#and then they hit you with the right hook of

[wonwovy]

𐔌 JWW ⋮ BABYDOLL ⸝⸝

⋆.˚ warning ! this content contains nsfw, if you are a minor please do not interact. — dom!wonwoo x sub!reader ‹ wc : 1.4k

oh you are totally fucked right now.

sitting over your lovely (monster) boyfriend’s lap on the verge of crying as he abused your poor little hole that oozed of your milky coloured cum.

I mean yes you DID tell him to be more rougher in your not so innocent activities however never in a million years have you seen this side of him.

but it was so fucking hot, so you just sat there prettily on his lap begging him to give you more. “p-please w-won” you sniffled.

“awh is my babydoll that hungry for cock hm? baby can’t think anymore can’t she?” he continued to taunt you.

unfortunately he was right you couldn’t think of anything but his cock. you wanted it. no you needed it, fuck even if it was soft you just wanted it in your pussy deep.

so the only thing you did was just blabber a series of begging & his name.

his fingers were almost magic on your pretty swollen cunt, plunging deep inside then out of you. “f-fuu-“ you shortly cut off by a painful yet pleasurable smack to your glistening clit.

which made you obviously scream as hot tears rolled down your flushed cheeks.

“uh uh, sweetheart no cussing, want you to be my good girl now” his hand caressed your back to your rear, giving it a quick slap before proceeding to thrust his fingers deep in you.

“think you can cum f’me, sweets?” he whispered, scissoring his fingers in you, making your toes curl while your eyes rolled.

In contrast you were definitely too fucked out to answer wonwoo.

and with a strained moan from your side, wonwoo was definitely not satisfied with your answer. “answer me, you ungrateful little slut.” his hand rattled off to your hair, pulling it roughly causing you to squeal.

“I’m gonna ask again, angel.” he breathed into your ear. “can you cum for me, baby.” his voice coming up as sweet once he asked a second time but it was anything but sweet.

“y-yes won” you croaked out as a fresh batch of hot tears streamed down you pretty face.

“that’s my prettiest girl mmph? being so good for your wonnie.” he said, a jeering pout forming on his stupid handsome face.

“ass up, babydoll.” he propped his elbows on the couch, hands sliding to your hips, hooking each arm to your thighs, positioning his face to your pussy. “my cunt.” he whispered, hot breath hitting your clit while shivers shot through your spine.

on the other hand, you were fighting for your life trying to support yourself being in a doggystyle position but shortly giving up as your face squished into the couch, leaving only wonwoo as a way of bracing your ass up as he brutally ate you out.

“mmph w-wonnie!” you muffled into the couch when wonwoo suckled on your swollen clit.

“fucking pussy gonna be the death of me” he groaned before hastily going back on feasting on your cunt, working his tongue as he gave your folds long slow licks, spreading them till his nose hit your vulva.

he worked his way till his tongue came in contact with your fluttering hole. slowly thrusting in & out working like magic while you were wallowing in pleasure, the only words you could manage out was his name completely forgetting everything else.

“w-won” you whimpered out for him, hands sliding from your tits playing with them for a bit then gradually diving down to his deliciously brown locks, tugging on it slightly.

which made him absolutely go faster like clock work on your heavenly cunt.

whimpering out a few sobs was true melody to wonwoo’s ears, which made him go crazy.

“my pretty babydoll, are you gonna cum?” he chuckled, knowing your high was at the brink.

“mhm!” pathetically replying with a hum, just focusing on covering his pretty face with your spunk. pulling your thighs closer as much as he could wonwoo gave your folds one good long lick before spitting right into your hole “mine” he chanted, while you moaned at the liquid hot sensation that hit your cunt which ultimately made you squirt all over your lover’s face tainting not only his gorgeous face but glasses.

he moved close to your clearly pleased face, a smug ass smirk on his cum covered profile. “so desperate that just a glob of spit made you cum, angel?”.

wonwoo caressed your cheek before continuing “but oh babydoll you’ve made quite a mess didn’t you.” his finger wiped his cheek then smearing your bodily fluids on your swollen lips “I think my pretty girl needs to clean up her mess” he finished, confidently throwing his head, resting it on the sofa that has witnessed every single bit of your intimate moments between you both.

being the ever so lovely girlfriend you are, you climbed on his lap, straddling his thighs then wrapping your hands around his neck.

you face inches away from his, having a moment of admiring his features then leaving a few pecks on his lips.

after a few kisses your tongue slightly poked out licking his cum tainted cheeks softly, wonwoo groaned as the warmth of your tongue came in contact with his face.

upon hearing wonwoo groan, it made you whimper lightly before continuing to clean his dirty cheeks slash chin.

your taste buds savoured the salty but sweet taste of your own self, moaning at each time you gulped it down. Upon seeing your pornographic scene, wonwoo closed his eyes as he felt he cock aching, needing to be inside of your velvety walls.

“m-mm done, wonie” you looked at him with those gorgeous eyes that made him go insane. “that's my pretty girl” he praised, biting his lip “ i think you deserve that cock inside of you now, gonna fill you up till your cunt just spills out my seed” he said, laying you down on your back, not wasting any second in getting his clothes off, finally with his boxers being tossed somewhere in the living room wonwoo spread your legs in a swift motion.

aligning his big girth to the entrance of your arousal, wonwoo teased the head of his cock slightly pushing it in then out.

“wonwoo, just put it in.” you whined, growing impatient. “quite demanding are we?” he smiled from the side then thrusted his whole length into you quickly setting a brutal pace into you “o-oh my fucking god!” you arched your back, rolling your eyes till your pupils were almost nonexistent.

wonwoo grabbed your hands together, pinning them above your head as he pistoned his cock in & out of you roughly, making you live in an euphoric moment.

oh you were definitely rile him up to fuck you like this.

“pussy was made for me” he groaned, his balls sloppily hitting your ass, “my little fuckin’ cumdump” his groan turned into moaning out loud as he picked up his pace more as if it wasn’t fast enough for him but he didn’t not give single fuck about anything but prioritizing about making you ride your highs together.

“fill me up wonwoo!~, please please~” you cried and continued to blabber a series of pleas.

your boyfriend turned to your sobbing figure, which almost made him cum instantly by the sight of you crying out for him to make your tummy feel full of his dump.

wonwoo remained too focused on fucking your brains out that he didn’t mind you ravishing his back with your red manicured nails which complimented his back after bruising it up.

after some moments wonwoo’s pace began to turn sloppy as he felt closer by the second.

you began bucking your hips each time wonwoo snapped his hips deeper into you which felt like a whole new sensation for both of you, so much so that each time it happens your lewd sounds grew more desperate & intense.

wonwoo took one last final shallow thrust before gushing his seed into your perfectly tight walls covering each and every crevice of your cunt till his & yours creamy fluids spilled out, running down your thighs & dirtying the couch “this is hottest thing I’ve ever seen” he confessed as he admired his work of art that he created between your thighs.

you giggled, snuggling closer to him “never knew you had this side of you, won” you mumbled, voice hoarse from screaming his name all night long.

“oh you’ll be seeing it a lot more from now on” he chuckled lightly then nuzzled his head into your neck, enjoying the warmth of it.

“I’m certainly not complaining” you sighed, reminiscing about your dirty acts a few minutes ago, already growing horny again “wanna go again, wonnie?” you fluttered your eyelashes prettily. wonwoo smirked immediately at your question.

“is that even a question, babydoll?” he breathed heavily already feeling his cock grow semi hard.

⸝⸝ dividers by @/cafekitsune

⸝⸝ tysm to @dirtysvthoughts , @c-oupsie & @skyechild for helping me in this <3 !!

⸝⸝ psst.. here ! : haha so this is unedited so please bare with me 😓, also I apologize if this is bad, it’s been a long time since I wrote a fic LOL

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hello 👋 if requests are open do you think we can get another of The Summoned Demon? I've never seen a take on Danny being misunderstood and speaking a different language after a summoning and I'm really excited to see where you wanna take this. If not don't worry about it I have a vivid imagination hahaha

Take care of yourself man, this is also your mandatory water and food break ❤️

Danny runs for what feels like hours but is probably only a few minutes, attempting to find the exit of the caves. This would be easier if he could go ghost, but for some reason, his powers were disrupted when he tried to change into Phantom back in the cell.

He didn't know how, but the weird lights had messed with his core. It was almost like an invisible hook had attached itself to his navel. The thing yanked his power into the floor and walls, causing them to explode.

Thankfully, when the strange writing had vanished, a bit of his strength had returned, allowing him to tear through the stone bars. He couldn't go ghost, but at least some of his powers were accessible.

He had super strength, night vision (which would have been really helpful the day he was kidnapped!), and a few energy beams. It could be a better skill set, but if needs must. If only his Phantom stamina could transfer over.

Right now, he was using Fenton Stamina. There was a reason he was failing P.E. It showed how he was gasping for air, kneeling by one of the stone walls.

"Must...huff...find...exit....huff huff....escape!" Danny pants, attempting to crawl forward. "Must....check with a doctor about possible asthma...leg cramp! leg cramp!"

It wasn't going well.

Danny grips the meat of his calf, curling into a tight ball and silently screaming at it. The pain is annoyingly rippling across his whole body, causing his muscles to tense to the point he can only sit there and wait for it to go away.

All the while, he was mentally swearing up a storm.

After a few minutes, the muscles relax enough for him to feel some relief. Slowly unclenching his hands- afraid that if he got too quickly, the pain would return- Danny stretches out his leg. The ache is a distant echo as he slumps against the stone.

"I'm going to die in here," He whimpers. "I'm going to die from a kidnapping cult that thought it was a great idea to wait after my math test to take me."

While Danny wallows in misery, two glowing figures flout out of a nearby wall. A woman who looks to be wearing an outfit straight from the pilgrim's age and a man who may have once been a gentleman in the early ninety-thousands.

Danny's eyes widen at the blood staining the woman's head and dress. It's evident from the crack that runs along the right side of her skull. The man, meanwhile, looks more normal if it is not for the way one of his legs is twisted sickeningly.

"This one is young, " says the woman, shaking her head in pity. "It looks like he hurt his leg."

"I know how that feels," the man sighs, flouting until he is mere inches from Danny's face. "It doesn't seem he's been down here for long. Maybe there is hope someone will find him before the starvation hits."

"What do you mean starvation!?" Danny yelps. The two glowing people flinch.

The man gapes at Danny. "You can see us!?"

"Yeah? You're ghosts, right? I'm part ghost on my mother's side." Danny jokes, only seeing the woman cross herself before doing a slight hop and pointing at him with clear disgust.

"Witch!" She stretches, dragging out the syllables. He a bit impressed by how she puts her whole chest into that yell. Hell, he's even a little envious with how low she got her voice too.

"Not now, Mary," The man hisses at her. He reaches to touch Danny, but the boy avoids the contact, afraid of being overshadowed. That earns him a smile that seems oddly approving. "It's nice to meet you, lad. My name is Harold McConnell; I was an explorer attempting to map out Gotham's caves when I was separated from my crew. I broke my leg in the dark and starved to death. This is Mary, no last name. She and her family were moving from different American colonies when they passed over Gotham, and their carriage fell when the ground gave way. She died upon impact."

Dang, okay. Harold is oddly forward. Danny knows most ghosts are well aware of the specter's unwritten rules: Never bring up another death or share yours until a deep bond has been made.

