#how to learn trading from scratch

[yogesh2003]

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[noragaur]

Beginners Guide to Stock Market | Learn Stock Market Basics | Finology Quest Course

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[vanishingmoments]

having a day where i just want to give up on literally everything

[sugarwarachan]

random horny thoughts about hq men - seijoh + nekoma edition

CHARACTERS: mattsun, iwaizumi, makki, oikawa, kuroo, kenma, shohei CWS: nsfw, smut, all characters 18+, knife play, implied d/s undertones to a lot of these, toxic relationship elements, cheating/cucking if you squint, corruption kink, oral (f!receiving), bondage, spit kink NOTES: continue to enjoy my gross thoughts as i pull myself out of whatever writer's block hell i'm in. thank you to the anon who suggested shohei's - i accidentally deleted it i'm so sorry 😀

mattsun loves knife play. the idea of cutting your tights away from your body, tracing the knife ever so gently up the inside of your thigh before rippppp the metal tears through like butter. the flash of fear and unbridled lust in your eyes bricks him up instantly. he slots his thigh between yours and presses the flat of the blade ever so gently against your thrumming pulse. "ready to play, angel?"

iwaizumi finds out your ex never made you cum and makes it his personal mission to give you as many orgasms as possible. his fingers, tongue, dick, thighs, he wants to get you off in every way possible and erase that idiot’s ineptitude from your brain. “you cum so easily, baby. the fuck was your ex talking about?”

makki loves when you talk back. it’s foreplay for him to take you out somewhere nice and relentlessly tease you all night, each of you trading good-natured barbs that run just a little bit nasty (he likes when you’re mean, what can he say). there’s always a line, though, and when you cross it, his hand grips the back of your neck hard enough to stop you short. "I think we should go home, don't you?"

oikawa is prone to toxic situationships that always result in hurt feelings (his own). he sees you out with other guys and it actually boils his blood to the point where he’s calling you, whining about how you don’t make time for him anymore, and when you come over, he fucks you face down on the mattress to remind you that he’s the only one who knows how to make you cum the way you like

he’s super embarassed about it, but kuroo has a little bit of a corruption kink. like the first time he goes down on you and you get all blushy and embarassed - he’s hard as a rock. soothes you with soft kisses on your neck and stomach as he tells you how beautiful you look, how good you are just for him. he’s gentle in how he eats but he’s determined to make you as crazy for him as he is for you

kenma is lazy this kenma is lazy that - kenma finds out how much you like to be tied up and learns everything he can about bondage play. he buys a dummy to practice on (kuroo absolutely loses his mind over this), he watches tutorials, boy is dedicated to finding out how to make you cum this way. when this skinny streamer guy asks you out, you have no idea you’re gonna be roped into a bondage belt with a happy strap grazing over your clit as you sob into his arms (but you're not complaining)

your first impression of shohei is that he’s never known the touch of a woman but HOO BOY were you wrong. this man is a FREAK between the sheets. you can’t believe that the mild-mannered dude who barely says a word forces your mouth open so he can spit directly onto your tongue. by the time he’s done with you, you’re fucked out of your skull, covered in scratches, hickies, and cum, and being asked if you want to order taco bell

2025 © all works belong to @sugarwarachan. do not repost, translate, or steal any of my works. reblogs and comments always appreciated <3

[carnalcrows]

UNDER THE SEA

summary: When a voiceless prince of the sea washes up on shore, the last thing you expect is to fall in love with him. But Suguru is nothing like the legends — sharp-eyed, wild-hearted, and hiding more pain than he lets on. As your world turns upside down with stolen glances and forbidden touches, you're both pulled into a storm of old magic, royal wrath, and the kind of love that changes everything. In the end, the only thing stronger than the tide is the bond between you.

pairing: ariel! suguru geto x prince eric! male reader

content warnings: 18+, top male reader, the side characters are originally sea creatures but get turned into humans at the end (for the plot), shapeshifting, thoughts of suicide (implied).

word count: 8.0k

The coast was a living thing.

It breathed salt into the air, stirred the waves with invisible hands, whispered secrets through the sea grass curling around the rocks. You knew the shoreline better than you knew the royal gardens, better than the throne room where your future was supposed to be waiting. Here, at the ragged edge of the kingdom, you could pretend the world was yours alone.

Megumi barked at the foam licking the sand, then trotted back to nudge your knee with a wet nose. You smiled, absently scratching behind his ears as you watched the ships bobbing out on the horizon — pale ghosts against the setting sun.

Tomorrow there would be meetings. Talks of alliances, marriage contracts and duty. You had been reminded of it a hundred times this week alone. A prince's life is not his own, they told you. A prince lives for his people.

You tipped your head back and let the wind steal the breath from your lungs. Maybe that was true. Maybe that was why you spent so much time down here, pretending you could forget.

The first night you saw him, you thought he was a dream.

A figure cutting through the dark waves, black hair slicked back from his sharp, beautiful face, a flicker of something silvered and strange at his waist where legs should have been. He didn't speak. He only watched you from a distance, half-shielded by a jagged rock outcropping — until the tide rose too high and you had to retreat, pulse thundering like a drum.

You didn’t tell anyone. You weren’t even sure he was real.

But you came back the next night anyway. And the night after that.

⋆｡°✩

The sea above was never quiet.

It pressed against Geto's skin like a second heartbeat, a steady drum of currents and whispered storms. He learned long ago how to move with it, how to let the world pass around him without leaving a mark. Down here, nothing changed. Down here, he could be anything except free.

His father's court was endless: treaties with the southern pods, patrols against deepwater threats, lectures on duty and bloodlines. The weight of it wrapped around his ribs tighter with every passing year. One day, Gakuganji told him, the crown would be his. One day, he would lead their people. One day, one day, one day.

None of it ever felt like it belonged to him.

Only the surface did.

Only the wind-struck light dappling the upper currents, the forgotten shipwrecks rusting like bones, the songs carried down from the world above. Only the days he risked everything to rise to the rocky cliffs near the human harbour — to watch them, to imagine a life where he could breathe air and walk wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, without permission or fear.

It was on one of those days that he saw you.

A boy standing barefoot on the rocks, hair tousled by the wind, face turned toward the horizon like he was searching for something he hadn't found yet. You looked out at the world the way Geto did from below — aching for it.

He should have swum away. Should have gone back to the safety of the deeps.

But he stayed. And he watched. And for the first time in a long time, the ocean around him didn’t feel like a cage.

⋆｡°✩

The night the storm hit, the harbour bells rang too late.

You had been aboard one of the trading ships by then, half-listening to the captain grumble about incoming weather and ignoring the pit twisting in your gut. The sky was already bruising purple when the first gust hit — tearing sails, snapping rigging. Men shouted, scrambling to reef lines and lower anchors, but the sea didn’t care for human hands.

It swallowed the ships one by one.

