#hunter addresses the air

[initial-lime]

I really want to do a TMA ‘draw this in your style’ piece, I think it’d be really fun but I’m unsure if anyone would participate,,,

It’s probably gonna be Jon and buried themed if I do, what do y’all think?

[initial-lime]

I can’t fucking WAIt for snow!!!!!! Dude!!! My late night walks are absolutely FIRE when it’s snowing out!! 3am snowstorm walk is the time I was made to be alive in, pure bliss, fixes all my problems!!!

I love winter <3

I love snow <3

I don’t care that it’s cold I’m Scandinavian <3

Dark and cold and nice and oppressive air <3

Also!!!!!!!!! Also!!!!!!!! When it’s snowing like a WHOLE BUNCH at once and you put on all your warm clothes and then you go outside and lie on the ground and let the snow slowly bury you as you stare into the whirlwind of white frost!

I love letting the world slowly bury me, there is no one to disturb my silence as I am slowly engulfed by the earths blessings <3 a dream come true <3

Did I mention I really love when it snows?

[chuluoyi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄

- zayne x reader

everyone knows dr. zayne is cool as a cucumber, and it's a given for him that you're known as his wife, but when a fresh-faced new resident seemingly makes a move on you... what will he do?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, jealousy (a very jealous zayne, in fact), making out in his office, crack, fluff, hunter!reader, you and zayne have a daughter

note: inspired by that one kim min-kyu scene in business proposal :D this is actually an extension for nocturne of twilight and dawn's first light but can also be read as standalone

You hadn't seen your husband for two weeks.

There was a spring on your step when you entered Akso Hospital right after your long intercity mission. You had acquired some bruises and they weren't anything serious, so you figured you’d just have Greyson treat them. Besides, it gave you the perfect excuse to hand him some cookies as a souvenir.

And, of course, ask him to ring for Zayne to meet you once he had the time.

"Miss, do you need help?"

But a curious voice addressed you when you loitered around in the lobby, and you turned around to find a bright-faced young man with red hair and wearing doctor's coat.

"Ah, yes, I want to meet Dr. Zayne," you smiled. "Or Dr. Greyson will do."

The young doctor perked up at the names you mentioned. "Oh, are you a patient? Do you have an appointment already?"

"Hmm, no, actually I am—"

You halted mid-sentence before the words his wife slipped out, rethinking your choice. You knew of Zayne's infamous reputation in the hospital, and while almost everyone in his floor knew you, this new doctor didn't, and you thought it was best to leave it that way.

"Yeah, I already have an appointment," you nodded, plastering an thin smile. "Just tell Dr. Greyson that Y/N wants to meet him."

"Right, right, I'll page him now..." he mumbled, pulling out his pager and his phone. "I'll text him too..."

"Thank you."

"O-oh, Miss! Wait!" the young man called after you in a hurry when you turned around. "I've noticed it for a while, you have a cut on the side of your lips..."

"Ah, this..." Your fingers instinctively brushed the dried blood on your lips. You hadn’t thought the small cut was noticeable. "Yes, it’s from earlier—"

"Actually, I’m an ER resident!" he interrupted with a bright grin. "Let me treat you first!"

Caught off guard by his enthusiasm, you barely had time to react as he gently but firmly guided you towards the emergency room.

"Dr. Zayne! Dr. Zayne! Your wife is here~!"

Zayne had barely stepped into his office after a grueling surgery when Greyson barged in, all too casually, delivering the news with a grin. "She’s waiting in the lobby!"

He blinked, slightly taken aback. "Oh?"

You're back? He pulled out his muted phone, checking the notifications. Sure enough, you’d sent him a message an hour ago, letting him know you’d safely landed in Linkon.

His little, snarky wife. For the past two weeks you had been away, the house had felt lonelier. Sure, his daughter—who resembled you in personality, no less—was a bundle of sunshine and adorable beyond words, but without you, there was always that subtle void in the air.

Or maybe it wasn’t the house at all? Maybe it was just him—utterly, hopelessly whipped.

"Why isn’t she coming up to my office?" he asked suddenly, noticing the odd detail.

"Hmm, yeah, and it’s weird... why did the new resident say she’s asking for me?" Greyson mused, turning toward Zayne. "Don’t you want to meet her instead? Whatever she needs me for, I’m sure you could handle it."

Zayne promptly left his office and took long strides toward the elevator. As the doors started to close, he even half-sprinted, calling out to the person inside to hold it for him.

Okay, maybe he was a little too eager, but was it really so wrong to be this excited to see his wife again when the two of you had been apart for two weeks?

...then again, you didn't need to know. You would roast him to bits should you know he missed you this much.

Zayne got off at the lobby, expecting to find you there— only to find the usual flow of hospital staff and visitors. He was about to call you when he wandered past the emergency room and turned the corner—and that’s when he got his shock of the day.

There you were. But not alone.

With a guy.

Whose hand is touching your lips.

"It must be tough being a hunter, huh?"

The red-haired resident carefully tended to your bruised arm, wrapping it in a fresh bandage as you sighed, thinking back to the mission. "Yeah, there are definitely some hard days..."

"But despite all that, you still keep yourself in shape!" he remarked, eyeing your toned arms with a hint of admiration.

You let out a sheepish laugh, remembering those pull-ups sessions with Zayne. "Haha, that's because my husband makes sure I'm getting enough exercise..."

"You're married?!" His voice was filled with disbelief, and it caught you off guard, yet he grinned afterwards. "Wow! Is he a hunter too?"

You would've never guessed, boy. This resident doctor was cute, you thought, ever so curious at everything. You could only imagine the look on his face if you told him that the Dr. Zayne was your husband.

You were about to refute it when his fingers brushed against your lips. "Oh, sorry, let me apply some ointment here first..."

His touch felt cool to your lips and you were momentarily stunned at the contact— but then a gruff cough startled you so much you almost jumped.

The towering figure of your husband behind him. Zayne's dark gaze was fixed on the man in front of you, like he could murder the poor guy with just a look.

"Z-Zayne...?" you squeaked against the ointment on your lips, and the resident quickly turned behind him in surprise, hastily greeting him, "Oh, Dr. Zayne!"

Zayne shot the poor man a single, pointed look before his gaze shifted to you, clearly unamused.

He suddenly grabbed your hand and, without sparing the resident another glance, swiftly pulled you away. The other guy was left standing there, speechless, as Zayne led you off, leaving him in the dust.

. . .

"Zayne!"

Oh, how he actually missed his name coming out from your lips.

"Are you done with your schedule?" you asked as he pulled you into the elevator, confusion evident in the way you tilted your head. But when he didn’t answer, you glanced down at his firm grip on your arm, suddenly realizing something. "Wait, no... are you angry?"

Sigh. It irked him so much, actually. Because, how could you, after weeks—

No, he actually knew he was being irrational. He shouldn’t overreact like this just because someone else touched you. But why is he so annoyed, still?

"Wait, why?" you kept asking, wide-eyed, as the two of you stepped out and made way towards his office. "I'm not injured! I'm fine! It's just some bruises—"

Without a word, Zayne pulled you into his office, swiftly locking the door behind him. Before you could say another word, he cornered you against the wall, and you fell silent instantly.

It had been a while since he’d seen you this way—stunned, caught off guard, and utterly silent under his gaze. He studied your face closely, watching the way your breath hitched as the tension between you both thickened.

It sparked something inside him seeing you like this, a sense of satisfaction that he couldn’t quite explain, but one he welcomed nonetheless.

That was when he saw the blood on your lips. "Did you get punched in the face?"

"Y-Yes, but— it's nothing severe!" you defended, trying to convince him. "It's such a small cut anyway!"

He frowned. "Why didn't you come to me?"

"What? Hey, I was about to ask Greyson, but—"

That got him frown even deeper, even irate. "Why Greyson? When you come home with any injuries, you come to me, not anyone else."

You let out a resigned sigh, slumping your shoulders in defeat. "Because I know you'll fuss over me, duh."

"I don't fuss," he retorted.

"You do," you shot back, pursing your lips. "You try to act like this cool, calm robot all the time, but you always drone on and on whenever you patch me up. You're worried, it shows."

Zayne huffed, shifting his gaze away from you as he felt his face burn. Was he that obvious? How could he not, though, when you managed to get hurt so often and yet acted so innocent about it?

Then as if inspired, you caught on immediately. Your eyes sparkled, and a mischievous smirk tugged at your lips. "Wait, just now... don't tell me... Are you jealous?"

Damn.

"Heh, Dr. Zayne, really?" Your voice was playful now, mocking him. "Whoa, how can this be?"

How had you figured him out so easily?

You continued in a sing-song voice, putting both hands on your chest, "Ah, my heart flutters! My husband is apparently—"

Enough. This time, his patience snapped.

He didn’t hesitate even for a moment. A low growl escaped him, and in one swift motion, he crashed his lips against yours, silencing you with the most effective method he could think of.

"Mmph!" You gasped in surprise, the teasing words at the end of your tongue completely forgotten. His gray eyes gleamed. Been too long, he thought, and now he was making sure you knew just how badly he craved this.

The kiss was searing as he deepened it, his tongue seeking yours with urgency. "Hngh!" You let out a feeble whine when he teased you by biting your lips.

Zayne held back a snort. One of his hand then strayed inside your hunter uniform, unclasping your bra with a flick.

"—?!" Your eyes widened as you realized what was happening, and before you could process it, he pulled away. But you were far from right in thinking it was over. The dangerous gleam in his eyes kept you tense as he swiftly removed his glasses...

...before he pulled you back towards him and claimed your lips once again.

With a swift, commanding motion, he guided you toward his desk. His papers scattered at the sudden movement, but he had you bent over it regardless, forcing your body to arch. One arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, while his right hand fondled your breasts, repeatedly squeezing, palming and switching between them.

"Mmm...!" You let out a strangled moan, instinctively holding onto his shoulder, feeling the way how he groped you ignited your core. "Ahh..."

Your body was tantalizing as always. Hardened and sometimes bruised from your work it may be, but to Zayne, you were still beautiful as ever.

When you gasped for air, he decided he was done with your swollen lips. His lips then trailed down to your neck, sucking hard on it, creating a squelching sound that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"W-what's... gotten into you...?" you breathed out, tangling your fingers in his hair, hyperaware of his hands still roaming over your nipples.

In response, he nibbled at your skin and flicked your breasts at the same time, causing you to freeze and draw a sharp, hitched breath. "Haah...!"

Unbeknownst to you, his lips curled wickedly at your reaction, and he continued to pepper your neck with series of wet sucks as if to mark you altogether. You writhed under him, whiny and sighing, relishing his hot breath on your skin.

You were utterly at his mercy, pliant and helpless in his hands. There was a deep satisfaction in knowing he was the only one who could bring you, his lawfully wedded wife, to this state—

Still, he wouldn’t allow you to be indecent in a place like this. When he finally pulled back, he was breathing heavily, eyes dark with lust, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of your jaw. "Don’t tempt me," he muttered, voice low and raspy.

You gazed up at him, your heart pounding. "Zayne..." you whispered, a whine broke through the heat on your flushed face.

His expression softened just enough, a flicker of tenderness cutting through the intensity. Pretty. That’s what you were, undeniably so. How he had missed out on you so long once was his greatest regret.

Carefully, he helped you sit upright, his touch gentle as he clasped your bra and began buttoning up your uniform, disheveled from his earlier ministrations.

The gentle way he touched you was a stark contrast to how it was earlier. "Is that a new way to treat busted lip?" you nudged his collar, feeling a little braver now.

"For bad wives, yeah."

"I'm not a bad wife! Just disobedient on some occasion."

Zayne's fingers brushed your face as he finished with your uniform, his dark-gray eyes steady on you. You pouted.

"You're the one who's bad," you accused with slight resentment, not missing a beat as the heat between your legs started to dissipate. "Leaving me unfinished like that."

"Hmm? Am I?" he murmured, the faintest amusement in his tone.

