#one of those perpetually concerned looking cats

[l1ve-l4ugh-lov3craft]

I Have More Rosekiller Fake Dating AU

a continuation of this drabble ( @dairekt-cat there's another)

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They ended up agreeing to all meet at the venue separately and go over the “plan of attack,”  as Barty had very cleverly called it, before going in. Regulus was the only one there when Barty arrived, which served him just fine. He flashed him a grin and a couple finger guns for good measure as he sauntered over, which Regulus promptly rejected with a scowl.

“You can’t be acting like that while we’re in there,” he said the moment Barty was in earshot. So much for friendly greetings.

“‘Hi, Barty. How are you, Barty?” Barty replied loudly, “You look so hot and sexy in that suit, Barty. Did you steal your father’s credit card to buy it?’ Why yes, Reg, I did. Thanks for asking. How are y-”

“Yes, yes, okay I hear you.” Regulus elbowed him hard enough to make Barty stumble back a bit.

Barty was still snickering under his breath as he straightened and scanned their near surroundings. Lots of expensive looking people in expensive looking outfits with expensive looking expressions of passive tolerance slowly filing into the gala venue. No sign of Pandora Rosier or the asshole who insulted his tattoo work last week, which was all well and good as far as Barty was concerned. Might be nice to slip in, swipe some of the fancy booze, and then be able to just dip and leave Regulus to deal with the upper-class as he did best.

“Think your mum will be terribly pissed if you get stood up tonight?” He asked, eyes still flitting over the clusters of people still arriving.

Regulus crossed his arms, “I am not going to be stood up.” He said.

Barty felt his face pinch rather against his own will. It was - he looked at his watch - three minutes until seven. And neither of the Rosier twins were anywhere in sight. Not exactly standup odds, but who was he to deny Regulus his delusions?

“You keep telling yourself that, buddy. But if they don’t show, just know that I’m absolutely gonna-”

Barty needed to study the uncanny accuracy of that ‘speak of the devil and he shall appear’ saying. Because not two fucking seconds after the words came out of his moth, who should show up in all their pasty, bleach-blonde glory?

Alright, fine. That was a bit harsh. Pandora Rosier was, admittedly, a rather beautiful young woman. She held herself with confidence and grace, and she had a sort of perpetual soft smile on her face that made you think she knew something you didn’t at all times. She had on a lacy, sage green ball gown type dress that Barty felt like one wouldn’t typically see at 21st century events like this and he nodded appreciatively at her ability to not give a single fuck. Subtly of course. Heaven forbid he appear like he was having positive feelings about anything related to this situation.

And Evan was…Well, sue Barty but he was hot, okay?? In, like, an asshole type of way where you looked at him and it just made you angry cos no one who was that much of a dick should look that good. He had fucking crystals braided into his hair. Who did that? And why did it look so good and bring out the flecks of blue in his eyes so well? Barty wanted to strangle him. Really.

Pandora smiled kindly when the two of them stopped in front of Regulus, and Barty was surprised to watch as she took even one step closer to pull his friend into a hug. He was practically balking when Regulus returned the hug in kind. Asshole. Regulus never hugged him. 

“It’s wonderful to see you, Regulus,” Pandora smiled, then she turned to Barty, “You must be Barty. It’s a pleasure!”

He nodded and took her hand when she offered it, but in less of a handshake way and more of a…she held his hand and squeezed it in a sort of friendly…sisterly way. It was weird, and he didn’t hate it. 

Then he looked past Pandora and his gaze met Evans and...yikes. Lots of personality and warmth in those eyes. Yeesh. The dude looked like he was a thousand miles away and had generic, pre-programmed responses for every possible conversation scenario ready to auto-play when needed. This was going to be fun. He wasn’t particularly inclined to try civility, but he figured if he was gonna be around this bloke all night he might as well at least attempt to be nice.

He put on a smile and stuck out his hand, “So, seems we’re stuck together tonight, eh? Name’s B-”

“I know who you are.” Evan cut in, neither letting him finish nor taking his hand.

‘Well fuck you, too. Asshole.’

“Evan,” Barty heard Pandora hiss.

It was fine. Barty could play this game too.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” He asked, “Had a lot of fun in my chair the other day, huh? Don’t think anyone ever really forgets their first bl-”

“Barty,” it was Regulus’ turn to snap. Barty scowled at him but dropped it. 

“We should go inside,” Pandora suggested, her voice a bit tight, “The gala should be starting soon.”

She tucked her hand into Regulus’ arm and let him lead her through the front doors, leaving Evan still outside with Barty. Eyes narrowed, he gave him a final once-over. Nice suit. Black with deep crimson roses embroidered on the lapels and cuffs. He was pretty sure the cufflinks were roses as well. A bit on the nose all things considered, but it was nicely tailored, clearly expensive, and it did look good on him. 

He made sure Evan noticed the way his eyes fell to the embroidery on his lapels before looking up at him with a smirk, “Hah. Rosie.”

Evan’s reply was immediate, “Do not call me that.”

“I’m gonna call you that.”

“Fuck you.”

Barty grinned, tucking himself dramatically into Evan’s side as they followed after Regulus and Pandora, “Oh you wish, sweetheart. You wish.”

[turbulentscrawl]

Alva Lorenz General HCs

You'll have for forgive me for any typos--this man's been on my mind for two days and I have to get these out. I'm too impatient to check everything hahah

-Alva did not actually betray Luca by passing off any pf Herman’s work as his own. Though he did always maintain some interest in the concept of a perpetual motion machine, Alva didn’t dedicate much time to working on it after Herman’s death. He did, however, start the fire which killed Herman in an outburst-fueled accident similar to how Luca later killed him. Alva, however, escaped suspicion of the event and was not legally punished.

-Alva knew Herman had a son and, though he never personally met Herman’s family, knew who Luca was through grapevine rumors. He agreed to take Luca on as his student partially out of guilt for his unexposed crime, and partially because he had no children of his own and quickly felt a certain parental urge for Luca. They shared a lot in common and got on very well, very quickly, and their relationship was great right up until the accident. The documentation that seems to indicate their relationship deteriorating is coincidental. (ex, Luca’s experiments slowly transitioning from both he and Alva signing off on them to just Luca was Alva giving Luca more independence because he trusted him, rather than them growing apart or secretive.)

-I think Alva may be autistic. He doesn’t require much in the way of accommodations, and he doesn’t have the sensory issues that Aesop does. However, his speech is sometimes overly flat, his view of the world a bit rigid, his social energy levels are low, he’s prone to bouts of depression, he fixates on his work a lot, and he often fidgets with things like pens and clothes. He enjoys touching various textures, and often expresses appreciation for the material of people’s clothes. Additionally, he’s made a living out of his special interest: inventive engineering.

-Alva is a solemn and polite man. He’s rather chivalrous, but reserved, and as a result was admired by many for his mysterious-gentleman air. “Hermit” is an apt name for Alva, however, as he rarely enjoyed the company of others. He especially felt overwhelmed in large groups. He has always preferred one-on-one socializing, and even that he had a smaller tolerance for than was typical for men of his class. Luckily, he doesn’t have much in the way of a temperament, so when he’s tired of socializing, he’s just that: tired. Sexy Old man.

-To specify, when I say chivalrous, I mean he’s the kind of man who holds doors open for others, offers his hand to help them up from a seat or down from some height, share his umbrella in the rain, and would even lay his coat in a puddle for a lady to cross over. He offers chivalry moreso to women than men, but if a man presents as meek or shy enough in his presence he will extend the gestures to them as well, hoping to make them feel more comfortable.

-Alva’s only family at the time of his death was his wife. She was barren, and they had no children, and all the rest of his family had passed due to age or illness. Luca therefore became something of a surrogate son to Alva over the years. Though he sometimes struggled to show it, Alva cared for him like blood and always looked out for him.

-Alva didn’t care much about his overall predicament, after being resurrected. His religious proclivities were more for show than anything, so being a chosen of some…eldritch-cat-god is hardly the worst of his concerns. Until the manor, he hadn’t been expected to do anything he considered reprehensible or very immoral, so he’s always been fine with just completing his orders so he could go back to his work.

-After joining the manor, Alva’s only real comfort is his work. In life, inventive engineering was his method of self-expression, the way he interacted with the world, his reason for living. That changed a bit when his wife came along, and then again for Luca, but with those gone he’s back to his reclusive nature. It takes a long time for Alva to make friendships in the manor. He’s familiar with Ann out of necessity, but they’re merely cordial. With time, he becomes friendly with a small handful of others, but his melancholy is still pervasive.

-Inevitably, with enough time at the manor, Alva craves reconciliation with Luca. He doesn’t entirely blame Luca for what happened. At the end of everything, Alva knows the accident was an accident as well as a misunderstanding. (And also probably some kind of ironic, cosmic retribution for him killing Herman.) The trouble is, Luca does not remember him at all, or what happened. He knows from a few conversations that the boy’s cleverness is still in-tact, but his memories are almost entirely gone. As far as Alva is concerned, this means he’ll never get the closure of genuine, mutual apologies, and he’ll never have his “son” back. Not really.

-When Luca was his student, they were a powerful duo in public. Alva, despite being respectful and courteous to individuals, has never ���jived’ with society as a whole. He doesn’t care about public opinion and is easily exhausted from public exposure. Luca, meanwhile, is a social butterfly. They were both charming, and worked out a system for any public appearances Alva needed to make: Luca would handle most of the talking—unless Alva’s interest was specifically sparked by some topic of conversation—so Alva could do his best to actually enjoy the atmosphere. And when Luca was ready to go, you best believe Alva was ready with their excuse to bail. The two were always favorites at any party or event, and always had interested suitors close at their heels.

-Despite being overwhelmed by conversation and crowds, Alva does enjoy the set-up for a lot of public events and parties. He likes the artfulness of decoration, and always takes time to appreciate the hard work put into setting up things like that (and once again, he loves to touch, feels the textures). He especially loves flowers. He occasionally finds loud music to be a bit overstimulating. Similarly, he likes fireworks, but requires earplugs to enjoy them fully.

-Alva’s age (at time of death) was somewhere between 40-45. His undead body is no longer aging, so physically he’s the same. Sometimes Alva misses his longer hair, but unfortunately that’s not growing anymore.

[fishhateme]

maxiel(ish) drabble pt 1

Daniel's sigh was so loud he wasn't even surprised when Sassy looked at him, perched atop one of Max's book shelves ("Why do you have so many, Maxy? It's not like you actually read" raised eyebrow, thick lips parting for a beat before quirking up shyly "Shut up" "These days you just meow on livestreams, right? Busy schedule" a full smile then, pink tongue darting out to wet his full, chapped lips, so wonderfully feminine "Shut up, Dan" "Is it like when you bought that Hermes bracelet and you just never let it go? Is it about being all fancy? Maybe we should ask George for some vocab tips" a full laugh, head thrown back against the pillows and crinkled corners of his eyes "I think it makes perfect sense, no? Why would I not have bookshelves. They're classy, and the cats like them. Who doesn't have bookshelves?" oh, okay, his voice is more nasally in the morning, it's more noticeable when he says more than two words. Yeah, it's been years and Daniel knows this already, but he could still drown in the raspiness of it, suddenly back to day one and awkward chuckles in hotel rooms "Who meows on a livestream?" "Shut up, Daniel"). The way Sassy looked at him wasn't even concerned, it was mostly annoyed. And, sure, Daniel hated dogs - er, hated, was terrified of, had been chased by back home, same difference -, but there was a certain autonomy about cats that unsettled him. Those lucky bastards didn't need attention like a wilting, desperate plant needed fresh water, like Daniel needed love to breathe. Enchanté, nice to meet you too, did I tell you I'm jealous of my boyfriend's cats? No, I don't go to therapy anymore, how did you know?

Ugh. Daniel scowled at himself for that shitty self-pitying monologue. He briefly considered calling his therapist again, but he didn't like feeling like he needed a crutch, and he wasn't as distressed and hurting as he was back in the McLaren days. He could manage, really, and he'd rather that than going through the shameful motion of crawling back to his therapist after assuring (read, lying) to her he could cope perfectly fine on his own, with his stupid little journal (abandoned shortly after Belgium, because everything was blindingly bright in his future and he'd get to write it down later, now he just wanted to focus on the feeling of being on top of the world) and his stupid little breathing techniques. He was fine, really. He was just... ugh.