The deck pitched under your feet. You stumbled, slamming against the rail just as a wall of black water rose above the stern. Megumi barked once, sharp and terrified, before something wrenched you backwards — the mast, splintering free and crashing down.

You didn’t have time to scream.

The ocean yawned open and dragged you under.

⋆｡°✩

Geto felt it before he saw it.

The current shifted — sudden and wrong — churning with debris and panic. He surfaced just in time to see the human ships breaking apart like toys, to hear the distant wail of horns and voices swallowed by thunder.

And you.

Sinking.

He didn't think. He never thought, where you were concerned.

Geto dove, cutting through the wreckage, ignoring the jagged shards that scraped his arms. He found you drifting down like a broken-winged bird, limbs slack, hair fanning in the dark.

The ocean wanted you. It always wanted the beautiful ones.

Not this time.

He caught you around the waist and kicked hard for the surface.

You were heavy with soaked clothes and fading warmth. Every second dragged like chains. His lungs burned, his vision blurred, but he held onto you like you were the last real thing left in the world.

When they broke the surface, the storm was still raging. Waves tossed them like driftwood. He scanned the dark coastline — spotted the jutting rocks near the harbour mouth — and swam.

He didn’t know how long it took. He didn’t care.

He hauled you up onto the slick stones, shielding your body with his own as the rain lashed down. You coughed weakly, choking on salt, and he exhaled a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

Alive.

You were alive.

⋆｡°✩

The sound of human voices echoed from the cliffs — search parties, flashing lanterns between the rocks. Geto looked down at you, memorising the line of your jaw, the stubborn set of your mouth even in sleep.

He wanted — stupidly, selfishly — to stay.

Instead, he pressed his forehead briefly against yours, whispering something he would never have the chance to explain. Then he slid back into the water and vanished with the tide.

By the time the villagers found you, the only trace of him was the salt drying on your skin.

The throne room shimmered with trapped light — columns carved from coral and salt-stained marble, banners heavy with the weight of generations. Geto stood in the centre of it all, dripping seawater onto the polished floor, heart hammering against his ribs.

"You endangered the whole pod!" Gakuganji’s voice cracked through the hall like a whip. His crown tilted slightly with the force of his rage. "You think the humans would hesitate to capture you? To carve you open and mount you on a wall?"

Geto said nothing.

There was no point arguing. Not when his father’s anger was loud enough to drown the entire ocean.

Beside the dais, Nanami stood stiff-backed, arms crossed. He didn’t look triumphant about reporting Geto’s surfacing — just tired, like he hated this as much as everyone else. It almost made it worse.

"You're heir to the throne!" Gakuganji thundered. "You have responsibilities beyond your childish fascinations."

Geto's hands curled into fists. He could still feel the weight of you in his arms, the raw terror of losing you to the storm. "I saved him," he said quietly.

"What?" The king leaned forward, incredulous.

"I saved a human boy," Geto repeated. "He would have died."

"You risked us for one human?!" Gakuganji slammed his trident into the floor, the impact echoing up the columns. "You think they would show you the same mercy? You think they would not hunt you down the moment they saw what you are?"

"They’re not all the same," Geto said, teeth gritted. "He—"

"Enough." Gakuganji's voice dropped to a dangerous rumble. "You will not surface again. You will not approach the humans. You will remember who you are."

"And if I don't?" Geto asked, before he could stop himself.

For a moment — a long, dangerous heartbeat — the throne room went dead still.

"You are my son," Gakuganji said, low and cold. "You have no other path."

⋆｡°✩

Later, in the empty coral gardens, Gojo found him — lounging sideways across a crumbling pillar, grinning like he hadn't just been chased out of a war meeting.

"Yikes," Gojo said cheerfully. "You sure know how to make an exit."

Geto didn’t answer. He stared up at the distorted sunlight filtering through the water, aching all over in ways he didn’t have names for.

"You’re lucky," Gojo continued, drifting upside down just to be annoying. "If it were my old man, I’d already be gutted and grilled."

"You're not helping."

"You never let me," Gojo huffed. He floated closer, peering at Geto. "So. You gonna tell me what’s got you risking excommunication? Or do I have to guess?"

Geto stayed silent.

Gojo tilted his head. "It’s a boy, isn’t it?"

Geto groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Gojo whooped. "I knew it! The brooding, the reckless endangerment, the classic tragic ocean prince move—"

"Shut up."

"Make me," Gojo said smugly. He poked Geto’s arm. "Come on, you big idiot. You’re already halfway to disaster. Might as well tell me the whole tragic love story before Nanami comes back and scolds you again."

⋆｡°✩

The sea grew colder as Geto swam downward.

Here, light barely touched the water — a place forgotten by even the boldest currents. The rocks twisted into cruel shapes, and whispers rode the tides like broken shells. If there was a place for mistakes to be made permanent, it was here.

He should have turned back.

He didn't.

The cavern loomed ahead, yawning wide, lit from within by a sickly green glow. Strange silhouettes moved against the walls — half-formed faces, reaching hands. Geto steeled himself and drifted closer.

"You’re a hard one to catch," a voice purred from the darkness.

Kenjaku.

The wizard drifted forward, robes flowing like smoke around his legs, face split by a smile too wide to be friendly.

"You want something, little prince," Kenjaku crooned. "I can smell it."

Two figures uncoiled from the shadows behind him — long, sinuous, sharp-toothed. Mai and Maki, twinned and terrible, circled lazily around Geto, eyes glinting with amusement.

"Look at him," Mai said mockingly, twirling a lock of her hair. "So serious."

"So sad," Maki agreed, baring her teeth in a grin.

"So stupid," they said together, and laughed — a low, rippling sound that made Geto’s skin crawl.

⋆｡°✩

"I need legs," Geto said, forcing his voice steady.

Kenjaku’s smile sharpened. "Legs, hm? For what, I wonder? A human? A flash of bare skin and you’re ready to drown yourself in heartbreak?"

"Name your price," Geto said flatly.

The witch tsked, floating closer until their noses almost touched. "Such a waste. Such beautiful magic, all tangled up in something as stupid as hope."

Behind him, Mai and Maki snickered.

⋆｡°✩

Kenjaku raised one hand, tracing a circle in the water. A contract shimmered into view — ancient script twisting around its edges.

"The price is your voice," Kenjaku said sweetly. "Three days. If he falls in love with you — truly — and seals it with a kiss, you stay human. If not..." His smile grew wider. "You belong to me."

The eels spun around Geto, tightening the circle. Their laughter dripped like venom into the water.

Geto hesitated — just for a breath.

Long enough to remember your face, lit by stormlight. Long enough to remember the way you clutched his hand even unconscious.

He reached out and touched the glowing contract.

⋆｡°✩

Pain flared in his throat — white-hot and merciless — cutting off his cry halfway. The magic stripped him clean, peeling his voice from his body like silk torn from skin.

He gasped silently, clutching his throat as the spell wrapped around him, crushing, reshaping, burning.