"You have to take responsibility tonight, you big meanie," you mumbled, your pout deepening as you avoided meeting his gaze.

Zayne snorted at the sight of you—so precious in his eyes, his thumb lightly grazing the corner of your lips in a gesture so tender it made your heart skip, before whispering in your ear:

"Well, if your voice won't wake our daughter, that is."

Epilogue

Not long after, just as you had gathered yourself and were preparing to leave the hospital to head home, a sudden knock at the door of his office startled you both.

Quickly, you moved to sit on the patient’s seat, feigning nonchalance as you braced yourself for whoever was on the other side. Zayne reached for the door, but before he could unlock it, a familiar voice called out.

"Excuse me!" the resident's voice sounded a bit hesitant but firm. "Dr. Zayne, the miss left her handbag earlier!"

Zayne let out a low, irked sigh. You glanced at him curiously, watching as he opened the door and came face-to-face with the redheaded resident.

Without a word, he extended his hand, and the resident blinked before handing over the bag.

"I-is the miss still here?" the young doctor asked, almost intimidated by his unfriendly gaze.

"Ma'am," Zayne corrected, his voice flat.

"Huh?"

"Call her ma'am. She's someone's wife."

"O-oh, and her husband is—"

"Me. I am her husband."

Your eyes widened in surprise at the matter-of-fact exchange, heat rising to your cheeks as Zayne’s words hung confidently in the air. He curtly thanked the poor resident before slamming the door shut in his face.

Your jaw practically hit the floor. "Zayne!" you gasped, staring at him as he turned back towards you, entirely unbothered.

Your husband was as cold as the snowman he often made, but somehow the way he boldly declared he was your husband was just so him that it made you so giddy.

You tilted your head, crossing your arms with a playful smile. "You’re really jealous, huh? How?"

He didn’t answer, his gaze still fixed elsewhere, most definitely trying to save his dignity.

You chuckled softly, stepping closer to him with a teasing sway. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, turning him to face you, and you winked at him mischievously.

"Well, I’m all yours. But if it makes you feel better, maybe I’ll stay away from any ER residents for a while~"

[initial-lime]

I have no fucking clue what’s going on, 2 of my mutuals listen, I know we’re upset about my blorbo in law being blond or something though

Also there’s a guy who keeps killing his siblings??????????

Idk, whoever the trawler man is I think I have beef with him, not sure why though because idk who they are. I don’t even go here

sometimes i wonder what it’s like to have tsv mutuals but not listen yourself. like once every three weeks you get ppl going OHHH MY GODDD SCHLORPO IS GONNA BLOW UP LOBSTER TOWN 😭😭😭

[heliosunny]

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE MEAL 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 i hope yew write more yan!phainon x reader fics in the future

Yandere! Elf Phainon x Reader

Art credit: CH203r on X Do not use this art without permission!

You are a bounty hunter in need of money, so you take on various requests. Somehow you accidentally kidnap the wrong target, but instead of being angry, he seems intrigued by you.

The job was supposed to be simple. A quick bounty, a bag of gold, and maybe a hot meal at the end of the day. But as you stared at the man bound before you, his calm expression unsettling against the flickering campfire, you had the nagging feeling that something was terribly wrong.

"What do you mean you are not Kevin? Look at this description, you're definitely him." You shoved the crumpled wanted poster in his face, pointing at the sketch of a white-haired man with sharp features.

He tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his blue eyes. "Miss…"

"Y/n L/n."

"Y/n."

"Don’t address me so casually! Answer me!"

"You see…" He gestured toward his pointed ears. "This man right here is a human being. While I’m…an elf"

Your eye twitched. Dammit. This was bad. You had wasted days tracking down this guy, only to end up with the wrong target. And now, with barely any coin left, you were in serious trouble.

As if to make matters worse, your stomach chose that moment to let out a humiliating growl.

Phainon chuckled softly. "I have an idea. How about I take you to a place full of treasure?"

Your eyes narrowed. "Why would you help me?"

His smile deepened. "Because, dear hunter, you intrigue me."

You should have known better.

Despite being an experienced bounty hunter, you found yourself struggling to keep up with Phainon as you ventured deeper into the dungeon. The elf moved effortlessly through the ruins, his magic lighting the way, effortlessly dispatching the creatures that lurked in the shadows. Meanwhile, your stamina drained at an alarming rate, your sword heavy in your grip.

"Try to keep up." he said over his shoulder, his smirk teasing.

You scowled. "You could at least pretend to struggle."

"If I did, would you feel better?"

Before you could retort, the air shifted. A dark presence loomed from within the cavern, the final challenge of the dungeon making itself known. A monstrous creature, wreathed in shadows, launched itself toward Phainon. Instinct kicked in before you could think. You threw yourself in front of him, taking the brunt of the attack.

Pain lanced through your body as you collapsed to one knee, struggling to stay upright.

"Cover your eyes" Phainon ordered, his voice uncharacteristically firm.

You barely had the strength to obey before a deafening boom erupted around you. A rush of magic swirled, and suddenly, you were no longer in the dungeon.

Instead, you found yourself in a quiet clearing, bathed in moonlight.

You blinked in confusion, your legs unsteady as Phainon steadied you with a firm grip.

"Where are all the gold you promised?" you demanded, gripping his sleeve.

"Oh, that?" He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "I forgot."

Your eye twitched. "You-"

"But instead…" He leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear. "I’ll treat you to a meal."

There was something unnerving about the way he said it, something ..possessive in the way he held onto you. Your instincts screamed at you to pull away, but you couldn’t. You were exhausted, and despite everything, the warmth of his touch was oddly comforting.

Maybe… just for tonight, you’d let your guard down.

You woke up earlier than him, the fire reduced to embers. The peaceful rise and fall of his chest was a stark contrast to the brutal elf you had seen in battle. He looked... human, in a way that made your heart twist. Without thinking, you brushed your fingers through his short white hair, a soothing gesture you weren’t sure was meant for him or yourself.

With quiet steps, you packed up your things and slipped away for another bounty hunt.

Phainon woke up moments after you left, feeling strangely refreshed, an unfamiliar clarity settling in his mind. He had never slept so well before. Something about you soothed him, and he needed to know why.

Later that day, he stood at an information booth, gathering any details he could about you. The thought of your absence sent an unshakable emptiness through him. He needed to find you.

Meanwhile, your bounty hunt led you to a hidden dungeon, one far more treacherous than you expected. Your body ached, your movements sluggish as you struggled against relentless monsters. Just when you thought your strength had run dry, a monstrous foe loomed over you, ready to strike the final blow.

A single, devastating strike obliterated the creature before it could touch you.

Phainon stood before you, bathed in a strange aura, his presence suffocating. His normally cool blue eyes glowed with something dark and unreadable.

"Even godlike creatures can bleed huh..." he murmured, voice like a whisper of death.

You stared, shaken by the raw brutality in his movements. This was no ordinary elf.

"What… are you?" you rasped, your wounds stinging.

He smiled, sharp and knowing. "You bring me peace. I wanted to test that."

Your heart pounded as realization dawned. You were an experiment to him.

Despite your fear, you reached into your pouch, pulling out a small vial of temporary medicine. "Drink this" you ordered, tossing it to him. "We’ll talk after you stop looking like a vengeful god."

To your relief, he complied, downing the liquid in one swift motion. As his aura dimmed, you grabbed his wrist, dragging him along despite your own injuries.

"Come on" you muttered. "You saved me. Now let’s get out of here before you go berserk again."

Later that night, after patching up your wounds and sharing a proper meal, you finally had a real conversation. Phainon was still his usual smug self, but for once, he wasn’t avoiding direct questions. Despite that, when you firmly refused to let him follow you as a partner, his expression darkened.

"You’re better off without me tagging along" you said. "Go find your own adventure."

Phainon smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "If that’s what you want."

You should have known better.

Even as you continued your travels, it was obvious someone was tailing you. As a hunter, you were attuned to being watched. Coins mysteriously appeared in your belongings. Pathways that should have been riddled with monsters were eerily clear. Every time you set up camp, you had the sense that someone had passed through before you. You ignored it, pretending not to notice.

Then one evening, you found him curled up near your campsite, face pale, breath labored.

You cursed under your breath. "You’re faking it."

Phainon groaned weakly. "Am I?" His eyes fluttered shut dramatically.

You sighed, dragging him closer to the fire. "Fine. Just for tonight."

As you tended to him, you finally asked "What’s your deal, really?"

Phainon smirked faintly, his voice softer than usual. "That depends. What do you want to know?"

He spoke in riddles, half-answering, half-evading. The past he revealed was fragmented, a puzzle missing its most vital pieces. He let slip details about powerful magic, about a home long abandoned, but when pressed for more, he simply smiled and changed the subject.

You should have been frustrated. But somehow, against your better judgment, you found yourself listening intently, watching the way the firelight reflected in his blue eyes.

For just one night, you allowed yourself to be curious.

Days passed, and despite your efforts to shake him off, Phainon continued his silent pursuit. You should have been annoyed, but a small part of you had grown used to his presence.

Then came the dragon.

An SSS-ranked beast, towering and relentless. Despite your skill, you were outmatched, forced to retreat as it bore down upon you. A sharp pain burned against your wrist, and in the chaos, you heard Phainon's voice.

"Now, call upon it!"

You didn’t understand, until your body moved on its own. A sigil, glowing and intricate, flared to life on your skin. Magic you had never wielded before surged through you, your blade carving through the dragon with inhuman precision. In mere moments, the once-impossible battle was over.

Panting, you turned to Phainon, who looked far too satisfied. "What… what did you do?!"

He approached, smirking. "Oh, nothing much. Just a little contract magic. You’re my partner now."

Horror settled in your chest. "You tricked me."

He tilted his head playfully. "You activated it yourself. That makes it binding."

You clenched your fists, resisting the urge to strangle him. Whatever this was, you needed to figure out how to break it.

Later that night, as Phainon slept soundly, you saw your chance. Quietly, you slipped away from the camp, making your way to the nearest information booth. Your heart pounded as you inquired about the strange sigil now marking your skin and about Phainon himself.

The answers you received chilled you to the core.

Whispers of ancient magic, forbidden contracts, and a bloodstained past surrounded his name. The sigil you bore was no ordinary mark, it was a binding far more dangerous than you had realized.

Before you could process it fully, a shadow loomed over you.

"I was hoping you'd trust me more than this" Phainon's voice was deceptively soft, yet his presence was suffocating. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Desperation clawed at your throat. Your fingers twitched toward your weapon, but you knew it was useless. Instead, you took a slow breath and did the only thing that came to mind.

You pulled out your dagger and pressed the tip against your own skin. "Don't come any closer. I'll-"

Phainon's expression changed instantly. His amusement vanished, replaced by something raw, something you didn’t expect.

"DON'T" he said, his voice unusually strained. "You can hurt me, but don’t do that to yourself."

You hesitated. The way he said it like he had seen this before, like he had lived through it, unsettled you more than his usual antics. There was something haunted in his eyes, something broken beneath his smirk.

Still, he didn’t remove the sigil. Instead, he took a slow step forward, hands raised as if approaching a wounded animal. "Listen to me, Y/n. I can't undo it. Not yet. But I can make you accept it."

His voice was gentle, persuasive. He didn't plead, didn't force, but something in his tone wormed its way under your skin. Because despite everything, despite the lies and the trickery, you realized something terrifying.

You did feel calmer around him. Your presence soothed his mind, but was it possible that his presence had started to soothe yours, too?

You swallowed hard, lowering the dagger just slightly. "How?"

He smiled, not victorious, but relieved. "Let me show you."

He reached out slowly, his touch feather light as his fingers brushed against your wrist, just above the glowing sigil. Warmth seeped through your skin, not just from his magic, but from the steady reassurance in his gaze. "You're not alone in this, Y/n. I understand your fear. But this bond.. it's not a prison. It's protection."