He sighed again, still staring at his phone screen, prompting Sassy to send him another one of her patented annoyed looks. Her feline eyes, already perpetually displeased as if inconvenienced by the existence of her owners (oh, we only feed, shelter and pamper you, I'd be annoyed too, you expensive little brat), seemed even more judgy in the stuffy Mediterranean heat of the afternoon. The living room was so poorly designed (as was most of Monaco, because money couldn't buy enough space to build a decent apartment when every single millionaire on Earth decided to cram themselves in the same five or so blocks) that Daniel was beginning to run out of air in his lungs, but maybe that was because of his own... shit ("Yes, of course I'll remember my breathing techniques, I'll be fine, besides, you'll be late for your next client. I promise I'll be fine").

It came so easily to lie, sometimes.

part 2

[granddaughterogg]

Captain John Price comforts you

SUMMARY: You're going through Something (TM) and your commander offers you a hug and some kind words. Wholesome fluff with a tinge of simmering attraction. (Is it mutual? Who knows?)

Captain Price is an extremely perceptive man. He may be quite literally carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, but that doesn't mean he can't spot when one of his men (or women) is in a bad way. You were hoping that both your face – unsightly red from all this crying - and your general wet cat aura would have escaped his attention. No such luck.

"A word with you, Private?"

"Yes Sir," you sighed obediently. You have survived a week from hell, and now it felt like you've been called to the principal's office. What could your impressive commander want from you? You didn't particularly feel up to the challenge.

The door of the Captain's office closed behind you with a quiet click, but to your ears, it sounded like the swish of a guillotine.

Price circled around his desk, perpetually cluttered with paperwork. He produced a cigar from his pocket, glanced at it - and then put it back. He seemed to struggle with something, which was strange for such a quick-witted and decisive man.

Finally, he sighed, ran a hand over his face and leaned his shapely bum against the edge of the desk. You waited patiently, keeping a proper distance and staring at your boots.

"Tell me, Private…" 

That honey-smooth voice of his always disarmed you. So rough, so well suited to shouting orders amidst battle, and yet so warm. Like a caress dipped in steel.

Sometimes you imagined him using this voice while talking to his children - two mythical beings whom you've never met. It was meant to stay that way.

"…Are you all right?"

The question blindsided you. You lifted your head abruptly and gave him a wide-eyed stare. You could feel the damn tears already welling up.

You hadn't expected this. You were ready for remarks about the quality of your work, which has diminished lately. For a succinct rebuke even - Price didn't like to prolong such things. 

You didn't expect concern.

He obviously noticed that something odd was going on with your face. It would be hard not to.

"Oh dear." Price stated, cutting you a worried look with those tired blue eyes. "That bad, huh?"

"Sir." You swallowed, desperately trying to cook up some excuse that would be halfway plausible (Something got stuck in my eye.) 

"I'm…"

"I prefer not to pry into things that are none of my business, y'know," the Captain admitted, sticking both hands inside the pockets of his regulation breeches. 

"But it just so happens that you're a part of my squad and therefore you're my business. Your well-being is my business, Private. For the past few days, I've seen you slouching around, bumping blindly into things. You've stopped reacting to Sergeant MacTavish's unsavoury attempts at humour. Yesterday at the shooting range you tried to stick the wrong end of the mag into your rifle. If you go out in the field like this, you'll get hurt."

So he did notice that, too? Damn that old man. Your face was burning.

"So understand well what I'm going to say now, Private…" Price took the damn cigar out of his pocket again and twirled it in his fingers. "I realise that a young woman such as yourself might not want to confide in someone like me. You don't have to confess all your sins, but for God's sake, if you're struggling...with anything, really…then say so."

"Sir." The lump that has been long stuck in your throat finally thawed. Compromising moisture trickled from your eyes.

It was impossible to lie under that inquiring, steely blue gaze. The man oozed with embarrassment. He didn't want to do it any more than you did, but he felt that he should.

Captain Price was such a decent man. It's a shame that decent men are always married.

You decided to repay him with honesty.

"Indeed I have not been at my best lately, Sir," you said in a trembling voice. "Last week's been…difficult, for personal reasons."

"A crisis, eh?" Price sighed and began rummaging through his pockets again.

Your head darted up. "A clusterfuck of crises, if I may say so, Sir."

His chuckle was a raspy little thing. Pleasant. Frankly speaking, every noise that Captain Price ever emitted was pleasant to your ears.

"Eh, haven't we all been there? Here. You could use this."

He extended one of his long arms, firm yet slender, placing an immaculately clean handkerchief in your hand. Like nothing else in Price's possession, it was snow-white and smelled of fresh laundry.

You accepted it and wiped your face in silence.

"I'll give it back as soon as I wash it," you assured him. "And thanks."

"Never mind." He gave you one of those smiles which lit up his whole face, turning those blue peepers velvety and narrow. John Price must have laughed often because he had charming, deep wrinkles around his eyes. 

"Say, Private, would you be interested in a hug?"

You gasped at the idea. On the other hand...

"Yes, please," you declared, smiling at him through the tears. "As long as you don't mind having a wet spot in the front of your uniform."

"My vanity won't stand for it." He spreaded his arms, still grinning. 

"Come 'ere, girl."

You did.

It was a strangely solemn moment. He hugged you slowly, clearly trying his damnedest to avoid any impropriety that might arise. Price smelled like gunpowder, like those cigars of his and some musky cologne – all of the above mixed with the faint undertone of sweat. It was an intoxicating mix. You knew better than to imbibe on it, but it was hard to avoid it while the strong arms of your superior enclosed you in a warm, prolonged embrace. You chased the anxious thoughts away and just enjoyed the here and the now.

"Better now, huh?" He muttered from somewhere way above your head. Price was so much taller than you.

"Yes, Sir..." You whispered into his crumpled green shirt, faded from the desert sun.

"You know, it always feels like the fuckin' end of the world when those things happen...breakups, I mean. But it never is."

He chuckled ruefully. 

"As my ex-wife said when she was fed up with me: It's easy to find a replacement!"

You returned to your quarters fully soothed, warmed up - and stunned by the discovery.

Ex-wife?!

EX-WIFE???

[notgonnaedit]

Given to Fly

One Shall Fall

Summary: Martha "Marty" Thorne was a basic teenager, a little antisocial maybe. But her life changed the day she met the Autobots and joined them in their fight.

Pairing: Optimius x Teen!OFC (Platonic)

Chapter summary: An injury takes precedence.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, injury, flat line things going off, medical emergency, (If I miss a tag LMK)

Updates are sporadic. If you want to be tagged LMK

@dreamsight73

Master list

"And it was written in the covenant of Primus that when the 47 spheres align, a perpetual conflict will culminate upon a world forged from chaos, and the weak shall perish in the shadow of a rising darkness." Optimus stared at the computer screen, reciting an old prophecy he had read a long time ago. "No skies raining fire?" Arcee asked. "Goes without saying," Ratchet added. "It is a doom prophecy, after all."

"I say it's a load of hooey," Bulkhead huffed.

Ratchet turned to look at him. "I'd always assumed the ancients were referring to our home planet, but being that Cybertron has been dark for eons..."

"And considering what has befallen this planet since Megatron's arrival here..." Optimus trailed off, letting his suspicions speak for themselves.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Bulkhead said. "We've known about these superstitions for ages and never gave them a second thought."

Arcee nodded. "Why all the ominous rumblings now?"

"Because the planetary alignment to which the prophecy refers is nearly upon us," Optimus answered.

"And it would seem its end point...Is Earth," Ratchet deduced.

Bulkhead chuckled nervously. "Uh...Crazy coincidence, heh, r-right?"

"How long are we talking?" Arcee asked.

Ratchet hummed. "A few days at most."

Optimus furrowed his brow. "However unsettling this revelation may be, I am more concerned about those who might believe that the prophecy speaks to them alone."

A chill passed through the base. The Autobots knew he was referring to Megatron, the Dark Lord of the Cons.

                        )()()()()(

"Pass," Jack said as Raf scrolled through a series of photos dedicated to finding aliens. "Kid in a costume. Balloon. Nope. Uh, hold," he stopped short when there was an image of a yellow and black muscle car without a driver.

Marty chuckled as she leaned on the back of the couch behind Raf. "The camera sure loves Bee."

"What can you do?" Miko asked. "When you're a superstar, you're paparazzi bait."

"Wait. Is that Bumblebee?" Ratchet asked worriedly.

Raf adjusted his glasses. "On a conspiracy website where users post evidence of close encounters. But we have it under control, Ratchet." 

The boy deleted the image and moved a new file to take its place. "We just scrub and replace Bee with..." He trailed off as a little cat in an astronaut's suit danced.

"Mars cat says, ‘take me to your feeder’."

"Ha ha!" A laugh came from the medic's direction.

Shocked stares covered the faces of the kids. 

"Ratchet actually laughed?" Miko asked.

The medic in question pressed his lips together as if surprised at them for letting joy escape.

Jack chuckled before turning to the tallest Bot. "Um, Optimus, do you want to see something funny?"

"No," the Prime answered bluntly without looking at them.

Martha chuckled. "Heheh."

"Don't take it personally," Arcee told her ward. "Primes are built that way."

"Never seen Optimus laugh, cry, or lose his cool," Bulkhead added.

"While Optimus certainly keeps his emotions in check," said Ratchet, "I've known him far longer than any of you have, and he was different before he was made a Prime."

This had Marty's attention. "Optimus wasn't always a Prime?"

"On Cybertron, one isn't born into greatness. Rather, one must earn it."

Miko raised a brow. "So, different how? We talkin’ party animal?" She wiggled for emphasis.

Marty groaned and rubbed her hands under glasses. "Thank you, Miko, for that image."

Ratchet hummed. "No, no. Optimus was more like... Martha."

The brunette snapped her head up. "There's no way I'm like Opti–"

"Prime!" Fowler's voice cut her off. "Those techites my department's been tracking – We figured it was MECH on account of the stealth tactics until moments ago when a security feed at the Pennington ebbs particle collider captured this–"

The screen flashed to an image of a faceless Cybertronian.

"Soundwave," Jack noted as they walked over.

"Raf can swap that out for you with a funny cat," Miko offered.

"The Con without a face made off with a cutting-edge phase conductor. Here's a punch list of everything else we've confirmed stolen to date."

"Plasma injector, neutron shield, tesseract?" Ratchet read off the list, surprise lacing his tone with each item. "There's only one thing missing if they are intending to build a space bridge."

                       )()()()()(

It was evening when Fowler called again, this time from a helicopter. "Prime, the 'Cons really stepped in it this time. They hit a U.S. military lab. Our boys in green will fend them off till your team shows."

"Agent Fowler, I fear that Megatron's desperation may be at its zenith, and you know that I cannot condone even a single human casualty," Optimus reminded the agent.

Fowler sighed and called off the troops as Ratchet readied the bridge. Bumblebee and Raf were not present, probably out racing for fun.

The medic commed the scout. "Bumblebee, the team may require backup. They are three clicks north from your current position, just off the highway. If you drop Raf at the exit ramp, I can bridge him back to base from there."

It wasn't ten minutes later that Optimus' voice came through the comm. He sounded panicked, almost. "Ratchet, bridge us back now!" "We must have an Autobot down," Ratchet figured.

Marty furrowed her brow, exchanging glances with Miko and Jack. As the portal activated, two figures walked through. Bumblebee, his door wings hanging dejectedly, and Arcee, cradling something in her arms like a baby. 

Marty looked at it closer. "Raf??"

"No!" Miko cried.

Ratchet rushed over to them. "What happened?"

"Megatron," Arcee snarled.

Ratchet's eyes widened. "Quickly, into my laboratory."

The kids rushed down the stairs as Arcee set the boy on a cot.

"Martha!" Ratchet barked. "I need your hands. Slid the IV into his veins."

The brunette nodded and took the needle, gently sliding it under Raf's skin. Her hands were steadier than she felt.

"Rafael isn't responding." Ratchet worried from the computer. "We must run diagnostics of his assemblage –eh, vital statistics. Oh, my tools –they're all wrong!" He threw them to the ground.

"We need to call my mom," Jack said, already dialing her number.

"Your mother may be a nurse, but does she know anything about the effects of Energon on the human body?" Ratchet asked.

Jack reeled on him. "Wh– do you know anything about the human body?" He turned away. "Mom, it's urgent!"

The medic looked down at the boy. He was pale, and his eyes had dark circles under them.

"‘The weak will perish‘," he muttered. "Be strong, Rafael."

It wasn't long before June came driving through the ground bridge. She parked in the middle of the base.

Jack ran over to her. "Mom, thank–"

"Grab my bag!" She ordered, already halfway over to Raf. She Immediately checked his pulse and breathing, her expression serious.

"Measuring the extent of the absorption should determine the proper course of treatment," Ratchet told her.

June glared up at him. "If I don't get this boy stabilized now, he will not leave this table alive. Do you understand me?!"

An angry buzz, followed by a loud bang! sounded. Bumblebee's fist was in the wall.