When it was done, he drifted there — smaller, heavier, different.

Legs where there had been fins. Silence where there had been song.

Kenjaku smiled like a man who had just caught a very rare fish.

"Good luck, little prince," he said, voice syrup-thick. "And do hurry."

Mai and Maki cackled as the currents carried Geto upward — toward the waiting world above.

⋆｡°✩

The morning broke soft and slow over the coastline, spilling gold across the restless sea. The world still smelled of the storm — salt-heavy, sharp with the tang of broken kelp — but the sky had cleared, vast and aching blue from horizon to horizon.

You stumbled barefoot across the sand, Megumi racing ahead, nose low to the ground. Every muscle in your body ached from the night before — the crash of the ship, the icy clutch of the water, the way your lungs had burned as you fought to surface. It blurred in your memory now, stitched together only by fragments: the cold, the fear — and something else. A hand, pulling you upward. A voice you couldn’t remember, except that it had made you feel safe even in the middle of drowning.

You had barely slept. You couldn't. Not when the memory of it kept clawing at you, whispering that there was more you were supposed to remember.

And then Megumi barked — sharp and urgent — and you saw him.

A body crumpled on the sand, half-buried in seafoam, black hair spilling in tangled waves across pale skin. He was naked — startlingly so — his skin marred only by the faint bruises of the storm, the faint shimmer of salt drying on him. There was nothing indecent about it; it felt more like finding something sacred, half-formed and left behind by the tide.

You ran before you even realised you were moving, dropping to your knees in the wet sand beside him. He wasn’t breathing — or if he was, it was shallow enough to terrify you.

"Hey," you gasped, pressing trembling fingers to his cheek. "Hey, wake up—"

He stirred faintly under your touch.

His lashes fluttered. His mouth parted in a soundless breath. Dark eyes blinked up at you, wide and dazed and afraid.

Relief crashed through you so fast it left you dizzy. "You're okay," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. "You're okay."

You sat back, heart hammering, and without thinking, yanked your jacket from your shoulders. You wrapped it hastily around his body, covering him, trying to shield him from the cold — from the world — from everything that had brought him here.

He flinched slightly at the contact, but didn't pull away.

"Can you speak?" you asked, softer now.

He shook his head.

Panic twisted low in your gut. You scanned the beach for any sign of help — villagers, healers — but there was only you, the boy, and the endless hiss of the tide.

"Alright," you said, forcing your voice steady. "Okay. You’re safe now. We'll get you help."

He looked at you then — really looked — and the vulnerability there, raw and unguarded, made your throat tighten.

You slid an arm under his shoulders, lifting him carefully. He was heavier than he looked, all wiry strength packed into his slender frame. Still, you managed to half-carry, half-drag him toward the path leading back to the village, Megumi trotting anxiously at your heels.

You didn’t even know his name.

But some part of you whispered — old and certain — that you would learn it.

Whatever it cost.

Sneaking an unconscious man into the palace was harder than it sounded.

You kept your head down, murmuring apologies to the few kitchen servants and gardeners you passed, trying to make it look like he was a drunken cousin you'd plucked off the docks rather than a half-drowned stranger you’d found lying naked on the beach. Thankfully, your reputation for odd charity cases preceded you, and nobody dared stop you outright.

Megumi pressed close to your leg, hackles raised, growling low at anyone who came too near.

The boy clung to you with what little strength he had, swaying on his feet, skin still clammy under your jacket. His eyes stayed downcast, wide and dark and unreadable, like he was waiting for the moment someone dragged him away.

You tightened your grip on his waist.

Not happening.

Not while you were breathing.

⋆｡°✩

You finally reached your wing of the castle — a small, sun-lit corner usually ignored by the court — and kicked the door open with your boot.

"Utahime’s gonna kill me," you muttered under your breath.

As if summoned by fate itself, Utahime appeared at the end of the hall, a stack of linens balanced precariously in her arms. She froze when she saw you — soaked, half-dragging a half-naked stranger through the corridor, dripping seawater onto the rug.

Her mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

You spoke first. "It’s not what it looks like."

She raised an eyebrow so sharp it could have cut glass.

"Really?" she said flatly. "Because it looks exactly like you smuggled a drowned courtesan into the guest quarters."

"Utahime," you begged, "please. Just... trust me."

Her gaze flickered from you to the boy — to Geto — noting the way he sagged against you, the bruises on his skin, the way he flinched from sudden movement. Something softened in her expression.

"Fine," she said, voice clipped. "But if the king finds out you brought another stray into the palace, you’re explaining it, not me."

"Thank you," you breathed, genuinely relieved.

She rolled her eyes so hard you thought she might sprain something, then spun on her heel. "Hot water. Dry clothes. Quietly, if you have any sense left at all."

You turned to Geto, offering the barest smile. "See? It’ll be fine."

He gave you a look that clearly said he wasn’t so sure.

You shifted him toward the washroom, only to hear a wet slap! behind you. Startled, you turned — and blinked at the sight of a bright blue fish flopping awkwardly across the tiles, tail flicking madly.

"...Okay," you muttered. "Guess the tide brought in a few extra things."

Megumi barked once, chasing after the fish with a delighted growl.

In the basin, a large lobster scuttled up the side, clacking its claws indignantly. You laughed under your breath, because what else could you do? First the storm, then the mysterious boy, now sea creatures invading your house. It figured.

You shook your head and nudged the boy toward the warm towels waiting near the fire. "Come on. Let’s get you dry before you catch something worse."

Behind you, the lobster snapped its claws in what might have been furious disapproval.

You chalked it up to a very weird day and got to work.

⋆｡°✩

The water in the copper basin steamed gently, carrying the soft scent of rosemary and soap into the air. You crouched beside it, wringing out a clean cloth with careful hands, trying not to startle the boy any more than he already was. He sat on a low stool wrapped in one of Utahime’s thick linen towels, the oversized fabric drowning his frame. His dark hair clung wetly to his cheeks, droplets carving slow trails down his throat and collarbone.

You worked in silence at first. He didn’t speak — couldn’t, you remembered with a pang — but he watched you with those dark, endless eyes, wary and unblinking. Like he expected you to change your mind. Like he was waiting to be thrown back into the sea.

You hated that look.

"You’re safe here," you said softly, dipping the cloth again and squeezing it out. "I swear it."

He blinked once, the smallest tremor of a nod, and let you gently wipe away the sand and salt crusted on his skin.

The bruises were worse up close. A constellation of them across his ribs and hips, angry purples fading into sickly greens. You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling slightly as you cleaned him, careful not to press too hard. He bore it in silence, though his hands fisted white-knuckled in the towel whenever you touched a particularly deep mark.

"You really went through hell, didn’t you?" you murmured, not expecting an answer.

He just tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t decided to trust yet.

You couldn’t imagine what he must be thinking — waking up in a strange place, surrounded by people he couldn’t understand, without even his voice to defend himself.

