's not like his reply would change anything you had to say. You did invite yourself over.

"You know, Manchester," You lean against the bar, looking up at the man, just close enough to hear him over the club music and smell the cologne and cigarette smoke on him. "Instead of starin' like a creep, why don't you actually take that stick out your ass and come dance."

Now you're just taking the piss. Ghost finally gives you a look, though he wishes he hadn't. Up close, he's seeing this skimpy little, lowcut tight dress you've got on, with your fishnet stockings and heels. The black choker around your neck was simple, and just begging for someone to tug it off you, and the lipgloss you wore looked like it tasted sweet on your tongue.

Years of training and experience are everything it takes to keep his eyes from dropping any lower than your collarbone. Just in his peripherals, Ghost can see how bouncy and voluptuous they sat in your dress.

You got this cocky look on your face now. "I'll dance with you."

Ghost scoffs. "Not a chance."

"Aw, I get it," you say sarcastically. "I wouldn't want to embarrass myself out there either."

"This place can only handle so much of that with you already out there."

This conversation felt as old as time between you two. If it wasn't you being catty and mean, then it was Ghost being aloof and guarded. While you knew he had been implying your little performance on the dance floor earlier, you were as quick with your tongue as your lieutenant.

And you can't lie, you'd been itching for some good banter all night. You'll take it from anyone, even from the likes of Ghost.

"Please," you laugh. "As if your big ass could actually move out there. I bet you can't even do the two-step."

"I'm sure you'd wanna know," Ghost says.

You reach over, and by your own boundless curiosity, take his drink, inviting yourself to a sip. The bourbon burns your throat as you swallow, your nose scrunching. You smile as you see Ghost's gaze razor focus on your lips pressing to the cool glass of his drink, taking a small sip and letting your tongue chase its remnants over your bottom lip. It's just the way he does so, so unabashedly, that you can't help but giggle at.

"I already know everything I need to, honey."

Ghost turns his body to fully face you now, his massive height over you only now becoming apparent by the shadow it casts. It's intimidated most of the women at the club tonight, whenever Ghost wouldn't just do it himself. No such thing went on with you, however.

He's been sitting here by himself all night, and as much as he could list a plethora of others he'd prefer to be standing here with at the moment, he had you. If you'd use him for your own uncaring amusement, then he'll do the same, since you want to bring that side out of him so badly.

"And what's that?" he asks.

"That you're boring as fuck and have a stick up your ass," you say bluntly. Of course, Ghost didn't expect any less from you. You do this sober, just with less pep to your speech, unlike now. "Though I'm sure you're already aware of that."

"How original," Ghost says dryly. "It take you long to think that one up?"

"I only tell it like I see it."

"Wha' then," Ghost's gaze turns stone cold, doing all it can not to give you a way in. "Gaz wasn't enough? Now you've come to make yourself easy pickin's for the next sorry lad lookin' for an easy lay?"

"Ooo, feisty." You lean in now, resting your hand on the bar counter so you could prop yourself up, giving yourself what little height you can against your unmoving opponent.

"I wouldn't fuck you if you paid me," you say.

"I wouldn't fuck you for charity."

"I wouldn't fuck you if my life depended on it," you shoot back. "As if you could even handle me, Manchester."

"What's there to handle?" he taunts. "You're nothin' but talk. You bark like a bitch and puff your chest, but it's all show. Just a way to make yourself feel big. No surprise you make yourself the local slag; any lad with some sense surely wouldn't bother."

Oh, that comment strikes a nerve; you feel your eyebrow twitch and your blood begin to simmer the second he closes his stupid, British mouth.

"Who're you callin' a bitch and a slag?" You step up now like there's a problem now. "How about you come back with some new material when you can actually talk to me without that little safety blanket on your face, Manchester. It's easy to talk shit when you've got something to hide behind. And you call me unoriginal."

You take his drink and pour it out on the counter now, watching it spill over the surface and drip onto the floor. When you meet his gaze again, if looks could kill, you'd both be dead. You just wasted a good cup of fucking bourbon.

"Do somethin' about it," you taunt him.

He steps forward, and for a small second, you think the man might actually do something. However, it had merely been an intimidation tactic, a warning. He stops just a few inches shy of you, keeping his strong arms crossed over his chest.

Ghost would love to, oh, believe him. It's taking all of him not to say something really foul to you and truly ruin the whole night for everyone. And you don't stop at the drink either.