Arcee surged forward and pinned him against the wall. "Bee, listen. You think I don't know how it feels to watch a partner... Harmed? Revenge won't help Raf right now. You need to keep your emotions in check."

Marty looked away from the yellow Bot to glance at his sick ward.

Then she heard her own guardian over the comm talking to Ratchet. "Pull yourself together, old friend. Rafael needs you."

"And I have grown to need him," the medic admitted.

"Lock on to my coordinates and activate the ground bridge," the Prime ordered.

"Jack, help me get Raf to the car. He's going to the emergency room," June decided, putting away her stethoscope.

Ratchet turned to her. "Nurse Darby, your doctors won't be able to comprehend what's afflicting him – not without a decade of study."

June waved him off. "I don't have time to argue."

The medic looked back at his monitor. "The effects of an Energon blast on an Autobot can be devastating enough, but this is a human." His eyes widened. "I'm not getting any readings." He gasped. "How could I not have seen this? Rafael's been infected with Dark Energon."

Marty's throat went dry. 

"I need Energon," Ratchet cried.

"Wait," June said. "You said Energon was devastating to humans."

"Under normal circumstances, quite. But I am relying upon the dark matter currently invading Rafael's body to meet it head on."

Bumblebee walked over to Ratchet and held out his arm. The medic nodded and room a syringe, sucking the Energon out of the scout.

Raf's monitor started beeped furiously.

"I need him over here now!" Ratchet shouted.

Jack and June rolled the cot over to the decontamination chamber. Once they exited, Ratchet worked quickly. The chamber began to glow brightly. Marty shielded her hazel eyes from the blinding light.

Once it was over, they ran back in. June took the boys hand, her fingers resting on his wrist. "Pulse rate is stabilizing."

The boy's eyes opened, slowly but surely. His chocolate hues settled on his guardian. "Bee," he croaked.

Marty sighed. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath. She turned back to Ratchet and gave him a small smile, but then she saw another figure.

When did Bulkhead get there. And where was Optimus??

"Bulkhead, you let Optimus face Megatron alone?" Arcee scolded.

"I didn't have a choice," Bulkhead explained.

Marty looked up at Ratchet worriedly. "It could be a trap."

"We need to get a fix on his location," he agreed. "I'm locked onto Optimus' signal." His eyes went wide. "Wait. How is this possible?"

"What? What is it??" Marty asked.

Ratchet whipped around. "We need to get Optimus out of there now!"

Previous

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[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Destinytober24: Day 19 - Rebirth

Quiet. Close. Soft.

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

"Do ya ever miss bein' a god?"

The Derelict was always rattling and burbling to itself, to the point where the Drifter could usually tell where he was on his ship based on ambient sounds. In comparison, the silence of Sanctuary on Luna felt almost oppressive. He would have hated it if he didn't now associate it with Eris. But he did. And he had learned to appreciate how the silence would give advance warning of any incoming threats or, more commonly here, approaching guardians.

"No." Eris answered as her fingers combed idly through his hair.

Other than her Ahamkara bone on the table on the other side of the room, the only illumination in the space came from her unbound eyes.

The dark shadows of the dishes from dinner, and the Drifter's preparation of it, were piled by the sink. If he did not do them before he left, they would still be there when he visited next.

Their armour was in two heaps near the door, peeled off in exhaustion as soon as they entered. It had been a long day for both of them.

Eris lived very sparsely on the Moon. Her living quarters had no distinct individual rooms. Her bed was small. The Drifter had brought extra pillows and blankets on previous visits, more for his own comfort than anything. Eris did not find them necessary, but she kept them and they now formed a comfortable heap behind her, enabling her to lie back and recline against them while the Drifter reclined against her.

"Really?" he mumbled sleepily into her shirt. "Not even a little? All that power? All those tithes? Surely that felt… good."

Eris ran one sock-covered foot along the worn denim covering the Drifters leg and was rewarded with a contented sigh.

"Using their own Sword Logic against them did bring me… satisfaction… I took joy in it. Being their god was… exhausting."

"Huh."

He shifted on top of her as she continued, minimizing his weight on her while maximizing the contact between them, like a cat draping itself overtop of every available surface, molding his shape to fit as snugly as possible.

"The numinous cost of the power I wielded was… immense. And it was not all mine to bear. The danger was omnipresent. One false step and I would become… a repeat of one of Elsie's timelines."

The slow rhythm of her hand through his hair slowed as she spoke and her fingertips came to rest against the curve of his earlobe, tracing it gently.

"You wouldn't have." Complete confidence. Zero concern in his voice whatsoever Absolute assurance.

Eris smiled into the darkness of the room. "Your support, then and now, strengthens me. It is… healing… but it is possible that I could have failed."

"Nah." He leaned on one arm and lifted his head up to look into her eyes. "You knew what you were doing."

"I did. But it was not without risk." Eris cradled his face in both of her hands, her fingertips sliding over his features, memorizing and rememorizing his features, lingering on his eyebrows, his lips, his scars. "I risked everything. Everyone. Including you. And you are correct. I was confident in my choices. I moved with certainty and was resolute. But the pressure was immense and constant. I do not miss it, no. I am glad that is behind me. And grateful that we both lived through it. Risking the lives of those I love is not a thing I can look back upon with anything other than trepidation. When I think upon it now, the overwhelming feeling is that of relief that it is done."

He kissed the side of her thumb as it brushed once more against his lips and gazed lovingly up into her three eyes, surrounded by scar tissue, dripping perpetual paracausal tears. "What was it like," he asked, like a small child asking for a comforting bedtime story, "takin' all Savathun's power when you slit her throat."

"Anticlimactic," she intoned.

"Really?"

"Yes. By design. I did not want the moment painted in glory. The Hive are creatures of extreme emotion. They love and hate so strongly their emotions can alter reality. The death of Savathun at my hand, the consumption of her power, should have been a potent climactic moment for them. I took that away. I made it… quiet. I muted their ability to experience catharsis through me. I let the moment pass without song. I made Xivu Arath's banishment unremarkable. I made Savathun's death… boring."

"Damn."

"I proved they did not have a right to exist and by doing so rendered them… not even worth remembering. I took that from them too. It is a deeper and more grievous insult than simply being defeated. I rendered them not even worthy of mourning. Nothing momentous to mark their passing. Forgettable."

"You are such a badass." He grinned up at her, letting her trace the adoring expression on his face, seeing him with her human fingertips, enhancing the spectral perception of her alien eyes.

"Hmmm… I suppose I am."

"I remember you told me what it was like, becoming a Hive. But what was it like comin' back when you were doin' it? Same thing? Relief?"

"Not at the time, no. For I knew I would need to return to my Hive morph again. I knew it was not yet over. I wore my Hive form like armour. Shedding it, especially when in so much constant conflict with Xivu Arath, felt… almost foolish. Vulnerable. Unnecessarily weakening. Dangerous. But there was greater danger in maintaining it for longer than necessary. To become too accustomed to the morph. To lean into the sensation of it being… correct… for me to persist in that form."

She shifted beneath him and he lifted himself up off of her so she could adjust how she was lying. She turned slightly on one hip, and he shifted back to accommodate her new position, letting her slide one leg between his knees and use his arm as a pillow, reaching her own arm around his waist.

"Did it hurt, comin' back?" Hands which had killed so many brushed tenderly against scars from healed teeth marks along Eris Morn's neck, tracing where a gaping maw had tried, and failed, to rip out her throat at some point in the distant past.

"Yes. Both from the transformation and from the return to the regular pain that rests in the background of existence. The aches from all the places bones have broken before, the muscles reverting to old injuries, the weakness, the renewing of scars upon my skin."

"Renewing?" His fingertips followed one of the scraggly lines surrounding her eyes up into her hairline. "You mean… you could'a come back without scars an' knit-back broken bones, an' you chose to put 'em all back?"

"Yes," she said, dispassionately.

The Drifter's face clouded at the thought of her experiencing the pain of all that had damaged her in the past over and over again, all at once.

"Why?"

"The same reason you do. It is part of who I am. To erase them is to erase part of my past, my own identity, no matter how gruesome and horrific it was."

"Huh." He traced another puffy furrow from the corner of one eye out to her ear.

"My scars are mine." Eris asserted. "I will not have them taken from me."

"It's a bit different, though," he argued, softly. "Mine don't hurt and… I don't got an expiry date… well," he shrugged, "that we know of."

"It is different." She pressed herself against him, resting her cheek against his thin undershirt, her tears soaking into the cloth and beyond it to his skin beneath. "But we also do not know my… expiry date, either. And my situation may be different from others. The Hive have persisted for eons. Being constantly steeped in their preternatural magic has many side-effects. It is not unlikely that preservation may be one of them."

"Still, you could'a been like… reborn… and chose not to."

"Even when Brya was alive, I preferred to keep my scars. Do your resurrections feel like being reborn?"

"Nope." He shook his head, looking out at the glow of her Ahamkara bone in the darkness. "I hate that shit. I hate it. Sometimes it's necessary, but… only thing that feels good about it is having survived." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the top of her head.

"I did not hate it, when it was accessible to me, and there were times when it was used for…" He felt her mouth smirk against his shirt. "…reasons that were less than necessary."

"You mean like thanatonautics?" He mumbled into her hair.

"No. That is more Ikora's domain than mine."

He tilted his head back and raised an eyebrow. "How kinky we talkin' about here, Moondust, because my brain can take that idea to some pretty interestin' places and go pretty damn far."

"Hmmm…" She looked up at him with a half-smile. "I think I prefer to leave you wondering on that point. It is more amusing to have you leap to wild conclusions."

He licked his lips. "Damn!"

Eris reached up and brushed her fingers against his cheek, smiling at the increased warmth she found there. "It is always so amusing to me when you become flustered. It is a behaviour only rarely displayed… when you are at ease and feel safe."

He laughed, his eyes sparkling, his expression soft. "Know what does feel like bein' reborn, though?" His voice was gentle, vulnerable.

She tilted her head to meet his gaze. "What?"

"Bein' with you." He spoke in a raspy whisper. "Like… I can tell I'm turnin' into someone else. Feel myself changing again." He dragged two fingers through her black tears, swirling the ichor on her cheek in a spiral pattern. "Normally that's… awful. Wake up and don't recognize who you were. Like your identity has been ripped from you. Fractured. Broken. Blasted away." He cupped her cheek and she leaned into his touch. "But… not with you. With you it feels like I'm a plant slowly reaching for the sunlight after bein' in a dark cave for so long it don't even know what sunlight feels like." His thumb caressed another scar on her face reverently. "Like I'm becoming something… better."

"You are." She spoke with the same confidence and conviction she used when speaking one of her Hive spells into being. "So many of your maladaptive instincts are responses to situations which no longer apply. You need to not just be safe, but feel safe for a prolonged period of time in order to unlearn them. Physically and emotionally."

He gave her a wry smile. "This is more than learnin' and unlearnin', though. This is… I don't even know what to call it."

The Drifter's eyes closed as Eris reached her hand up behind his neck, pulling him into a brief gentle kiss.

"You could just simply call it what it is," she whispered.

"And what's that?" he whispered back, his eyes still closed.

"Love."

Link to the entire month's worth of prompts on Ao3, posted daily.

[patchwork-crow-writes]

Rumination; Or, The Virtues of Moss

In which Kris finds moss, eats moss, and considers the nature of things.

Its glistening wetness catches your eye in the gloom of the cramped cell the two of you are sharing. Compelled by a higher power, you walk over to investigate the unassuming growth. You doubt it will be of use to you in your escape, but there is something here, nonetheless; a strange sense of recognition, perhaps, of something that isn’t entirely in harmony with its surroundings.

You kneel to get a better look, knees squelching in cold water the colour of ash. Here you can see the panoply of hues across the moss’s surface, from bright and shimmering apple to almost-muddy fern, and the way they almost undulate like the ocean waves with the subtle shifting of the darklight. Distinctions that no-one would really concern themselves with, but to you they are every bit as beautiful as the iridescence of a flawless pearl, and every bit as deserving of attention. Absently, your fingertips caress its surface, marvelling at how something so seemingly lumpen and graceless could feel so velvety smooth. Nails dig slightly into the spongy mass, kneads it like a cat might, then lets it spring back into shape. That such a humble organism could be so defiant, so unwilling to change its shape even under duress... you feel its will to live surge up your arm, a primal inspiration that resonates throughout the very core of your being.

You, too, yearn to be as pliant and stubborn as this moss, thriving even in this loveless place. You, too, wish to live, no matter what it takes.