Still, he didn’t pull away from you.

That had to mean something.

⋆｡°✩

You helped him stand — slowly, carefully — and guided him to the clothes Utahime had left out. Simple trousers and a linen shirt, soft from years of washing. Nothing that would bind or restrict him. You turned your back politely to give him privacy, but you caught glimpses of him fumbling with the strange fastenings, his hands clumsy and uncertain.

You hesitated for a heartbeat.

Then — cursing the blood already rushing traitorously to your face — you turned back and crouched in front of him.

"Here," you said, voice low. "Let me help."

His hands trembled as he held out the shirt. You took it from him, sliding it carefully over his arms, mindful of the bruises. Your fingers brushed the bare skin of his back — warm now from the fire — and he shivered under your touch.

Not from cold.

From something else.

You swallowed against the tightness rising in your throat and focused on fastening the buttons one by one, your hands slow and steady.

He smelled of salt and clean water, of something older and wilder than anything that had ever lived in the palace. Being this close to him felt like standing at the edge of a cliff and daring the wind to take you.

When you finally looked up, he was watching you again — close enough that you could see the fine droplets clinging to his lashes, the faint pink rising in his cheeks.

For a moment — just a moment — the world narrowed to this: your hands still resting lightly on his ribs, his breath ghosting warm across your mouth, the almost unbearable weight of the things you weren’t saying.

You cleared your throat roughly and stepped back.

"Better," you said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

He smiled — small and uncertain, but real.

It hit you like a sucker punch.

Gods help you.

You were so, so doomed.

The next few days blurred into something slow and strange and golden.

You weren’t sure when the man slipped into the rhythm of your life. It happened so naturally that even Utahime stopped giving you suspicious glares after a while, though she still huffed disapprovingly whenever she caught you teaching him how to balance a teacup properly or helping him pronounce simple words by mouthing them slowly across the breakfast table.

He learned fast.

He struggled with some things — forks, for instance, and the baffling concept of shoes — but he watched you intently whenever you demonstrated something, his brow furrowed in fierce concentration. You found yourself performing for him more and more, exaggerating small daily tasks just to hear the faint huff of laughter he tried to hide behind his hand.

He was different from anyone you had ever known. He didn’t speak, but he listened. He didn’t understand your world, but he treated every clumsy new experience like it was precious — sacred.

And gods help you, every day you spent with him carved deeper into your ribs.

It wasn’t just the way he looked — though that was its own kind of torture, the way his hair curled damply against his forehead in the mornings, the way his smiles bloomed shy and bright when you praised him. It was the way he made everything feel new. Like you were seeing the world for the first time through his eyes.

It terrified you.

And you never wanted it to end.

⋆｡°✩

One evening, Gojo hatched a plan.

The fish flopped dramatically into Geto’s washbasin, splattering water everywhere, and gurgled out something that sounded suspiciously like, "You need a romantic setting, dumbass."

Nanami snapped his claws sharply at Gojo, looking scandalised, but Geto tilted his head thoughtfully, considering.

Thus: the boat.

It was old — a battered rowboat the castle’s fishermen had abandoned months ago — but you managed to patch it up enough to float. The little inlet near the gardens shimmered under the late afternoon sun, warm and heavy with the scent of summer roses. It wasn’t much.

But Geto beamed when you led him to it, and that was enough.

⋆｡°✩

The boat rocked gently as you pushed off from the shore, settling into the lazy current. Megumi whined once, left behind on the dock, but Utahime had promised to watch him with strict warnings about muddy paws on clean linens.

You and Geto sat side by side, knees bumping occasionally as the boat drifted.

He leaned over the side once, trailing his fingers through the water, eyes wide in quiet wonder. You watched him, unable to look away. The way the sunlight caught in his hair, the way the breeze toyed with the loose laces of his shirt — he looked like something dreamed into existence, something too fragile for this world.

Your heart ached with it.

Gojo and Nanami lurked somewhere nearby — you caught glimpses of them in the water now and then, little splashes and flashes of colour as they tried (very badly) to be subtle.

At one point, Gojo bumped a lily pad under your boat in what could only be described as a "subtle nudge."

You laughed under your breath.

Geto looked up, curious, and you smiled at him, helpless against it.

The boat drifted into a patch of golden reeds. The world narrowed to just the two of you, the soft lapping of the water, the gentle hush of the wind.

You turned toward him.

He turned toward you.

The distance between you shrank — slow, inevitable.

You could feel the heat of him, the tentative hope in his gaze, the silent question trembling between you.

You leaned in. He leaned in. Closer. Closer. Your breath mingled. Your noses brushed.

And just as your lips were about to meet—

A massive wave crashed against the side of the boat, nearly capsizing it.

You yelped, scrambling to grab the edges as Geto flailed, soaking wet, clutching desperately at the seat. The boat rocked wildly, slamming back into the reeds.

You twisted, scanning the water. No wind. No passing ship. Just... a single ominous ripple fading into the distance.

Your heart pounded with more than just adrenaline. Geto looked at you, his mouth tight with frustration, his fingers curling white-knuckled around the wood.

Something was wrong. You could feel it.

⋆｡°✩

You sat on the damp seat of the rocking boat for a long time after the wave struck, breathing hard and blinking salt from your eyes. The boy — the stranger — hunched beside you, gripping the edge of the hull so tightly his knuckles had turned bloodless. Water dripped steadily from his hair, trailing down his throat, soaking the thin fabric of his borrowed shirt until it clung to the sharp lines of his body. His mouth was a tight line, his brow furrowed in frustration, but when he turned those dark, searching eyes on you, all you could feel was the echo of something unfinished.

You almost kissed him. Gods above, you almost kissed him.

Your skin still tingled from the near-touch of it. Your heart hammered an uneven beat, deafening in the quiet. You didn’t know what you would have done if the kiss had landed — you barely knew what you were doing now, sitting here, pretending that the whole world hadn't shifted around you in the space of a breath.

You laughed under your breath — short, self-mocking — and shook your head. What was happening to you?

The boy watched you with something complicated in his gaze. There was no fear there, no hesitation. Only a kind of raw, aching patience, like he would wait as long as it took for you to understand something he couldn’t say.

The boat rocked gently again, nudged by a smaller ripple. You glanced around — no sign of the flounder or the lobster now. The water stretched flat and empty in every direction, save for the faintest shimmer on the horizon. For a moment, you thought you caught a glimpse of something — a shape beneath the surface, too fast and sinuous to be natural — but when you blinked, it was gone.

You chalked it up to exhaustion. To nerves.

You rowed back to the dock in silence, your arms aching with each pull. He helped where he could, clumsy but determined, his strength returning with every passing hour. He steadied you when you nearly slipped on the wet stones, his hands warm and sure on your waist, and you laughed breathlessly despite yourself.

He smiled back — that small, fierce thing — and your heart nearly stumbled out of your chest.

⋆｡°✩

That night, the castle felt different.