A bit flustered Danny placed a hand on his chest, ensuring his fingers were spread so that they know he was a friendly ghost. He was not after their haunt or territory. "I'm Danny Fenton. Yesterday I was kidnapped by a cult from my classroom. They had me in warehouse then in a stone cell in a near by cave I escaped them but ended up gettng lost."

Marry lowered her hand, eyes wide. "A cult brought you down here?"

"Yeah, and I'm afraid they will find me," Danny mutters, looking over his shoulder. He can't see or hear anyone, but that does little to reassure him.

Harold's face tightens. "There are many monsters in this city."

"We can show you the way out," Mary offers, flying closer. Danny does his best not to stare at her gruesome features. It would be vulgar. "Does being half ghost- or a witch- make it possible for us to carry you?"

Danny blinks. "I think so, but I can walk-"

"Nonsense," Harold grunts, reaching out and lifting Danny from the floor. He throws him over his shoulder like he was picking up a flour sack. Danny squeaks. "Goodness, I forgot how it felt to hold something. I miss this."

Danny starts to protest, but Harold merely bounces him with a laugh, twisting around where Mary is flouting. "Onward!"

Mary smiles, floating alongside them. "We can go through the west caves to where my skeleton is. There is an opening that should lead to the center of Gotham's suburbs."

"Good idea, Mary," Harold compliments, flying right behind her at a much faster speed than Danny's running. "Listen, lad, we can't leave the blasted caves, but we can stare through openings. The suburbs are the safest place for you to pop out of."

Considering that his only other option is a mad group of cultists, a kiddy pool of blood, or a full ghost status from being lost in the caves, Danny doesn't mind.

He is saddened that they are anchor ghosts, though he suspected as much from the way neither had noticed his Infinite Realms mannerism. It means they are doomed to only wander the areas of their death, forever trapped in their sudden and abrupt demise.

"Thank you for helping me," He says, staring down at his hands. He can see the ground past him back, aware of the way Harold's muscular arms wrap around him without any warmth but not lacking in kindness. "I wish I could take you with me."

"That's a sweet thought, little one witch, but it's alright." Mary says, "We've come to terms with our fate. We even found love."

Danny peaks at her, noticing how adoring she is regarding the ghost, and she can't help but smile. "You two are together?"

"Aye. Mary comforted me in my final hours." Harold responds in a voice as fond and adoring as Mary's: "She was my reward for how I perished."

How romantic.

"I hope I find love like yours," Danny tells them just as they round a few corners and come to a deep drop. The remains of a carriage and five skeletons rest at the very bottom, making him heartache for the fact she had likely been alone with their bodies for centuries.

Mentally, he makes a pack to come back for the bodies and give them a proper burial—once he has his powers, of course.

"I pray that you do," Mary says, keeping her gaze away from the pit. She points upwards to a whole in the cave's ceiling, a few streaks of light peaking through. "Up there, my love."

Harold obediently flies upwards, twisting Danny so the boy's back is to his chest and his hands are supporting him on his bum. Danny's face turns red. "Sorry, lad, but something is covering the exit. I can not touch it, but you should be able to. Kick it until it breaks. It should only be a few layers of grass."

Danny coughs. "I'll try my best."

He kicks upwards, pressing himself into Harold so he has more leverage for throwing his legs upwards. They make contact with a heavy thump, his super strength giving him an edge.

"Donkey kicks, lad!" Harold shouts, "Both legs, nice and even."

He pulls his legs back again, putting more strength into his second kick. It shakes the ground above him as bits of dirt fall through, and the light streaks grow. Danny's legs go through once, twice, and on the third kick.

Danny cheers as the ground above him collapses, falling into the pit below. It's a reasonable-sized hole, just big enough that he will be able to squeeze through, but thankfully, the rest of the ceiling seems sturdy enough that he won't accidentally cause a sinkhole.

"Good job!" Mary cheers, clapping her hands. Harold lets out a deep and joyish laugh, helping Danny straight up by holding his waist and lifting him up through the hole.

He struggles to keep Danny upright when Mary swoops in, lacing her fingers and supporting Danny's feet. Her added assistance allows the ghosts to push him upwards, away from the darkness and into the light.

Danny rises from the ground with a laugh so cheerful he doesn't think he's ever been this happy to see sunlight, even when it blinds him.

It takes a couple moments to adjust his eyesight, stepping out of the ghosts' hold onto solid ground, but he can smell the sweet grass below his feet. He hears the tender psss of a meat on a girl. The alluring aroma of hotdogs-

Wait a minute.

Danny's eyes finally come into focus, and he stares into the faces of a surprise family just about to sit down for a BBQ. His eyes find the face of a very familiar teenage boy looking increasingly horrified by the second.

"Hey, you're the cult pants guy!" Danny shouts at him, twisting around to look down at Harold and Mary. "One of the cult sacrifices is here! I think he escaped, too!"

"Solitary!" Harold yells back, "You have more strength in numbers!"

"I don't know how he can help me since last time I couldn't understand his language- oh! Er, hello?" Danny looks down to where the teenager is once again, clinging to his feet, babbling in his fast-paced language. He presses his face against Danny's leg, rubbing himself there, and the Halfa is quick to try to push him away. "Dude! Dude! Personal space!"

"My word!" Mary calls up, scandalized. "Danny, will you force this young one into being your bride?"

"What!? No! Wait—" Danny looks back at the scene where Mary is once again making that same disgusted face while Harold is offering him a thumbs up and an eyebrow wiggle. "You can understand him!?"

"Yes, can you not?" Harold responds.

"Not even a single word. Would you mind translating for me?"

"I can let you know what he is saying, but I'm afraid the living won't be able to hear us." Marry cautions, sounding strangely apologetic and relieved in the same tone. "He's attempting to bargain for his family's lives in exchange for being your bride."

"Why would he assume I even want their lives or him!?" Danny yelps, finally untangling himself from the teenager and putting in some much-needed details. He makes a x with his arms, hissing when the other guy makes a move to follow him.

"Hard to say. He's not making a lot of sense- it's just pleas for a bargain.," Harold shouts, speaking louder now that Danny has moved away from the hole's edge. "It is best to put some distance between you and him."

"But what about you?"

"Don't worry about us; we've been here long enough. Escape while you can and be safe!" Mary yells over the cries of the rest of the family, who seem to have finally snapped out of their daze.

Danny looked at the two adults, the one pre-teen and a crying five-year-old, and decided he did not want to stick around for more screaming in a language he could not understand. "Thank you for everything you've done for me, Harold, Mary!"

"You're welcome!"

"It was a pleasure lad!"

Quick as a whip, Danny twists on his heel, racing for the fence and leaping over it. He's suddenly grateful for all the times he would sneak into Tucker's house as he clears over the wood in one smooth tug up and over, hitting the ground running.

He ignores the cries of the other humans behind him as he sprints down the surprisingly lovely suburban street.

___________________________________________________________

Jack Roux's hands shake as the demon disappears from view. He thought Batman had a handle on the cult and was free. But obviously, that wasn't the case.

When the ground first started to thump, he thought their garden had a mole or something, only to have his blood turn to ice when the ground gave way. Rising from the ground was the very demon that he had seen only two days ago.

His mother quickly ran to his side, wrapping Jack in her arms, sobbing uncontrollably. His dad stood in front of him, likely wanting to be a shield between Jack and the demon. His little siblings crowed around crying in fright.

It had come back for him, even though he had assumed it was kind and likely was going to go after the others.

If I had been alone, Jack thinks, thankfully his father's quick thinking and fast-paced prayers had scared the thing away in time, I would have been taken again.

It's a bone-chilling thought.

[meameagirl]

Injury! -- Joe Burrow

Summary: Joe was away for a game and you couldn't go as he was gone you got hurt. You was freaking out but also worry to tell Joe as he at a game.

Word Count: 744

Slightly injury you, head injury, little blood , just Joe worry and fluffy

----------

Joe was at an away game and You had gone to a store to buy some decorations for their apartment. You just came back and set the bags on the table. You knew it was smart to wait for Joe to come home but You didn't want to wait another whole day for him to return. You start taking all the things you got and lay it out on the table. It was a little early to start putting Christmas things out but You couldn't help yourself.

You went to the garage to look for some nails and Joe’s hammer he kept here. Soon You find the hammer and nails and go back to the kitchen. You grab the Christmas Gnome and walk to the living room to put the nail in the wall and hang them up. Soon you walk back in the kitchen and grab the christmas garland and you glaze at the cabinet. “I should wait for him.” You told yourself but you being stubborn You don't listen.

You take your shoes off and only have socks on and climb on the counter and stand up on it. You look down. “Not too high I should be fine.” You said to yourself. You start putting the nail in the wall and grab the garland. You get on your tiptoes to hook the garland on the nail. When your foot slips off and you crash onto the floor head hitting the edge of the counter. You lightly groan, touch your head feeling wetness on your hand.

You start looking around feeling dizzy, slowly grab the counter to help you stand up. You grabbed a rag and got it wet with cold water. Press it on your head. You stay leaning on the counter with the rag on your head when your phone rings. You slowly dig it out your pocket seeing it was Jeo who was calling. “I swear he has super power and calls at the wrong time.” You softled said as you answered it.

You hear his voice didn't sound cheerful, must have had a bad game. “After that game I need your voice.” You swallow. He started to explain what happened but it was making your head hurt more so  you cut him off. “I did something stupid.” It got quiet on his end. Soon he says “What you did Y/N” You look up at the half hanging garland. “Might try to hang some garland in the kitchen and slip and hit my head.” You talk slowly. 

It got quiet again but you can hear he was getting up from the hotel bed. You hear him picking things up. Maybe his bag. “Joe?” Joe signs. “Didn't I tell you if you wanna hang something make sure I was home. So I can help so we can skip the whole injury park Y/N. Look, I'm on my way home. Clearly your stubborn ass doesn't understand when I talk. You're gonna listen now. Forget the damn garland and lay down just not flat.i be there in an hour or so.” You nodded even if he can’t see it. He hung up after.

This is why you hated that he called right after you fell. Were you gonna tell him no, maybe tomorrow when he was home. But that was so out of the bag. You knew it was better to listen to him and go lay down. You slowly walk to the couch and lay down on it. The rag lay on your head.

About an hour or two you hear the front getting unlocked and open. You hear his footsteps walk in. He puts his bag down and he walks over kneeling by the couch. He moved the rag. “Hey there, stubborn girl that I love.” You just groan and sit up. He helps you sit up, putting his hand on your back. “How your head darling” He asks as you lean your head on his shoulder. “Dizzy stops and the pain is not too bad.” Joe kisses your head lightly. “Maybe you learn your lesson and let me do the hanging when it comes to Christmas. Rather not have my girlfriend hurt over Christmas crap.” His arm wraps around you as you mumbles “good idea.” you snuggle against his body. And he gives you another kiss on your head. Getting hurt might have been a good thing, one Joe came home early and second the cuddles.

[fanaticsnail]

Oh, oh, Buggy for the kissing booth please? (And if someone is in line ahead of me could I be tagged for him? 👉👈) Thank you! 🧡🧡🧡 This is such a fun idea!