Thus seized by impulse, your hand becomes a talon which tears into plant matter, the fibres peeling apart like live Velcro as they fight to remain whole, and to keep their unenviable place in the order of things. But your will is the stronger; with several furious wrenches a strip comes free and you hold it aloft like the pelt of a vicious beast, wringing wet with rivulets of rank water. A damp, loamy odour fills your nostrils, reminiscent of those summer days when the whole town smelt like cut grass, so vivid you could almost taste it.

You feel your companion’s eyes upon you, the concern and bafflement in his expression as clear as if he had uttered it aloud. Well, let him gawp if he wants to. This is between you and the cycle of existence, and though it might currently have the upper hand, it’d be you who had the last laugh.

You eat the moss.

Incisors gnash down like a blunt guillotine, molars grind sinewy fibres to gritty paste. Your jaw aches with the exertion, and errant strands thread themselves between your teeth. It is bitterer than you were expecting, though not to an unpleasant degree, with an earthen aftertaste. Despite it being soaking wet when you put it in your mouth, it is tough to swallow, rough and dry against your throat.

It is… not the worst thing you have ever eaten. Challenging, for sure, but not bad. More flavour and texture than whatever facsimile of food that darkners ate, in any case.

You almost consider reaching down for another try… but it seems your time here is done. The thing driving your body has tired of this particular diversion, and has now spotted the rusted shackle dangling limply from the crumbling wall nearby. You are not even given the courtesy of being able to wipe your own mouth, which somehow is the most galling thing about all of this. You’d laugh ruefully, if you were capable of it - but the most you can manage is a pained, dry cough, carrying a mossy aroma across your nostrils.

Perhaps this is just the way things have to be, you muse to yourself as you idly thumb the chains holding the shackle to the wall. The willful must prey upon those who cannot fight back. Even something as seemingly inert as moss must subsist upon water to survive.

Thus is the cycle of existence perpetuated.

[growling]

All the guys in my head post, cause it turns out actually talking about myself makes me feel better and more like a person than just keeping everything to myself only lmaoooo so to anyone whom it may concern, the gang (debatable) as it stands:

Cecil/Asphodel/Lucius Spencer:

last name spencer first name rotating between lucius, cecil and asphodel. was lucius from the beginning, way later asphodel and from a while ago cecil too.

character flaw: blonde man

also like...... prettyboy lmao??? likes those flower pattern dresses. mid or long hair, i dunno. sometimes looks blonde, sometimes he dyes it this magenta/purple shade, it changes? + has only one eye

most polite/nice out of all us, deliberately makes his voice softer whenever he talks to others to not intimidate them (got a really loud way of talking otherwise, always either yelling, or whispering), but also like, pretty shy. paranoid wild animal core

isolation expert. abandon civilization

gets in the bunker whenever literally anything mildly scary happens. do not count on him in the face of crisis

isn't having ONE oddly brutal traumatic event enough???? why do you have THREE

taller than the body

has guys inside HIS brain too. there's layers to this shit. why did this happen. for a moment i debated including them too but ultimately i didnt. most notable ones include breezepelt (yes from warrior cats) and basil (some guy. serious braincell holder. dad vibes)

despite everything, this is the most Normal guy

Brutus(?):

manifests as this very very speficic image of a drawn maine coon cat (kinda like video from strong heart are mandatory but cuter), but actually a human, but actually a tiger therian

furry

hyper and silly-angry yelling, low kinda growl-like female-sounding voice (but also often makes it higher/softer just like spencer guy), perpetually wants to get mad about things and UPPERCASE YELL but not in a serious way, and doesn't actually care THAT much most of the time. just wants to have fun

REALLY passionate about warrior cats. beats all of us in this regard because it actually cares. this is the warrior cats cat. has THE strongest opinions on it and yes, most of its yelling is actually about them lmaoo

rawr x3c lulz owo hawawawa ROFL le epic XDD lollll <--- this is what i fucking hear. i respect it though tbh

has achieved inner happiness. doing the best out of all of us

in its 30s

like. really fucking jacked. lots of muscles on that thing. strong kitty

switching between aroace and lesbian, has no gender cause that is a tiger

i feel like it and spencer guy know each other?? they gotta actually know each other but how???? HOW do they talk?????

(human form, not really human) taller than the body

transmasc icy from winx club:

transmasc icy from winx club

tied with spencer guy with the title of the oldest/being here the longest. they were there from earlyyyyyy on

chilled out, i think? kinda aloof very mean. would not want to talk to them itll get awkward fast but only for me. siiigh

switches between "surprisingly progressive" and "most far-right 4channer thing you ever heard shut the fuck up please go talk to somebody other than your coven sisters"

fairyphobic :(

only likes/nice to the coven, even then its complicated cause of the Horrors and also the lovelessness

after the transition (congrats on the transition transmasc icy from winx club) changed their name to........... cecil. there is two cecils.

taller than the body

my evil shadow self:

not actually evil just freaks me out

same appearance, voice and opinions as me but guys that is NOT me

wears like multiple clothing (blackout sunglasses, face mask, hoodie, gloves even) to conceal their identity on day to day but like. i know what u are

why....... are you so cool. is this where all my confidence went. did you steal that

please pray for me that rain code chapter 5 won't happen to me today😭😭😭

i know they look the same as me............ but why do i feel like they're taller than the body too somehow.

Yomi Hellsmile:

guy writing this, probably, i believe??

the line between "if we assume that something such as 'me' exists, then that is me" and "that is a whole another person" is VERY blurry

nearly the same as canon yomi except significantly calmed the fuck down, and very blurry recollection of anything revealed in chapter 4 + onwards

horny central. would you stop fucking thinking for 5 minutes

taller than the body whY AM I SO SMALL?????????

Like and subscribe for more glimpses of my dark fucked up reality *loud as fuck minecraft outro bass boosted music starts playing*

[paragonrobits]

"Why is EVERYONE here blonde? I'm somewhat concerned about your land's genetic diversity."

"Oh, that's not the problem. We're not all naturally blonde. That's just the Blonde Goblin at work."

"...Explain."

"Strange chemicals in a roaming perpetual storm perioidcally wash through here. When it comes, so does the Blonde Goblin, a strange spirit of the land who arises with professional hair work kits to ambush people and smash the chemicals into their hair and then it runs off, hooting and a-hollaring."

"Huh. What's it look like?"

"Sort of like one of those wrinkly hairless cats did a fusion dance with those chumbly underwater swimmy things."

"Manatees?"

"THEM'S THE BINCH."

[accurseddove]

𝙁𝙖𝙨𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

That obscure desire, not just to have something, to make it your own – but to know it. That inexplicable need to peel back the protective layers of any one object, to see inside, to learn more. To dig your desperate fingers in and excavate, feeling every inch and crevice and hidden corner. Fascination is a desire for exposure and ultimately, ruination.

I 𝙖𝙢 that object. The glittering, faceted prize, slipping through the filthied hands of the men that lounge here. Standing at the bar, leaning against the wall of a shadow-filled corner, lazing at a table, sputtering with drunken laughter and howling indignantly with each Blackjack loss. I am the object of their desire. Lingering in their arms, perched on their laps, sidling up against them in the middle of the hazy, smoke-filled room. Idling just long enough to oblige them the illusion of knowing, the fantasy of ruining. Allowing them to imagine just what it would be like, to delve their weathered and calloused fingers into my flesh, to explore every inch and crevice and hidden curve. To own me. Arousing their fascination, enticing them to stay for just one more round… another drink.. another… Slipping just out of reach before they’re satisfied. Leaving the wanting and whining men to return tomorrow, and pay enough of my drink commission to ensure I can make rent.]

“𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨.”

[The brute beneath me slurs wetly into my neck. Perspiration beads against his forehead and his fingers are sticky with sweat as he presses his glass into my hand.

I flash him a charming, lovely, little smile, assessing the heaviness of his lids, the flush in his cheeks, and the slightly concerning way that he swayed an inch to either side while sitting down. With a wink and a nod I slide from his lap to my feet, bouncing away towards the bar. Slipping between throngs of raucous gamblers and arguing cowhands, while offering up seemingly furtive glances and coy smiles on a sliver platter to each set of tired, west-worn eyes that meet my pretty blues.

Leaning against the oaken bartop, I slide the empty glass across and watch as Samuel catches it deftly shooting me a dirty look for nearly breaking another one.

Before he can even ask, I reply to his unspoken question.]

“𝘏𝘦’𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘰��𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯. 𝘎𝘰 𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘵.”

[Samuel nods without another word and turns his back to me and the rest of the saloon. He pulls a bottle of rotgut from a shelf tucked beneath, filling the patron’s glass with the watered down swish instead of the real deal he had been drinking. He was too drunk to notice and we would continue charging him for Old Overholt. He still gets drunk as a fiddler’s bitch and we pocket a tidy bait and switch profit.

Every man here has a reason to get shit-faced. Dead wives, pox-ridden children, cattle seized by bandits, wagons and horses lost to brutal camp raids, too much dust, too much sun, a scorpion in their boot, a cactus needle in their ass, or just plain old boredom. Out of all of these plights to plague a man, the most dangerous is the last. A restless man full of drink was more dangerous than rattlesnake in your bed.

For us, ladies of the line, spotting a bored man was crucial. Our best customers and biggest threat. We encouraged the tilting back of their glasses, delicately nudging them along the line between intoxication and lustful belligerence. The moment, however, we saw that agitated spark in their clouding vision, we leapt from that tightwalk, leaving them to plummet into their blue-balled fate.

We were the doves that sidled close for giggles and admiring glances, but we were not the whores they took upstairs. Those could be found a few doors down at the bottom of the barrel saloons with stale, suffocating air and perpetual swill served in chipped, cracked glasses. Not here, not at the Red Cat.

The moment of my return is christened by fat hands curling at the blue cotton that cascades down my hips, tugging me into his lap with a surprising force. Liquor spills onto my skirts and in lieu of irritation I force a breathy giggle, kicking my ankles playfully to find solid footing once more against the weathered mahogany floor. I hold up his newly filled glass with a sweet purr]

𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘺, 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘱…

[But instead of leaning forward to sip from the tumbler I hold, he ducks his head to bite rotting teeth at the slip of cotton that covers my shoulder. His forehead smears sweat against my cheek, his meaty fingers slide up a slender corselet, and the sudden vulgar groping of his touch sends a sickened shudder down my spine, twists my stomach with nausea. His grimy dirt-darkened fingers are curled into the top of my bodice, uncut fingernails slicing into the tops of pale breasts.

Fabric begins to tear beneath his grip, his newly revealed goal of touching me, exposing me is suddenly haltingly clear.

The glass of swish I’m holding clatters to the gritty floor and it takes a moment, mere seconds for my dainty hand to slip beneath my skirts and find the pistol, snug against my thigh. The instant the short barrel of the Deringer is pressed beneath the hot, wet, double chin of my admirer, he stills.

With a harsh thud I hit the floor as I’m shoved from his lap. Even so, my arm swings up, but my tiny pocket pistol is met face-to-face with a much larger opponent. A well-oiled Colt kisses my little Deringer and I claw at the desperate hope that the slight trembling of my hand isn’t visible. The patron who was moments ago, imbibed and grinning, is now sneering down at me]

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦? 𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺, 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘐’𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦.”

[My heart thuds wildly behind my ribcage as his grubby thumb tugs back on the hammer the click of a ready gun loud in the sudden humid hush. The piano has stopped, all the other patrons have turned to watch, wondering if they’ll be leaving with my blood on their shoes.]

“𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘳, 𝘐’𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘌𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘶𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘚𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵.”

[Samuel’s voice rumbles in a low warning, his own firearm produced in a sudden Ménage à Trois of leaden threat. My cold blue eyes flick to my his features. The lie of my skilled marksmanship doesn’t show on his face, creased into the scowl of a hound dog.

All it takes is the slight shift of the inebriated patron’s wrist and instantly, with a spray of blood, half his skull is gone, the patterned papered wall behind him decorated with a dark dripping splatter. Vermillion trickles down in rivulets between his eyes, staining his eternal glare before his heavy mass collapses, hitting the floor, weighty and wet.

After a momentary pause, those mingling turn back towards their previous occupancies. The music starts up once more, and Samuel extends his hand toward me, still on the floor.

I take his proffered palm, legs shaking, trying not to choke on the iron tang in the air, and let him lift me to my feet.]

“𝘎𝘰 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘶𝘱 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺.”

[My boss’s gruff, near paternal affection warms a part of me rarely acknowledged and I nod.

I could feel blood drying on my cheek, heavy in my eyelashes as I blink slowly down at the pool of it, thick and sticky, spreading in a slow crawl toward the soles of my shoes. Lifting my skirts, refusing to look at the dead man with half his head torn away, I step delicately over the crimson that would be gone by tomorrow morning. The body would be hauled off, the floors would be scrubbed clean.