You step even closer now, keeping your head cocked back and your eyes on him. You're close enough now to feel the body heat bouncing off from him, vibrating the more irritated he grew.

"Do something," you say again. "You just gonna let some slag pour your drink out like that?"

You raise your hand up as though you're about to smack him, and that's what finally gets him to move. Ghost catches your tiny wrist in his hand, his grip tight as he holds you there.

"What the fuck-" You grimace at first, your fight-or-flight instincts telling you to try and tug your hand out of his grip and use your other to sock him straight. However, something differently entirely occurs in you suddenly.

You take a moment to really feel his hand on your wrist, how the slightest adjustment of his thumb made a chill trickle up your arm, and that he was the closest he's ever stood next to you outside of work. The man might irritate you, and he was an asshole, but Goddamn did he have an inviting pair of hands and some magnetic eyes on him. Eyes that seemed just as curious to outline all the makings of your figure.

You kind of liked it.

He must like it too, judging from how he hasn't made any attempts at letting go. But there had been a million different things running through his mind right now, all of which made him question himself.

He thought about all the ways he could overpower you right now; you gab on like you're big, and there were so many times he's just wanted to remind you of your size. Small enough to be bound and at his mercy if he so pleased. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but the thought sounded intriguing.

Your arm settles in his strong grip, your eyelids lowering as you look his masked face up and down, trying to observe his dark eyes in the dim lights. They look to you, trying to guess your next move, though even you couldn't be sure.

You take your other hand and you place it on his chest, just to see if you can. All this time you've known him, you've never actually done so before. You feel your fingers rest against him, and even beneath the fabric of his hoodie, you feel his heart racing.

The club music finally dies down, preparing to switch to its next song. With maybe just a few inches of space between you, it feels as though it's only the two of you in this entire room at this moment.

But just then, you're interrupted. Soap wasn't too far away and must have started picking up on the vibe's shifting, because he couldn't cut between the two of you fast enough.

"Alright," he steps between you two, a drunken smile still on his face. "That'll do you two."

His presence does little to take your eyes off each other, merely looking through the Sergeant, still trying to see if either one of you would say something else. As expected, it's you who does first.

"We were just about to dance," you look over at Ghost with a playful smile. "Isn't that right, Manchester?"

Ghost looks down at you. He almost wants to say no. However, he found himself curious suddenly to see where you might take things. He hadn't felt quite done with you yet, himself.

"That's right."

Soap looks flabbergasted by this. "Yer gonna dance, L.T.?"

"We'll try not to make too much of a scene," you tease.

You take hold of Ghost's hand, feeling his grip tense in your grasp, as you pulled him out onto the dance floor. Woman by Doja Cat just started and you were ready to rock this man's world.

Even with everything going on around, heads turn as you both pass by, noticing the tall, masked figure making his way onto the dance floor with this overly enthusiastic party girl who looks nothing like his type.

You find a spot just on the edge of the crowd, where the lights were low and your team could not see you. Once there, you watch Ghost stand awkwardly, waiting for you to start moving first. It's not like you needed him to do much anyway.

You ease into your dance, beginning with light footwork and hip twirling, letting the music guide its rhythm through your legs. Ghost did an odd shuffle to start, not doing much beyond moving his feet. Once he grew more comfortable, however, you learned that he could in fact do the two-step... If you sucked all the atmosphere out of it at least.

The music picks up, and you bring your hands up to his muscular shoulders, gently resting them there similarly to how you did with Gaz earlier. Only unlike the Sergeant, Ghost seemed reluctant to fully give in to your charms. He wouldn't even bring himself to touch you, just letting you use him like a pole.

You bring your head in close, shouting over the music so that he can hear you, "You're an asshole, you know."

Ghost rolls his eyes. "You're a bitch."

Growing impatient, you boldly take his hands and place them on your hips for him, feeling your skin tingle as his fingers settle against your hipbones. The hesitancy subsides once you start guiding him along with you slowly, easing him into the high tempo of the music.

"And proud of it."

You turn around and press yourself to the lieutenant, feeling your ass brush against his jeans and the grunt that leaves his chest. All he's left with now is the smell of the shampoo you'd used in your hair and the shape of your bottom against his groin. You tell him, "I'm not here to impress you."

He leans in, until you've felt his masked lips brush against the shell of your ear. His voice all but rumbles through you, "And I'm not here to entertain you."