Quieter, heavier.

The halls echoed strangely under your boots as you made your rounds, half-hoping to spot him tucked somewhere unexpected — curled in the library window seat, maybe, trying to puzzle out one of the battered old books you kept stacked there. Instead, you found Utahime in the kitchens, snapping orders at the scullery boys while Megumi chased a half-plucked chicken across the floor.

"You should be resting," she scolded, tossing a towel at your face without looking up. You caught it, laughing. "I’m fine. Just... restless." She gave you a knowing glance but didn’t push.

You slipped away again, heading out into the garden where the moon silvered the paths and the roses breathed heavily in the night air. You thought of the boy — of how the candlelight caught in his hair, how he tilted his head like he was listening to music no one else could hear. You thought of how close you had been on the boat, how your bodies had leaned together like they belonged in the same breath.

You thought — for the first time — that maybe the world was bigger than the walls you had been raised inside. Maybe it had always been bigger. You had just never seen it clearly until now.

You tipped your head back and let the stars blur overhead.

And somewhere, far below the still surface of the ocean, something watched. And smiled.

It began the next morning, without warning.

You barely noticed her at first — a new arrival to the court, travelling with a merchant caravan from the northern coast. She was beautiful in the way painted icons were beautiful: too polished, too deliberate. Skin like porcelain, hair so dark it seemed to swallow light, a smile that felt just a little too fixed when it landed on you.

She introduced herself as Kaori.

The name meant nothing. The smile meant even less. You nodded politely, offered the customary welcome, and forgot her almost immediately, distracted by the far more pressing task of slipping away to find the boy — your boy, you thought, and then hated yourself a little for the possessive curl of it.

You found him in the gardens again, his bare feet tucked into the sun-warmed grass, his eyes closed, face tilted to the sky like he was trying to drink the sunlight straight into his bones. You stopped in the doorway, momentarily robbed of breath by the simple, devastating sight of him.

He didn’t hear you approach. He never did. He always felt you instead — like a tide pulling at his skin.

He opened his eyes slowly, smiling that small, secret smile that made your heart ache. You crossed the distance without thinking, dropping onto the bench beside him, letting the silence settle between you like a familiar cloak.

You wanted to ask him about the wave. About the way the boat had nearly capsized at the exact wrong moment. About the way he had looked afterwards — hollow-eyed, trembling. You wanted to ask if he felt it too — the wrongness riding the air like a brewing storm.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you found yourself laughing about something trivial — the look on Utahime’s face when Megumi tracked mud all the way across the main hall — and he laughed too, breathless and soundless, clapping a hand over his mouth like it would help.

It didn’t. You caught a glimpse of it then — a boy trying so desperately to belong in a world that wasn't made for him.

And gods above, you wanted to give him that world if you could.

⋆｡°✩

You didn’t see Kaori again until the next evening, at the palace banquet.

She appeared at the foot of the great staircase, clothed in sea-green silk that shimmered like scales. Her smile caught the candlelight and bent it in strange ways. When your gaze slid over her, something in your gut twisted — sharp and cold — but you forced it down. Court life was full of oddities. Beautiful strangers were hardly rare.

Still, when she moved toward you, the crowd parting instinctively around her, your hands clenched at your sides without you meaning to.

She spoke little, but when she did, her voice was soft and lilting, curling around your thoughts like mist. Every word sounded somehow heavier than it should have — harder to resist, harder to ignore.

When she laughed — high and delicate — you smiled back without wanting to. When she touched your arm, you didn’t pull away. Not because you wanted her to. Because your body wouldn't listen.

In the corner of the hall, you caught a flash of movement — the boy standing stiff and small near the tapestry-lined walls, clutching a goblet like it was a shield. His face was pale, drawn tight with something you didn’t have words for yet.

You started toward him — almost managed to break free of the invisible weight sinking its claws into you — but Kaori’s hand slipped through the crook of your elbow, light as a breath.

"Stay," she murmured. And you stayed.

You stayed while the boy you had dragged from the sea turned away, his shoulders stiff with heartbreak. You stayed while Kaori's smile sharpened at the edges.

You stayed while, somewhere deep in the castle’s belly, something ancient and wrong grinned wider in the dark.

⋆｡°✩

The days after the banquet blurred into a haze you couldn't shake.

Kaori was everywhere.

Always at your side — during morning council, during the endless, glittering dinners, during the quiet walks you used to sneak alone along the cliffs. Her hand found yours without asking; her laughter brushed against your ear like a ghost. She said very little, and somehow that made it worse — like a dream half-remembered, slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you tried to hold onto the pieces.

The boy — the one you had pulled from the wreckage of your life — withdrew further with every sunrise.

He stopped meeting your gaze across the long banquet tables. Stopped smiling when you stumbled over your words trying to make him laugh. Stopped trailing after you like a shadow you had learned to need without noticing.

You told yourself it was fine. You told yourself he was settling in, finding his place, finding a way to live here without needing you to hold him up.

But when you passed him in the garden one afternoon and he didn’t even glance up from where he was hunched over a battered book, something in your chest cracked so hard you almost stumbled.

You almost turned back. Almost said his name — whatever it was. Almost begged him to look at you like he used to.

Instead, you let Kaori curl her arm around yours and lead you back inside.

The court whispered, as courts always did. About alliances. About bloodlines. About destiny. The king, old and growing frail, watched you with something like approval warming the corners of his sharp mouth. His advisors began drawing up the paperwork without waiting for your consent.

The date was set.  Three days from now. The engagement would be announced with all the pomp and ceremony a prince deserved.

You barely felt it happening. You smiled when you were meant to. You bowed and raised toasts and accepted the congratulations of men you hated.

You told yourself you were happy. You had to be happy.

Wasn’t this what you had always been raised for?

⋆｡°✩

That night, standing alone in your chamber, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror.

A stranger stared back at you — a boy dressed in a prince's clothes, weighed down by invisible chains.

You stripped the coat from your shoulders and let it fall unheeded to the floor. Your hands braced against the cold glass, and for a moment, you could have sworn you heard something — faint and broken — pressing against the edges of your mind.

A whisper. A cry. A name you had never been told, and yet somehow knew.

⋆｡°✩

Far across the castle, in the cramped little servants' room where he had been given a pallet and a worn blanket, the boy curled in on himself.

He clutched the locket around his throat — the one token of home he had been allowed to keep — and pressed his forehead to the rough mattress. Silent tears soaked into the fabric. His voice was gone, stolen by magic and bargain, and now the last thread tying him to you was slipping through his fingers like water.

He had almost kissed you. He had almost been enough.

Almost.

But almost didn't win. And the clock was running out.

The castle at night breathed differently.

Gone were the courtiers, the musicians, the easy laughter. The corridors stretched long and hollow, lined with flickering torchlight and the faint, restless whisper of the wind clawing against the stone. Somewhere in the kitchens, rats scrabbled unseen. Somewhere higher up, the great banners bearing your family crest sagged like forgotten memories.