Death is as common in these parts as sand in your eye. A mild inconvenience to most before the inevitability of life moves you along. Everyone here stinks of it. Death clings to your clothes with each day you survive, the grim reaper darkening the doors of anyone stupid enough to travel this far West. And yet here we all wait, with bated breath, hoping that we’re not the next object of his gruesome fascination.]

[erabundus]

@momijiba &&. said... kazuha carefully tugs ren into his lap and wraps his arms around his waist. it's international cat day so kazuha had to show appreciation to his favourite cat out there... his boyfriend. he tugs ren as close as possible until their chests are mushed together and kazuha let his lips give little nips and licks on ren's pretty neck.

he's  not  the  faintest  idea  that  there  may  be  any  outside  reasoning  for  kazuha's  actions;  he  understands  humans  have  an  arbitrary  need  to  come  up  with  the  most  absurd  reasons  to  CELEBRATE  —  a  day  dedicated  to  a  particular  kind  of  food,  or  those  who  favor  one  hand  over  the  other.  that  doesn't  necessarily  mean  he's  in  any  way  compelled  to  LEARN  them,  even  if  his  near-perfect  memory  would  trivialize  the  effort.  (  he's  partaken  in  enough  festivities  to  fill  several  lifetimes;  they've  all  grown  too  STALE  to  enjoy.  )  as  far  as  ren  is  concerned,  this  is  an  ordinary  day  —  and  kazuha  just  so  happens  to  be  in  an  affectionate  mood.  he  certainly  isn't  going  to  complain  about  that.  on  the  contrary,  given  there's  a  part  of  him  perpetually  entrenched  in  an  eternal hunger  for  his  other  half's  attention. he's long past the point of feeling SHAME — at least, in this sort of private setting.

perhaps  he's  biased  in  thinking  so,  but  their  bodies  seem  to  slot  together  perfectly.  arms  curled  around  his  waist,  perched  atop  the  ronin's  lap  as  though  it  were  his  throne.  thrum of a shared heartbeat felt through the press of their chests. his  own  hands  are  thrown  lazily  over  kazuha's  shoulders  —  fingers  curling  and  uncurling  intermittently  with  every  particularly  sharp  dig  of  his  teeth.  it  doesn't  hurt.  not  really;  they're  too  DULL  to  accomplish  any  real  damage  on  a  body  such  as  his  —  and  even  if  that  weren't  the  case,  what  marks  they  leave  fade  (  tragically  )  quickly.  still,  the  faint  sting  of  a  fleeting  bite  does  enough  for  him  that  he  tilts  his  head  in  an  effort  to  afford  him  easier  access.

it's  nice,  but  it's  nowhere  near  ENOUGH.  and  maybe  he's  selfish  for  that  —  he  is  always  willing  to  take  what  kazuha  is  willing  to  give,  but  that  doesn't  stop  him  from  wanting  more.

❝  ...  ❞   he  shifts  suddenly,  pulling  away  (  albeit  reluctantly  )  to  stare.  jaw  works  uselessly;  he's  aware  of  how  ridiculous  he  must  look  right  now  —  disheveled,  dazed,  face  dusted  a  very  telling,  pinkish  hue.  ❝  ...  kazuha.  ❞  ren  manages  after  a  noticeably  long  pause.  he  knows  what  he  wants  —  or  at  least,  he  thinks  he  does.  his  neck  is  a  sensitive  area.  literally  in  this  context,  but  also  metaphorically  in  a  way  that's  led  to  some  terribly  AWKWARD  situations  in  the  past.  it's  one  of  the  only  times  he's  ever  turned  him  away,  too  entrenched  in  self-disgust  to  focus  on  the  feeling.  their  relationship  was  too  new,  then.  perhaps  now,  things  are  different.  (  perhaps  now,  they are  different, too.  )  ❝  could  you ...  ❞ the wanderer begins to ask, only to trail off just as quickly.

...  no.  it's  too  insufferable  to  request  with  mere  words.  instead,  slim  fingers  wrap  around  the  human's  wrist.  he  leans  forward,  burying  his  face  in  kazuha's  shoulder  —  while  directing  his  hand  to  that  damnable  mark  on  the  back  of  his  neck  he's  oft  equated  to  a  brand.  ❝  you  can ...  if  you want.  ❞   touch it. do  whatever  he  wants  to  it,  that  is.  even  this  tiny  scrap  of  contact  has  revulsion  crawling  up  his  spine  —  but  he's a bit surprised to find it  isn't  entirely  bad ...  and  maybe  he  trusts  kazuha  enough  to  make  it  better.

[vaovalis]

Greylocke and I had a candid discussion today, regarding the nature of exactly what it is he wants from me, and what he wants from his endeavors in particular.  He told me a great deal about an entity known as Rularuu, about its prison called the Shadow Shard, about the experimentations and projects that Portal Corp gets up to and about how corporations such as Crey and Aeon Industries have already stolen and are likely using portal technology. The scope of his concerns is, I believe, valid. World-eating cosmic psychopaths such as Rularuu sounds to be are a problem I, for one, would like to address no matter how I came to learn about it.   But the matter of threats posed by such entities as Crey, Arachnos and even the supposed ‘good guys’ armed with such technologies cannot go ignored either. Greylocke confessed under my inquisition that he does indeed wish to impose a certain order upon the world; an order aligned with his vision of what the world should be, how things should work and what the role of humanity itself should be. He seems remarkably thorough in his convictions about preserving  and uplifting humanity. I get no impression that he longs for glory or positions of overt power. To wit, I do not get any sense from him that he is a man jockeying to be as unto a King. The way he speaks of sacrifice in an always-personal context germane to himself inclines me to think that he’s not as arrogant as many would, I think, take him to be - he’s self aware.   He knows exactly what he’s doing, what he’s done and where he wishes to go.  I know firsthand how the weak, the uncertain and those perpetually mired in their own self-deceptions can be intimidated and offended by those of us that do not share those weaknesses. We look arrogant to them, like know-it-alls that think we’re better than them because we’re just so fearless.   It is, in truth, envy they’re feeling when people cat-spit at people like Greylocke or myself about such things.  They look upon people like us and they know in their hearts that they will never be this confident, this certain or this comfortable within our own egos and our own skin all alike. The truth is that I don’t waste a moment of my probably-perpetual time troubling myself with thoughts about whether or not I’m better than anyone else. I have nothing to win by engaging in such nonsensical comparisons, and if I am five today, I am not that kind of five any day. Greylocke convinced me that this is not, for him, the endeavor of a self-righteous man that was simply pushed out of his lofty position in Portal Corp and that must now avenge his ego by starting his own Better Portal Corp. His concerns are valid.  His approach to addressing them has, for four years now, been to selectively bring small teams of the hand-selected on board and send them into dimensions he’s studied and isolated as either being potential threats or potential resources. The intrinsic trouble he faces for why he does not lead such teams himself is apparently quite mundane - he’s a 67 year old man that has no business leading such charges. While I am convinced that he is sincere in his stated goals, I can’t shake the feeling that there is much he simply isn’t saying at all. All the same, I seem to be the one with the leverage here - he is conspicuously without a current team, and he’s been quite clear about how he thinks he’s never met someone so perfect for the role of being his lead operator as myself. The remuneration he’s offered me goes well beyond simple money.  He’s claimed, and somewhat demonstrated, that he is a man of means and connections throughout the corporate and, to a lesser extent, political world. Can’t say I’m not intrigued, but I still remain convinced that as much as he’s likely intent on exploiting me to his own ends, my own intentions aren’t somehow nobler.   Mutual exploitation with a contract of agreement seems far superior to many alternatives I can easily think of.

[live-invincibly]

...

[rozcdust]

Murder on my mind

Pairing: Petshop trio x gn!reader

Genre: Crack, Soulmate AU

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Canon divergent, ooc, violence, bodily harm, suggestive, profanity

Synopsis: Your soulmate is a fucking asshole and you’re absolutely tired.

pt. 1 | pt. 2

Now, you weren’t a particularly violent, or even mean person, in fact, you were an epiphany of an angel compared next to Ran and Rindou.

You did, however, promise yourself you’ll curb stomp your soulmate and make the fucker eat concrete as soon as you meet them, because Jesus fucking Christ.

They’re a fucking douchebag.

Some people have cute soulmate connections, like first words written on their skin, or a timer, or a birthdate, or one of their eyes matched those of their soulmates, or a mark where your soulmate will first touch you, but no.

Of course you couldn’t get that, of course it couldn’t be sweet and simple.

You got the worst fucking option possible.

You get your soulmate’s injuries.

And your soulmate was some fucking asshole that either did some sort of martial arts, got their shit rocked as a profession, or just got injured for fun because you’ve been black and blue since you were goddamn 11.

Sure, you got some minor bruises or cuts before that, but everything got worse at 12, but by the oh-so-old age of 15, you got so familiar with the ER staff that they gave you an affectionate nickname of ‘Aw poor baby’ and let you wrap up the cuts yourself, only occasionally jumping in to help if you got a broken bone or something that needed a scan.

All the radiation probably caused some brain damage, but you chose to not think about that, because you were absolutely focused on plotting your soulmate’s demise.

You were honestly tired of your face, ribs, legs and stomach being constantly bruised, the skin knuckles of your knuckles perpetually torn and bruised, the inside of your mouth bleeding randomly and at worst time possible.

Thank whatever prankster of a God there is that you didn’t get the pain from the injuries, because that would have actually made you go insane and probably send on a hunt to murder your soulmate, or get them locked away somewhere where they couldn’t fucking do whatever the fuck their dumbass thought they were doing.

Your parents were absolutely not pleased to find out tattoos also counted as injuries when a tiger tattoo appeared on your fucking neck at the tender age of 13.

Needless to say, your soulmate deserved to get their shit rocked only for the amount of makeup their dumbassery forced you to buy to look at least somewhat presentable.

And let’s not even mention the number of times you had to explain to a concerned passerby that no, you weren’t being abused at home, you just had the worst soulmate connection possible.

You got slightly worried for your soulmate when randomly got a stab wound in the middle of a school day, but you got it treated fast and now you just had a scar to remind you of that one terrifying evening of your mother sobbing and cursing out your soulmate, no one certain if you’d make it, but you did, thankfully.

Your annoyance only grew when at 15, another tattoo appeared on your ankle, a message from Satan himself apparently.

‘Lmfao pls get me a matching neck tattoo bestie <3’

Whoever the son of a bitch was, you were going to make them regret the day they were fucking born.

You did get them their stupid tiger tattoo, just asking the tattoo artist to trace over the one you already had, which hurt like a bitch, thank you very much, but you did add a small message, getting it tattooed on your hip.

‘Go fuck yourself, I hope you choke on air’

The injuries stopped for the most part by the time you hit 24, getting replaced by cat scratched and an occasional bruise.

Then hickeys and scratch marks on your back, because apparently your soulmate was a freak and made you suffer for it.

You were even more annoyed.

You’ll meet your soulmate and fucking kill them.

Baji realised he had two soulmates pretty fast, knowing the date on his ribs was Tora, and the timer on his wrist was for none other but Chifuyu, and honestly, he was pleased with that arrangement, even if Kazutora did almost kill him and even if shit did get messy when the two realised they were soulmates as well.

It took the three of them really getting into some bullshit to realise there was a third person, however, and honestly, Baji did feel just a bit bad for the poor bastard who had to get all of their injuries, while their own skin stayed flawless and pristine, clear of any bruising and scars that should have littered their skin.

He was also confused as fuck why is there a tattoo on his hip and neck, but Tora sheepishly explained to both Baji and Chifuyu that was kind of his fault, before proudly showing them the tiger tattoo he finally managed to get on his neck.

The issue was they all had the fucking tattoo now, peeving Baji just a bit because his poor mother almost had a heart attack, but Chifuyu helped him cover it with makeup most days, so Baji almost forgot he had it.

He was sure their soulmate was a bit happier now that they stopped getting into fights practically every day, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling just a bit smug every time he made a hickey on Tora or Chifuyu, watching the mark vanish with the same fascination each time as if it were the first.

He only hoped their third soulmate was a calm person, because he knew that if it were him getting all of their injuries, he would have lost his shit a while ago.

Ran snickered as he stared at your neck, half-heartedly trying to hide it by burying his face into Kakucho’s neck.

“What the fuck is it?” You grumbled, annoyed, trying to enjoy a peaceful lunch, but failing miserably due to two factors.

One, Kakucho and Ran were an absolutely disgusting couple, seemingly never getting tired of PDA, even if Kakucho was more reserved, Ran had no issues being all over his boyfriend every chance he had.

You really fucked up by agreeing to third wheel.