"Aren't you?" You bend over, bringing your hands to your ankles and seductively sliding them back up your legs, and making sure each time you made your ass shake that he could feel it even through his jeans. You'd give anything to see his face right now. "Say what you want," you tease. "I don't give a fuck."

This time he doesn't shy away from letting his hands slide alongside you, stopping just at your waist so that you can still move yourself freely against him. "Yeah, you do," he all but says in a seductive growl. "Why else are we here now?"

You tilt your head back and look up to find Ghost's eyes leering down at you, half-lidded. You watch him slowly start to lose himself, his mind chasing after that brief feeling of arousal you shot through him each time you pressed yourself to him.

"I don't know," you take hold of Ghost's hands again, only this time when you rest them back at your hips, you keep your hands there, holding them. "But it takes two to dance, Manchester."

"Let's dance then."

Once the words subsided, and the club music drowned out any and everything else on the dance floor, the only thing that could be felt was the ecstasy of Ghost's body pressed so close to yours. His large hands explore your small form smoothly, letting you slide your own hands up his arms, feeling his warmth of him. He molds into your movements easily, eyes never leaving yours, with battered breaths shared between you.

Your hands stretch above your head as your bottom hugs your black little dress tightly. The fabric stretches each time you drop your ass to give it another spin, lights bouncing off you both in a mesh of glittery purples and dark blues.

Every time they do you've felt you've seen a new side of Ghost. A side of him that felt hungry for something no good for him. Though he would be in good company; there wasn't a good man left in him to spare if you kept on him like you have been all night, both in body and tongue.

Had the song not come to an end, who's to say what parts of him you would have ground on next, or what parts of your body his hands would find themselves rhythmically groping.

You turn to the lieutenant, out of breath as he is. Of course, you had been moving your body much more than he. You suppose he can save that energy for later.

"You've got any smokes on you?" you ask him, though you both know where questions like that'll get you.

"Left 'em in my car."

"Why don't you give me one?"

Part Two

[hygienic-soap-dispenser]

HWS Nordics as DnD Characters - Part 1

So uuh I've been thinking about the best boys as DnD characters for a while now soooo I drew them and did a character sheet for each of them!! (Den and Swe will be coming in part 2 pinky promise 🙏)

Part 2 (Den, Swe)

For simplicity, I started them off on Level 1, hence no subclasses here. Also, there are def some things I need to work around, especially with the whole DnD Beyond thing, but I still hope y'all get the vibe I'm going for with these

✨ Their backstories, subclasses, and combat styles can be found under the cut ✨

Norway

Race: High Elf Class: Druid Subclass: Circle of the Land Background: Outlander

Having lived a good portion of his childhood among the fjords, mountains, and trolls, Nor has always had a deep connection with the land around him. His friends would help him survive, connect to the land, and learn to harness the power within it. He let it power and inspire him throughout his life. When Nor was part of his unions, he would often escape to the land to feel connected to himself again, and this is where he drew his power and magic which he still uses today. He is a free spirit within his land, and he will never let anyone take that away from him again.

In combat, Nor mainly focuses on spells and has a preference for ice magic and thorns, and he is excellent at taking advantage of the terrain around him. He is also one of the designated healers for the Nordics, along with Swe. At close range can fight with clubs, maces, light swords, or axes.

Finland

Race: Half-Wood Elf Class: Ranger and Rogue multiclass Subclasses: Gloomstalker / Assassin Background: Soldier

Fin has trained most of his life to be a warrior. Since his earliest days, he was tasked to defend the land and prevent any would-be invaders; it was his duty. But how could he with neighbours like these? He is small, and they are big, they are strong, and he is weak... but he is persistent. He will not let them win. For you see, Fin has some advantages: he is nimble and he lives in a land shrouded in forests and bogs. Thus, Fin became something else: not the strongest or the fastest or mightiest defender, but the most efficient, using his stealth and quick thinking to get any advantage he can.

In combat, Fin is focused on archery but is flexible and can jump into the front with dual-wielding weapons when needed. Is effective at any range: physically strong but even more nimble. He hides in the dark, ever watchful, striking at his enemies. He often forgets to cast Hunter's Mark.