And in a disused fountain tucked into a shadowed courtyard, two very angry sea creatures plotted treason.

Gojo flicked his tail in irritation, sending a ripple across the stagnant water. "I'm telling you," he hissed, voice low and urgent, "this is a full-blown, classic villain enchantment scenario. I’ve read about these things. You think princes just fall in love with creepy water-witch girls by accident?"

Nanami clacked his claws together in sharp agreement. "The signs are all there. Sudden behaviour shifts. Loss of free will. Proximity compulsion." His antennae twitched in frustration. "It's textbook dark magic."

"Exactly!" Gojo splashed dramatically. "And if we don’t snap Prince Broody out of it, he’s going to end up shackled to that creepy fake mermaid until death do they part."

Nanami adjusted his position with a weary sigh. "Do you have a plan, or are you just here to complain?"

"I always have a plan," Gojo said smugly. "Step one: cause chaos. Step two: expose the truth. Step three: make sure someone kisses Geto before the clock runs out."

Nanami paused, considering this. "You realise the 'chaos' part will get us executed if it fails."

Gojo grinned, showing far too many sharp little teeth for comfort. "Worth it."

⋆｡°✩

Meanwhile, across the castle, you paced your chamber like a caged animal.

Something was wrong. You could feel it — thick and choking in the back of your throat, wrapping around your ribs like iron bands. Every time Kaori touched you, your skin crawled. Every time you smiled at her, something inside you shrivelled smaller.

You had dreams now — strange, aching dreams where a boy with black hair reached for you through a wall of glass, his mouth open in a silent scream you couldn't hear.

You woke gasping, fists tangled in the sheets, heart battering itself bloody against your ribs.

And yet in the daylight, with the court watching, you went through the motions. Smiling. Nodding. Playing the part of the perfect prince. You told yourself it was a duty. You told yourself it was the expectation.

You lied so well, you almost believed it.

Until tonight. Tonight, something inside you snapped.

Standing before the mirror, dressed in the ceremonial clothes chosen for your engagement announcement, you caught sight of yourself — not as a prince, not as a puppet — but as a boy trapped in a cage of golden lies.

And somewhere deep in your bones, a voice you had never heard but always known whispered:

Find him.

⋆｡°✩

It began with a ripple.

A wrongness threading through the crowded ballroom — subtle at first, like a chill down your spine, like a pressure change before a storm. You stood at Kaori's side, the official proclamation clutched in your hand, the weight of duty coiling tighter and tighter around your throat. The court watched, expectant and smiling, their faces blurred at the edges of your vision.

And then the fountain at the centre of the hall exploded.

Water erupted sky-high, dousing nobles and chandeliers alike. Screams tore through the air. Plates crashed. Horses whinnied outside the gates. And in the chaos, two very familiar figures flailed onto the polished marble — one blue and flopping indignantly, the other red and clacking his claws with the frantic dignity of a man facing execution.

Gojo. Nanami.

You blinked, stunned.

Kaori gasped, stepping back from the spreading flood. Her hand brushed your sleeve—and for the first time, you felt it.

The illusion slipped.

The magic peeled away like rotted paint, revealing not a girl at all, but something older and hungrier. Her eyes flickered black for a heartbeat. Her mouth twisted, something wrong slithering just beneath the surface of her skin.

You staggered backwards, revulsion crashing over you like a tidal wave.The boy — your boy — caught your eye across the hall.

He stood frozen in the archway, soaked to the bone, clutching the locket at his throat like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. His face was pale, his mouth trembling with words he couldn’t speak. His eyes — gods, his eyes — were wide and aching and full of so much hope you thought it might tear you in two.

You moved before you even realised it.

Across the ballroom, through the wreckage and screaming and magic unravelling at the seams, you ran. Kaori shrieked behind you, her voice warping into something guttural and wrong, but you didn’t look back. You tore past the courtiers, past the guards, past everything you had been trained your whole life to care about, and skidded to a halt in front of him.

He flinched — tiny, automatic — but didn’t run.

You reached out, cupping his face between your hands, feeling the tremor racing through him. He smelled like salt and sunlight and something sharp and ancient that had nothing to do with this world.

"You," you whispered, your voice breaking. "It was always you." His mouth opened — a gasp, a sob — but no words came.

He didn’t need them.

You surged forward and kissed him.

The world splintered.

The spell shattered with a soundless crack, like a mirror dropped from a great height. Light spilled from the locket at his throat, engulfing you both, washing the last of Kenjaku’s magic from the air. Somewhere in the distance, you heard a shriek — furious, inhuman — and then silence.

Only the two of you remained, tangled together, breathless and shaking.

He stared up at you like you had hung the stars.You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t want to.

You leaned in again, slower this time, pressing your forehead to his. His hands fisted in the front of your jacket, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him like you might still disappear.

"Stay," he mouthed.

You nodded, voice wrecked and raw. "Always."

And then you kissed him again — harder, desperate — and he melted into you like he had been waiting his whole life for this.

⋆｡°✩

You didn’t know how you got back to your room.

The storm had ended. The court was in chaos. Kaori — no, Kenjaku — had vanished with the tide. And yet, somehow, you were here, the boy in your arms, trembling like he couldn’t believe you were real.

The moonlight pooled across the floor in silver-blue waves. The bed creaked softly beneath your weight as you helped him sit, careful, reverent, like he might dissolve if you touched him too roughly.

His hair was still damp, sticking to his cheeks. His lips were red from your kisses. You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know his story. But you knew his eyes — you’d always known them — and that was enough.

He looked at you, chest rising and falling like he’d run miles just to be here. And when he reached out — hands clumsy, unsure — it was you who leaned in, pressing your mouth to his, slow and sure and deep enough to make him gasp.

Clothes slipped away like seafoam. Not rushed, not greedy — just... necessary. Like you’d both been waiting for this without even realising it. He was lean under your hands, sculpted by the current and salt and something softer underneath. He didn’t try to hide himself. There was no shame in the way he looked at you, only want. Trust.

You laid him back carefully, the way you’d handle something sacred. His legs framed your hips, his fingers tracing your jaw like he needed to memorise you. You kissed down his throat, over his collarbones, across his chest — pausing only when you felt the shiver run through him again.

"Okay?" you murmured, voice low.

He nodded, breathless.

You went slow.

You took your time with him — with your mouth, your hands, your everything. You kissed every inch you could reach. You made him fall apart with your tongue before you even pressed inside. And when he finally gasped and arched beneath you, eyes glassy with pleasure, it felt like the sea itself rose to meet you.

You held him through every thrust, every moan, every desperate whisper. And when he came — shaking, clinging, mouth open in a silent cry — you followed right after, burying your face in his shoulder, trying not to break in half from the way it felt to be wanted like that.

When it was over, you stayed tangled together in the sheets. Breathing. Listening to the ocean outside. Letting the quiet settle over you both like a promise.