And two, which sorta linked into one, Ran was a fucking menace.

“Your neck- It’s- YOUR FUCKING-“ Ran tried to get his words out, but due to his annoying and absolutely awful wheezing, it was not possible.

Kakucho only rolled his eyes, silently pointing to your neck as he chewed his food.

Getting out the small compact mirror from your bag, you flipped it open to stare at the hickeys and bite marks forming all over your neck and collar bones, each looking angry and painful.

You shoved the mirror into your bag, sighing in annoyance, and thanking God your work for the day was done, because you couldn’t have dealt with the stern looks your boss would have given you if he saw the shitshow currently happening on your skin.

“Fuck you too Ran.” You muttered, shoving the last bit of food into your mouth.

“What are your plans for the day, y/n?” Kakucho tried to change the topic, ignoring Ran who was at this point crying from his manic laughter.

“Gotta drop by a pet shop to buy more food for Yuki.” You wiped your mouth, sighing as you pulled your blouse up higher, buttoning up the last button in an attempt to cover your soulmate’s current bullshit.

“The one by the station where you usually go to closed already.” Kakucho shrugged, now pushing the still wheezing Ran off of himself.

You groaned, burying your face in your palms.

“There is one on our way to work, we can give you a ride?” Kakucho suggested, pulling his wallet out to pay, and apparently momentarily going deaf because he fully ignored your complaints that it is your treat.

“I’ll fucking pay.” You tried to wrestle the bill out of his hands, but he only stared at you, unimpressed, “Fuck you and your fucking muscles, you fucking manwhore. And sure, a ride would be lovely.”

Kakucho nodded, finally growing bored of your weak attempts as he swatted your hands away, pulling Ran up as he left a few yen bills on the table.

The ride was filled with Ran bullying you, and you strangling him in a chokehold from the backseat as Kakucho weakly tried to make you stop without crashing.

They bid you a goodbye as you jumped out of the car, flipping Ran off and thanking Kakucho.

You glanced at the working time displayed on the shop doors, and thankfully, you still had half an hour before they closed.

You felt just a smidge bad, but you couldn’t let your dog starve, so you opened the door, the chiming of a bell notifying the three men of your presence.

One jumped up from behind the counter, approaching you with a smile.

“Welcome! My name is Chifuyu, how may I help you?”

“Hello, sorry to come in so close to closing time but I need food for my dog?”

“Of course, do you know what brand?”

“Uh, hold on, I have a photo of it somewhere on my phone, give me a second.”

The man nodded, patiently waiting for you to find the photo.

The other two were preparing for closing, the black-haired man cleaning the counter as the man with a turtleneck and his blonde and black hair put up in a ponytail put away the few cats who were playing in a pen into their cages.

“This one?” You showed Chifuyu the picture, allowing him to take your phone and zoom into the brand name.

“We do have it in the back, wait here please!”

You patiently waited, observing the turtleneck dude putting away the cats as he cooed at them, allowing them to hop out of his arms into their cages.

One cat however, was being a fussy bitch, clawing to get out of his arms.

“Hey, Maru, be nice, I have to- Maru- OUCH!” He hissed, letting go of the cat to observe the scratch on his arm.

“Are you o-“ To your horror, before you could even finish your sentence, the scratch marks disappeared off of his hand.

You almost dropped your bag when you went to pull up the sleeve of your jacket, observing as a few beads of blood formed, staining the edge of the sleeve of your blouse.

You looked at the man.

The man looked at you.

And you decided to do the rational thing.

Without a second thought, you flipped open the small pocket knife Ridou forced you to carry everywhere (“You’re a fucking wimp y/n, you need some protection”) and lunged at the man, making a gash on his cheek.

“What the fuck-“

The black haired man was on you in a blink, pinning you to the ground.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE-“ His yelling got cut off by you throwing him off yourself, your hand shooting up to touch your own cheek, and when your hands came off stained with blood, you knew.

This is the day you get arrested for murder.

“YOU ASSHOLE!” You pounced on the man with the ponytail, causing you both to crash to the ground as you rained punches on any surface of his skin you could get to.

Did you know you were only adding injuries to yourself? Yes.

Did you care?

Fuck no.

“YOU MADE ME BLACK AND BLUE FOR 13 FUCKING YEARS, YOU KNOW HOW ANNOYING THAT WAS? I SPENT MORE HOURS IN THE ER THAN AT HOME-“

“Hey, get the fuck off him-“

The black-haired man tried, but you punched him in the nose, making him stumble back, and in utter horror, you stared at him as blood started dripping out of your own nose.

Huh.

God really said fuck yourself, didn’t he?

“YOU TOO?” You jumped off the ponytail bitch to grab the black-haired man’s collar, getting into his face as you raised a fist, “DID YOU TOO DO DUMB SHIT SO I HAD TO GET YOUR GODDAMN INJURIES AND BRUISES-“

“Here is the food- What the fuck is happening here?”

Chifuyu stared at the scene, Tora on the floor, Baji’s collar in your death grip, your fist still hovering mid-air.

“I think that’s our third soulmate?” Tora muttered, rubbing his face, “That really hurt, ya know?”

You let go of Baji, kicking Tora in the ribs.

“DO YOU FUCKERS KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY I SPENT ON- Wait, third?” You looked up at Chifuyu, your glare darkening, “Did you do dumb shit too?”

Chifuyu sheepishly scratched his neck, a bashful smile on his lips.

“Maybe?”

“I will kill you. Oh my god, I’ll fucking kill all of you.”

🔖Taglist:

@1818cigarettes @babu-haitani @dilf-city @wakasa-wifey @lagrimasdeglitter @kisekihany @missarabellla @bajifairyy @cryszus @r-xochitl @emilywaters @m0rrax @levistiddies @bxnten @spookydraken @graythecoffeebean @yukihime-mikeys-girl @mukounisuru-gashadokuro @sunahyejin @crybabylisa @yamaguccitadashi @minoozi @gigibobigi @trashmemebitch @frogtits1 @sup-zfam @whydohumansss @xashiui @bontens-whore @nqctre @bontenacious @lumi-does-stuff @hana-patata @hxked

a/n: woke up in cold sweat and had to write this, ik i have 5 other things to write but bro I HAD TO 😩

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

Asdfghjklmgf Ingo being literal uncanny valley for Laventon is so funny?? Meanwhile it doesn't even ping on Ingo's radar because somewhere in his subconscious he's used to seeing rabbits. Laventon falls back on ingrained politeness, but internally he's just going 'what the fuck what the fuck what the fUCK' every time they meet. The rest of the Galaxy Team eye his strained smile and carefully back away; they don't want to risk Laventon somehow getting the creepy murder eyes too. Again, Ingo does not really notice any of this as he stares blankly into space. There's something Wrong With That Rabbit...

Sneasler's just like, "Fuckin'. Bye, I guess." And then does her best to jog after him. Good thing she probably has a good sense of smell, otherwise she'd just straight up lose him until he finds his way back or she wanders across him just chilling as if nothing had happened. She frets over him for a bit or chides him for running off, but he doesn't like. Get It. He's fine now, so it's nothing to worry about. She stuffs him in the basket just so he can't run off again before she can really make sure he's alright and help get him sort of settled (as much as he's ever settled, that is. She probably has the best luck of soothing some of the panic though, once she's hidden him away in his tent where he feels safest). Which he thinks is overkill, but whatever. She'll let him out if he asks her to, so it's fine. (Everything's always fine, until it very suddenly it's not.)

I bet that's actually like, really worrying to Irida. She's probably the one who sees him most often aside from Melli, so to see him go from mostly normal for a jackrabbit to even more thin and scruffy with wild eyes  and heavy breathing is, uh, very concerning. Sneasler tries to supply her warden with food, but stressed and scared rabbits will sometimes lose their appetites and I assume hares are the same. So even more stressors for his body, and just another reason for any brain fog he might experience. He never stops being functional enough to do his job, but he sometimes toes the line. Being a perpetually stressed out prey animal is hard! Emmet is gonna riot the next time he sees him. 

Part of being too thin is often that you have a hard time thermoregulating, so that super would not help any issues he had with it because of his ears, especially when it's a very sudden change. The humidity of both those places would be killer on him too, because going from dry to humid, even if you're from a Hot dry place, is the absolute worst. It feels sticky and like you're living and breathing in soup, it's terrible. Cabala probably has issues with the change now at her age too, but in the opposite direction because she lives predominantly in the Mirelands, and her joints probably haaate the cold.  

Peacocks actually use their tails to intimidate too, that's why the spots look like big eyes, so Melli probably doesn't get confused, but other people sure would. It's a joke in the Diamond Clan that people will see them together and be like, "um? Is this really the time?" all awkwardly and then proceed to think they're dating, which Melli finds hilarious and Adaman does not. He's trying to look like a very serious leader here!

How would a seal anthro work? Like a mermaid?? Though, Iscan is so skittish that I'm kind of leaning towards a small prey animal, like a water shrew or water opossum. Oof though at Palina taking it even harder that her noble was lost at sea, because here she's a very strong swimmer.

Wait okay, who do we have for wardens so far?

Ingo, jackrabbit

Melli, peacock

Lian, marmot

Mai, domestic cat

Cabala, goat

Arezu, ???

Palina, otter

Iscan, ???

Gaeric, polar bear

Sabi, penguin?

And we have Adaman, but not Irida. 

Other prominent characters are:

Protagonist and counterpart, domestic cats

Laventon, domestic rabbit

Cyllene, mountain lion

Kamado, grey wolf

Volo, dove

Am I missing anyone?

arezu i think we said poodle? not sure if that was ever like 100% nailed down though. but i like that, or some other dog breed with a lot of hair for haircut reasons. irida we haven't said, but maybe she could be an arctic fox? but now i'm not sure about mai being a housecat either, since the protagonists are housecats and it feels a little weird to have them both be. what if she's another lizard like adaman? maybe she's a blue-spotted tree monitor. also: cogita as a mourning dove, maybe.

ooh i like water shrew for iscan. and then yeah, palina could have easily swam herself and growlithe to safety, but she wasn't strong enough to pull lord arcanine too, and in refusing to leave him she almost drowned all three of them, before iscan pulled her out.

irida's having such a hard time rip. she cares so much about ingo, he's been such a blessing to the clan, but she just doesn't know how to help him. she doesn't know what he needs, and anything she does just seems to create new problems, and just asking doesn't work because he won't even acknowledge anything's wrong. every time she sees him he looks worse and he doesn't even notice. sneasler sure does, though, and is Not Happy about it.

...would melli notice? and do something about it? i mean he might not care that much about ingo himself (and if he does he probably wouldn't admit it lol) but sneasler's a noble and if ingo's not doing his job well it would probably fall on melli to take over. which he would hate and be furious about, so ingo you BETTER get your act together. shame on you, giving him MORE WORK. at the very least sneasler probably knows that in worst-case scenario she can drag him over to moonview for actual Help. (since it's not like she can bring him to calaba without him getting fucking heatstroke)

emmet's probably got some stress problems too, back in unova (+ his hare instincts are also dealing with the sudden failure of the Buddy System), but it's definitely waaay better than what ingo's dealing with. he's gonna be SO mad, not like, at anyone specifically, but just generally at the universe for letting this happen.

[retrievablememories]

love thy neighbor | kun (m)

title: love thy neighbor pairing: kun x black reader genre: fluff, smut, neighbors to lovers request: “Hello again Rain! I hope you're doing well and I'm happy to see you're open for requests again. Your writing in general is a treat to look forward to. An idea for a fic I'd like to suggest is wayv kun/black oc where they're neighbors that secretly pine for another and do feel free get very nsfw lmao. TY!” word count: 5.7k warnings: alcohol use, protected sex, dirty talk, dry humping, riding a/n: i used a prompt from this list of ideas to help me create this fic.

i’m sorry, this fic could’ve theoretically been finished long ago but took me 3893 years because kun intimidates me (and i don’t know why) and that makes it hard to write for him l m f a o chile anyway...

--

Your neighbor might actually kill you one day—but only in the figurative sense.

Kun is too beautiful and kind for your sanity; he’s like one of those men out of a romantic novel who simply should not exist. In other words, the ideal guy. One who helps all the little old ladies in the building take their groceries up to their apartments, one who feeds all the stray cats that hang around the complex, one who helps new tenants move their things in without even being asked.

Your roommate Charlotte would probably be totally smitten over him just like you if she did not already have her own happy relationship with her girlfriend. But since she does, she has decided to spend her time instead teasing you about your crush on him and trying to persuade you into getting tangled up in a matchmaking mess.