Iceland

Race: Half-High Elf Class: Sorcerer Subclass: Storm Sorcerer Background: Hermit

Raised on a lonely island far from those he loves, surrounded by the raging oceans crashing upon his shores, the wind and rain shaping the docking and crashing of ships to his land, Ice has always been familiar with the winds and tides. Some even say that he came to being during a mighty storm, giving power to the tempest within that powers his natural abilities. Now, with his mastery over his inner storm, he tries to use his powers to safely guide ships, change the winds, and maybe even see more of the family and friends he longs to hold close.

In combat, Ice focused on lighting and ice spells, and still has some trouble controlling his fire-based spellcasting, but is working on it. Fights at a distance and can use Flight to maneuver around the battlefield for the best advantage. God help you if he attacks you from above.

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

I've been thinking about it and I'm a huge Queen Thorn hater. But like, I have my reasons beyond just “Preyhunter was just a tortured child who ate too much NightWing propaganda! Leave him be!” I also just generally resent how Queen Thorn treated Stonemover after finding out he became mentally debilitated and is actively self-mutilating.

I get they have nothing in common anymore; I just find that the insinuation that Queen Thorn just up and leaves Stonemover to rot at Jade Mountain alone to just be very uncomfortable for my taste. At least be a friend or something and check on his well-being, you're ex-lovers who were separated in war! Stonemover has so much anxiety he's literally killing himself slowly over it and Queen Thorn's response to seeing his current state is berating him while he's down and then abandoning him again. Ughhhh it gives off those vibes where toxic friends who find out someone in their friend group becomes disabled they immediately outcast them for being “too much of a hindrance” for them. Different situation entirely but that's the same twisting gut sensation that I'm getting out of this.

Queen Thorn can screw off. Stonemover deserves better. Preyhunter deserved better. I hope to god some of these characters get repercussions for their actions such as Moonwatcher and Qibli hiding secrets about Peacemaker from Winter (I really want to see a confrontation where Winter is defending Peacemaker from the subtle discrimination from Moonwatchers and Qiblis hypocrisy where they keep gawking at him uncomfortably. Winter finds out the truth and holds his tail down to snap at them for the amount of distrust they have for him still. He becomes a sort of figure for Peacemaker to reach out to in response to this.)

.

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

I really want to see your drawings of the Kaiju AU, I can’t stop thinking of Ragebloom as a giant hedgehog with lots of flowers and mushrooms on his back. Maybe with large sturdy nails that helps him create burrows and pick stuff up.

And he IS JUST THE CUTEST

I am so sorry this took me so long to answer, but I am finally feeling confident in my arting ability to attempt to draw giant Kaiju bois! I'm currently working on each design, so expect to see more soon enough!

Since you really wanted to see Ragebloom/Riddle's Kaiju form, here's a concept I was finally able to narrow down!

Since he is part plant, this means that Ragebloom/Riddle's "tail" continues to grow, wilt, and experience the same issues as any other plant. Here's some little headcanons on our boi here~!

When he sneezes or shakes his body, there's a chance that some of his quills will go flying and may accidentally stick one of the other kaiju. Shellshock/Trey is the only one who doesn't have to worry too much about this due to his shell.

Prunes his "tail" with his teeth to get it at a decent length that can still defend while still retain his regal status as pack leader. Rarely lets anyone else touch it except for Shellshock/Trey, Crystalflayer/Vil, Crewelfang/Crewel, and Yuu. Smells like grass trimmings and sap when he's pruning the leaves.

His "tail" can hide thorns and vines that can be used to strike like a flail/whip or restrain his target.

When he's feeling sick, his colors fade and his "tail" turns brown. Major pruning is needed if black or white speckled leaves are found to prevent him from getting severely ill.

Rarely ever gets caught in the rain, but he does enjoy a good soak in a pool of water to rehydrate himself. He is part plant, after all, so he has to maintain the proper amount of hydration to survive. When he's done soaking, though, he smells like damp earth.

Uses his long claws to dig holes in the earth, using it as a "nest" so he can circulate nutrients from the soil into his body. He never beds down in the exact same spot for longer than a week before he moves to ensure the nutrients have a chance to replenish.

He can grow mushrooms on his body, though he rarely does these days after a run-in with Heartbinder/Floyd terrorized him while he was trying to give some to Heartshocker/Jade. These mushrooms can serve a variety of different purposes, ranging from creating medicine to creating noxious poisons.