You wanted to argue, to pull away, but something about the way he spoke made your resolve waver. The exhaustion from fighting, from running, from resisting, it all weighed heavily on your shoulders. Would it be so bad to surrender, just a little?

He stepped closer, his presence wrapping around you like an unseen force. "You’ve been alone for so long, haven’t you? Always fighting, always struggling. You don’t have to do that anymore. With me, you’ll never have to be alone again."

He was right. You had spent your life surviving, but never truly living. The warmth in his voice, the certainty in his promise, it was tempting.

Phainon tilted his head, watching you with a knowing smile. "Say it. Accept it. You already feel it, don’t you? The connection between us."

The words came unbidden, barely a whisper. "I... accept it."

The sigil flared brightly for a brief moment before settling, the magic no longer a foreign force but something familiar, something… comforting. A sense of belonging, of purpose, filled the void you had ignored for so long.

Phainon exhaled softly, his smile deepening as he cupped your cheek. "Good. Now, let’s go home."

[tokkiwrites]

Hi 💗 first of all, I just discovered your tumblr and I already love your work <3 I’m not sure if this is the way to request, but I’d like to request a kraven one shot, where he is absolutely in love with reader but because of a misunderstanding he breaks up with her in a mean but hot way, then he finds out about the truth and tries to get her pardon, ofc I’d love me some angst, smut and dom kraven 🥺🥺 thank you

▪︎summary: You’re a film producer with a busy schedule, and your boyfriend Sergei’s insecurities lead to a heated fight. After realizing his mistake, he goes all out to win you back, proving just how much you mean to him.

▪︎tags: established relationship, kind of toxic sergei imo, a bit of angst, afab reader, p in v, creampie, belly bulge (??), size kink if you squint, fingering reader receiving, makeup sex, a few pet names, mean (slightly) dom sergei.

▪︎first fic of the year!!! thank you for this request!!! it's been sitting in my drafts for a long while, so sorry for making you wait. it has 2.45k words & and it's not proofread, so if you see any errors, no, u didn't !! i hope you enjoy <3

The air in your apartment was thick with tension. You sat on the leather couch, scrolling aimlessly on your phone, waiting for him to return from yet another one of his late-night escapades. It wasn’t unusual for Sergei to disappear without much explanation; his life as a hunter—of men, animals, and vengeance—demanded it. But lately, he’d been colder, distant in a way that left you feeling like a stranger in your own relationship.

When the door finally opened, his broad frame filled the entryway. His face, shadowed by the dim light of the city outside, was unreadable. "You’re home late." you said softly, setting your phone down. He closed the door behind him with deliberate slowness, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours. "We need to talk."

Your stomach tightened. "What’s going on?"

"I found something," he said, pulling a small, crumpled note from his pocket and tossing it onto the coffee table. You glanced at it, confused. It was one of your old grocery lists. "What about it?"

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "I saw the address written on the back. A warehouse in the docks. Care to explain why you were there?" You blinked, trying to recall. "That was weeks ago. I picked up some things for work— props for the shoot. I told you about it."

"No, what you told me was that you were with your team. But I asked around. Your team never uses that place." His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that made your skin prickle.

"Sergei, what are you getting at?"

"I think you’ve been hiding something," he said, stepping closer. "I’ve seen this before. People lying, playing both sides, thinking they can outsmart me." Your chest tightened with frustration. "Are you serious right now? You think I’m involved in…what? Some conspiracy? Smuggling?"

"Don’t." His voice dropped, dangerously low. "Don’t play innocent. I saw you meeting someone there— a man."

You stared at him, disbelief washing over you. Then it clicked. "Oh my God. You’re talking about Steve, aren’t you? He’s my set designer! He was helping me load props for the commercial."

"Steve," he repeated, skeptical.

"Yes, Steve! Sergei, do you think I have some secret life I’m keeping from you? Do you really think I’d risk everything for…for what, exactly?"

He didn’t answer, his jaw tightening.

"Unbelievable," you muttered, standing. "You’ve been pulling away for weeks, acting like I’m the problem, and now I find out it’s because you think I’m some kind of criminal?"

"You’ve lied before," he said, his voice softer but still firm.

You froze. "That’s what this is about, isn’t it? The one time I didn’t tell you I was scared on one of your hunts, and now you think I’m some kind of liar."

Sergei ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. "Trust is not something I give lightly. And once it’s broken—"

"Once it’s broken, what? You punish me forever?" Your voice cracked. "I’ve been trying so hard to be there for you, to understand your life, and this is how you repay me?"

His silence was answer enough.

You grabbed your coat, the tears burning in your eyes now impossible to hold back. "You know what, Sergei? If you can’t trust me by now, maybe you don’t deserve me," you said, your voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. You shoved past him, grabbing your bag from the counter. "I’m done trying to prove myself to someone who’s determined to see the worst in me."

He didn’t stop you. He just stood there, the weight of your words settling into the room like a physical presence.

When the door slammed behind you, Sergei was left alone with his thoughts, the silence deafening. His instincts, honed through years of hunting and survival, were screaming at him that he had made a mistake. But pride held him back from chasing after you.

Days passed, and Sergei couldn’t get you out of his head. Every corner of his apartment reminded him of you—the mug you always used, the blanket you insisted on leaving draped over the couch, your perfume faintly lingering in the air.

But what haunted him most was the look in your eyes when you left. Hurt. Betrayed.

It wasn’t until he found himself back at the docks that everything began to unravel. He wasn’t there to check on you or verify his suspicions— he was there to work, tracking a lead on a smuggling operation tied to his latest hunt.

And that’s when he saw the warehouse you’d mentioned. Inside, he spotted Steve, the “man” he had been so suspicious of, overseeing a crew as they dismantled what appeared to be a film set. Lights, props, and equipment were being packed into cases.

“Perfect timing!” Steve called out when he spotted Sergei lingering by the entrance. “We just wrapped. Your girl's idea for the shoot went off without a hitch.”

Sergei’s stomach twisted. “What are you talking about?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Steve said, grinning. “She practically ran this whole project. She even came out here herself to supervise when we couldn’t get everything transported in time. Total lifesaver.”

Sergei’s heart sank. The anger he’d held onto for days evaporated, replaced by a crushing guilt. He had been so consumed by his doubts and paranoia that he’d completely misjudged you.

“Where is she now?” Sergei asked, his voice rough.

Steve shrugged. “Last I heard, she was taking some time off. Said she needed a break.”

It took Sergei two more days to track you down. You had retreated to a quiet café on the other side of town, tucked into a corner booth with a notebook and a cup of tea. When you saw him approach, your expression hardened. “What are you doing here?”

"Love, Iㅡ” he said, his voice low and uncharacteristically soft. “I made a mistake.”

“You think?” you shot back, closing your notebook with a sharp snap. “I was wrong,” he continued, sitting across from you despite your obvious reluctance. “I let my fears and suspicions cloud my judgment. I accused you of something you didn’t do, and I pushed you away because of it.”

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “Why are you really here, Sergei? To ease your guilt? Or to make yourself feel better about what you said to me?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m here because I love you. And because I can’t stand the thought of losing you over my own stupidity.”

Your breath hitched, but you refused to let yourself melt just yet. “Do you have any idea how much you hurt me? How little you must think of me to believe I’d do something like that?”

He reached across the table, his hand hovering over yours. “I don’t think little of you. I think too much of you. I’ve lost so much in my life. People I trusted. People I loved. And when I thought I might lose you too…” He swallowed hard. “I panicked. I lashed out. I was wrong.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, the raw sincerity in his eyes breaking through your defenses. “Do you know how exhausting it is, Sergei, to always feel like I’m on trial with you?”

“I know,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “And I promise you, I will do better. I will earn back your trust—if you’ll let me.” You hesitated, the walls around your heart crumbling piece by piece. “One more chance,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “But if you screw this up again, Sergei…”

“I won’t,” he said quickly, his hand finally closing over yours. “I won’t.”

As he held your gaze, the faintest flicker of hope warmed your chest. You weren’t ready to forgive him completely, but for now, you were willing to try.

And for Sergei, that was enough. "Let's go home?" he finally asks. You look up at him, and you can't contain a smile. "Sure. Let's go home..."

As Sergei unlocked the door to his loft, you stepped inside and froze. The space, usually dark and utilitarian, was transformed. Soft warm light bathed the room, illuminating dozens of vases filled with vibrant flowers. Roses, lilies, tulips, every kind you could imagine. A faint, delicate fragrance hung in the air, calming and intoxicating all at once.

Your hand flew to your mouth, your eyes

wide. "Sergei.. what is this?" He shut the door behind him, watching you with a soft smile. "A gesture," he said simply. You turned to him, a mix of awe and confusion on your face. "How did you know I'd forgive you?"

His smile grew faintly sad, his sharp features softened by vulnerability. "I didn't." He took a step closer, his hands resting lightly on your arms. "But I wanted you to know what you mean to me. Even if you walked away for good."

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his voice. You looked back at the flowers, the effort he had put into creating this moment, and you felt the last of your anger dissolve.

Reaching out, you picked up a bouquet of white roses from the coffee table and cradled them against your chest. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

He chuckled, his hands sliding down to take yours, the flowers between you. "Maybe." You laughed softly, stepping closer until you could feel the warmth of his body against yours. Looking up into his piercing blue eyes, you saw the Sergei you had fallen in love with: the fierce, unyielding hunter who was willing to bare his heart for you.

Unable to hold back any longer, you leaned up and kissed him. His lips met yours hungrily, his hands pulling you closer as if to make sure you wouldn't slip away again. The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against yours, igniting a fire in your core that burned away every lingering doubt

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, his hands slid down to your waist. "Come," he said softly, his voice thick with desire.

Without hesitation, you let him lead you to the bedroom. The space was just as carefully prepared as the rest of the loft. The bed was freshly made with crisp sheets, more flowers arranged on the nightstands, and soft candlelight flickered around the room.

You turned to him with a playful smile. "You really went all out, didn't you?" He stepped closer, his hands sliding up your sides, his lips brushing against your ear. "I don't take chances when it comes to you."

Before you could respond, his lips found yours again, his touch more insistent now, his hands trailing down your back. He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed and laying you down with a gentleness that belied the hunger in his eyes.

"I'll let you make it up to me." You giggle, arms wrapped around his shoulders. "Thank you, baby." In no time, he gets both of you naked, and as if it's the first time, you can't help but shy away a bit. Pulling you closer, his calloused palms travel across your torso, tracing the curves so perfectly. Your already messy hair and burning body invited him to climb over you completely. One of his fingers presses over your lips. "Open."

You do as you're told, parting your puffy lips and letting Sergei’s finger slip in. "Wider." he demands, pushing in another digit, traveling well past your tongue and into the back of your throat. It makes you gag slightly, but you moan around his fingers. He smiles proudly, thrusting his fingers into your mouth and slicking them up before removing them. You're left gasping for air. "Good girl." you shudder.

he motions you further on your back before lining his fingers with your exposed core. "m gonna work you out a little, baby, yeah? then make you take my cock." he doesn't hesitate for long. the slick and wet noises fill the room as Sergei pushes his fingers inside, causing you to buck your hips agains his hand. Your head turns to the side as you try to hide that growing warmth in your cheeks. those two fingers worked into you, turning you into a incoherent mess. A familiar feeling was building up inside your lower belly. "gotta come, baby?" he coos, mocking you. "can't have you do that. Need to feel my cock buried deep inside of that pretty pussy first."

his tainted words make your brain all fuzzy, soft whimpers and pleads parting from your agape mouth. "p-please" his fingers slip out of you, the feeling of emptiness being short-lived as Sergei pushes inside of you full force. This is the first time Sergei has made you take his cock all at once. His hips snap against your, eyes digging into you as if eating you alive. He's merciless, grabbing you by the cheeks harshly and making you look down at your belly, where a familiar bump was visible. "See that, baby?" He laughs. He was so deep inside of you. You can't help but squeeze around him.