“I’m sure he already has a girlfriend, I don’t know, trying to shoot my shot seems ridiculous,” you say to her, worrying the edge of your blanket in your hands. You toss and turn on the couch, flipping onto your stomach and sighing before shuffling onto your back again. “People like that can never stay single for long. Right? They get snapped up quick.”

“You’d know if you simply asked,” Charlotte points out. “Staring holes into his head won’t help you find out more about him.”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, your fingers stumbling over the blanket as it momentarily slips from your hands. Still, the idea of asking him if he’s dating anyone, whether discreetly or more openly, makes you nervous. You’ve talked to Kun several times before, even hung out with him at those friendly get-togethers your apartment building always holds to get the residents mingling, but you’re still anxious around him. It makes you feel silly, like you’re back in high school; but you aren’t quite sure what to do with those emotions or how to form them into something coherent. “Easy to say all that when you already have the person you want, though.”

“Oh, girl. Love is not easy, but that’s why you have to fucking work for it. AKA, go for what—or who—the hell you want and stop pining over him like some lost Juliet on our couch. It’s better than watching you flop around like a dying fish.”

You stand up from the couch abruptly, leaving your blanket to the side and glaring at her. “You don’t get it, ugh.”

“I get it! But you refuse to let me help—”

“Yes, because if I did, you’d say something completely ridiculous and tell him I’m madly in love with him or something.” You head to the bathroom to check yourself in the mirror.

Charlotte throws her hands up in surrender. “Hey, maybe. But that wouldn’t be a lie.”

“Really? I don’t think—”

“I think so. The way you talk about this guy, it’s definitely sounding a little like love to me.”

Once you’re satisfied, you come back in the main room and grab your keys, wanting to end this conversation before Charlotte sets a world record for how many times she can make you feel embarrassed. “Whatever you say. I’m gonna go to the corner store, so...speak now if you need something or forever hold your peace.”

“You can’t run from it,” Charlotte sing-songs, going back to reading her magazine. “And no, I don’t need anything.”

Once you get out your front door, it’s just your luck when you see Kun’s door is also open. You are not dressed for running into him, of all people; your “corner store” clothes being just a T-shirt, leggings, and slides. You freeze in place and momentarily think about unlocking your door and bolting back inside, which you realize is utterly ridiculous. By then, it’s too late; he’s already coming out his door and closing it behind him. 

He perks up when he sees you outside, smiling at you with those deep dimples that make your insides melt. “Hey Y/N, good to see you.”

“Kun! Uh—great to see you too.”

“Are you going out somewhere?” he asks. Inwardly, he feels a bit silly for asking because you clearly are, keys in hand and everything.

“Yeah, just to the store to get a few things.” You wave your hand, and you almost have the urge to lean on your doorframe to appear more calm and collected than you are. Which could potentially end up looking sillier than you intended. “How about you?”

“Going to see a friend,” he answers, and he brushes his hand through his hair in a way that’s completely casual but somehow modelesque at the same time. This is unbelievable, you think to yourself. “We haven’t met up in a while, so…”

“Oh yeah, it’s always nice to go out with old friends,” you say, smiling at the thought of it. Kun nods his agreement, and then has an abrupt, wild idea to ask if you’d like to go out somewhere sometime. Too busy warring with himself over whether he should take the dive, he doesn’t notice you heading towards the stairs already. “I hope you two have a good time!”

“Oh—thanks. Hope you enjoy your trip.” He chuckles, following you down the steps to get to his car. Well, that moment has passed. Sure, he could probably still ask you now if he was bold enough about it, but it feels too awkward to randomly ask someone out in the middle of a stairwell.

You wave bye to him once you both get in the parking lot. He watches you walk to your car with a wistful smile on his face. He wants to say more to you, but the timing isn’t right and it’s best not to hold you up right now. Plus, Hendery’s probably already waiting for him.

It would’ve provided you with a lot of relief if you knew Kun was facing a similar dilemma to you. He’d never had much problem talking to women he liked in the past, but something about you made him feel clumsy and hesitant. But just like with your inability to move forward, there’s no way for you to know his feelings without him saying anything about it—which he has been hesitating over for the longest. 

Maybe he was also still cowering from the embarrassment of the time he’d tried to show you a magic trick that didn’t quite work out, but it was a convenient excuse. At least for him, anyway.

One day he’d get the courage to tell you how he felt, but he didn’t think today was that day.

–

Some strong shots and a few hours at the club was exactly what you needed to unravel your nerves after a long week. You and a few others from your work had decided to go out that Saturday night as a group effort to unwind from dealing with your overbearing boss. “Just a couple shots” eventually turned into more than that, though, but you weren’t complaining. As long as it gave you the opportunity to discard all your issues for a while, you didn’t mind losing yourself a little.

However, your night of fun quickly dissolves into frustration when you realize you’ve lost your keys and have no way to get back into your apartment. You’re not even sure where they might’ve disappeared—in the club, or in the rideshare back to your apartment?

Charlotte is out of the city for the week visiting her long-distance girlfriend, so there’s no way you’re getting back in your apartment tonight. The main office won’t be open at this hour, either; it’s the weekend, and nobody will be there regardless until Monday. And you’re definitely not drunk enough or desperate enough to try to bust the door down.

Though it pains you to do so, you knock on Kun’s door, your head throbbing and dizzy. You feel bad about this. He won’t even be awake at this hour and might not answer, but you don’t know what other options you have. You aren’t familiar enough with your other neighbors to ask this of them. Especially not the old lady living on the other side of you who has a perpetually judgmental aura towards everyone in the apartment building. The only person she seems marginally approving of is none other than the man himself—Qian Kun.

It takes a good minute or two, but you hear the latch unlock, and Kun is suddenly standing in front of you, a look of concern on his sleepy face. He is adorable like this, in his pajamas and his hair mussed and his eyes foggy with sleep. He’s so cute it makes you want to cry—and so you do. 

But your tears are mostly because you’re very tipsy and tired and currently locked out of your very comfortable apartment.

This awakens Kun immediately. “Y/N? What’s wrong?” He gently pulls you into his apartment, his tone quiet but panicked as you put your face in your hands and cry. You just shake your head for a few moments, crying too much to say anything to him. When you don’t reply, he doesn't try to press you for answers; he just puts his arms around you, a bit carefully as if you’re made of some easily breakable material, and lets you wet his T-shirt with your tears.

Finally, when you’ve collected yourself some, you abruptly feel foolish for crying over something like this. He probably thinks someone’s died, and you’ve gotten him all worked up for practically nothing. “I-I’m locked out,” you sigh heavily, and he has enough politeness not to outwardly react to your alcohol breath with your close proximity. “And my roommate is gone…forever.”

His eyebrows lift. “Forever?”

“The whole week, Kun...but it feels like...f-forever.”

“Ah...I see. Is that why you were crying?”

You put your head back in your hands. “Just kill me.”

“Don’t feel bad about it,” Kun says, and there is a tiny lift to his mouth like he wants to smile at your dramatics. “It’s fine. You can stay here tonight.”

“Kun, thank you.” You’re still loosely embracing each other, and you squeeze your arms more tightly around him. Maybe it’s just a reason to rest your head on his chest again and hear his heart beating strong against your cheek, but you wouldn’t admit that. Wait, why is his heart beating so fast? “Thank youuu, I love you so much, this means the world to me.”

Kun’s mind catches on the words I love you so much, and he knows you’re just drunk and need to sleep it off and aren’t really thinking about what you’re saying, but he cannot help lingering there for a moment. He’s glad the front room is still dim from the single lamp he turned on, otherwise you might notice the flush growing on his cheeks. “I...it’s no problem. We should get you comfortable, then.”

As it turns out, get you comfortable means he lets you sleep in his bed while he takes the couch. In another context you’d protest, not wanting to kick him out of his own space, but you are simply too smashed to think about it. You’re seconds away from falling asleep where you stand now that the adrenaline of discovering you’re locked out has worn off. Kun has the idea to make you drink some ice cold water, though, which wakes you up enough to take a proper shower.

By the time you get out of the shower and are wearing his clothes—his clothes—you are feeling a little more sober. You also feel like you’re going to have another small meltdown over all this. “This” being: wearing Kun’s clothes and standing in his bedroom, which is decorated with all his interests and treasured belongings. There’s a small studio setup in one corner, which interests you, but you don’t investigate it any further.

Now you have another little problem, though; what are you gonna do about the pillows? You don’t have anything to cover your hair with, with all your scarves and bonnets in your own apartment. One night of sleeping on a cotton pillow wouldn’t kill you, but that doesn’t make it any less distasteful to think about.

Kun comes into the bedroom to check on you and sees you puzzling around, sitting on the bed and looking awkward. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh. It’s nothing really,” you rush out, unsure if you should tell him about a problem he likely won’t even understand. It must be at least 4:00 a.m. by now, meaning you both desperately need to get some sleep.

“You can tell me, I won’t bite.”

I wouldn’t mind if you did pops into your head, but you immediately try to ignore that thought and are silently grateful that you do not blush visibly.

“Uh, my hair.”

“Your hair?”

“Okay, I need to cover it at night so it won’t get all broken off or anything—sleeping on cotton does wonders for destroying moisture—but I don’t have anything here to use. I mean—it’s...not a huge deal though, I can deal with it for a night?” You’re rambling now. Kun just nods, taking in all this information like he’s listening to something very important and very interesting.

“So then, what would you do to stop that?”

“Wear a scarf, or a bonnet, or using a silk pillowcase works, too. But you probably don’t have any of that stuff, you don’t have to bother with it—”

“Well, let me see.” Kun disappears into his closet and you pause, wondering for a moment if he actually does have a bonnet or something in there. Which would probably be a little hilarious to you.

He comes back out with not a bonnet of a scarf or even a pillowcase, but one of his own shirts. It’s just the right material though, being a pretty purple silk.

“Oh—Kun.” At this point, there are several emotions all trying to come to the forefront, though you have no clue which one to settle on. “Your shirt? You really don’t have to. I could…”

“It’s just a shirt, Y/N. There are a lot more where that comes from...I don’t mind.” He chuckles.

You sigh bashfully but take the shirt from him. “Thank you, it’s really thoughtful of you.” You cover the pillow with his shirt, and it works perfectly.

“Anyway, if you need anything else, just tell me,” he says, lingering by the door.

“I will...thank you,” you say, your voice quiet as you give him a nervous smile. Only when he shuts the door and his footsteps fade away do you allow yourself to bunch the comforter in your fists and scream into it. Everything in here smells just like him, which is probably more than enough to fuel all of your Qian Kun-related daydreams for the next 8 months.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift off when you finally do lie down, and your mind is blissfully empty of anything throughout the night.

--

The next day takes a bit of settling into. You’re momentarily alarmed when you wake up faced with a strange room until you remember last night’s events and recall where you are. There is also the smell of food, good food, which is also sadly unfamiliar to you. Charlotte can’t cook to save either of your lives, so you know you’d never be waking up to the smell of a professional chef-approved breakfast if you were still in your apartment with her.

Walking out of Kun’s room, you see that he’s in the kitchen, halfway finished with cooking breakfast for the both of you. It’s more like brunch at this hour, but what does that matter.

You linger at the doorway for a moment, allowing yourself to imagine that this is what things would be like if you were dating. Getting this view everyday? Life cannot be this unfair.

Maybe not too much, though, since you are standing in his kitchen.

“Oh, good morning,” he greets you, breaking your reverie. “Did you sleep well?”

“Good morning. I slept great. Thanks again for, you know, the shirt, haha…”

He grins, and his dimples come out. “Sure thing. Go ahead and sit! Breakfast will be ready soon.”

It’s the best breakfast you’ve eaten since living with Charlotte; maybe some of the best food you’ve ever had. “I had no idea you could cook this well,” you say. “I mean. I guess I wouldn’t since I haven’t—you know, uh—eaten here before, but—it’s great.” It’s just your luck that your thoughts come out in this fumbling mini-rant, but Kun only laughs good-naturedly.

“Thank you, I’m truly glad you like it.”

You both continue eating breakfast while making light conversation. This just might be the longest conversation you’ve had with each other, and that knowledge seems surreal. You’re almost a little glad you lost your key. Almost.

“So...today is Sunday. And the leasing office still won’t be open until Monday.” Kun says this over the remnants of breakfast. He speaks in a measured tone, like he’s trying to ensure he says the right thing. Whatever that could possibly be. “And you told me your roommate won’t be back until Monday.”

To your credit, you hadn’t exactly accounted for this when you first came over to his place in your distressed state. That means another night spent in his apartment though, which becomes very obvious to you now. “Ah. Sorry, am I imposing?”

“What—no, I-I just wanted to make sure you knew you can stay here tonight, or—however long you need.”