-rorywritesjunk

(imma just request from main now on)

The Kissing Booth - Buggy for Rorywritesjunk

Word Count: 1,400+

Notes: Thank you so much for your patience, Rory! It's been a little while since I've done one of these! True to his form, here is the fail-forward clown in all his charismatic glory. Thank you for being here, and I hope you enjoy his kisses!

Taking a few final breaths to calm yourself down, ears pricked at the approach of heavy boots crunching gravel beneath the firm leather heels. Jingles of trinkets falling from jackets and belt buckles is what you assumed the twinkling chime sound was, but you knew better than to make an assumption on a stranger.

Laughter and merriment flung from the throats to christen the atmosphere with their joy, unintentionally drawing your own to bubble in your chest at the seriously large influx of unusual laughs. Not so much the content they were laughing at, but the laughs themselves was what had you teetering out soft giggles. 

“The hell is-...?” A nasally voice cut out, as the halt of his feet stood at the path before where you sat, “...A ‘Kissing Booth’? How does that work?” A few voices began to whisper amongst themselves as the boots drew ever nearer. 

Straightening your back, you shook yourself clear of any nerves as your posture became more alert and attentive. The crunch and crackle of boots meeting the floor halted and you felt your nose pick up the first whiff of their cologne. A deep musk and playful fruity scents interwoven with the spray of the sea, alongside something that almost matched the acidity of lemon sweets, met your nose and caused your mind to wander. Before you could make a motion to speak, their voice interrupted your monologuing with the same nose-front resting tone. 

“What do I do? Just sit in front of you and get a facefull of tongue?” the voice asked with confusion laced in their tone. “Are you even any good? No offense intended or anything.” 

You immediately reclined in your stool with your brow furrowing beneath the mask at his questioning. Hooking one leg over your knee, you fold your arms and turn your face from the stranger. 

“If I wasn’t any good, I wouldn't have volunteered for this,” you huff, angling your chin in the air and electing to ignore him. “And no, I don’t give out a ‘faceful of tongue’. If that’s your idea of a kiss, please, by all means, jog on.” 

“‘Jog on’?” He mimicked you, moving towards the guest seat and plopping himself down on the surface, “Crew, you lot ‘jog on’. I’m gonna have words with this one.” 

“You sure, Captain?” another voice asked the man, only being met with a few sounds of claps of hands meeting shoulders and directions for the person to hush. Overlaps of: “We can go on the ferris wheel,” “Boss is letting us of the leash,” “The captain wants some privacy,” and “I want to hit the barbeque,” was released in hushed whispers as footsteps immediately fled the scene unfolding between you and this ‘Captain’.

After the sounds of feet meeting the ground left to a complete vacation from your proximity, a few leaves of paper crumpled into the jar beside you by the hands of your guest. 

“I-... uh-...” they began, slowly scooting the stool closer to you, “I’m sorry about the tongue thing. I don’t know what that was all about. A-And for judging your abilities to kiss. I’m sure you are a fine kisser, and considering I’ve paid my Berry, I mean�� If you’re still wanting to… I just… I’m sorry.”

You still angled your face away from him, only now pursing your lips to stifle a rising smile on your face. Slowly but surely, you turned to face him and extended your right hand out to offer him your truce. You felt his shrouded hand meet with yours, noticing a slightly worn fuzz to the leathery material before you felt contact meet with your knuckles. 

Breath warmed your skin before his lips descended to the middle knuckle: pursed in a perfect heart shape to caress your skin. Holding their lips there for a moment longer, they removed them and thumbed over the spot. 

“Forgiven then?” the voice asks you softly. You slowly turn your shrouded face towards him and give him a polite nod. 

“I’m sure your comment was offered in jest,” you smile at him, your hand still placed within his own. “And that was a very unique way to use your donation. Most people go for the lips.” 

The hand wrapped around yours tensed, frozen in place as their breath hitched in their throat.

“That wasn’t-, I didn’t mean-, kiss on-, was that-?” his words all jumbled together like a clown missing each juggling ball on their descent. You chuckled at his words, unlacing your knees and leaning towards him.

“I was joking,” you nod at him, slowly moving your hand up to where you assume his face was. Immediately, his remaining other hand blocked your touch: his thumb in the center of your palm and for fingers circling over your fingers.

“Don’t,” they warned you, moving in closer, “It’s… It’s better if you hold still and I lean in. Uh… In fact.” Their face felt closer to yours, each moment seeming to bob against your face without ever making contact, “If… If you could tilt your head a little…” 

You furrowed your brows, but complied with his request. Tilting your head to the right, giving him more of an invitation, you were unsure as to what you were expecting.

Only seconds pass until you feel contact being slowly pressed against your face. Not your lips, but stamped against your cheek, a round object squished against your skin as they moved their lips ever closer. 

‘A nose?’ you thought to yourself, refusing to question their actions and only tilting your chin up as a response. As you angled your face upwards, you felt his lips meet with yours. Timidity, uncertainty, and a small quiver was found in the lips of this formerly confident captain. Each motion was slow as he opened up more to the kiss. 

Slowly moving his lips against yours, he expelled a breathy sigh as you reciprocated all of his movements. Mouthing at your lips, he flicked his tongue out to playfully brush with your bottom lip, only to immediately whimper as you parted them to accept him. His hands left yours, regrouping to cup your face with his gloved hands. Pinky fingers at your jaw, he held you steady as he added more pressure to the intensity of his kiss.��

His head tilted to change angles, offering you a few more fluttered kisses as he swapped directions, brushing the rotund tip of his nose against yours in the interlude between his deep kiss. The moans from his throat intensified as you drew your hand to his chest and held firm to his collar, never breaking the kiss first for fear that you would pull away too quickly. 

There was no stop to the motions, using all in his power to continue claiming more of you against himself while attempting to breath as much of you in as he could. The way he kissed you was as if you were the last kiss he would ever have before resolving himself to the gallows. The need for air began to tug at your lungs, as was his own, prompting him to break the kiss with a smacked pucker of his lips on yours. 

“I-...” he choked as he panted through the heave of his lungs screaming at him, “...Am Buggy. And that?” you felt his clothed thumb press against your lips, brushing the skin in a smooth swipe, “That was a really good kiss. Hold still for me, starlight?” 

“Hold still-?” your question dies on your lips as you feel him begin to swipe a wet piece of material over your lips and dab at a few key spots on your skin.

“I… I wear paints, and you got a little transferred on you,” he commented with a small chuckle, “Don’t you worry, you’ll be all back to how you were when I clean you up. Just keep sitting as you are, and I’ll be done in a second, alright?” 

You did as you were told, asking no questions while Buggy dutifully cleaned up your features with every slow movement. As he said, it was all over in a quick moment. As he pulled the cloth away from your skin, he took a moment to ponder you as you sat on the booth. 

“When you’re all done up here, ‘shut up shop’ as it were,” he pressed the towel to the tip of your nose and playfully dabbed you, “Let me take you out? Just as an apology for the earlier comment about the faceful of tongue and the judgment on your ability.”

You hum thoughtfully and purse your lips in mock thought. Taking a second to yourself, you smile with your nose crinkled in a playful scrunch.

“I’ll think about it.”

[loverafey]

fake dating rafe ! kook bsf!reader

ꕀ warnings - none, sfw, gn terms! wc - 748

upon realising that rafe had to keep up his appearances in the business meetings he had to reluctantly attend ever since the death of his father, going all alone in those meeties and especially the parties after felt so, so wrong with no one clinging to his arm. not that he cared, really. but it did irl him that everyone had a partner in these overly fancy meets and he was just there, new and incapable in other’s eyes probably.

so he sought you out, his best friend. you being a kook and the next to inherit your father’s business made things better, some people in the meetings would already know you as well. easy work.

“c’mon, it’s just temporary.” he had coaxed you in so sweetly, a smug grin always playing along his lips, as if he knew you’d give up. how couldn’t he? he knew you better than anyone, having been your friend for years. “after all, who would not wanna be my partner, yeah?” you had playfully smacked his arm at that, attempting to ignore the heat crawling onto your face.

now at some boring event consisting of only business owners having come up to discuss deals and all that stuff you could care less about, your arm was hooked around his, wearing an outfit he had picked just for you. it matched his suit — a shade of dark blue. it was hard not to acknowledge how this little idea of his made your heart flutter. but hey, it was all simply for the sake of appearances, right? just a temporary fake dating, maybe only till he finds a real partner.

that thought made your heart feel heavy for whatever reason.

“want a drink, baby?” rafe’s eyes were focused on you for most of the time as he purposefully called you that, not interested in whatever deals people tried to brief him about this evening. you just looked so stunning that it hurt, and all he wanted was to swoop you up and give you a big kiss — but what if that were to ruin the friendship between you both? fuck it.

“too into this role, aren’t you?” you retorted as an attempt to tease him, unable to hold in a smile as you nodded at his offer, following him.

“don’t have anything else to do here after all.” he scoffed, fetching you a drink before leading you away from the hall, fingers gently holding onto yours as he tugged you away from all the people inside and towards the balcony of the cruise you all were riding, a sense of relief overflowing you both at the natural breeze, so much better than the sheer suffocation within.

“boring business, yeah?”

that night was rather uneventful after that, except the occasional banter between you both. you didn’t know what you were expecting. he might have been your ‘boyfriend’, but it only lasted till the event ended.

or so you thought.

you were startled awake by the noise of little rocks hitting your window in the middle of the night a few days after that. still in a state of sleep, you hesitantly walked over to your window, catching the sight of rafe standing down there, grinning.

“rafe, what the hell?” you spoke as quietly as you could, not wanting to wake anyone else up.

“what? can’t even visit you anymore?” he sounded bummed out to say the least, a somewhat grumpy pout present on his face. rolling your eyes, you muttered something under your breath and silently wandered down the stairs until you met him at the porch, instantly tugged by his hand, pulled closer to him.

“what’s up?” you sighed, a hand instinctively reaching up to cup the side of his face. he was quick to lean into your touch, as if desperate, eyes fluttering shut.

“couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you after the party…” he huffed, his hands slowly coming to rest on your sides, keeping you there.

“yeah?” you smiled, failing to suppress a giggle as he nodded and tilted his head to press a kiss on your wrist.

“c’mon, we gotta be sleeping together to make our fake dating more effective.” he persisted, not giving you a chance to speak as he dragged you over to his truck, and you let him, still in your pajamas.

“and maybe try kissing too?” he snickered, looking at you eagerly. of course you gave in, once again. after all, he sure did know you better than anyone else.

[revelboo]

think my previous ask about how u got my hooked on Skyfire got buried, no worries- think it was Skyfire, u only had 1 chapter for him. might have been ketfire, one of the 'Fire' flyers....

hooked on starscream's inside out as well now too congrats XD

About that….

I’ve only had this blog since the end of September, not even two months, and there’s almost 900 of you guys already and even as fast as I write? Y’all are much faster…

Floating Down The River Pt 2

IDW Skyfire x Reader

• How can one tiny organic be so quick? If you get into the tree line, he’s never catching you, so he tries to herd you away with an outstretched hand. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he growls as you duck under his hand and dart away from the trees right for the river. And then you’re trying to run alongside the bank as he chases. Sees the moment your foot slides in the mud and folds under you, your cry cut off as you hit the churning water and just disappear.