"there's my good g-girlㅡ" he groans in utmost pleasure, roughly hitting just the right spot over and over. he pulls out almost completely before snapping his hips forward again, causing you to moan louder, breath hitching as his cock brushed, and probably bruised, your velvety walls.

"I'm gonna fill you up so good, love." he leans down and rasps into your ear "make you leak all overㅡ fuck!"

"p-lease, Sergei" you cry out, gripping him by his broad shoulders, the thrust quickening. he frowns, closing his eyes as he tightly grips you by your thighs. "gonna come all over my cock, baby, huh?"

with one last harsh snap of his hips, he sends you both into heaven and back. You each finish, and you can feel his come pooling inside of you. Your mind and vision blurry, you manage to whisper out a soft "I forgive you." Sergei falls next to you, pulling you closer to his chest as he kisses the crown of your head.

"I love you so much, baby " you smile before you reply with those three words that still make butterflies fly in his stomach."I love you."

[initial-lime]

Never in a million years did i think tumblr would try to sell me I mean it’s just absurd, who sells And online too?? Unbelievable

[initial-lime]

These QPR gay cats, double dog dare you mini

Hand over some of your SFW ocs and ill handle them with care and mspaint

I wanna do some shitty doodles and see if I can draw peoples characters at equal value, whether it be dragon, furry or humanoid (HUMANS INCLUDED I FORGOR). I am open to trying a mech but there is no promise there sadly, but ill still try.

[nahoney22]

Me again! Please can I request some HC’s with the bad batch and how they react to reader (gn or female) accidentally crawling into the boys bunk at night 😂

Accidental Sleeping Arrangements

All Bad Batch Boys X GN!Reader

How the boys react to you accidentally crawling into their bunk at night.

warnings: Fluff, comfort, cuddles, some moody boys, gender neutral reader. Can be read as romantic or platonic.

Echo 💤

The first time:

As you slid into his bunk accidentally that evening, he was thoroughly bewildered. He had jolted awake and sat upright, observing your exhausted form snuggling against him, eyelids heavy with fatigue.

With tactful gentleness, he roused you from your slumber, delicately shaking you to bring you back to awareness. "Hey, um, you're in my bunk, trooper."

Your eyes flickered open, adjusting to the dim light, and a muttered curse escaped your lips as you retreated, cheeks warming with embarrassment. "Sorry, Echo," you apologized, slipping out of his bunk. "I must be completely drained," you sheepishly confessed.

"It's alright. I just didn't want to startle you by waking up to my face," he commented. You glance at him with a furrow forming on your brow before you shook your head.

"I doubt I'd be bothered by that..." your words trailed off, potentially carrying unintended flirtation. Echo's eyes widened slightly, his hand instinctively moving to the back of his neck, a clear sign of slight shyness at your words.

"Anyway," you say abruptly, spinning on your heel. "Sorry about that."

Echo simply nodded, silently observing as you retreated to your own bunk, leaving him with a sudden chill in the air, now yearning for the warmth you briefly brought beside him.

The second time:

With a tired yawn, Echo wearily approaches his bunk a few nights later, only to halt in surprise at the sight of someone curled up inside. Upon closer inspection, he realises it's you again, presenting him with a slight dilemma.

Despite his weariness, Echo knows he needs rest, and while your bunk is an option, his own provides the perfect setup for his cybernetics, ensuring he's at his best for the next day's duties.

Letting out a small sigh, hoping you wouldn't mind, he settles on the edge of his bunk and gently wakes you. "Hey, you're in my bunk again," he murmurs softly.

You stir, meeting his gaze before cringing slightly. "Again? I'm so sorry," you begin to rise, but his hand on your shoulder stops you.

"You can stay, but I'd also like to get some sleep... if you, uh, catch my meaning," he hints with a faint smile, hoping you understand.

"Oh," you blush, considering for a moment. "Well, I hope you don't mind sharing."

"Not at all," he reassures, his tone gentle as you make space. He lies beside you, and before long, you drift back to sleep. Echo finds solace in the rhythm of your soft snores, gradually succumbing to sleep himself... though waking up to find you both cuddling is a surprise he hadn't anticipated, yet one he welcomes warmly.

Hunter 💤

The first time:

When Hunter awoke to find you crawling into his bunk, confusion gripped him. Instantly alert, his hands tensed, ready to confront any potential intruder, but his apprehension melted away as he recognised you.

He lay there in silence, contemplating his next move.

While a part of him felt inclined to let you sleep, considering your recent exhaustion, he couldn't shake the concern of startling you upon awakening to find him beside you.

After ensuring you were deeply asleep, he carefully extricated himself from the occupied bunk, making sure not to disturb you.

Once free, he couldn't suppress a soft chuckle as he observed you, peacefully snuggled into his pillow, emitting gentle snores. “Sleep well.” He whispered to you before leaving you to rest.

He made a mental note to address the situation in the morning, but perhaps it’s better left unsaid since you’ll know your error when you woke up.

The second time:

As you woke up to find yourself in Hunter's bunk, mortification swept over you. Yet, when you encountered Hunter in the cockpit, he didn't mention a word about it, instead offering you a drink of caf.

A small part of you entertained the idea that perhaps he was unaware of the nighttime intrusion. However, your suspicions were confirmed a few nights later.

Fatigued and not paying attention to your surroundings, you headed towards what you thought was your bunk and climbed inside, only to be surprised by the presence of another person. "Hunter, what're you doing?" you blurt out, eyes widening in disbelief.

"I could ask you the same question," he chuckles, adjusting his position and turning to face you. "This is my bunk."

Blinking in realisation, you glance around, confirming his assertion. "Oh," you laugh sheepishly, "I thought this was mine."

His smile is gentle, his eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. "You're more than welcome to stay," he offers casually, though he soon realizes the potential implications of his words. "If you want to, that is."

A part of you knows you should return to your own bunk, yet there's an inexplicable pull keeping you there. "Well, I'm all comfy now..." you hint with a small smile.

He nods, turning his gaze away and closing his eyes. "Me too. Sleep well."

It took you a moment to fall asleep but just like how Hunter didn’t tell you that you had slept in his bunk first initially, you won’t tell him how he pulls you into his body as he slept and held you close throughout the night. Not that you seemed to mind.

Wrecker 💤

The first time:

"Wrecker, you scared me! What are you doing in my bunk?" you exclaimed, startled by the unexpected intrusion.

As you thought you were settling into your bunk for the night, using your hands to navigate through the darkness, you accidentally crawled onto something large and hard.

Assuming it was just your sheets bunched up, you attempted to smooth it out, only to be met with a small yelp that made your heart skip a beat.

"Huh?" Wrecker groggily emerged from his sleep cocoon, rubbing his eyes. "This is my bunk, isn't it?"

"No, I'm pretty sure it's mine," you asserted, but as Wrecker shifted in the bunk and reached under the blanket, he pulled out his beloved Lula.

"Oh. Maybe not then." You felt pretty embarrassed by your mistake, but Wrecker didn't seem to mind at all.

"It's alright, thought I was going to get an extra cuddle buddy for a second there!" he chuckled heartily, waving Lula in your face. His laughter filled the room, and you couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through you at the thought of being Wrecker's "cuddle buddy," though you weren't entirely sure if he was joking.

Deciding not to dwell on it further and eager to avoid keeping Wrecker awake any longer, you offered a meek apology before retreating to your actual bunk. As you settled in, you couldn't shake the image of Wrecker's playful grin from your mind.

The second time:

Wrecker stared down at his bunk, finding it already occupied with not much room left for him. You were snoozing away, oblivious to his dilemma. Wrecker knew he could be a bit of a grouch without his sleep, so he decided to gently prod you awake.

"Hey," he nudged you, rousing you from your slumber. "Is this you asking to be my cuddle buddy?"

You stirred awake, blinking in confusion as you glanced at him. It was then that you noticed Lula on the pillow next to your head. "Oh shoot, sorry Wrecker," you sighed groggily, just wanting to fall back asleep into the warmth of his bunk.

"It's alrigh’," he chuckled softly, his deep voice filling the room with warmth. "But uh... I kinda need to sleep."

"Then come cuddle next to me," the words slipped out before you realized what you were saying, but you didn't want to take them back either. The thought of Wrecker's warmth beside you was oddly comforting.

Wrecker was surprised for a moment, his eyes widening slightly, before a soft smile spread across his face. Without hesitation, he slung his armor off and crawled into the space beside you. "Are ya sure about this?"

"Mhm," you replied sleepily, your arms spreading over his chest as you nestled into him like a log warming a fire. "You're warm."

Wrecker smiled to himself, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him as he closed his eyes, feeling your steady breathing against his chest.

Tech 💤

The first time:

Sleep was not a common occurrence for Tech, so when he made the rare decision to nestle down for the night, he wasn't too perturbed to find you asleep in his allocated spot.

He paused for a moment, considering whether to wake you, but recalling your exhausted state earlier, he reasoned that you wouldn't have intentionally taken his bunk.

Instead, he quietly observed the peaceful rise and fall of your chest, noting the serenity that graced your features, before silently retreating back to the cockpit where he remained awake for the night once again.

"Tech, why didn't you wake me? I feel terrible," you expressed your guilt that next morning upon discovering that you had accidentally slept in his bunk, leaving him to forego his own rest.

"That is not necessary. You were tired, and I can always keep my mind occupied with tasks or reading intel," he replied in his usual composed manner, peering at you over his datapad. "I shall assume this was a one-time occurrence, and my bunk shall be my own again tonight."

“Yes, of course," you nodded, your expression reflecting genuine concern as you offered another apology before preparing for the demanding day ahead. Despite Tech's assurances, the weight of your unintended intrusion lingered.

The second time:

It just so happened to be the next night that you found yourself once again interrupting Tech's sleep. Moving through the dark ship with heavy eyes and a yawn on your lips, it was no surprise that you once again miscounted where your bunk was and crawled into the wrong one.

Your head hit the pillow, and your eyes shut as the warmth of the bed enveloped you. However, despite the comfort, a small flickering light kept intruding upon your consciousness, prompting your eyes to flutter open. At first, you didn't register the source, but as you turned your head to the right, your eyes widened in realisation: Tech laying there on his datapad, as if nothing had happened.

"Tech, what... am I...?" you began, your voice trailing off as confusion clouded your thoughts.

"In the wrong bunk?" he interjected calmly, settling his datapad down and gazing down at you. His goggles rested atop his head, allowing you to see the brightness of his eyes in the dark. "That is correct."

You sit up, feeling a rush of embarrassment flood over you, and run your hand over your face in frustration. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's up with me.”

Tech raises a single brow, his expression softened with genuine concern. "Perhaps in the morning, I should run some tests if you will allow me?" he suggests softly, his voice carrying a hint of worry. "But for now, I suggest you get some sleep."

Nodding in agreement, you reluctantly pull the blanket off your body, preparing to retreat to your own bunk. However, before you can make your escape, Tech's hand gently rests on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks.

"You are free to continue sleeping in my bunk tonight if you find it comfortable," he offers unexpectedly, his gesture of kindness catching you off guard.

"What, really?" you respond, turning to face him, searching his eyes for confirmation.

With a nod, Tech reclines back and retrieves his datapad. "Yes, really. I do not mind."

"But what if I keep you awake again?" you voice your concern.

"Do not worry about me," he reassures softly, a warm smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Now, get some rest before I give you a lecture about the benefits of getting sleep."

You chuckle softly at his remark before settling, finding comfort in his understanding demeanor. As you prepare to drift off into slumber, you can't help but feel thankful for Tech's compassion and generosity.

In the quiet of the night, you woke up only once, feeling Tech's arm drape gently across your body. Yet, instead of feeling unsettled, you found comfort in his presence.

Crosshair 💤

The first time:

As you prepared to settle in for the night after a long day, exhaustion clouded your judgment, leading you to absentmindedly crawl into a bunk without much thought. However, your relaxation was short-lived as you were startled by a gravelly voice beside you.