His voice came at last — a hoarse whisper, barely a sound.

“...Suguru.”

You blinked. Looked down.

He gave you a tiny, tired smile. “My name. It’s Suguru.”

You swallowed hard. Nodded.

And in the silence that followed, you kissed him again.

Just because you could.

The sea had been quiet ever since Kenjaku vanished. No more sudden storms. No more secrets in the tide. Just warmth. Calm. Healing.

Suguru had never imagined he’d walk on legs — let alone walk down an aisle.

But there he was, dressed in white and gold, barefoot in the grass, arm linked with Gojo’s (who was somehow crying and smiling at the same time). The kingdom had gathered in the cliffside courtyard overlooking the ocean. Shells and petals lined the aisle. Musicians played softly. And at the altar, you waited — standing taller than you ever had, like the earth itself had been holding its breath for this moment.

When Suguru met your eyes, it was over. He laughed. You did too. Both of you lost to it — that stupid, breathless, aching kind of joy.

The ceremony was short. Sweet. Suguru’s father, still stiff with guilt, gave a reluctant blessing. Gojo (still sniffling) handed off the rings. And when you finally kissed him — husband and husband, above the sea, with the whole world watching — it didn’t feel like an ending.

It felt like the start of everything.

There was a party after, of course. Suguru twirled in his robes, kissed your cheek until you blushed, danced barefoot on the stone with his hair loose and his smile wild. Gojo sang an off-key love song while Nanami tried to shove cake into his face. Mai and Maki bickered over who got the bigger slice. You stood with Suguru’s hand in yours, watching them all, heart full in a way it had never been before.

And later — when the moon rose, and the guests had gone, and you carried Suguru into the bedroom like he weighed nothing at all — he whispered something against your chest that made you stop breathing entirely.

“I used to dream of being part of your world,” he said softly.

You kissed the words from his lips. “You are my world now.”

And outside, the sea sang softly to itself, content at last.

Taglist: @zolass @edensrose @tamias-wrld @ilovesugurugeto69 @planetxella @mazettns @longlivegojo @midnight-138 @literallyrousseau @vimademedoitt @useless-n-clueless @flatl1n3 @hikaurbae @lexkou @razefxylorf @abrielletargaryen @coco-145 @eagleeyedbitch @deathofacupid @gayaristocrat @porcalinecunt @whatsaheartxx @thecringes2000 @sageofspades @g4vcat @itsrandompersonyall @blvdprn @blueemochii @sappychat @onyxxxxqq @axetivev @s1llygo0s3 @crazydirectioner2000-blog @thestarsallowed @honey-valentin3 @academiq

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[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ werewolf könig

cw : medieval era, sexual theme, bitting, predator/prey dynamics, implied age gap

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ㅤㅤㅤ collection - inspired by this lovely ask.

you knew you were not supposed to approach the forest. it was what was taught to every child in your village.

"don't go in the woods, the big bad wolf is lurking."

beliefs of another age, truly. but you had never crossed it anyway. your mother would never let you leave your house again if you did. no one would want to marry you if they knew. there had been talk of maidens crossing the woods, coming back with scratches and smiles on their faces. witches, they'd been called after that. rumor had it they had made love with the devil. none of them denied it.

they became outcasts, thrown out by their families, their husbands. you never wanted to be like that, but something about these woods called to you. since you were a child, it was like a magnet pulling you in, promising nothing bad would happen. you had kept those thoughts inside, never mentioning them to your mother or siblings.

if your family learned about those impure thoughts, you would be sent away to a coven, with no more freedom. so you kept quiet. but your eyes lingered on the edge of the forest. it mocked you. tempted you.

it had been long since könig had anyone cross his territories. all the villages around prohibited their villagers, especially the women, from setting foot in his forest. all the curious little souls who trespassed, ignoring the countless warnings, always left with more than they had bargained for. none of them complained.

see, könig was not a pup anymore; his fighting days were over. as long as the person came in peace, he had no trouble with them. he was not a killer— not anymore.

he had been once, that was true. it was the reason for his banishment from his pack. he had been so angry back then. most of the men his age had already found their mates, and he was still alone. he hated feeling that missing piece inside him. so he was always picking fights over nothing, out of anger and frustration. until one day, he crossed the line. he killed someone.

that's how he had ended up here, in a small forest north of austria. he had to start everything over. he built his own cabin, and at first, he traded with the villages around him until religious obscurantism started spreading like the plague. mixed with ancient texts of lycanthropy, könig was chased back into a hermit lifestyle.

it was hard at first; werewolves were not meant to be alone, they were meant to live in a pack, surrounded by the likes of them. but here he was, alone and mateless. with all this anger and rejection from the villages, he had killed the men who had come to kill him. he could have just sent them back and moved once again, but he was tired of running.

and something in his gut was telling him to stay here. so he stayed.

he had thrown back the men's heads at the village, the warning clear. it had been decades since then; könig had changed, he became calmer with time, wiser. but he didn't forget how the humans had treated him.

so when adventurous young maidens came into his woods and stumbled upon his nice cottage, könig sent them home more than satisfied. he knew none of them could bear his pups if they were not his mate, so he had his fun. they were little rays of sunshine in the darkness that was his loneliness. he took pleasure in humiliating their husbands; good for nothing they were.

when they left, he was always longing for more—a connection. until the day you showed up in his woods.

you didn't know what you were doing here. it was a normal day, except you decided you were going to go into the woods. your parents had settled on a husband for you, the preacher's son, the same preacher who had banished an innocent woman for having a child out of wedlock. she'd been called a witch and other nasty words; they said she had enchanted the man with a love potion. your village had fallen into dark times, the mayor completely at the mercy of the preacher, doing as he told him.

if you were going to be banished as well, so be it. you were not marrying the son of the man who had poisoned your village, your friends, your family. before leaving, you needed to know what intrigued you so much about these woods.

you were disappointed when you realized it was just a normal forest. you didn't know what those women found in these woods, but you didn't.

little did you know, it was waiting for you.

the moment you stepped foot onto his territory, something primal awoke in könig. they were here. his mate. as he followed your scent, he couldn’t wait to get his claws on you.

your back was turned to him; you hadn't heard him. good. he made his way toward you. the smell of you became clearer, sending him into a trance he never wanted to end.

his hands were on your hips, very big hands. oddly, your body wasn't scared. a masculine smell made its way to your nose, and something inside you clicked into place. you should be scared. why weren't you? the big bad wolf had found you.

small breaths were felt on your ear, his lips next to it. and a deep, gravelly voice only said one word.