Ragebloom/Riddle is the only kaiju besides Echofang/Lilia who is immune to most paralyzing agents and poisons, as he's able to absorb said toxins into his system and create the very plant/fungus that produces it.

[honeyhive65]

Messy sketches of Aran and Don in my monster au

…yeah Aran kinda has a good reason to be paranoid about the monsters in the WVBA. I mean the bruisers did do this to him. A bit more in depth talk about the both of them under the cut

Aran is a little bit like the final girl of the WVBA in a way. He was the only other human in branch B before hugger got turned by the bruisers but Aran wasn’t as worried about the monsters before. It wasn’t until he went up against one of the bruisers where they tore him to shreds to the point that multiple staff members had to intervene and stop the fight. Arans much more tame when it comes to mischief in this au however he makes up for it by bringing a dull axe and silver knuckledusters into the ring in title defense (he convinced himself that Mac was a monster and was going to kill him in the ring and he wasn’t gonna go down without a fight so no he didn’t even bring boxing gloves).

Don was created by Carmen’s love…literally she cared so much for a rose for her boyfriend (the real don) that it gained sentience. This led to rose don falling in love and getting heartbroken after finding out his feelings were unrequited. He ends up wilting from this and gains thorns to defend himself from feeling heart break again which leads to how he is in TD. Also yes that front petal can be punched off however it’s not exactly a toupee situation and more so like Mac just ripped off a chunk of his hair.

…also I thought about rose clover in this au cause of course I did. Sorry everyone.

[wrathofrats]

Mushy May Day 12- first time/ wound tending/first aid - zephrit.

Thanks to @forlorn-crows for the prompts and @gothdaddyissues for the divider!

Ifrit is stupid and Zeph just wants to bandage him up (and fuck him)

2.3k Featuring: homoerotic wound cleaning, idiots in love, zephs first time, first kiss too but-, I was only a little weird about blood, only a little I was good this time. But be warned there’s a couple sentences where I’m weird about blood. Also possessiveness. Also being weird about virginity. Did I mention that I promise this is fluff.

“Why didn’t you think to wear gloves!?” Zeph tried not to shout, gingerly looking for a place to grab Ifrits arm so they could drag him upstairs, “why didn’t you let go when it hurt!?”

Ifrit cradled his free hand into his chest, attempting to stop the bleeding with shirt. Both hands were covered in small pin pricks that oozed drops of blood down his skin as he attempted to keep it from dripping onto the floor.

“I didn’t know roses had thorns until I had already grabbed them” ifrit attempted to defend himself. The roses laid discarded with blood around their stems on the table for another ghoul to find later. “I’m fine I promise, I can go clean up myself”

It was a sweet gesture that Zephyr wishes they could have appreciated more if it wasn’t for the fact that ifrit had attempted to hand them the flowers while blood freshly streamed down his forearms.

“Absolutely not. I didn’t trust you to know how to tend to your injuries if you don’t even know that roses have thorns”

“Zeph I’m fine,” ifrit whined, trying to hide that he was wincing every time he had to move his hands. He was shoved through the door of zephyrs bathroom with a small growl telling him to sit on the side of the bathtub. Zephyr rummaged through the cabinet under their sink, pulling out gauze and tweezers.

Ifrit sat palms up on the lip of porcelain. There was a small feeling of embarrassment that bubbled in his chest watching zephyr almost angrily gather their supplies. He truly was fine, ifrit wasn’t known for having a low pain tolerance, and knew enough to keep the wounds from getting some kind of nasty infection, but it was the scared look in zephs eyes that allowed himself to be dragged behind the smaller ghoul and into their bathroom in order to be taken care of.

A warm wet washcloth brushed over ifrits hands, earning a hiss from him at the stinging sensation. He instinctively pulled his hands away as zephyr reached to pull them back into his lap so they could wipe the drying blood away.

“Shit- Zeph don’t you have numbing cream or something?” Ifrit winced, tugging once again against zephyrs grip on his wrists.

“I do, but then what will you have learned?”

“That you love and care for my well being and the fact that I’m in pain?”

Zeph snorted in response. They tried to hide the small smile on their face as they lay the scarlet stained cloth on the tub next to ifrit, reaching for the tweezers. There were still small bits of dirt and plant matter in his hands, enough that couldn’t simply be washed out with running water. Black asymmetrical specks littered his palms while ifrit took a deep breath to try and prepare for zephyr digging them out of his skin.