• Shockingly cold, that icy impact with the river knocks the air from your lungs, the current rolling you until you can’t figure out which way is up, can’t breathe as your shoulder and hip smack against the rocky bottom and terror seizes you that you shouldn’t have been so worried about iron giant catching you, because this is worse.

• Where are you? Straddling the river, he plunges both hands in trying to find you while a voice he hates in the back of his processor whispers that the problem just took care of itself. Servos flexing, he brushes something that’s not rock or sand, but loses it. Shifting and dredging his hands until he has you in his servos, lifting you free as you choke and throw up water on him, curling into a little ball of misery that’s icy to the touch. Sodden and shivering uncontrollably, you peer up at him. But all the fight is gone from you. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he says, running a servo along your back. “Just talk.” Technically he was trying to stop you from running to go get your army.

• Sprawled limply in his big hands, you know you should be trying to get away, screaming. Doing something, but you’re just so exhausted. And why would he bother to save you from the river just to squish you like a bug? Eyes closing, you make a little sound in the back of your throat when he nudges you. “You’re not going to try and burrow under my plating are you?” He murmurs, deep voice rumbling through you.

• “Wh-what?” Teeth chattering and miserable, the feel of him exasperatedly venting against you in a wash of warm air almost makes you whimper before he’s shifting you against his throat under his chin. And, oh. He’s warm, shockingly so and you don’t need any urging to leave his hand. You’re pressing yourself into him, feeling the odd give of the metal mesh against you and you both shudder at the contact, you at the warmth and you assume him because of how icy you are.

• Servos lingering to keep you pressed to him, he isn’t entirely expecting for you to murmur a soft ‘thank you’ or to press your face against his throat. Surrendering yourself to his care. He can feel how cold you are, your breathing, and the calming tattoo of your heart against him as he strokes the tip of a servo along your spine and tries to figure out what to do now beyond warming you up. You’re just so tiny, and even though he’s used to being the biggest bot in a room, how long has it been since he’s been able to hold someone? Be needed for more than just his size and strength? “I’m Skyfire,” he says as you shift against him, needing him.

Previous

[rothpie]

❝INHERITANCE❞|part1

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Marriage of Convenience; JJ Maybank x Kook!Reader

Summary: The rebellious child of a noble family, the last hope, the one meant to carry on the family name. Your grandfather’s health was failing, and though you were expected to inherit everything, he had pulled away from you completely. Now, there was only one condition for you to receive his inheritance; to get your life in order, stop coming home late at night, give up drinking, and, of course his last wish—a marriage.

Warnings: kind of daddy issues, mentioning losing parent

selly's note: I'm so excited!!! hope you like it💗💗💗

next

Parties had always been intriguing. For some, they were an escape from life; for others, a lifestyle. They were places where you’d run into everyone you knew or didn’t know. You always hoped they’d play good music, and when you walked in, you loved that moment when most eyes turned your way. Feeling their gazes, being the center of attention, being talked about—that was power. You couldn’t live without attention. Sure, everyone enjoys a little of it, but you craved it every moment.

You loved dancing wildly, drinking, and letting loose at parties. It was one of those rare times you’d truly disconnect from everything. Laughing crazily with your friends, getting close with a guy—it thrilled you. It was as if the world were ending and you were going out with a bang. Live fast, die young, right?

You were meant to live each day like it was your last. You were here to enjoy life, and you had no intention of stopping—because you wouldn’t stop. Today could be your last day.

It wasn’t just a behavior; it was a way of life.

And you were in love with it.

The future could wait; you had more important things to do now—like being young.

You loved the label of “party monster.” Even while listening to The Weeknd, you couldn’t help but imagine yourself in the scene. You didn’t think you could live without partying—not at this point.

Most people didn’t matter much to you. Usually, you enjoyed drinking and hanging out with people your own age, soaking in the party vibes, watching people cannonball into pools, the beer pong games, seeing everyone try to drink from kegs. You loved being young.

No lie, you loved everything that came with youth—guys, the fun, the parties, sex, the yacht parties…

Even if you didn’t always prefer getting drunk, your body wasn’t exactly used to it. Strong drinks got you tipsy fast. Most times, you ended up having friends drop you off at home, or you’d wake up at some guy’s place you’d hooked up with. It didn’t matter. You never felt ashamed of one-night stands. Sex was just a part of life. And though you didn’t always like sneaking out quietly, you still did it.

Sticking around and getting emotional wasn’t your style. You hated the “What are we now?” question. You’d rather jump off a cliff than hear it.

Sometimes, though, you’d wake up at home, only to face your dad’s and grandfather’s disapproving stares. Most mornings, you’d stumble down to breakfast looking like a mess. Even after washing your face, your mascara and eyeliner would still smudge, the headache hitting hard—you looked fucked, no doubt.

But you were just a young girl who partied.

You might come home late, drink, be out most of the week, and practically treat the house like a hotel, but hey—at least you didn’t do drugs. That was an accomplishment, right?

You were just a girl.

Hanging out at the golf club didn’t interest you. You thought it was ridiculous, even though you were part of the Kook crowd. With so many things to do, golf? Really?

There was only one reason you’d stay out under the sun that long—tanning. Nothing else could keep you baking in the sun. Ever.

Most people at the golf club weren’t there for golf anyway. They’d wear their best outfits, spritz on perfume, do their makeup, and show up just to flaunt themselves. Some were hoping to score a date for the night, others looking for a potential spouse. The place was swarming with people trying to show off their wealth, a live version of a dating app. You hated it.

Waiting in line for a guy? 

You wouldn’t even look at someone who wasn’t interested in you from the start. Your guy had to be loyal. Chasing other women while pursuing you? Eliminated. Eyeing three other girls in the same room as you? Out. Walking alongside you and your best friends on the same beach? All three of you would kick him to the ass.

You never needed it. Your family name was known, and everywhere you went, you stood out. You didn’t need to make yourself known or put in extra effort to catch people’s attention.

You were already valuable. The brightest jewel on the island. The shiniest diamond.

You were noticeable even on the path you walked.

Still, your love life wasn’t exactly successful. You weren’t sure if it was by choice or if the guys on the island were just idiots. Either way, you always knew most of them were after your family name—maybe to get into the company, or for the benefits it would bring to their own families. It was always a letdown.

Looking back, you were grateful. Those experiences taught you something, and you were now certain none of them were worth a second thought. Your exes were terrible. Thank goodness you hadn’t given any of them your virginity.

One had been worse than the others. But at least he was handsome—and muscular, tall… Too bad he’d left the island.

You were never treated as the “heir” they wanted. Before you were even born, they’d wished for a boy. They’d wanted you to be a son. It was insulting. But you just preferred to think of it as saying, 'Too bad, bitches—I’m a girl!'

Thank heavens.

As a kid, you always wanted a sibling. So did your parents, especially a son to carry on the family line. But when your parents plans conflicted with God’s plans, there’s no telling what might happen.

Before you could have a sibling, you lost your mother. She was in the same car as your dad, and he was the only one who survived. When he refused to remarry, you were left as the family’s only grandchild.

No, you weren’t a boy. But you were still the one they had to trust to carry on the family line. You’d take over the company someday; you’d be the boss. They’d always made that clear. They let you be a kid for a while, but the moment you hit adolescence, the serious talks started. Because of the family’s public image, they always expected you to be polite and courteous. You were, of course.

But over time, these expectations became stricter, and as you felt more pressure from your family, your need for freedom grew.

As much as you loved the party life, you’d take over the company one day. That ambition was in you—it was just a matter of time. And until then, you’d live it up.

Who said girls can’t carry on the family name?

You were living proof, like millions of women out there. You had plenty of time before taking over the company, and for now, you were enjoying the moment. Future you could deal with the future. Why would you worry now?

At this age, you and Jada and Aaliyah were way too busy partying.

It had taken days for you all to decide on a birthday dinner over a party, if we’re honest. It was Jada’s 20th. It was a big deal, and you’d discussed a lot of options. But finally, she decided on a quiet celebration with her closest friends instead of a big party.

The reason was simple.

Her family had just bought a new home, and they’d made it clear they wanted no parties for a while. Jada was on board with that anyway. She didn’t want people throwing up on her new couches or couples making out all over her place.

Besides, she realized you could manage with a small, private party of your own.

First, you’d talked about doing it on a yacht, but Jada didn’t want to risk throwing up on a boat after drinking, not to mention the fear of falling overboard while drunk. It was very much something that would happen to her. She couldn’t stay stable on anything that moved.

After a lot of back-and-forth, Aaliyah came up with the idea of a dinner. She told you both to leave the details to her and picked the spot. Jada was thrilled.

She felt like she was getting a surprise party—although she knew it’d be just the three of you and was fully aware of the plan, she still acted clueless. Even on the way there, she acted like she had no idea why or where you were going—as if it wasn’t her birthday.

But neither you nor Aaliyah broke character. You both played along as if you were headed to the yacht. It became a little game between you.

“Girl, I swear—kisses to the chef won’t cut it! I need to go back to the kitchen and fuck him. If a man cooks like this, I owe him at least ten kids,” Aaliyah said, cracking you both up. Thanks to her, you had the best seats with a full view at Figure Eight’s top restaurant—prime Instagram Story material.

As you took a sip of your white wine, Aaliyah cleared her throat. You turned to her, smiling.

“Girl, you’ve lost it. What if the chef is, like, 54?” Aaliyah scrunched her face, and you joined in, pulling a face as Jada raised an eyebrow. She seemed incredulous. She took another bite before saying anything.

“You two are fucking idiot. Hugh Jackman’s 56, and I’d get in his bed in a heartbeat. I’m ready to be his personal whore.”

She had a point. If the chef looked as good as Hugh Jackman in his fifties, maybe he deserved a look, especially considering guys your age were nothing to brag about.

But still—the idea of dating, let alone sleeping with, a guy old enough to be your dad? That made you feel pretty gross. Just thinking about it made you cringe.

It was nasty.

Unless, of course, it was Hugh Jackman. For him, you'd practically sign up to be his broodmare.

After Jada threw out her little example, the silence stretched, and she looked at both of you with a smug grin. She’d laid down her final word. Period.

Spending time with these girls? Honestly, the best.

Aaliyah, right beside you, let out a dramatic sigh, catching your and Jada’s attention. When she put her hand to her mouth and dropped her fork, the two of you exchanged puzzled, worried glances. Was something wrong? But just as you started to feel real concern, Aaliyah moved her hand and started talking. “I cannot believe I forgot to tell you!”

For a moment, you were seriously worried about her, but quickly you realized that what she’d forgotten was merely a juicy piece of gossip. Which, for the three of you, was life-or-death level serious. If it wasn’t something major, there’s no way she’d be reacting like this. You dropped your fork, grabbing your wine glass as you turned to her. Jada followed suit, shaking her head with a hint of annoyance. “Girl, you’d better mean this in a good way, or I’m throwing you over the railing. You just freaked us out.”

Aaliyah tucked her hair behind her ears, her face breaking into a huge grin. She knew she was holding gold. This might just be the gossip of the year.

After clearing her throat, she looked at the two of you with sparkling eyes. “First off, I heard this from my mom. The whole island doesn’t know yet, but soon enough, everyone will. So we’re like, one of the first. Do you realize how big this is?” Aaliyah took a deep breath, savoring your expectant stares. She was clearly pleased at how primed you both were.