"What are you doing?" The abrupt question made you jump, and you inadvertently knocked your head against the top of the bunk in surprise.

"What am I doing? What the kriff are you doing?" you retorted in annoyance, rubbing your sore head as Crosshair sat up beside you, his expression stern in the dim light.

"I'll think you'll find this is my bunk," he hissed, his sharp gaze piercing through the darkness. As you glanced across the room, you realised your mistake—the bunk you were in wasn't yours.

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh. Now get out before I drag you out," he threatened, though you could tell it was more playful than serious.

"Alright, alright, keep your hair on," you sighed as you obediently crawled out of his bunk, feeling the absence of warmth as you departed.

Crosshair grumbled under his breath and rolled back onto his side to sleep, while you mentally chided yourself for the blunder, making sure you never accidentally try to sleep in his bunk again.

The second time:

You're exhausted, your head throbbing with the relentless ache of sleep deprivation from the past few days, and you've reached the point where you don't care where you sleep anymore. And that includes Crosshair's bunk.

As you settle down on the edge of his bunk, the closest one available, you feel the weight of his gaze on your back, following your movements as you swing your legs around and lay down. "What are you doing?" his voice cuts through the silence, tinged with irritation.

You don't reply, simply closing your eyes as you allow the fatigue to wash over you, hoping for a moment's respite.

"This is my bunk," he asserts firmly, his agitation evident, but as you remain silent, his annoyance shifts to confusion.

"Are you... alright?" he inquires, concern creeping into his voice.

You shake your head softly, and you hear him sigh, but he doesn't press you further. Nor does he demand that you leave.

As sleep begins to claim you, Crosshair remains awake for a while, his thoughts swirling. In his mind, he tells himself that this is a one-time occurrence.

Yet, if you're upset and in need of somewhere to rest for a while, he doesn't mind if you sleep next to him again. After all, it turns out to be the best sleep he's had in a while too.

Masterlist

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417@eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex x @jesseeka @theroguesully y @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97@staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @pb-jellybeans s @nunanuggets s @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 7 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater @id-rather-be-a-druid @the-bad-batch-baroness @lulalovez @green-alm0nd @thiswitchloves9904

[initial-lime]

I know nothing about the silt verses other than my moots on here’s posts, very delightful, seems interesting although I’m quite lost

Maybe I’ll give it a spin myself sometime

sorry about the silt verses spam <- boy who is absolutely not at all sorry

[dreamofjoys]

DAY 3 — Hate Sex

Characters: Blade (HSR), Al haitham (Genshin)

C/W: afab/fem reader, hate / rough sex, biting

Please read my main masterlist post before proceeding

Kinktober Masterlist

♡ Blade (HSR) ♡

You had never liked Blade, neither does he like you either. If someone told you that you and Blade will be making out together, you would laugh in their face and call them stupid. However, it seems like you are the stupid one in your current predicament. You were laying on your stomach on a table, legs spread open as your hater fucks his cock into you from behind. “I-I thought you ha-hated me,” You stuttered on your words each time Blade thrust himself into your womanhood. His balls slapping on your ass and cock nestling inside you has managed to provide a sense of high into your brain. Blade doesn’t respond to your question. Instead, the stellaron hunter chooses to lean down and bite on the back of your neck. You yelped in response, surprised at the sudden gesture. Blade only smirks when he feels your walls clenching down on his cock tight and hard. He resumes back to pounding his cock into your pussy, making sure to hit onto the most sensitive spots that got you crying before fully pulling out, letting your needy hole clench onto nothing but cold air, letting you feel how empty you are without. He repeats this cycle for the next few hours, not caring if it’s too much for you.

Blade hates you. He hates that you always make his cock hard and unattended. You have never spared him any attention, which got him desperate for you even more – even though he makes sure to make it seem like he purely hates you for no reason to avoid the embarrassment of being discovered that he was getting horny over you. Maybe only by fucking you this hard, you can feel his pain of his cock being lonely and needy all this time. But Blade wonders if you actually hate him, seeing as to how you are gripping onto the edges of the table with your life, wantons of moans spilling out from your lips as you let the person that you “hate” spilt you apart with his cock.

♡ Al Haitham (Genshin) ♡

There’s a purpose in everything that Al haitham does. Whether its to read a book, researching on difficult topics or eating a meal, this man has always been doing things that are within his own benefits and interest. Despite being classmates, you weren’t close to the aloof and arrogant scribe. In fact, you hated his “I know everything” attitude — although he is in fact correct about it. Perhaps you were simply jealous that his nonchalant approach towards studies have made him one of the top scholars in Academy (even though you were working hard and can only manage to barely pass your subjects). Nonetheless, you did not expect the man himself to approach you one day and ask “Wanna fuck?”

You were baffled by the suggestion. Why would he, ask you of all people? Nonetheless, there was this small voice inside you telling you to accept the invitation. Perhaps you were just eager to find out whether the esteemed and highly praised scribe is good in bed too? Damn right he is. Al haitham had you folded in half nicely, pinning your body to his bed as he fucks you with his cock. His movements were rough and ungentle. The bed creaks with every move that he made. The hands that were pinning your waist down starts digging into your skin, his nails no doubt leaving crescent nail marks on you. Everytime Al Haitham thrust himself in, you felt your brain going numb for a millisecond. You did not expect the scribe to be this good at fucking. Is this his first time doing this? Did he do some research before this? Why is it that the man that you hate is giving you the most pleasure right now?

Al Haitham could see the puzzled look on your face, but refuses to address your questions. He continues to fucks himself into you over and over again, letting that sloppy sounds bouncing off the walls show you just how good he is at making your pussy cry for his cock.

[initial-lime]

Eeeeeeee again thank you SO much, she’s so adorable in your style (: the sky background is so neat also

A little Drawing of @initial-lime ‘s oc, Dog Water!

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Lion's Pride [Part 3]

Gender Neutral Reader x Leona Kingscholar Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: Your new job as a Full Time Royal Therapist does not pay nearly as well as you'd like. Or, Leona is more of a problem child than he would ever admit, but you're surprisingly okay at dealing with that.

[PART 1][PART 2] [PART 3]

Sometimes you felt like you hardly knew what it meant to be a functional person, living a comfortable life on the fringes of society. So in comparison, trying to think of what it meant to be an actual prince, ruling over all of said society was something you literally could not comprehend no matter how hard you tried to wrap your head around it.  

“If you’re a Prince, what were you doing in a hole?” you asked, because you had far too many questions and concerns, and this one at least seemed easy enough to address. And also because you were genuinely pretty curious.  

The newly dubbed ‘Leona’ twitched against your back and you felt the low rumble of his snarl work its way from the depths of his gut all the way up through his chest and out his mouth.

“Holy shit,” Ace wheezed. “Screw this. I’m getting out of here before I wind up implicated as an accessory in your murder.”

And so your trusty friend abandoned you to the wolves lions?—darting away so quickly he always forget his bag, shoes, and everything else in the process.

You waved after him as he departed, knowing full well that he’d wind up stumbling back within the week, maybe two at most. He always did, no matter how much he complained about your Present Company. Plain old ‘murder’ was actually one of his more polite accusations. When he’d run into your Hunter friend the first time, Ace had gone on a wildly incoherent rant about how he was going to find your corpse strung up in a tree like some weird, ritual, sacrifice. And then that had devolved into something-something cannibalism or other. The visiting Hunter had just thrown his head back and laughed, positively enamored with the grisliness of it all. Ace had vanished for almost an entire month after that encounter, but he did come back—glaring up at you with a miserable pout like you were the one who’d gone and fucked off for thirty whole days.

Leona snorted and you felt the puff of breath against the back of your neck.

“Coward,” he grumbled, though he didn’t sound particularly displeased about your friend’s sudden departure.

“Fear lets us be brave,” you responded, wise as a sage. Or maybe an old frog in a puddle.

“Yeah?” he intoned, rolling his eyes. “And when’s that little rat ever been brave?”

“There’s always tomorrow,” you chirped, and that snort turned into something dangerously close to a chuckle. Which—gasp!—how dare such a pleasant sound fall from the lips of someone so obstinately determined to be otherwise! You grinned at the low tones of it, only for the snickering to cut off sharply in his throat once he’d realized what he was doing. And then of course he shoved you forward and out of his lap with a great amount of indignant snarling.

You laid there for a few minutes—face down in the sun-warmed grass and laughing quietly about just how ridiculous this stupid Lion was, before finally sitting up with a pleasant stretch. He could put on airs all he liked, you knew there was kernel of something far less angsty and murderous buried at the heart of him.

“So,” you hummed, lazily making your way back to your feet. “What exactly have I done to draw the realm’s Prince to my doorstep?” You squinted at him suspiciously. “You’re not here about the fairy gate thing, are you? Because that was actually an accident.”

“The what?” he frowned, brow pinched in confusion.

You waved him off. “Ah, nothing, nothing.”

Something in his jaw twitched, like now he was going to push the subject out of principle of you being shifty. But he just sighed and brought a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

“I need your help,” he said finally. Just as crabby as the first time he’d asked, if perhaps just a touch less imperious.

You arched a brow. “I think you’ve mentioned that already, yes.”

Silence.

The Lion stared you down with a slowly deepening scowl, and you stared back with a smile as placid and unmoved as the shallow pond you’d nearly drowned Ace in not an hour before.  

“If I apologize, you’ll help me?” he asked after a long moment, the question turning sharp at the end on a bitten of growl.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” you hummed back and he crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said, with all the pleasantry of someone undergoing a root canal. And all the sincerity of Ace swearing that this was the last time he’d get caught evading the tax man, promise.

You sighed, feeling a bit cheated. But you hadn’t really stipulated anything beyond those two little words leaving his mouth, so if anything, that was on you.

“Alright,” you huffed. “What is it you need help with?”

The Lion glared at you suspiciously for a long moment—glowing eyes narrowed into slits and tail twitching back and forth like he was swatting flies. Finally, he sighed and lifted his hands out in front of him with a pointed flex.  

“It’s not supposed to be like this,” he frowned sourly, wrists twisting to display the pointed claws tipping his fingers. “I’m not supposed to get stuck in between.”

Your eyes traced the fluffy tufts of his round ears, the black-tipped tail swishing irritably at his hind, and allowed yourself a melancholy sort of huff.

“But you look good like this,” you pointed out sadly. Because he really, truly, did. Leona without his squishy lion ears would just be… grumpy. Miserable, and angular, and angry. Nothing soft worth coddling at all.

“That’s not the point!” he snapped, baring his overlarge canines at you. There was a darker cast along his cheekbones that seemed to be making a valiant effort to crawl all the way up into his fringe. “And don’t fucking say that!”

You frowned. One second this stupid dick wanted to be praised to the Heavens and back! Practically swanning about, demanding you bow down and acknowledge his blatant superiority. But, oh no. Apparently your meager half-sentence masquerading as a compliment was too much for his delicate, princely, sensibilities.

“Fine,” you griped. “You’re ugly.”

He growled—low and rumbling—and if he was anymore of a cat you’d say you could see his hackles raising in indignation. But before he could launch into another vicious, verbal, evisceration of your person, you cleared your throat loudly in an attempt to get him back on track.   

“What do you mean by ‘stuck in between?’”

He sneered down at you testily for a moment before reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose again and letting out a put-upon sort of sigh that was not at all indicative of the fact that he was the one asking you for help.

“The Shift. When you found me in that pit, I should have been able to Shift between that form and this one without issue,” he frowned, brow tugging down tight with something a bit more disquieted than his usual, flat, annoyance. “The iron was a problem, but once I was out of the trap, it should have been fine. I’ve dealt with cursed snares like this before, and the effects have never lingered as long as this one has.”

You blinked owlishly. That did sound… fairly unpleasant. And honestly, if you were in his position you’d also be at least a little concerned that something else was at play. But, still, all that being said—

“I’m sorry,” you frowned, more or less genuine. Perhaps leaning a bit harder into less.“But I don’t understand how that has anything to do with me.”