There was a tenderness in the way zephyr worked. Knelt in front of ifrit with his large hands practically taking up both of their own, to cradle them and delicately pluck the splinters from his skin. Ifrit was easily twice their size. Broad and tall, cowered on the side of a porcelain tub while zephyr, who could easily be engulfed by his frame, had him making himself appear smaller for them to work on.

Ifrit couldn’t help but breathe heavily and grunt whenever zephyr dug out the deeper pieces. His skin was tender and raw from the cleaning, and every poke of the metal tweezers felt like another stab into his hand.

“You have to be almost done right?” Ifrit asked, jumping again from another poke.

“If you’d stay still this would go a lot faster ifs”

A part of zephyr didn’t want to admit to themself that they were absolutely drawing it out a bit. It’s not often they got the fire ghoul in such a vulnerable position. They tried to make their heart still everytime they had to look up at him. His sweet smiling face staring back down even if he was in pain. Only the word beautiful came to their mind whenever ifrit would look at Zeph in reassurance that he actually was ok.

It didn’t help that ifrit was making noises that had zephyr blushing like an idiot.

Small whines and grunts that could easily be taken for moans fell from his lips as zephyr spread the neosporin over the cleaned wounds. He’s sweet, stupid, but sweet and hearing him make such pretty noises has zephyr about to rip through their own skin to get on top of him. The way he looked down at Zeph through hooded eyes, softly whimpering, was truly more than they could bear.

The lewd sounds only got louder as Zeph wrapped his hands in gauze. It almost sounded on purpose, the painful edge lessening with every moan.

Finally zephyr stood up to look him in the eye. Their arms crossed, a frustrated red tint to their cheeks while ifrit gave them a shit eating grin. It was hard not to get lost in his eyes, no matter how distressed they were with the current situation. A warm orange red hue, like he contained the sun in his eyes himself. They were kind in nature, comforting and safe. Streaks of magma danced in his irises.

“You’re cute when you blush wisp.” Ifrit muttered, giving a quick glance down to their lips, before returning their eye contact.

This could feel the heat radiate off of him, hear how his breathing hadn’t slowed down even though Zeph had long since bandaged him up.

“Shut up”

Zephyr leaned into ifrit, using their arms to steady themself on the tub, before encapsulating his lips with theirs. They could feel ifrit smile into it, as if this was somehow his masterful plan all along. The motions were almost too easy as if they had been ingrained in both of them all along, fated to end up like this.

Their movements feel slow and sweet like molasses. Only opening their mouths to quickly take a gasp of air before diving back in for more. Ifrit grabbed at zephyrs shirt first, using the fabric as leverage to stand up and pull them closer. An air of passion surrounds them, like they’d die if they ever had to stop touching each other.

Ifrit carded a bandaged hand through zephyrs hair, tugging lightly at the white and gray strands. He bit along their lip as he backed them up into the sink, using the newfound control to lick into their mouth as they gasped with the sharp pin prick of pain in their scalp. Unconsciously ifrit moved his leg in between zephyrs, pressing onto their rapidly hardening cock through their jeans.

“Wait- Zeph, '' ifrit panted, pulling away to take a chance to catch his own breath, “is this what you want? Are you sure?

“I’m sure, please ifrit” zephyr pleaded. They already looked a mess, hair sticking up in all directions with kiss swollen lips.

“This is your first right? I just don’t want to-“

“If you don’t fuck me right now I will put the thorns back in your hands”

The message was received loud and clear as ifrit took his turn to drag zephyr wherever he wanted them to go. He pushed them onto their bed, taking a second to take in the image of the air ghoul beneath him.

The usually grumpy and semi aloof nature completely drained in favor of a look of desperation and want. The usual upkeep now turned disheveled in ifrits wake. If ifrit thought that Zeph wouldn’t tear him to shreds he would’ve taken a picture so that he could savor it for a lifetime.

“Is there something wrong?” Zephyr asked, brow furrowed in confusion as to why ifrit hadn’t climbed onto them already.

“I just think you’re beautiful Zeph”

Ifrit straddled zephyrs waist, leaning down to kiss them once again, just to savor the taste of their lips. A mix of mint and his own spice from moments ago. Large hands tugged at zephyrs clothing. It’s meant as a suggestion, only if zephyr wanted to actually expose themself for him.