If she held back any longer, you were about to discover telepathy.

“You guys know the Rodolp's, right? They have a son our age, Harry. Apparently, Mr. Rodolph has been coming home later and later, and eventually it came out—he’s cheating on Mrs. Rodolph.” Gossip-wise, you were unimpressed. Who cared about middle-aged infidelity? Cheating on your wife of forty years was just... gross.

“I can see it on your faces. Hold on. Apparently, the person he’s seeing is someone our age.” Now that was interesting.

You turned fully to her, a mischievous grin growing on your face. “Girl, you’d better give us more. I’m dying of suspense here.” Jada nodded in agreement, pointing to you as she puckered her lips. “Right on the money, babe.”

“Do you remember our last year? That term when we mostly had classes together? Biology class, with Liliana. Apparently, Mr. Rodolph is fooling around with Liliana from biology. And it gets even worse—Liliana and Harry are dating. The guy is cheating on both his wife and his son, with his son’s girlfriend.”

Aaliyah was a fucking queen.

You and Jada were on the verge of screaming. If you’d been at home, you two would’ve been shrieking your heads off, but since you were in a restaurant, you both had to clench your teeth to avoid an outburst. This scandal was going to be the talk of the town for months, and thank heavens it had come your way first.

“Damn… Double homicide.”

Leaning back with pride, Aaliyah pointed to herself, clearly reveling in her role. She looked like she’d just swept every major award.

Best Gossip in the Game.

That award was hers. She deserved it.

After that, things settled down a bit. You went back to eating as Aaliyah filled you in on the divorce proceedings, how Harry was firmly on his mom’s side, and any other spicy detail she had on the Rodolph's situation. Jada blew out her birthday candle, and you handed over your gifts—she was thrilled. With a designer bag in one hand and a diamond necklace around her neck, she struggled not to scream from excitement, kissing each of you about a thousand times.

The rest of the evening felt like the perfect girl’s night. You laughed, gossiped, had a blast—until the food was gone and the alcohol intake was way too high.

No one expected to get that drunk. You were pretty sure Aaliyah had promised to only have a little, yet you were positive she had polished off a bottle herself. Jada? She didn’t even pretend; she kept saying it was her birthday and she was entitled to it. She wasn’t wrong.

At one point, Jada even contemplated going into the kitchen to hunt down the chef. She nearly got up but couldn’t decide if she should carry her new bag or stick with her regular one. She added something about 22 or 52 looking no different in her eyes.

And you? Every moment with these girls was priceless. You were making new memories to look back on, imagining them as your kids’ honorary aunts, and then as their kids’ aunts too. Best friends for life.

None of you stopped drinking. You egged each other on, shot after shot, until you lost count.

At the end of the night—you were all completely hammered.

How you got home, who paid the bill, who drove? No clue. You opened your eyes the next morning in your own bed, with a throbbing headache. You felt as if you hadn’t had water in forty-eight hours, and your stomach was burning. You wanted to just lay down on the cool floor. Hangovers like this were the worst.

Sitting up, you reached for your phone. The group chat was lighting up with notifications. When you opened it, you saw that Jada and Aaliyah were already awake, talking about just how far things had gone last night. Jada was still going on about the chef. You’d really gone too far.

It was supposed to be a normal dinner, celebrating Jada’s 20th birthday. A night to hug each other, share some love, then go home—naturally, you’d gone way beyond that.

After reading about Aaliyah getting scolded by her mom, you set your phone back on the bed, unable to deal with more notifications with your throbbing head. You’d text them back later. As much as you loved the wild nights, you hated the mornings after.

To snap yourself out of it, you headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. You were sure you reeked of alcohol, which you absolutely despised. Smelling bad was practically the worst thing you could think of. You had to smell good, always. The shower didn’t take long, and after you got out, you brushed your teeth and went back to your room. You wrinkled your nose at the lingering smell of alcohol.

You opened the windows, threw on some casual workout clothes, and as you brushed your hair, you couldn’t help but think how much you loved being a girl. The self-care, the hair products, all the creams… how do guys even go without this stuff?

What the fuck do they even talk about? How do they survive missing out on all this?

You couldn’t. It was baffling.

Once you were done, you left your hair damp and headed out of your room.

As you were about to enter the living room, three men in suits caught your eye as they exited. Instead of finding your dad and grandfather seated as usual, you noticed your father standing by the window, gazing out over the view, while your grandfather was settled in an armchair, tapping a pen rapidly.

"Good morning," you said, hesitating slightly. Things were always tense in these situations—you were used to it. They didn’t approve of your lifestyle. They might even consider it… unbecoming. And you got it to an extent, but the tension was draining. You’d always hated it.

“More like good afternoon, dear.” Your grandfather’s voice was gentle, but you sensed the sarcasm. He wasn't pleased. Classic.

Just as you were about to respond, you saw your dad turn away from the window. He rubbed his face with his hands, his eyes settling on you with a look so intense it ignited a spark of dread in your gut.

What the fuck was going on?

“Would you like to sit down?” Your grandfather’s voice broke the gaze you held with your dad. You immediately took the seat across from him, catching a hint of a smile on his face. Yet it wasn’t warm. It was an unsettling grin, one that made you feel… uneasy.

You did not like this. Not a bit.

Your dad moved to stand between you and your grandfather, arms crossed. But now he wasn’t even looking at you.

“You never understood.” Your grandfather’s voice cut through, and your brow furrowed. You hated this strained atmosphere. You wanted to get up and leave. But you knew you wouldn’t.

"I’ve tried to help you understand; your father has tried. You’re twenty years old. What are you even living for?”

Okay, now you were officially starting to worry. Your grandfather’s tone, the whole approach—he seemed to be trying to soften the blow. And that, somehow, was even worse. Right now, you hated everything about this.

“You used to be a kid with straight As, despite those odd habits of yours. You didn’t want to go to college; we let it slide. You carry yourself with a confidence that can only come from knowing you’ll always be cushioned. No lie, it’s true.” His smirk widened as he placed the pen down on the coffee table and leaned back.

You’d rarely felt fear in your life. With your father and grandfather behind you, the family name erased any need to be afraid. Your last name was its own protection.

You’d always known that whatever happened, you’d come out fine. That’s why you’d never been scared.

But now? Now your body was nearly trembling. This wasn’t like the usual lecture about your carelessness, or how thoughtless you could be. It was always that same song and dance. But today, they’d taken it somewhere new.

You couldn’t help but be scared.

“So we expected, at the very least, that you’d learn from your mistakes. But it’s clear that’s not happening. You need something to wake you up—a push. And we’ve found one. Until you prove yourself, you won’t receive even a single percent of your inheritance.”

What?

Did he just—did he really just say you were cut off?

As if you didn’t carry the family name? As if you weren’t his grandchild? There was no one else in line for this inheritance. If he left it to your dad, it would still go to you eventually.

So, just because you were young, he was really taking away your rights? This was your birthright! What you did—it wasn’t some rebellion, wasn’t meant as a statement. You didn’t act this way because—

This was your birthright…

Your grandfather started coughing suddenly, his frail body rattling with each hack. Your father moved quickly to his side, and you got up as well. But he raised his hand to stop you both. A helper came to wheel him out of the room, his chair squeaking slightly on the floor. Watching him leave, you replayed his words in your mind, trying to make sense of it.

It was impossible. This was your birthright! How could he just strip it from you?

“You’ve gone too far,” your dad spoke, fixing you with a look that felt like a fireball about to explode. You wanted to lash out, to yell, to demand that this decision be taken back. But the words didn’t come.

“You came home last night like a disaster. Do you know how hard I had to fight to keep him from cutting off your credit cards?” He shook his head, his voice rough. “You’re going to fix this. You’re going to restore your image in his eyes, because right now, you are anything but the girl he wants you to be.” Your hands went to your wet hair, squeezing in frustration. You wished this was all a nightmare, that you were still sleeping.

“What do you want from me, Dad? Should I become some kind of church girl?” Your voice had risen without you realizing it, and you quickly quieted down. You hated feeling cornered, hated this situation, hated everyone—everything.

And those credit cards… if they were cut off, there’d be nothing left for you. And now, losing your future inheritance entirely? It was catastrophic. It wasn’t like you wanted your grandfather dead; you loved him, outdated as he was. But this felt so unfair… You hated every bit of it.

“If that’s what it takes, then yes!” Your dad’s voice snapped you back to reality, his tone so firm it reminded you of being ten years old, on the verge of crying because you hadn’t gotten your way. “Your grandfather is ready to leave the money to the government, do you understand? No—look at me. Let this sink in. Money, property, the company—everything. Fix this. He got married at twenty. It’s practically a miracle he hasn’t lost his mind with you staying out all night, bringing home God knows who. You’re going to fix this, understand?”

You found yourself nodding automatically.

The way he was using this inheritance as a punishment was disgusting. Leaving it all to the government—now that was a nightmare. You did not want that.

“Can’t you… Can’t you change his mind?” you asked, voice low. Your father gave you a look like you’d just spoken in a foreign language. He took a few quick steps forward, disbelief on his face. He was furious that you still seemed unwilling to accept this reality.

“Do I look like I haven’t tried?” His voice was hard, his expression angry. He was holding back to avoid drawing attention. Neither of you wanted this conversation getting back to your grandfather. “If you want the money, you’re going to stop spending your nights out like some fool. Yes, actually, a church girl wouldn’t be a bad idea. Hell, maybe even get married if you need to, I don’t know! Just make him happy! I’m not the one causing this mess!”

Your hands pressed against your head as you closed your eyes, feeling the weight of it all. You tried to think. Even if you did all of this, how did you know your grandfather would ever change his mind? Maybe he’d never truly approve…

When you opened your eyes to speak, you found an empty room.

Of course—your dad had left.

[grison-in-space]

Stupidest of stupid questions: So humans are trichromatic, right? We basically have RGB eyes. How inefficient would it be to have CMYK eyes? Is it even possible?

You could absolutely do CMY eyes, but the K (being black) is a little more difficult because black isn't a wavelength of light so much as the absence of light. I suppose you could call the K your rods, which are best used in low light and convey things like "shadows" and "movement" particularly effectively. As a human, the most sensitive part of your retina, the part you're using when you directly look at things, is called the fovea. It is PACKED with cones, which are good for color and also tight spatial resolution; rods are found outside along the periphery of both the retinal and visual field. So we're just going to set the K aside now and think about those cones.

Honestly, tetrachromat eyes are technically pretty easy to achieve: all you need is four versions of cone-rhodopsin genes getting translated into different kinds of cone-rhodopsin cells in your retina. Old World primates evolved our trichromat eyes from dichromat mammalian ancestors exactly this way: with a gene duplication in one core cone-rhodopsin gene that allowed one of the copies to accumulate mutations until a sufficiently divergent copy fixed in the population.

So to have CMY eyes, you'd need three cone-rhodopsins with different wavelength sensitivities: one that is most sensitive to cerulean, one most sensitive to maroon, and one most sensitive to yellow. You might or might not have better color resolution than a regular old RGB human, though: color resolution is partly a function of the sensory information hitting your retinas, but it's also partly a function of how much brain space you dedicate to processing that information.