Relief floods through you, and you briefly wonder why you even worried about it; as far as you know, he’s not the kind of person to just kick someone out. “Ohh, of course—that’s good to know. Thank you for all this!”

“You’re welcome.” You miss the smile he gives to your response as you’re busy drinking your juice, but it’s one filled with a certain affection.

--

It feels a bit awkward to just sit around in his apartment all day, with nothing to do and all your belongings still locked out of your reach in your own place, so Kun shows you the studio in the corner of his room. He’d talked about being into music before, but you’d never heard anything of his until now.

When he plays the keyboard for you, it’s to the tune of a beautiful self-composed song. You almost pinch yourself to remind yourself this isn’t a hallucination or a fever dream. A man this appealing really exists, and you’ve stayed the night in his apartment and eaten his breakfast. You give a small round of applause when he finishes.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if you became a famous singer or something? I’d come to all your concerts,” you say lightly, kicking your legs on the edge of his bed.

“All? Really, all?” He laughs.

“Yes, all. A voice and talent like that deserves all the attention.” You lean back on his bed, stretching your legs out. “But all your venues would probably be sold out. Hopefully you’d remember me from your lil’ ole apartment building. I’m sure you’d be living in a penthouse by then.”

Kun smiles bashfully at your compliments, waving his hands as if it’s too much. “Thank you. But I don’t think I could ever forget you.” His voice grows a bit softer. His expression is more genuine than you expect for a conversation that was so playful only seconds ago, and you find it hard to hold eye contact all of a sudden.

It is your turn to be bashful, and you shrug in an effort to seem natural. “Well, I’m flattered.” Despite your unaffected demeanor, you don’t think those words will leave your mind for a good while, even if you wonder about the meaning of them. 

--

Later that evening, Kun makes dinner and you watch TV together, flipping to whatever channels have dramas or movies playing.

You two eventually fall into another conversation when you can’t find anything good to watch—one that does not make you overly nervous for once. During a lull in the talking, that big question pops up into your mind, and you wince internally at how Charlotte would’ve already told you to make a move. You aren't sure how to do that without making him uncomfortable or seeming too sudden, but you decide to make an attempt.

You edge into it with, “So, um, your place looks pretty nice for one guy. It’s just you here, right?”

“Ah yeah, just me. Thanks, I do try my best.”

“Haha, I’m used to my guy friends all having super messy apartments until they get a girlfriend and she teaches them how to clean a stove for the first time…”

“Oh really? That’s a bit sad for them, isn’t it?” He chuckles. “I’m not dating anyone right now, so it’s all me.”

Just the information you were looking for. You try not to show your elation. “Why not?” you blurt out. Then you cringe because this might sound too invasive or even judgmental, but Kun only grins. “It’s just, it’s a little surprising. You’re such a generous person. You seem to care about everyone, even those poor stray kitties that stay outside the apartments all the time.”

He smiles timidly in response to receiving more of your compliments. “I guess it seems curious when you put it like that.” Just like when you’d drunkenly said I love you so much, there’s suddenly heat on the back of his neck that he hopes won’t turn into another blush that’ll expose him. “I don’t really know, I haven’t thought much about it; life’s weird like that.” He isn’t really sure how to answer that question in a way that won’t be too big of a hint that he’s interested in you, though he’s also not entirely sure why he’s still trying to hide it. Wouldn’t now be the perfect opportunity? When will you two have this much time together again? Still, you staying in his apartment for two days doesn’t mean you like him, and maybe he’s jumping the gun.

“That’s true. Guess that’s the same reason why I’ve been alone for a while now.” You shake your head.

“You?” Kun is equally surprised to know this about you.

You laugh incredulously. “Does that shock you or something?”

“I...well.” He rubs the back of his neck as he searches for the words. “I just thought...you’re very pretty, and you’re always really kind when we speak, so...”

“Oh?” Your face heats up at that.

“Yeah, I…think anyone would be lucky to be with you.”

“Oh.” Your body’s first instinct is to freeze with nervousness, but you know Charlotte would be kicking your ass in gear right now if she were somehow here. So, you decide to stop stressing about it and just do it. “Well...wouldn’t it be nice if we both had a way to fix our problems at the same time?”

Kun pauses for a moment before replying. “What do you suggest?” He knows what you are proposing—you can see in his eyes and his slight grin and his posture that he knows—but maybe he wants to hear you say it out loud.

“Hm, well…I don’t know, what do you think?” You lean a bit closer to him, raising your eyebrows and trying your best to look innocent and unassuming. His smile turns into something different with your increased proximity. Something a little more sly.

Mirroring your actions, he inches nearer to you until there’s little space left between. “Well, I think…” Kun tentatively closes the remaining gap between the two of you, the rest of his sentence left to linger as his soft lips envelop yours.

Maybe it’s corny to say it, but it definitely feels like one of those fairytale kisses with the fireworks going off and streamers popping; even though you’re sitting on his couch wearing his pajamas, some movie in the background you’ve long forgotten the plot of, empty dinner plates sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

You aren’t sure how you end up in his lap—who made the first move? Was it his hand on your back or your hands on his shoulders? You straddle him on the couch, your arms slipping around his shoulders and his hands on your back but assuredly traveling farther down your body.

Kun’s hands come to rest on your thighs, pulling the fabric of his shorts up a few inches higher. “I never thought I’d see you wearing my clothes,” he says lowly, grinning against your mouth.

“I also never thought I’d be sitting in your lap like this, but maybe sometimes dreams do come true,” you say jokingly, your lips rubbing against his skin as you slowly kiss his jaw.

You can’t see his expression, but his eyebrows shoot up at that. “Dreams, huh? You think about me often?” His voice pitches lower when he asks this, aroused by the thought of you imagining anything quite so lewd about him. You’ve definitely incriminated yourself now and won’t be able to wiggle out of it without an answer.

“...Maybe.”

“What do you think about me?” Kun grips your hips, which quickly turns into him grabbing your ass—tentatively at first to test the waters, and then firmly enough to grind you against his hardening cock. Sensing him solid and warm underneath you sends a shockwave down your spine, and the sensation heightens when his voice caresses your ear, all low and tense with arousal. “It’s just the two of us here. No one else has to know.”

“I think about your...lips. How you might kiss me. Or what you might say to me. And...your hands.” You pause there, a quiet breath whispering past your lips. “You have really big hands, you know.”

“My hands…” Kun places one on your chest, spreading his fingers across and touching your collarbone. The heel of his palm glides on the top of your breast, and just that touch is enough to get you more worked up. “Hmm. Actually, I’ll admit I’m pretty good with my hands.” He smirks, and he’s possibly the finest thing you’ve ever seen. “What else, Y/N?”

“I thought about how you’d touch me.” His hand slides between your breasts now, down your sternum, and to your stomach. “Maybe I’d invite you into my apartment when Charlotte wasn’t there. We’d watch some stupid movie and pretend to be into it, but we’re really just thinking about each other. You’d eventually end up slipping your hand up my skirt...and making me cum all over your fingers.”

You aren’t sure how you’re saying all this to Kun right now, the dude you have a major crush on, without bursting into flames.

His shaft rubbing against your clit even through your layers of clothes makes you sigh dreamily, pressing your forehead to his and gripping at his shoulders and biceps. His bangs are soft against your forehead, and your breath stutters when he moves to kiss the side of your neck. He has to know how hard your heart is beating right now.

“And then what?” His voice is barely a whisper, then.

“And then you’d fuck me, of course.” There’s a slight laugh in your voice at the ticklish feeling of his lips kissing your skin.

“And then I’d fuck you...hm,” he echoes. “Sure, I can do that.”

The promise of it entices you, and more heat pools between your legs, amplified by the fabric rubbing against your sensitive parts. His hand that’s still on your stomach travels under your shirt then, and your hips falter in your rhythm against him when his fingers brush across your nipple. He brings his lips to your other breast, lapping his tongue against your nipple over the fabric.

You soon come like this, his shaft grinding against your clit and his clothes rubbing against your skin, his hands on your ass and his lips traveling across your breasts. The orgasm is sudden and surprises you, but it’s good, and you convulse as the waves of pleasure course through you. You weaken and slump against him, with him still teasing your breasts with his mouth and hands. Pushing your face into his hair, you moan into the black strands until the quivering stops.

You’re breathless when you speak again. “You haven’t come yet.”

“I’d rather do that when I’m inside you,” he replies. You giggle quietly.

“...What are you waiting for, then?”

“Hold on.” Kun carefully maneuvers you off his lap, and you already want to complain at the lack of his touch. “I have to get a condom.”

“Hurry, or you’ll miss all the fun,” you say as you pull your shirt off with your back to him. You look back over your shoulder at him and grin mischievously.

“You’re such a tease…”

Kun goes into his room to fetch a condom, and when he returns he’s already pulling his shirt off, leaving it on the floor somewhere. You’re fully naked now, your legs pulled up to your chest and your chin resting on your knees as you sit on the couch. Kun’s eyes drop between your legs, your inner thighs still glistening from your previous orgasm, and he swipes his tongue across his lips at the sight of you, wet and ready for him.

Likewise, your eyes drop to the dark trail of hair leading into his pants and his bulge just below it, the way his sweatpants cling to his length, and your pussy throbs with the desire to be filled.

“Please, hurry.”

Kun doesn’t waste any time in getting the rest of his clothes off, shoving his pants and underwear done in one swift move and rolling the condom over his shaft. He climbs onto the couch, grabbing your legs and guiding them around his waist, and you giggle at his eager but gentle touch as you recline on the couch pillows behind you.

He grabs his dick and lines it up with you, then pushes it in slowly at first. The stretch makes your toes curl, but it is a good kind of stretch, the kind that fills you to the brim. Like the missing element you needed.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice husky from the pleasure.

“Fuck, please,” is your answer as you shift your hips and try to get him all the way inside quicker. Noticing your urgency, he slides the rest of the way in until your hips are flush against each other and starts thrusting into you. His length dragging across your walls feels much better than you could’ve imagined on any given night, and you clasp your legs tighter around him to get ever closer.

After a point, he pushes your legs up with his hands behind your knees so he can get a deeper angle, and you both moan at the difference in sensation and how much tighter you get around him.

There is no ignoring the messy wet noises of your bodies colliding due to the slickness of your previous orgasm and the new wetness he’s continually fucking out of you. Each thrust reaches deep inside you, deep enough to make you nearly sob, your hands fumbling over your breasts and your clit all the while.

“Kun, god yes please,” you whimper, rocking your hips into the rhythm of his own. You fucking him back makes him groan deeply, his bangs hanging off his forehead as he dips his head to watch himself slide in and out of you. You could not control the urge or the motion of your body even if you wanted to; you want all of him, as close as he can get.

“I don’t want this to end,” he moans, and he pulls out without a warning. You gasp at the sudden emptiness, and your discontent comes out in a full whine. You’d be more embarrassed about it if you weren’t currently consumed with desire, but you presently do not care.

Kun sits back on the couch and pulls you on top of him again. “Ride me,” he says. So you grasp the base of his cock, him grunting as you do, and you press the tip against your entrance before pushing it in. He watches himself slip inside of you while fully enraptured, one hand tight on your hip.

Once you are full with him again, you experimentally grind against him to see how it’ll feel in this new position, and your arms tremble as his pelvis stimulates your clit.

“Go ahead,” he whispers, grasping the nape of your neck and kissing you hard once more, “fuck yourself on me.”

So you keep grinding your clit on him like that, your limbs shaking from the stimulation and your walls fluttering around his cock. You can barely catch a complete breath from him kissing you hard enough to make your lips swell, and your head is so fogged with lust that all you can concentrate on is getting yourself off just like he told you to do.

“Kun…” You roll your head onto his shoulder, pressing your forehead into his skin, your body tiring as you get closer to reaching that high. You’re so close to coming, but you’re not sure if you have enough strength left to get there on your own. Kun notices the state you’re in and grasps your hips to pull them into his, effortlessly sliding himself into you while making sure your clit gets stimulated at the same time.

The new friction of his dick rubbing against your g-spot in this position is enough to have you finally coming and crying out against his neck.

You continue babbling nonsense against his neck as he keeps fucking you, searching for his own end. His hands are hot on your body as he moves you up and down his length.

His climax comes soon after yours, his dick pulsing and his pace slowing. Your back arches at the sensation of him throbbing inside you and releasing his cum into the condom. The way he groans in your ear has your stomach clenching.

For a few minutes after, you both sit quietly and do nothing but cling to one another as you come down from the pleasure.

“So, does this mean we’re together now…?” Kun asks hopefully, running his hands over your back as you lie against him.

You smile against his skin. “Obviously. But if you still want to convince me, we can go a couple more rounds…”