“You were down there with me,” he argued. “You dismantled the trap.”

Uh, yeah. By messing with bits that looked breakable until they broke. Not exactly a high-level intellectual pursuit.

You didn’t say that, of course. Because after a few days watching you scuttle about your homestead like a particularly vocal lizard in the dirt, you were sure he already thought you were stupid enough without you outright admitting to it. Nevertheless, the Lion observed your zip-lipped silence with an ever-deepening scowl.

“You took it apart,” he tried again, nearly a growl.

“Yes,” you said with a nod.

“You know how you did it,” he continued, firm. At your lack of affirmative, he pushed again. “You know. I watched you do it!”

You raised your hand nervously and made a little so-so tilting motion.

Anyone less refined would no doubt have had their head in their hands at this point, but Leona just curled his lip at you and looked like he was fighting valiantly not to put your own very silly head through a wall.

“It was charmed,” he spat. “Bound up with talismans, and cursed down to its very moldings. That isn’t something any random farmer could walk up and break.”

“Oh,” you blinked, taken aback, and struggled to recall if there had been anything so obviously enchanted about the trap you’d fiddled into bits. “Was it?”

And head had officially met hands. He ground his clawed fingers into his temples like you were a headache that with enough determination and massaging he may somehow be able to will away.

“Couldn’t you go just home if this is such a big problem?” you asked, still genuinely baffled at it all. “Get help from your family? I mean, you’re a Prin—”

“No,” he interrupted, emerald eyes gone glacier cold.

You frowned, as unimpressed by his prickliness as you usually were. But something in you was hesitant to prod at whatever it was that had managed to tug a feral rage so tightly across his face—like drawing a shade over a window until the entire home was cloaked in shadow, or slipping away behind a carved mask too heavy to ever wear comfortably. It was an expression so sharp and so bitter that if you hadn’t only just yesterday watched this stubborn man lounge about in the sun as your chickens hopped all over him like he was the world’s most carnivorous jungle gym, you wouldn’t ever have known that they could be the same person at all. 

“Alright,” you shrugged, and some of that angry, hunched, defensiveness eased into confusion.

“Hah?” he frowned.

“Alright,” you said again. “We’ll figure it out here.” He glared over at you balefully, and you waved off the obvious retort on the tip of his tongue about something-something-you have no idea what you’re doing-something-something-dangerous risks and lifelong consequences-blablabla. “I have a friend who would know a lot more about those kinds of traps and talismans that I do. He could help, probably.”

“Probably?” he scoffed. Though when he rolled his eyes, they weren’t quite so hate filled—lids hooded with a familiar, begrudging sort of irritation rather than outright malice.

“He’s a bit of an enigma,” you explained—wiggling your fingers in a little, sparkly, dance to emphasize the, well, enigmatic part.

Another huff. But amidst that grumpy bellyaching, you watched those fluffy ears of his slowly perk back up atop his head, and his tail swish leisurely behind him. The Lion certainly didn’t look happy (but did he ever? So was that really a fair comparison?), but he definitely seemed like he’d thawed into something less ‘frigid dead of winter’ and more ‘unpleasantly nippy spring morning.’

“Weirder than you, herbivore?” he sniffed, looking down his nose at you and crossing his arms loosely over his chest. “I find that hard to believe.”

Normally you would too. But, well…

“He’s charming,” you chirped pleasantly, and Leona’s face twisted up like you’d served him a bowl of rancid yogurt.

.

.

That night you composed a letter to your dearest Hunter friend. You thanked him for bringing you the White Moor Stag, elaborated a bit on the new marinade you’d been experimenting with, and then ended the whole thing with a polite plea for his aid in deconstructing the mechanisms of a magical trap you’d encountered. You bribed one of your two carrier pigeons with some snacks and watched it fly off into the unknown with a little, cream-colored envelope tied to its foot. Message talismans were much simpler and far more convenient, but the Hunter always seemed to appreciate the personal touch of postal birds.

Leona glared at you from the window, and made some dramatic swipe at your pigeon like he meant to knock it out of the air. The poor bird tottered about like an overfilled water balloon—jiggling and wriggling in its roundness before eventually righting itself and continuing on into the sky with a warbled coo coo.

“Don’t be rude,” you huffed at him.

“I can’t believe you still won’t let me in,” he sneered from beneath the fluff of that blanket you’d gifted him. “I apologized.”

“Yes, but you actually have to mean it,” you explained, not unkindly, as he prowled just beyond the glass. “But we’re making progress!” you beamed. “That’s something! Maybe you’ll make it in here within the next five years, hmm?”

“Or I could just wipe out the entirety of your ridiculous dirt farm now,” he threatened, a bit of that sandy magic swirling sinisterly along his fingers.

“You certainly could, your highness,” you agreed easily. His lip curled unpleasantly, but that glowing, gritty, arcana faded away and he didn’t move from where he’d tucked himself up under the duvet.

After another solid fifteen minutes of his pissy glowering and barbed insults, you pointedly unclipped the ties on your curtains and let them fall shut so that his ridiculous pouting was hidden away behind the thin, cotton, mess of poorly stitched flowers and herbs.

(You did leave a nice dinner plate on the ledge before that, with extra portions of meat and a neatly frosted cookie for dessert. Because as much as your day had been a bit rough, you had a feeling his melancholy extended far beyond being left out in the dark for another evening.)

.

.

The next morning, your doddering pigeon returned with an elegantly bound scroll—all embellished with golden filagree and tied up in a neat, crimson, bow.

“Why does this freak call you ‘mon cher ami,’” Leona sniffed, tongue curling awkwardly over the unfamiliar words.

You sighed and debated snatching the letter back, but all that would probably culminate in was the paper in tatters and a smug beastman lording his superior letter-wrangling skills over your head like a trophy.

“It’s just one of his little ticks,” you explained with a shrug. “I told you—he’s charming.”

“Ah, yes,” Leona drawled, tracing a claw along the parchment’s edge with a soft shhhhhft. A raised, white, line cut across the paper’s surface like the beginnings of a wound. “Waxing poetic nonsense in a foreign language. Rambling on about all kinds of useless fucking garbage. Charming.”

“You,” you snipped, reaching out to smack at his tightening grip before he could rend the poor correspondence to bits, “are not one to talk about ‘charming.’”

“Oh?” he scoffed. He maneuvered around your tutting to hold the letter over your head. Typical. When you leaned forward to try and wrangle it back, Leona leaned in closer—eyes going hooded and lips curling into a smug little smirk that promised all sorts of trouble. “Haven’t had any complaints about that before. Who’d be saying otherwise?”

“The person you left stranded at the bottom of a pit, you inglorious oaf,” you griped. His ears immediately swiveled to pin flat against the top of his head, and you used the distraction of his indignation to finally snatch back your prize. “Besides,” you huffed, straightening out some of the new wrinkles. “Not very Prince-like, is it? A real prince would have swept in to save the idiot in distress. Sword drawn, banners flying,” you sighed, a bit too besotted with your own imaginings. “Why did you have to be such a dick, huh? Ruined my fantasies for the rest of my life.”

“And what?” Leona snapped. “Some rogue bastard sending you cursive garbage does it for you?”

“Better than being left for dead in a hole after saving their life,” you smiled—perfectly, poisonously, pleasant.

Leona rumbled something indiscernible under his breath and turned to glare petulantly off across your garden.

“Besides,” you hummed, looking over the letter. “There’s more important things. Like this—right here. Do you know what a self-bored stone is? He’s thinking maybe there was a process like that with the iron shackles. Or maybe something to do with seeping the components in herbs… Hmm…”

“Whatever,” Leona scoffed. “I’ll try whatever it takes to fix this shit.”

You clapped him amiably on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, tête de noeud!”

“The fuck did you just call me?!”

“Poetic nonsense,” you chirped, and Leona looked half ready to drop you back into the hole where he’d found you.

.

.

The first attempt to aid the Lion Prince in his conundrum didn’t go particularly well.

You’d tried to work off of the whole ‘overlap with a self-bored stone’ theory, but all that really amounted to was you gesturing like an over-serious crossing guard for him to walk under every low hanging branch, every arch, beneath the stunted beams of the chicken coop. You dangled rocks from strings and waved around your little creations like slightly more dangerous pompoms.

Penelope clucked irritably when one of the pebbles fell with a plunk into her nest, and Leona frowned up at you from where the wayward chicken had firmly situated herself in his lap.

“How was any of that supposed to help?”

You drew a blank and promised to try something new tomorrow.

The next day you tried herbs. The Hunter had listed off quite a few that were known to cause lingering issues with magical creatures, and you harvested the lot of them from your garden with ease. You held them up to Leona’s face one by one, brow furrowed in concentration, as you waited for… something.

“How is this any better than the rocks?” he complained.

You pushed the bright, butter-yellow, blossoms of some Saint John’s Wort under his nose until he sneezed and shoved you away with a slew of indignant threats to your person.

The following few days were spent perusing your meager library. You carted every book you owned on magic, and binding rituals, and rune smithing out into the yard. Leona looked over at the slowly growing pile of tomes with a truly unimpressed scowl.

“You could have just invited me inside,” he griped, rolling his eyes. He was splayed out in the grass at your side, his head tossed lazily across your lap after he’d complained that he needed at least some leverage to see what you were trying to read.

“Nice try,” you hummed, reaching for your page of hastily scribbled notes. “But you’re not getting off without a genuine apology that easy.”

A week passed in this fashion, with you attempting to string together more and more ludicrous ideas—throwing everything you had at the wall and hoping something, anything, would stick. But Leona’s ears stayed tufted and round. That tail seemed to only grow more twitchy, his claws longer and sharper.

You sent the Hunter another letter and waited anxiously for a reply. When it arrived the next morning, Leona snatched it from your pigeon before you’d even made it out your front door. It was a miserable sort of day—pouring rain and with nothing but the grey cloud cover overhead to color the world.

He read it over once, twice, before dropping it to the ground. You could see the tendons twitching along his jaw, could practically hear his molars grinding in his frustration.

You plucked the note from the grass and looked it over carefully.  

‘Mon ami, while I am loathe to address this, perhaps it is not the make of this trap at all that is causing such a vexation? Is there any chance that rather than this being a lingering malady, that this friend of yours was simply unable to overcome the initial curse in the first place?’

You glanced back up at Leona, who was intermittently clenching his fists at his sides. You could see the harsh indentations from where his claws were digging into the skin of his palms.

‘Sometimes such things just happen, je crains. The flesh may be willing, but often the spirit is weak. You mentioned this Roi du Leon has a powerful family he may turn to for assistance. Certainly one of them may be strong enough to overcome this curse for him, even if he perhaps is not.’

“Of course it’s all because I’m a fuck up,” Leona snarled. Some of that spitting, sandy, magic of his seeped into the air. It bit at the rain like an overeager dog. You could see it dancing along his skin—fighting to pull his features one way or another.

“He didn’t say that,” you pointed out gently. “And even if you were, there’s nothing wrong with needing help sometimes. Your family—"

“—Would rather I keeled over dead and stopped sullying my brother’s perfect fucking reputation!” he snapped. “Heir to the King’s Roar,” he scoffed. “Stupid. I was never going to be a king to begin with. And even if I had been born first, they would have deposed me to put their flawless, favorite, golden boy on the throne anyways.”

That... That was a lot. You stared at the pacing Lion with wide eyes—unsure how to help, unsure if any attempts to do so would only make this worse. This was—this was so above your ‘happy, homey, hermit’ paygrade.

“Of course this is all because of me,” he hissed, that roiling, angry, arcana coiling around him like curdled milk. The pupils in his eyes flickered oddly from round to thin-cut, hard, lines. Beastly. “Of course it was because I wasn’t good enough.”

“Leona,” you tried, as gentle as you could be.

The Prince threw his head back and laughed. And laughed, and laughed.

“I should have known!” he cackled, borderline hysterical. “I should have fucking known!”

“Leona—” you tried again, reaching out a hand.