I mentioned my blind cat Arthur the other day--here's a photo:

Arthur is what we call cortically blind. As a kitten, he had an intact pupillary reflex and could probably see light vs dark, but he also had severe nystagmus, so his pupils jittered uncontrollably all the time and he probably didn't get a whole lot of useful visual input. Without the visual experience of seeing things and learning how to organize and process visual information, his brain as he developed went "you know what? fuck this" and stopped dedicating any processing power to whatever visual input he was getting.

Basically, he lost visual acuity because the information he was able to pipe to his brain was fragmented and poor-quality enough that his brain stopped bothering to process it. If I pulled his current eyeballs out and magically hooked up new totally functional ones, he wouldn't be able to do anything with them: his brain has given up sorting out the information.

So the question of whether theoretical CMY humans could distinguish colors better than RGB humans is driven by two things: one, whether having two highly-overlapping cones helps you distinguish between slightly variant light types better than very different cones, and two, whether we're extending the total visual range by moving the cones at the external ends of the range (B and R) farther apart. Overlapping but unique sensory information can be really helpful for localizing and distinguishing similar-but-not-identical inputs--that's one of the reasons owls are good at localizing quiet noises, actually, their ears are wildly asymmetrical and they can computer where a noise is made based on how loudly it can be heard with each ear, especially if the owl is on the move as it listens. Like the Doppler effect, but faster with a lot more processing power on it.

I have no idea which would be more effective, but it's a fun thing to think about!

[d-z20]

Heavy Hits, Soft Touches

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You meet your rival, Rio Vidal, in the MMA championship ring, both of you determined to prove you're the best. Years of tension and unspoken chemistry finally come to a head in a brutal fight that leaves you both bloodied and bruised. But when the crowd fades and you're left alone in the locker room, you discover that maybe you've been fighting something else all along

- OR -

You and Rio have it out in the octagon but are flirting the whole time (MMA AU)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of violence/fighting, hurt (physical), angst, comfort, implied smut

Words: 2.9k

A/N: This fic is based on this request. No smut, but I am more than happy to create a fic that details just how you spent the night wrapped up in each other if literally even one person asks...

Have a gander over to AO3

The locker room is quiet now, the echoes of the cheering crowd fading into the background. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, seeing blood smeared across your cheek, the bruise blossoming under your eye. You press a towel to your split lip, but the sting doesn't bother you as much as it should. Not when your thoughts are still wrapped up in her. In Rio Vidal

Your rival. Your equal. The woman who's been your greatest challenge and your biggest distraction for years now. From the moment you stepped into the MMA circuit, she was there, always one step ahead, always pushing you harder than anyone else. You've faced each other in the octagon before, trading victories in matches that never failed to make headlines. The press loved to play up your rivalry, spinning stories about how much you hated each other. But the truth? You didn't hate her. You respected her. Maybe a little too much, because with that respect came an attraction you couldn't shake, an unspoken chemistry that lingered every time you met her gaze.

The problem was, Rio knew it too. She knew exactly what kind of effect she had on you, and she wasn't above using it to her advantage.

You had just faced her in a non-title match to drum up excitement for the championship in a few weeks. It might not have been the final tonight, but with the way you both fought, it could as well have been. You could still remember the way she'd looked at you right before the third and final round, her gaze burning into yours, a smirk pulling at her lips as if she knew she had you right where she wanted.

The crowd's cheers had faded into a dull roar in your ears; all you could hear was your own breathing, the pounding of your heart, and her voice cutting through it all.

"Don't look so tense, sweetheart," she drawled, her smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. "You're not scared of me, are you?"

You glared at her, wiping the sweat from your brow. "In your dreams, Vidal."

She chuckled, low and dark. "Oh, you're always in my dreams."

Before you could respond, she lunged forward, throwing a punch that you barely dodged. The crowd erupted as you countered with a hook to her ribs, but she didn't even flinch. Instead, she grinned, her eyes lighting up with something almost feal. She liked this—you could tell. She liked the challenge, liked the way you pushed back against her.

You exchanged blows, neither of you holding back. Her fists hit like a freight train, and she was relentless, forcing you back against the cage. She pinned you there, her forearm pressed into your throat just hard enough to make it difficult to breathe. Her face was inches from yours, her smirk maddeningly cocky.

"You're not tapping out on me, are you?" She taunted, her breath hot against your ear. "I thought you were tougher than this."

You gritted your teeth, shoving back against her with all your strength. "I'm not tapping out," you snapped, your voice a harsh rasp. "Not to you."

"Good," she purred, leaning in closer. "I'd be disappointed if you did."

You twisted out of her grip, slamming your elbow into her side. She grunted, stumbling back, but she was smiling. It was almost like she was enjoying the pain, like every hit was a game to her. You went at each other harder, trading punches and kicks that left you both bruised and bloodied. You managed to land a brutal uppercut that caused her head to snap back, and for a second, you thought you had her.

But then she was on you again, sweeping your legs out from under you. You had hit the mat hard, the air knocked out of your lungs, and before you could recover, she straddled you, pinning your wrists above your head.

"Gotcha," she breathed, her grin wide and predatory. She was bleeding from a cut above her eyebrow, her lip split, but she had never looked more alive. "Still think you can beat me, sweetheart?"

You struggled under her, but she had you locked down. You could feel the strength in her grip, the way her body pressed against yours, and it had sent a shiver down your spine. You hated how much you had liked that—how much you had liked her like that.

In the end, she won. Barely. A split decision that had the crowd on their feet, the commentators buzzing about how you'd almost had her. Almost. She'd helped you up in a rare moment of sportsmanship, her hand lingering in yours longer than it needed to. "Better luck next time," she'd said, her voice low, challenging you.

You'd stared at her, every muscle in your body screaming in protest, but you'd nodded. Because you knew. The championship title was coming.

-

Tonight was finally the night. The championship fight—the one that would decide it all. The culmination of everything you've worked for, everything you've fought for. Five gruelling rounds, each more brutal than the last. You'd both won this title before, but you'd never faced each other in the finals. It was the match everyone had been waiting for, the one that felt like it was written in the stars. And you were going to fight like it too, like there was nothing outside that cage but the two of you.

The announcer's voice booms through the arena, introducing you both as the crowd roars. You barely hear it; your focus is entirely on her. She looks as fierce as ever, her dark hair tied back, a cocky grin plastered on her face as she rolls her shoulders, shaking out her arms. She knows the cameras are on her, knows the crowd is eating it up, and she loves it.

"You ready for this sweetheart?" She taunts, her voice carrying over the noise. "Wouldn't want you to embarrass yourself in front of everyone."

You smirk, stepping forward into the centre of the octagon. "I'm not the one who should be worried."

The referee goes over the rules, but you're not listening. You're too busy staring her down, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as you wait for the bell. It's the longest few seconds of your life, but then it sounds, and you're off.

The first round is brutal. You both go straight for it, no holding back. You know each other's styles too well; there's no feeling-out process here. She throws a quick jab, and you slip to the side, countering with a hook that catches her on the cheek. Her head snaps back, but she barely flinches, her grin widening like she's enjoying it.

"Nice hit," she breathes, ducking under your next punch and driving her knee into your ribs. It knocks the wind out of you, but you don't back down.

You grapple with her, twisting her into the cage. "Save your flirting for later," you grit out.

Her eyes flash, and she shoves you off with surprising strength, spinning you around and slamming you into the mat. She's on top of you in an instant, her hand gripping the back of your neck as she leans down, her breath hot against your ear.

"Why wait?" She purrs.

The bell rings, saving you from whatever comeback you were going to throw at her. The ref separates you, and you both stand, chests heaving, staring each other down with a wild intensity.

The second round starts off even more aggressive than the first, both of you refusing to back down. Your body is already aching, each movement a reminder of the last time you had fought, but you pushed through the pain. You can't afford to show weakness—not to her.

She lands a sharp jab, then a right hook that rattles your skull, forcing you to stumble back. Before you can react, she's on you, driving you into the cage with her full weight. The cold metal digs into your back as her forearm presses into your throat, pinning you just like before. Her face inches from yours, her smirk even cockier now, her eyes dark with something that isn't just competition.

"Déjà vu, sweetheart," she taunts, her voice a low purr. "You looked so pretty the first time I did this. I just couldn't resist doing it again."

Your breath catches, a mix of frustration and something you don't want to admit, burning through you. You shove back against her, trying to twist free, but she's got you trapped, her body flush against yours, holding you there effortlessly.

"Fuck you," you rasp, glaring up at her.

Her grin widens as she leans in closer, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Is that a promise?" She whispers.

For a second, you falter, caught off guard by the heat of her words and the way her breath skates over your skin. But then the bell rings, signalling the end of the round, and she pulls back, stepping away with a wink.

The third round is a blur of punches, kicks, and blood. You're both landing hits that would drop anyone else, but not you two. You're too stubborn, too caught up in this unspoken battle between you that goes beyond the championship.

In the fourth round, she gets you in a chokehold. It's tight, and you can feel the pressure building in your head, the edges of your vision starting to darken. The crowd is on their feet, roaring for a finish. You could tap. It would be the smart move. But you don't. You twist, clawing at her arms, and somehow manage to slip out, rolling away just as the bell rings.

You barely make it to your feet, and she's right there, hands on her hips, shaking her head with a grin. "You really don't know when to quit, do you?"

You spit blood onto the mat, grinning back. "Never."

The final round starts, and you both go all in. It's a flurry of strikes, both of you too exhausted for any fancy moves. She lands a solid punch to your jaw, and you stumble back, but as she moves in for the kill, you manage to sweep her legs out from under her. You drop on top of her, pinning her down, your forearm pressed to her collarbone.

For a second, you think you have her. But then she bucks her hips, flipping you onto your back, her body pressing against yours as she traps your arms beneath her knees. The referee moves in close, checking your position, and you realise you can't get out. Not this time.

The ref's voice is distant, calling the end of the fight. Rio just managing to secure victory once again. She pulls back just enough to let you breathe, but she doesn't get off you right away. Instead, she leans down, tilting her head, face inches from yours.

"Looks like I win again," her voice a mocking whisper. "You gonna cry about it?"

You laugh, breathless and bitter. "Fuck you, Rio."

Her grin widens as she leans in even further, her lips brushing your ear. "Maybe later, sweetheart."

She finally lets you up; the crowd's roar fills your ears as she raises her arms in victory. You stand there, chest heaving, staring at her as she soaks in the applause. She glances back at you, a flash of something softer in her eyes before she winks and turns away.

-

You don't see her again until you're both in the locker room, alone for the first time. You're sitting on the bench, wiping blood from your knuckles, when she saunters in. She looks as bad as you do—bruised, beaten, but somehow still infuriatingly cocky.

"Aww, do you need a hand?" She asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm, but there's a glint in her eyes that wasn't there before.

You roll your eyes, but you don't protest when she kneels in front of you, taking your hand in hers and dabbing a wet cloth against your busted knuckles. Her touch is surprisingly gentle, and you look down at her, catching the way her gaze softens as she cleans your wounds.

"You fought well," she admits quietly, not meeting your eyes.

"So did you," you reply, your voice just as soft.

Her hands linger on yours for a moment longer, her fingers tracing over your bruised knuckles like she's memorising the shape of them. It feels so different from the fight—so tender that it sends a shiver down your spine. You can feel the warmth of her hands seeping into your skin, and it's almost comforting. Almost enough to make you forget how brutal you were to each other earlier.