Ifrit wants to be a gentleman so badly, to go slow and take care of zephyr like they did for him. Soft touches and careful looks to ensure that they still look needy and not like they had changed their mind at any point.

“Wait ifrit your hands-“ Zeph struggled as ifrit reached to palm at the front of their jeans. “Shit- you really shouldn’t-“

“Let me do this for you darling, I can handle a little pain”

Zephyr could see the blood seeping through the bandages as ifrit looked for permission to undress them. It was dizzying, a weird arousing fear at watching him remove their clothing with blood soaked palms. If all the blood from their brain wasn’t currently aching in their cock they probably would’ve made him stop so they could patch him back up again, but with the hungry look in ifrits eyes as he admired zephyrs naked body, they couldn’t bring themself to care.

“Am I the first that gets to see you like this wisp?” Ifrit rubbed his hands over zephyrs exposed thighs, pushing them up and open for himself to admire. “Am I the first that you’ve allowed to touch you properly?”

“Let me see you ifrit come on, don’t tease me” zephyr whined. They threw their hands over their face in an attempt to hide their blush.

“Relax, I’ll take care of you Angel”

Zephyr opened their eyes to watch ifrit undress in front of them. Slow with a bit of a cocky smirk like he knows exactly what he’s doing to Zeph. Miles of toned muscle beneath his shirt, just leaving on a chain necklace he rarely takes off. Zephyr could drool at the sight of it if they had any less dignity at the moment.

They gasped when ifrit finally unbuckled and shimmed out of his pants. He was big, a lot larger than anything Zeph had ever put inside themself. Their own cock twitched on their stomach the thought of ifrit being inside them.

“You seriously just had that with you?”

Ifrit had reached into the pocket of their discarded jeans to pull out a small bottle of lube, beaming at zephyr’s obvious distress at knowing this information.

“You never know when you’ll need it” he laughed

He dispensed a small dime size amount onto the tips of his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up while he settled between zephyrs legs once again. Their thighs moved out of the way instinctively, giving room for ifrit to smear some of the lube around their rim.

“Gonna go slow, let me know if anything feels bad”

Zephyr almost whimpered in pure anticipation when ifrit finally pushed two fingers into their hole, giving them a second in case they needed to adjust, before slowly pumping them in and out in an attempt to work them open. Ifrit littered kisses alone zephs pale skin, worshiping any place on their body that he could reach. He had never seen zephyr so vulnerable. Completely spread out, almost begging for what they want, all just for him and no one else.

“You can give me more ifs, stretch me out wildfire”

“ Don’t want to hurt you” ifrit pulled his fingers out to add a third, slowly letting zephyrs hole stretch around them. It was a bit awkward as ifrit attempted to work around the bandages on his hands, but watching Zeph practically writhe around his fingers was reward enough for the bit of pain.

“You’re not going to hurt me, but I will hurt you if you don’t fuck me already” zephyr grumbled, thrusting their hips down to try and fuck themself on his hand.

“Just can’t wait for me to claim you huh? Mold you around my cock before anyone else can?” He practically growled, shoving zephyrs thighs up higher in order to line his cock up.

“Make me yours ifrit”

It took all of ifrits self control to not immediately shove his cock in zephyr at their words. He tried to go slow, watching as zephyrs mouth fell open and their eyes screwed shut at just the tip. They were fucking tight, warm and wet and perfect.

A high pitched whine escaped Zephyr's throat once ifrit bottomed out. They had never felt so full, there was a painful pleasure in the stretch as Zeph tried to breath and adjust to his size. Ifrit trailed more small kisses along their torso, waiting for a sign that they were alright.

“Move” Zeph whimpered. Ifrit rocked into them slowly, taking his time to really watch his air ghoul come undone beneath him. Zephyrs hands flew to claw at Ifrits back as he started moving in earnest, digging their nails in while their vision went blurry at the edges.

“Shit- ifrit fuck touch me please” their voice shook as they begged. Ifrit slipped his hand between their bodies to grab at zephyrs cock, stroking it in time with his own thrusts. They were wet, tip sticky with the pre that had dribbed down their shaft and onto their stomach. A pretty pool of arousal on their skin.

“Doing so well for me wisp, so fucking beautiful underneath me”

“Close” Zephyr gasped, attempting to rock their hips up into ifrits hand. A warm desperate feeling radiated through their stomach, tears forming on the tips of their eyelashes.

“Cum for me darling”