Only to be immediately knocked on your ass by an explosion of magic.

You’d heard of self-destruction—of implosion. The arcane wonders of the world were a wily and unyielding mistress. While creatures like Leona who were so naturally steeped in ancient magics and sorcery could control that beast more adeptly than some little mortal like you, it didn’t make them any less susceptible to its dangers. If anything, they had it worse. It was like sitting in a shallow stream versus wading out into a roaring ocean. So much more opportunity, such a higher aptitude for greatness, but far too easy to drown beneath the churning tides of it all.

The inky, geometric, swirls along his arms pulsed like a heartbeat. They crawled along his skin and traced black patterns into his veins. Even you could feel the horrible, dark, stickiness of it—as the magic ate him alive. His face twisted back and forth between human and animal, and you watched him contort and snarl under the weight of it before turning on you with a vicious roar.

Uh oh.

The first wave of magic seared the ground, leaving nothing but strange, grey, sand in its wake. The more he snapped and clawed wildly at anything and everything, the more that dusty desert spread. You managed to hop out of the way of most of it—sparing a single, sad, thought for all the poor plants you’d worked so hard to cultivate dying a miserable, grainy, death.

The next arc of magic shot straight from his clawed fingers, and it managed to catch the flesh of your forearm. It was sharper than any dagger or sword that you’d ever had the pleasure of accidentally nicking yourself with, and it tore its way down your arm like a raging beast, leaving an eerie, tacky, bubbling mess in its wake. And ouch did it hurt—like someone was taking a fistful of coarse sand and rubbing it into the open wound. You ground your teeth against the strange, gnawing, sensation and hastily wrapped a bit of torn fabric around the weeping gash to keep it a bit more contained. You waited for the worst of it to pass, for that initial bite to fade into a more manageable throb. But it didn’t. It just got sharper and tighter, hotter and hotter. For a moment it felt like your skin was crackling—like firewood popping and splitting beneath the weight of a blaze. From across the field, Leona made a noise like a hurricane given voice, and you bit back a groan.

‘Oh come on,’ you hissed to yourself. ‘Not now, please.’  

And while you’d been mostly referring to the Lion losing another brick of his sanity fort, your wound seemed to pulse at the command—a sensation not unlike the soft drone of the wards carved deep into the support beams of your dilapidated home, and an impression of words tingling along your nerves without any real shape or form. ‘Alright. Later then.’ Like a breath of wind along your fingertips. That pulsing doubled back, and the wrap you’d hurriedly tied around your forearm hummed low with gentle arcana.   

And then the cracking stopped. Just like that. Like it’d given up on eating you alive and decided to head home early for the day.

Huh, you though a bit dazedly, before hurriedly ducking out of the way of another swipe.

You clutched your still smarting but at least now functional arm to your chest, and Leona turned on you and your ethereal booboo with a raging snarl. But then that glowing glare caught on the blood trailing down towards your wrist in too dark, too thick, rivulets and his eyes went wide. It wasn’t much, but the strange bought of shock rocketing through him gave you a handful of seconds of ceasefire. You reached into your pocket with your uninjured hand and pulled out a thick bit of cardstock. This was supposed to be for emergencies, goddamn it! And you’d spent so much money on this stupid little thing! And—

You shook off the mildly delusional complaints bogging down your brain and unfolded the paper between your fingers. The sigils inked into it hummed against your skin, and the rain sluffed off its face like the cold and the damp were no bother at all.

“Fucking—” you flung the talisman at your ridiculous, rampaging, guest. It fluttered like the beat of a hawk’s wings and dove towards him with just as much vicious precision. “GO TO SLEEP!”

The enchantment smacked into his face with an echoing THUNK and you watched those too-bright eyes of his roll up into his head as he collapsed to the ground in a heap.

With the main source of all the Magical Warfare knocked unconscious, most of the miasma began to disperse—like dust caught up in a gale. The rain washed away the rest. It slid into the mud and seeped back into the earth. The plants and animals seemed to give a collective sigh, and some of your more courageous chickens even started to venture in close to peck at the leftover destruction.

You approached the felled Prince hesitantly. The talisman had been meant for subduing an enemy with a more human constitution, so you doubted it would keep him down for very long.

“Hey,” you grouched, poking his side. He twitched a bit but didn’t move otherwise. “Hey, asshole,” you tried again. Still, nothing. Uh oh.

You reached down to wedge an arm under him and hoist him upright. The singed skin of your forearm brushed along his jaw as you attempted to maneuver his bulk, and his nose twitched sharply at whatever scent was trapped in the dark, cracking, gash there. His brow scrunched up like you’d just doused him in spoiled milk, so naturally you went about waving your wounded flesh beneath his nostrils like the world’s strangest smelling salts.

After a moment he blinked back awake, face twisted up into the most properly disgruntled mien of distaste that you’d ever seen on a person who’d only just barely managed to claw their way back into the world of the living.

“Herbivore,” he rumbled, still looking more than a bit dazed.

Good enough.

You manhandled him back onto his feet as best you could—turning yourself into an impromptu crutch to try and get him mobile again. The sand shifted and sank beneath your heels, making dragging his ridiculous, dramatic, ass even more of a challenge. As you hauled him towards your cottage, you complained to him in earnest. Every little irritation under the sun. Half because you’d probably never have another opportunity to bitch at him so thoroughly without getting your own earful of grievances in return, half to keep him conscious—keep him focused on staying here. With you. And not… Wherever it was he’d gone in those moments of delirium.  

“I still don’t get why you call me that,” you griped, readjusting your grip on him when he’d started to slide down to the point his nose had buried itself against your collarbone. “Herbivore. I’ve cooked so much meat for you since you decided to crash here. Talked about how I prepare it, and the flavors I experiment with—I literally gave you some from my own sandwich when we first met! That I ate the rest of! In front of you!—”

When you finally herded him over the threshold and into your little cottage, the wards and their protection slipped around him like the soft current of a stream. You hardly even noticed the way the old magics ruffled his hair—and that was only because you were actively looking, half convinced the house was still about to toss up an invisible barrier and send him sprawling back into the dirt.

Leona wobbled on his feet, and his eyes were still too far away and grey.

You grabbed him by the ear and maneuvered his too-tall self into one of your rickety kitchen chairs. The wood groaned under the sudden press of his dead weight, but it didn’t collapse beneath him so it wasn’t worth fussing over. Once you were certain he wasn’t about to fold over sideways and crumple to the ground (or at least, that he was angled enough over a rug that he wasn’t going to crack his head on the stone floor), you rushed off to your bookcases and shelves and began hurriedly rumaging through your collection of nonsense.

The charms, the charms. Where were your emergency charms?! You’d thought you left them right there on the—Ah! There we go.

You pulled the raggedy binder from its place on the shelf, blew away the coating of dust that had settled over the top of it, and returned to your patient.

You flipped open the worn leather hooks and began sorting through the dozens upon dozens of sheets of enchanted parchment within. They were unimpressive—just small, rectangular, bits of faded paper inlaid with the softest kinds of magic. Not meant for much more than coaxing warmth into chilly limbs or placing a soft kiss over a scraped knee. But medicines were medicines—whether arcane in origin or otherwise. If you—if you just doused him in the things, that would probably work. Right? Of course it would. That made perfect sense.

So you slapped the first talisman square in the middle of his forehead. Leona swayed at the wet SMACK of the paper gluing itself to his soaked-through skin, but aside from the faintest, startled, widening of his eyes, he didn’t do anything else to complain. So you stuck the next charm to his cheek, and then another on the opposite one too.

“Magic overuse is dangerous,” you chastised as you went about layering a veritable novel’s worth of pasty, paper, enchantments up his arms. The soft spells worked their way into his skin, and you watched those twisting, black, shapes skitter back up towards where they’d once sat peacefully curled around his bicep. “Are you trying to kill yourself, hah?!”

Instead of snapping back at you like normal, he just sort of… sat there. Accepting your angry accusations in frosty silence. He absolutely looked like a cat that you’d fished out of a bag in the river. Pathetic, and sad, and droopy. And… quiet. So, very, quiet. You frowned, because as much as you didn’t particularly enjoy being insulted every minute of the day, the Lion’s biting little remarks had become… familiar, at the very least. Even if they weren’t entirely pleasant. Even if he was far from pleasant.

The dampness on his skin was starting to curl the edges of your talismans, and you reached forward with a huff to at least pull the freezing, soaked-through, vest off his shoulders. The leather jacket landed with a wet plap on the stone floor, a cold puddle already pooling around all its stupidly intricate, embroidered, edges. Something fluttered out of one of the open pockets—small, and off white, and crinkled. You stepped over the whole mess to retrieve a pile of towels and didn’t give it a second thought.

“Make a mess of my home, why don’t you,” you complained, dropping one of the towels over the entirety of his head before reaching forward to start drying him off with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. “Drip all over the floors I just mopped, why don’t you. Be emotionally constipated and almost turn my whole yard into a sand pit, why don’t you—”

A hand reached out to snag your wrist, and you let him pull you away from your attempts to rub all that stupidly thick hair straight off his head.

From beneath the curtain of the cotton towel, you could see Leona glaring at the long, dark, scratch curling along your forearm. It certainly wasn’t… nice to look at. The gymnastics of getting him into your cottage had managed to displace the impromptu bandage, so the whole of it was just there. Bruised, and dark, and odd looking. But ugly or not, it was hardly bleeding or anything anymore! And he was the one who had almost just self-destructed in your front yard!

‘Think of the accusations!’ you wanted to wail. ‘Can you imagine the garbage I would have to deal with if I wound up with a dead royal fertilizing my garden?! No thank you!’

But before you could complain about his fussing, his claws flexed against the soft skin of your palm and you saw the muscles along his forearm tense—like he was fighting to keep still.

“You should be dead,” he muttered, terse.

You huffed. “Look, I know you think humans are all sorts of pathetic, but I’m not that—”

“You should be dead,” he repeated, sounding as if the words had to tear their way out of his throat—scraping like shards of glass all the way up.

You stared at his dark eyes and dripping bangs—the shadows playing across his cheeks and the strange, hollow, wrongness that had settled over all of him. With a heavy sigh you plopped yourself down into the chair across from his and dragged a handful of the leftover charms your way. Pointedly, you took one and slapped it over the wound. And then another.  

“See?” you said, flexing your wrist in his grip to put the creeping, black, cut on display. The talismans glowed softly against your skin and the lingering whisps of darkness licking at the the injury began to fade. “All better. Not something a dead person would say at all.”

Leona frowned, but at least it looked a bit more annoyed than outright bleak. And besides, frowns were better than whatever that stoic, expressionless, numbness had been.

“Though I appreciate your concern,” you grinned, pointedly sharp and prodding. Like a toddler standing by with a stick, hoping to poke out a reaction. “Truly, whatever would I do without the Great Lord Lion there to fret over me?”

But instead of the acidic ‘I wasn’t fucking worried,’ that you were expecting, or even a more muted grumble of dissent, Leona’s brow just pinched in displeasure and your awkward attempts at teasing faded into terse silence.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, almost too quiet to hear—his head low and eyes lower.

You sighed and twisted your wrist around to pat at his hand. There was the faintest tremor in his fingers and you tangled your own between them to give him something to squeeze, something to hide the shiver of lingering malaise that he would no doubt deny with his dying breath. You observed the stern, tight, expression warping his otherwise handsome face—the miserable, puckered, angle of his mouth and the way the emerald of his eyes was cut through with a shadow of genuine remorse. You reached out with your other hand to pet at his soft, round ears. They squished flat beneath your palm and your lips twitched up into a fond, little smile. Leona tipped his chin just enough to glower at you from beneath his bangs with no real heat, and you sighed and gave him one more pat for good measure.

“You’re forgiven.”

.

.