She shifts her focus, moving the cloth to the cut on your brow. You flinch when she presses against it, but she hushes you softly, like she's soothing a frightened animal. "I've got you."

Your breath catches at the endearment. It's the first time she called you that in this way, it feels different—like she's letting down her guard, if only for a second.

She looks up then, and for a moment, the mask slips. There's no smirk, no teasing grin—just Rio, looking at you for the first time. It's raw, and it makes your chest ache in a way the fight never did.

You swallow hard, taking the cloth from her hands. "Your turn," you say softly, gesturing for her to sit. She hesitates, like she's not used to letting someone else take care of her, but she sits down anyway, her expression guarded.

You crouch in front of her, your hands trembling slightly as you clean the cut on her brow. Her eyes flutter shut, and for once, she doesn't have a smart remark or a cocky grin. She's just quiet, letting you work in silence. you can see how exhausted she is now, how the adrenaline is starting to fade and the pain is setting in. You touch her bruised cheek gently, and she winces.

"Sorry," you murmur.

She opens her eyes, meeting your gaze. "Don't be," she says, her voice rough but sincere. "I've had worse."

You roll your eyes but can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips. "Of course you have."

She chuckles, the sound low and husky. "You're good at this," she comments, watching you dab at her split lip with a tenderness she doesn't seem to expect.

"I've had a lot of practice," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. But it's hard when she's looking at you like that—like she's trying to figure you out, like she's seeing something in you she hasn't before.

You brush her hair back, revealing a small cut near her temple. Your thumb lingers against her skin, and she leans into the touch, just for a second. It's such a small, vulnerable gesture that it almost breaks your heart.

"Rio," you whisper, her name falling from your lips like a confession. You lean in closer, pressing a kiss to her temple, and she closes her eyes, exhaling a shaky breath.

Her hand comes up to rest against your chest, not pushing you away, just holding you there, feeling the beat of your heart under her palm. "You don't have to do this," she mutters, but there's no conviction to her words.

You shake your head, cupping her face in your hands. "Yes, I do."

Her gaze drops to your lips, and you realise just how close you've become, your knees almost touching, her breath warm against your face. You're not sure who moves first, but then her lips are on yours—gentle at first, as if testing the waters, but it quickly turns desperate, hungry. It's like everything you've ever felt for her—all the frustration, the anger, the unspoken longing—boils over in an instant.

She pulls back, her forehead pressed against yours. "Come on," she mutters. "Let's get out of here; my place isn't far."

You nod. standing up on shaky legs. You grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as she does the same. Without another word, the two of you leave the locker room together. The ride to her place is quiet, the air thick with anticipation. Every bump in the road sends a jolt of pain through your bruised body, but you barely notice. You're too focused on the way her hand rests on your thigh, a silent promise of what's to come.

When you get to her apartment, she unlocks the door and leads you inside. You both drop your bags by the entrance, and she turns to you, eyes searching your face as if looking for any sign of hesitation. but there's none. You reach for her, pulling her close, and she kisses you again—deeper this time, like she's been starving for it.

You spend the night together, wrapped up in each other, bruises and all. It's not gentle or slow; it's rough and passionate—the kind of release you've both needed for so long. And when it's over, you lie tangled together in her bed, your head on her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart.

In the quiet, she runs her fingers through your hair, her touch surprisingly soft. "I guess that settles it," she chuckles.

You tilt your head up to look at her, confused. "Settles what?"

She smirks, brushing a thumb over your swollen lip. "Who really won tonight."

[blo0d1er]

꒷꒦ ˖ ° 🪓 ⋆ ｡ BRING IT

SLASH has posted a new video !

tw for fictional depictions of violence and death !

The video opens without the music, a car backing out of the driveway of a suburban, white picket house. Pick Me’s Kiko waves from the door, bidding her parents farewell. As soon as they’re down the driveway, she retreats inside, flopping unceremoniously onto the couch, immediately pulling out her phone to call “Bin😚” as we see on the screen. The phone rings once and the screen splits to reveal Neverland’s Dabin on the other end. 

“Hey!” he answers cheerily, tossing a ball in the air and catching it with his free hand. 

A smile spreads across her lips at the sound of his voice, a finger twirling in her hair. “Hey, my parents just left,” she kicks up a leg to hook her ankle over her knee, “Are you still coming tonight?”

The ball he tossed up falls against his chest, caught off guard by the question. His cheeks seem to flush pink at the implications, stuttering a reply, “Yeah, I’m there.”

“That’s great–” her smile grows thanks to his agreement until another voice cuts in on the other line.

“We’ll be there, Kiko!” the other voice calls out, clearly unwelcome from the annoyed roll of Kiko’s eyes.

Dabin’s side of the screen zooms out to show DeepDive’s Dowon and Stupid Cupid’s Jeanne messing around on the couch behind Dabin. 

Jeanne seems to be trying to shush him with a hand over his mouth, unsuccessful as he dodges and wrestles her arm down. “We’ll bring booze!” she offers as reconciliation when she fails at shutting him up.

Kiko sighs, her unruly friends experts at wearing on her nerves.

“Sorry, Koko,” Dabin mutters an apology on their behalf, his expression sheepish but not making a move to deny them their interruption.

“It’s fine,” she huffs. “Just tell them to be here in an hour.”

“Got it,” he nods and his side of the screen is snuffed out as Kiko ends the call.

She lets out another annoyed exhale, hitting call on another contact labeled “KK.”

“Hiii,” Krush’s Kaleina greets over the phone as she slides into view.

“Come over?” Kiko asks, rolling over onto her stomach, her elbows digging into the plush brown leather. 

“What happened to Dabin coming?” Kaleina asks, pressing the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she files her nails, perched on her bed.

“Dowon and Jeanne are coming too, now,” Kiko rolls her eyes again at the thought.

Kaleina lets out a snort of a laugh, her meddling friends always so predictable. “Right. Be there in 20,” she kisses the microphone end of her phone as a goodbye.

Kiko kisses back, ending the call and dropping the phone to the couch. She stands and walks out of frame, the camera slowly zooming in on the window in the back of the room, framing the shadowy dusk outdoors. 

The music begins, the intro notes playing as a figure wearing a fox-like mask steps out of the shadows.

As the first verse ensues, Kiko’s guests begin to arrive. They’re setting up a bonfire in her backyard, Dabin and Dowon stacking wood in the firepit while the girls chat and stock the drinks in the fridge just inside the kitchen. You can tell by Kiko’s flushed cheeks and Kaleina and Jeanne’s grins that they’re teasing her for her failed plans of a night with Dabin. Eventually they all gather outside around the lit fire, bundled up in blankets, laughing and messing around. Dabin and Kiko share a blanket, cuddled up together, but they seem a bit shy about it. Dowon and Jeanne sit close together as well, occasionally play fighting over the room on their seat.

Kaleina stands and heads back inside, climbing the stairs to use the bathroom. She’s washing her hands in the sink when we see a figure wearing a bunny mask approach behind her in the reflection in the bathroom mirror. The last we see of Kaleina before the scene cuts out is her eyes suddenly widening when she notices the masked person behind her.

Jeanne is the first to notice Kaleina’s absence getting longer than usual and she decides to go see what’s taking her so long. Jeanne follows Kaleina’s footsteps up the stairs as the pre-chorus begins. The bathroom door at the top of the stairs is slightly ajar, and water is beginning to run out from under it, tinged slightly pink. As Jeanne slowly approaches, pushing the door open all the way, we’re met with a horrific scene. Kaleina’s body is slumped in the bathtub, her bloodied head resting against the running faucet, the water overflowing onto the floor. The water in the tub is red, a smattering of blood on the shattered mirror above the sink creates the vision of her face being smashed into it.

The music cuts out entirely, the only thing viewers can hear being Jeanne’s harsh and panicked breaths. A second later, she lets out a blood-curdling scream, transitioning right into the beginning of the chorus.

The same bunny-masked killer slams the door open behind Jeanne and she shoves them backwards, tumbling out into the hallway. Their body blocks the stairs so she runs the opposite way, towards the bedroom at the end of the hall. She’s just about to slam the door to the bedroom shut, nearly escaping the killer when their arm catches the edge of the door just in time to keep it from shutting in place. The pair struggle against the door when another figure steps out behind Jeanne, unnoticed as she fights tooth and nail to get the door shut. 

The figure behind her, wearing a mask mimicking a crying boy with a crown perched on his head lunges forward and wraps their arms around Jeanne’s neck. They go lurching forward back into the hallway as the bunny killer wrenches the door from her grasp. As she struggles against the two figures, a knife flashes in the light before it’s sheathed between her ribs, red blooming on her sweater. She manages to shove the boy king off her back before she’s met with another knife to the abdomen. As she stumbles back, clutching at the blade sticking out of her stomach. The boy king regains their posture and shoves her over the banister to the first floor below. She falls in slow motion, her hair framing her wide eyes and gasping face before she crumples to the floor of Kiko’s entryway, just as the chorus ends.

The remaining trio outside hear the echo of Jeanne’s scream, their heads whipping to face the house where it came from. They exchange wary glances and Dowon shrugs, standing to investigate. He laughs it off, assuring Dabin and Kiko that it’s probably nothing. It’s obvious Kiko isn’t so convinced, but Dabin tightens his arm around her protectively as she anxiously grips the edge of the blanket.

Dowon heads inside, grabbing himself a beer from the fridge before venturing deeper into the house. He calls out Jeanne’s name to no response. As he rounds the corner into the entryway, he sees the pool of her blood smeared against the hardwood, but her body is gone. His brows furrow and his head swings around, calling out her name again. The scene cuts and we see a shotgun being cocked, raised to the eye of a mask that looks like a buck’s head, antlers protruding from the top. The trigger is pulled and we see Dowon again stumbling forward to his hands and knees, the beer bottle dropping from his hand and shattering against the wood. 

He struggles to scramble away from the attacker, one hand pressed to the gunshot wound in his stomach. He slips on the mixture of blood and spilled beer covering the floor, broken glass an added obstacle as the killer slowly approaches behind him, cocking the gun once more. A heavy black boot comes down on Dowon’s back, forcing him flat against the floor. His head turns, eyes pleading with the masked killer. It’s the last we see of Dowon, the camera turning to the antlered figure raising the gun once more and squeezing the trigger.

The sounds of the gunshots have fully alerted Dabin and Kiko now. They jump up at the sound of the first, frozen and exchanging concerned looks, debating on what they should do. At the sound of the second, Kiko is frantically pulling out her phone and fumbling to call the police. Dabin slowly approaches the door leading to the kitchen from outside, but Kiko grabs his arm, silently shaking her head, pleading him not to go inside. He reassures her, his expression steeled in determination as he breaks from her hold. She hesitates for a moment before following close behind him. 

The house is silent, but the pre-chorus builds once more as the pair enter cautiously through the kitchen door. Kiko’s hand is shaking, pressing her phone to her ear, but when she pulls it away to look quizically at the screen, we can see that she strangely no longer has any service. They’re on their own. 

Dabin grabs a knife from the block on the kitchen counter, wielding it in front of him as he slowly moves through the house, shielding Kiko behind him. They pass through the living room, entering the foyer to find Dowon’s body. The camera angle only shows his unmoving legs, but there’s an ever-growing pool of blood surrounding him. We see Dabin’s face pale and Kiko covers her hand with her mouth from over his shoulder, clearly sobbing behind the build of the music.

The shock is short-lived as up the stairs a door suddenly slams closed. Dabin turns to Kiko, telling her to stay put as he investigates. She seems reluctant, shaking her head in refusal at first, but she stays behind as he begins ascending the stairs, blade still outstretched before him. Water is still flooding from the bathroom at the top of the stairs, tinged and flowing down the steps. He looks inside to see the same grizzly scene of Kaleina, paling impossibly more and sparing a glance at a fearful Kiko still posted at the bottom. Yet he moves on, still determined to find who’s responsible. 

He pauses outside the closed door at the end of the hall, hesitant. He reaches out, opening the door to find another masked figure standing just inside, donning a mask depicting a cracked doll face, just as the chorus starts up again. Before he can lash out at them, an ax comes down on his shoulder. We see Kiko scream, poised to come up the stairs to his aid, but he manages to kick the attacker back once they wrench the blade from him. He calls for Kiko to run, swinging the kitchen knife in front of him with his other hand and clutching his wound with the other as he attempts to escape. Kiko hesitates for a moment before taking off back through the house, towards the backyard again. She nearly trips on Dowon’s body before she rounds the corner, running through the living room. 

Kiko emerges into the backyard again, only lit by the kitchen windows and the fire still burning. We see her breath fog in the air as she turns around, unsure where to go next, what to do. The bridge of the song rises, the anticipation building in the shadows. We see Dabin rounding the corner of the foyer, limping, bloody, and knife-less, but alive. He’s halfway through the living room when we see the doll still pursuing, armed with the ax. He makes it to the kitchen doorway, nearly outside when they catch up to him, Kiko pointing behind him in a terrified warning. He turns just in time to catch the handle of the ax as it comes down on him, struggling with the masked attacker. He manages to push them back for a moment, but they kick in one of his legs, dropping him to his knees. Kiko can only watch in horror as the ax comes down once more, his body falling backward onto the grass. We don’t see his head, but the wooden ax handle juts into the air in front of the killer as the song’s sustained high note echoes. 

Kiko turns to run again and finds another masked figure standing in front of the fire, their golden sun mask lit eerily from the back. She’s frozen for a moment, unsure of her next move. She glances backward quickly, finding the doll wrenching the ax back out of Dabin’s corpse, and knows she has to act. She turns to run towards the side of her house, away from the two attackers entirely, but towards that picket fence. It almost seems slow motion as the sun-masked figure pursues after her, gaining quickly, just as she reaches the fence. She slows to try and scale it, but they catch up and drag her back down, throwing her to the ground despite her struggles. A long bronze blade shines in the dim light as it is thrust downwards, into her abdomen. She screams as it’s wrenched back out of her, the attacker lifting her over their shoulder in a fireman’s carry. It’s a slow trek across the darkened yard once more, the lighting reflecting oddly off their gold mask and Kiko’s writhing form. 

The gold glows even brighter as they stand over the fire pit, the previous masked figures beginning to gather there. It’s a strange scene that we just get a glimpse of in the shadows before Kiko’s body is being heaved over their shoulder again, into the firepit. Sparks swirl up into the night air as the camera angle zooms out, framing the house where the horrors will soon be discovered as the final words of the outro fade into darkness.

˖ ° 🪓 ⋆ ｡thank you so much to everyone who allowed me to kill their ocs in this hehe !! find kiko at @pickmedolls, dowon at @bluwavez, jeanne at @stcpidcupid, kaleina at @urmykrushhh, and dabin at @ofmanycol0rs !

[umbravirtus]

Hans blinked, taking her words in stride, though he felt a small smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. "Well, that’s fair," he said, raising his hands in a mock show of surrender with a small chuckle. "In fact, if you ever feel like following through on that, you might have to get in line behind my brothers, my jaw still remembers that right hook on the ship" he reminds her.

His smirk faded as he looked at her more earnestly. "I’m not expecting forgiveness, Anna. I know I don’t deserve it. But if I’m being honest… I don’t think I’ll ever stop trying to earn it. And maybe that means taking some hits along the way if that helps you process."

There was a pause, a beat of silence where he hesitated, but then he continued, a bit softer. "I’m not asking you to be ‘cool’ with anything. Just… to give me a chance to be something other than the man you remember. And if that means you’ll keep wanting to punch me for a while… well, I can live with that."

Anna cautiously watched Hans process what she had said. Her eyes also trailed to their surrounding, ensuring there were no wandering eyes or ears. In hindsight, she should have prepared for this a lot more. She had years to prepare yet she barely did, especially now that she had the added weight of being queen.

She tried to think of her other other trainings she had, of dealing with rather difficult people but keeping some sort of grace through it all. "Well...that's a start." They were all the words she could initially find, because no way was one short conversation going to push her to forgive him for everything.

Stay graceful and relaxed, Anna. She kept on telling herself over and over again in her head. They both were clearly on different levels, from her perspective. She was too damn stubborn to offer much in return. So with his final comment of pushing away all the anger, her graceful nice slipped away in the blink of an eye. "Hans, one conversation we have is not going to make me forgive you of all of your sins and make me act like I am just cool with everything." There was no elegance in her voice then. "I still want to punch you in the face."

[steampunkedparm]

should i giggle or be mortified

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

so this is why you dressed up nice today like fuck off

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

The words hit James like cannon fire, each revelation a new blow that shattered the walls of pride he’d tried so desperately to keep standing. He stared at Killian, at the raw fury and anguish etched across his once-youthful features. The man he thought he knew—thought he’d lost—was here, but changed beyond recognition, a product of the cruelty and corruption James had long chosen to ignore in service of his duty. The image of the British Navy as a noble institution cracked in his mind like glass, each detail of Killian’s story making the fractures run deeper. The British Navy he had served faithfully—his entire purpose—was suddenly stained in his mind with the blood of innocent men who had simply tried to rise above their station.

As Killian's hook pressed against his chest, James didn’t flinch. He only stared back, his expression crumbling from anger to something far softer, tinged with sorrow. The rawness in Killian’s voice, the pain in his eyes—it was undeniable. And for the first time, James saw his own reflection in the horrors of the system he had blindly served.

“I…” James’s voice faltered, choked by the weight of what he had just learned. “I had no idea, Killian,” he managed, his tone no longer cold but laden with something far heavier—guilt. “I thought you were lost at sea. I never imagined…” His words trailed off, struggling to grasp the right thing to say, but everything felt inadequate.

James lowered his gaze, the weight of Killian’s glare pressing down on him. “You’re right. I judged you without understanding. I—” His voice broke again, but he forced himself to continue, knowing Killian deserved the truth. “I failed you. I was blind to the rot within the ranks I so loyally served. And for that I am truly, deeply sorry.”

He took a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping with the crushing weight of his own guilt. “But that doesn’t absolve me of my… own sins,” he confessed, the bitterness of those words stinging more than any blade. “I don't deserve your mercy. I was the one who ordered the attack on your ship. I intended to kill every last pirate aboard who did not surrender. I was ready to stain the deck red in the name of duty.”

James finally looked up, his green eyes meeting Killian’s. There was no more pride, no more pretense—just a broken man trying to face the consequences of his own actions. “So, perhaps, it is I who should have died long ago, rather than becoming the monster I swore to fight.” Just.. like his father. The Norrington apple didn't fall far from the tree. He detested his father.. for how cruel that man was to him, to his mother.

Those words did wound deeply. That a man he once called friend wished him dead. That hurt more than anything, James could've stabbed him and Killian wouldn't have felt this bad. But he took it, he took all the insults, the disdain, anger and frustration James threw at him. Rightfully deserved from what James was feeling right now. Betrayal. That's what this was, becoming a pirate after what they had tried to achieve.

"Do you want to know why I didn't come back when I survived?" Killian asked softly. "The East India Trading ship we were escorting back to England attacked our ship. They chased us into a storm and we wrecked. Lord Beckett was sent to assassinate us." He said with a coldness as biting as the arctic winds.

"You believed in us, but no one else wanted two bastard sons of an irish maid! God fucking forbid a poor fatherless child gained rank! We came from nothing, no title and no money. Liam atleast earned his spot, when he got recruited I stowed away on the ship that would bring us to Port Royal! When we succeeded that threatened their way of life, showed that two street rats could become something! They couldn't have that, they couldn't have the lower class thinking they could rise up. So they killed us. I was the only fucking survivor, James! I watched my brother die because of that pompous git Beckett! So don't you fucking judge me for being a pirate when the people you work for will kill their own men so they can stay in power!"

The young man's anger boiled over as he went on a tirade about the tragedy that had happened to him. The rage but also the pain showed in his tone and his eyes as he stormed up to the other man and lifted his hook to the commadore's chest as he ranted on.

"You were the best man I knew. You were kind to Liam and I, when everyone treated us like dogs. That is why I'm sparing you and I hope your superior officers doesn't condemn you they way they did me." Killian stepped back and took a deep breath to calm down. "This is not all black and white or good and evil. There are many shades of grey with light and darkness on all sides."

[rxttenfish]

merfolk in general are just. horrible horrible polyglots. their brains are already hardwired for language and quick language acquisition that remains active all their lives, further helped by retaining a high neural plasticity for their long lives, and especially enjoy complex language and language-based play and problem solving. but they also tend to have a lot of their society arranged where there's often multiple different languages at play within the same area, and only really stops being so once you get into especially small villages that have below the merfolk norm for outside contact. every merfolk alive today knows at least two languages, but most of them know far more than that, especially because one of those two will be the common-technical language. its been standardized and wide-scale implemented across the merkingdom after their dominance, to help bridge the gap between these different languages, basically as a successful version of esperanto. but its a trade language, and is mostly used for information you might want to reach as many people as possible, such as laws or business dealings or public announcements or the like. most merfolk don't view it as and don't treat it as a language proper, and its not what they prefer to converse in if they have another choice, usually finding it pretty limiting and restrictive, which is why its called common-technical.

miranda, being a royal who is regularly in contact with many different people around the merkingdom and regularly expected to be fully able to converse with them to do her job, knows just. so many languages. i might be changing exactly how many soon, but last time i counted it was in the low teens. like its just a perfect storm of her brain being wired for swift language acquisition and having a job that requires it and a position that means shes constantly around people from all around the merkingdom. not to mention having to know english too, which isn't just not her first language, it's not even her fourth language.

meanwhile, aaravi knows english and a little bit of hindi, less because of her mother and moreso because of her nana... its not that her mother never used it with her, but she was. less focused on using it or teaching aaravi, let's say. nana mishra uses it a lot more and is more interested in teaching aaravi when she asks her, especially in the intermittent period after her mom died and nana mishra was able to come back into her life to help aaravi pick up the pieces (though not after aaravi kind of. got left on her own. for an unfortunate amount of time). its just also fallen by the wayside with aaravi's whole Everything Else and kind of having a hard time accepting her nana's help and kind of being terrified of her (of no fault of her nana's, aaravi's just. she's just really traumatized after Everything, alright. having someone try to offer her help afterwards, especially when aaravi's scared of getting singled out as half human and half monster, is just. it's not something she can bring herself to trust.)

[bumbleberrybee]

been experimenting with how to stylize the inkfish from Splatoon :O