.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

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[lacydollette]

CASUAL ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: fwb!dean x fem!reader

warnings: fwb, slight smut, 18+, mdni, no strings attached, physical relationship, one sided love, oral (fem receiving), wc: 2.2k, inspired by the song “casual” by chappell roan

Dean leaned against the hood of the impala, the night sky sprawling above him like a dark canvas. It was cold, that kind of autumn chill that sneaks under your clothes and makes you shiver. The hum of the car's engine had faded into the background, replaced by the quiet stillness of the woods surrounding him. 

He glanced down at his phone, re-reading the text he had sent hours ago. It was simple, like all of you guys' messages: "In town. Meet me?" No promises, no expectations, just the unspoken understanding that had developed between the both of you over the past few months. You didn't do feelings, nor did you talk about the future. You just were.

The sound of crunching dried up leaves caught his attention, and Dean looked up, eyes fixed on you. You were walking toward him, wrapped in your leather jacket, hair spilling over your shoulders, looking as worn and restless as he felt.

"Hey." you greeted, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you stopped a few feet away from him.

"Hey yourself." Dean replied, straightening up and sliding his hands into his pockets. He noticed the way your eyes softened when you looked at him, but like always, there was a wall there—a barrier neither of you had tried to break through yet. You leaned against the Impala next to him, gaze drifting to the stars above. "I almost didn't come."

"Yeah?" Dean raised an eyebrow, though he wasn't surprised. "What changed your mind?"

"I don't know." you admitted, voice quiet. "Maybe I wanted to see if you'd actually be here."

"I'm always here." Dean said, but the words felt heavier than he intended. Both of you fell into silence, the kind that usually felt comfortable between you, but tonight it was different. It felt like something unspoken was hanging in the air, something that neither of you wanted to address. 

You shifted, crossing your arms over your chest as you stared out at the empty road. "This thing we're doing, it's not... It's not forever, you know?" Dean nodded, though he could feel the familiar tightening in his chest. "Yeah. I know."

"It's just... casual." you continued, your voice faltering slightly. "We're both just... passing through." There it was—the reality of what the two of you were, what you'd always been. Two hunters, crisscrossing paths, never staying long enough to change anything.

Dean swallowed hard, the words he didn't want to say burning in his throat. "Is that what you want? To keep it casual?"

Your eyes met his, searching his face for something—maybe a sign that he wanted more, maybe a reason to stay. But Dean was an expert at keeping his walls up, and tonight was no different. "I don't know.." you answered honestly. "It's easier that way. Less messy."

"Yeah." Dean agreed, though the word felt like sandpaper on his tongue. "Less messy." You let out a soft sigh, gaze dropping to the ground. "But it's not really, is it?"

Dean looked at you, really looked at you, and saw the weariness in your eyes. He knew that weariness all too well—years of fighting, losing people, carrying the weight of a world that never seemed to work in your favor. "It doesn't have to be." he said quietly. 

Your eyes flickered with something—hope, maybe, or fear. "What are you saying, Dean?" He hesitated, the words hanging on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to tell you to stay, to give this thing between you a real chance, more than the empty promises you never made. But that would mean letting you in, breaking down his own walls, and that was something he wasn't sure he could do.

"I'm saying..." he started, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he reached out, taking your hand in his, letting his actions speak instead. You looked down at your intertwined hands, then back up at him. "Dean..."

"Let's just... be here." he said, his voice rough. "For tonight." You nodded, a sad smile touching your lips. "For tonight."

You both stood there, hands laced together, two souls haunted by the same scars, the same pain, and the same unspoken desire for something more. But for now, you would keep it casual, keep it simple, because that was all you guys knew how to do. Tomorrow, you would go separate ways, back to the lives that never seemed to stop demanding more from you. But tonight, in the comfort of the open road, you had each other. 

And that was enough.

You turned to Dean, heart beating faster, knowing where this was headed but unsure if you were ready for the aftermath. There was something about the way he looked at you tonight, a vulnerability that was rare in a man like him. It pulled at your heart, made you want to dive deeper into whatever this was between you, even if it meant getting hurt.

His hand slid up your arm, warm against the cold, and when his fingers brushed your cheek, you closed your eyes, letting yourself lean in. For that moment, nothing else existed. "Y/N." Dean whispered, his voice rough and low.

You opened your eyes and saw the conflict in his, the struggle between wanting you and keeping his walls intact. But you also saw the desire, the need that matched your own. It was that need that made you move closer, lips finding his in a kiss that was tender at first, almost hesitant. But as the seconds passed, the kiss deepened, became more desperate, more urgent.

Dean responded in kind, pulling you closer, his hands wandering to your waist, and back, as if trying to memorize the feel of your body, to capture this moment before it slipped away. Your hands tangled in his hair.

You tumbled back against the Impala’s hood, his jacket and yours slipping to the ground as you found each other in the chill of the night. The cold metal beneath you didn’t matter; only his touch did, the heat of his skin on yours, the quiet moans and sighs that escaped between breaths.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to forget everything—your fears, doubts, the uncertainty of what you guys were. You let yourself believe that this was something more than just casual, that maybe, just maybe, this time it would be different.

Falling back onto the black impala you gasped as Dean reached in between your legs, goosebumps spreading all over your body as you let him play with the thin fabric of your blue lace panties. Looking down at him you could see the eagerness creeping out of his eyes, almost stripping you out of the last pieces of lingerie that were covering your body by just staring at you. 

Dean's breathing became ragged, "I need to taste you." His words striking through you like lightning as Dean's lips worked their way along your tighs and finally settling his head between them. Two fingers hooked into the waistband, tugging downward, and sliding the already drenched fabric off of your legs and to the ground behind him. 

Cold air striked your wetness as you got exposed, making your legs shake almost immediately. But you didn't care if you were freezing, all you wanted was to enjoy this moment with Dean.

"Fuck, seeing you like this is driving me insane." his voice vibrated through you. You held your breath as Dean's head lowered itself. All you could see was his messy hair poking out from between your legs, before warmth spread through your core, leaving you moaning out his name. 

The taste of you made Dean growl, creating a rhythm to match your moans. His tongue flattened against you, licking a stripe up between your folds until he pressed against your clit, a horribly whiny sound escaping your lips when he began sucking around the nub, like he was trying to pull the life out of you. Your hips jolted, unable to go anywhere as he had you pinned down.

As his tongue continued to roll against your sweet spot you felt some tightness building in your lower belly. It was a matter of seconds before you couldn't take it anymore and released all over his tongue.

"Fuck.." you whined out, his moans vibrating against your sensitive skin before pulling away and wiping the corner of his lips with his shirt. You immediately pulled him up to your lips by his collar, tangling both of you into a deep kiss. His hands were roaming around your chest and neck, every touch of his burning through your skin, lingering there for what felt like an eternity.

But soon Dean's kisses grew slower, less intense, and his touch, once so sure and eager, began to falter. You could feel him pulling away, even as he held you close. The cold metal of the car pressed against your back was nothing compared to the chill that was starting to settle in your chest.

You just lay there, catching your breath, but there was a heaviness between you now. You lifted yourself onto your elbows to look at him, hoping for something in his eyes, a glimmer of hope. But instead, he was staring at the sky, that vulnerability you’d seen replaced by his usual guarded look. He was retreating into himself, shutting you out, just like he always did.

"Dean?" You whispered, voice trembling with the weight of unasked questions. He didn't respond right away, his gaze still fixed on the stars. When he finally turned to look at you, his eyes were colder, more guarded. "Yeah?" The single word felt like a punch to your gut. You bit your lip, trying to keep the disappointment from showing. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." he said, but the words were hollow. He pulled away, getting up and running a hand through his hair. "We should get going. It's late." You nodded, pulling your jacket tight around yourself, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable. "Right. Of course."

You watched him grab his jacket, his movements quick, avoiding your gaze. The intimacy between you seemed to dissolve into the cold night air, leaving behind a strange tension.

"Dean..." you started, but the words caught in your throat. You didn’t know how to reach him, how to bridge that growing distance. He turned to you, his expression unreadable. "It is what it is, Y/N. You know that, right?"

Your heart sank further, the reality of his words hitting you like cold water. It is what it is. Casual. No strings, no promises, no emotions. Just two people using each other to fill a void that neither of you wanted to acknowledge. "Yeah.." you replied, forcing a smile that didn't reach your eyes. "I know."

But the truth was, it hurt more than you wanted to admit. Because for all your talk of keeping things casual, you'd hoped—foolishly—that maybe this time it would be different. That maybe, just maybe, Dean would let you in. 

But he didn't. And as the Impala’s engine roared to life, filling the silence between you, you felt a hollowness in your chest. You’d let yourself get close, let yourself believe in something that wasn’t real. And now, you were left feeling used, like you were just another stop on Dean Winchester's endless road.

As the car sped down the empty highway, the night stretched out before you. You leaned your head against the window, the cold glass a harsh reminder of the distance he’d put between you two. You didn’t say anything, didn’t try to ask for more, because deep down you knew it wouldn’t change anything.

Dean was a man with walls that even you couldn’t reach, just passing through. You’d hoped that would be enough to protect your heart, to keep you from feeling the way you did. But as you closed your eyes, gulping down the unshed tears, you realized it wasn't.

Because despite everything, you wanted more.

links: dean winchester masterlist!

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

Let's do the OG cat. Do you think Meowth would be a good pet?

Yes, a meowth would indeed make a good pet! In fact, we finally have another member of the “pretty much just a cat” cat-agory. If you are the owner of a real-world cat, or are a cat person in general, chances are you would have no problem welcoming a little meowth into your life. Just make sure you have some spare change on hand, it’s the quickest way into one of these little guys’ hearts.

Meowths are the perfect size to be a house pet at just over a foot tall. You’d have no problem making space for them in most homes, and getting them around is a breeze. While they have some formidable claws, they are able to retract them (Ruby/Sapphire), so the risk of an accidental scratch from a meowth is about equal with a normal cat (experienced cat owners, interpret that info as you will).

Meowths are pretty easygoing pokémon with a long track-record of getting along with humans, especially those with generous, full pockets. Meowths can be fickle at times (Ultra Moon) and are often free-wandering spirits (Red/Blue). A responsible meowth owner needs to make sure that they don’t let their meowth menace the native bird and bug pokémon of their neighborhood, since these little hunters are avid explorers. Keeping a meowth happy is as simple as providing them with a steady supply of coins or coin-like offerings. Meowths have a natural love for round, shiny objects (Red/Blue, Yellow), and they are known to hoard (Silver) and play with them until they fall asleep (Gold). Make sure to provide your meowth with a safe spot to store their hoard!

While standard meowths get along with other pokémon species well enough — aside from rivals like murkrows (Moon) — keep in mind that they are known to not get along well with other regional variants, like Galarian meowths (Shield). Meowths will be most at-home with night-owls, as these pokémon are mostly nocturnal (Yellow).

Despite their sharp claws, meowths aren’t exceptionally dangerous. Most of their natural move set revolves around scratching enemies, which shouldn’t do much damage to a person beyond the superficial wounds that any standard house cat could inflict. Before I move on from the topic of meowths’ moves, I need to address the money-generating elephant in the room: Pay Day. This signature move is well known amongst pokémon trainers, because upon a hit the meowth scatters coins on the ground. There’s a common misconception that owning a meowth is essentially a get-rich-quick scheme due to this move, but don’t get it twisted: as far as we know, meowths can’t generate money out of thin air. It’s far more likely that these battling pokémon are using their secret collection to attack. Besides, if you’re looking to adopt a pet just to get money, your heart’s not really in the right place.

In all honesty, if you’re a cat person, you’re a meowth person. They’re essentially cats that walk on two feet. They’re clever (I’ve even heard rumors that they have the ability to learn to speak, though I’ve never seen it confirmed), curious, and cute, and the perfect pet for many owners.

[initial-lime]

Wishing for a world where I can simply exist as a boneless mass. Jellyfish and squids have what I want and quite frankly it’s infuriating

I bet they fuckers can’t even feel the oncoming rain in their spine.

having joints is honestly a major inconvenience. having joints during summer is way worse