"run."

and so you did. it was tradition. he had to prove worthy of you. he was a predator, you were his prey. and you ran beautifully. you didn't know what came over you—instincts, maybe. you ran as fast as your legs would let you, but you knew he'd catch you. and yet, still not one ounce of fear. it was a game, a game you were meant to lose.

when he caught you, he knew you were special; he couldn't take you in the open like the others. throwing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, he started rushing toward his home.

upside down, you admired his pure strength. you were not underfed at all, and he had lifted you like you were a mere babe. the husband your parents had chosen for you was skinny, following the doctrine of his father. eating bland food, starving if you sinned—a life that was waiting for you. little did you know, you were never going to see him again.

when he let you down, you were thrown onto a makeshift bed, made of furs. so many furs. the mattress was surely full of feathers, with how comfortable it was. the man was rich, or a very good hunter. the look of pure hunger in his eyes made you think it was the latter.

you didn't know when he had undressed, but he stood in front of you in all his naked glory. no shame. and when you looked at him, you wouldn't have understood the shame anyway. he was sculpted by god. you had never seen a man like this.

he crawled onto you, approaching slowly like he was scared to hurt you. all of this went away the moment you moaned when your pelvis met his. you saw something change in his eyes, now completely black, with no trace of blue. his hands were on your dress, tearing it apart, not bothering with the laces.

you had never known such pleasure. you were sure it was out of this world, and in a way, you were right. the beast was insatiable; he wouldn't stop, but you didn't want him to stop. his hips crashed upon yours as he let out vile grunts. it didn't hurt; it was like your bodies were meant to be together. it had been hours; no coherent words made it out of you anymore. he made a mess out of you. you were certain your body was covered with bruises and hickeys.

just as you were about to cum again, his teeth planted themselves in your neck, just after he growled a "mine." white flashed behind your eyelids. just as you thought you wouldn't have any more pleasurable experiences, he proved you wrong. all the elements in your body were finally in their right position, as if you had never truly been complete without this man, whose name you had yet to know.

when you came back to your senses, hours later, he was behind you, hugging you close to his warm body. his grip was possessive; that’s when you realized you were never going back to your life. and the scary part was that you weren't sure you even wanted to.

"sleep, precious," the man told you, his own sleepiness audible in his voice. "you'll have all the time in the world to understand."

you had encountered the big bad wolf, and he had no intention of letting you slip through his claws.

[homunculus-argument]

A sweet slice of life series about some former byronic anti-hero who just managed to finally complete their all-consuming revenge quest, and is now just sitting there like "ok, now what." When you've spent seven years of your life training to fight, just to kill this one guy, and then worked ever since to infiltrate an organisation to raise in its ranks for the sole goal of getting close enough to the target to kill them, and the moment is finally over and everything you've worked for is finally complete, and you didn't die trying like you gambled that you might, there's still life left.

And it's all about this former warrior hero just awkwardly gingerly trying to learn how to build a normal life. There isn't one to go back to, the villain whose end they dedicated their life to killed the protagonist's family and burned down their village, they've got to start from scratch now. And the audience learns about their past life through the way they suddenly remember how things used to be, and how long it's been since they've last done something ordinary.

Frequently making observations like "damn, I shouldn't have made a deal with that entity to trade their ability to always know someone's greatest weakness, in exchange of my memory of how to bake bread", or discovering that their cursed weapon of Kill Everything You Touch can also be used to sanitise jam jars.

[bigmacari]

Could you do a Mateo x fem reader? Just a fluff cuddle session!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎

Mateo Manta x Fem Reader

☆ You two cuddle up after a long day of taking care of the inaminals.

☆Warning(s) None

☆Author Note(s) Sorry if this is out of character. I have played through Mateo's story, I just kind of...forgot it? 😭 I hope you enjoy <3

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎

☆ You sighed, falling onto the living room couch, running a tired hand through your hair.

Today had been particularly harsh, leaving both you and Mateo to be incredibly exhausted and honestly? Kinda sore. It had been the inanimals grooming day, and like the lovely girlfriend you were, you decided to help Mateo. Little did you know, bathing, brushing, feeding, and nail clipping over twenty plus inanimals was a lot of fucking work.

Every single inanimal had their own routine, personality, and preferences. The amount of information you had to take in made your head spin a little. Of course, your boyfriend made sure to give directions clearly, which you're very grateful for, but that didn’t stop the dull ache that was forming in your back.

Honestly, you can’t even imagine how Mateo must feel having to do this every single day.

You know Mateo absolutely loves the inanimals, and wouldn’t trade the world for them, (that was one of the reasons you loved him so much after all), but you can’t help to wonder how stressed he must feel. This was not an easy job, after all, and you’ve learned that your boyfriend is stubborn when it comes to taking help from others. It's not like he takes many breaks either.

Now that you think about it, you don't think you've ever seen Mateo take a proper break. Sure, he's taken time to love on you and stuff, but you'd hardly count that as a break.

You were gonna have to change that.

With a determined huff, you get up to go find your boyfriend.

A few moments later, you see the back of the white-haired boy you were looking for. Mateo was currently playing with one of the dog inanimals, telling it to do different tricks and then giving treats after. You smile as he gives the dog some scratches on its head with a faint "Good boy."

You watch for a minute with a dumb lovestruck smile before deciding to interrupt the sweet moment.

"Hey, Teo!"

Mateo looks over his shoulder, halting his praise for the inanimal. Once he sees you, a big grin spreads across his face.

"Well, look who it is, my favorite human." He turns to you completely after giving the inanimal two more pets, then starts walking over to where you're at.

You immediately take the opportunity to wrap your arms around Mateo's neck, pulling him closer to you. He then slides his arms around your waist, enveloping you completely.

You two stay there for a while fitted like two puzzle pieces. Mateo gives a hum of satisfaction, rubbing his hand up and down your back.

"I wanted to say thank you again for helping today, I know it can be a lot, but it helped more than you could possibly imagine." Mateo lifts his head from your neck and gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek. You suddenly feel your face get warm.

"You don't have to thank me. You work so hard all the time. The least I can do is help, especially if it means you can catch a break." It was now your turn to give him a small kiss. "Which reminds me, are you free right now?"

Mateo, now sharing the same blush as you, lets you go (much to your despointment) and crosses his arms.

"Yea, I just got done feeding all the inanimals, actually. Though, now that I think about it, I probably should- ah!" Mateo feels a sudden pull on his sleeve.

"Great! Now, come-come!" You pull him to the couch, falling down on it dramatically while Mateo chuckles at your at your actions.

You hold out your arms for him, inviting him to come sit with you. He, of course, accepts and leans against you, wrapping a padded arm around your waist pulling you closer towards him.

Mateo lets out a soft sigh, and relaxing into your touch. It seems like he needed this more than you thought.

"I really should make sure the inanimals are alright..." Mateo says after a while, his voice soft and light.

You run a hand through his hair, making sure not to pull any knotts he may have.

"Mateo, I promise I'll keep an eye out, just take a rest okay?" You plead tenderly.

You give him kiss on the forehead, then another on the nose, and one more on the lips. Mateo returns the kiss, putting a gentle hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth. When you pull back, Mateo is looking softly at you, a blush very prominent on his tan skin.

"Alright, just for you, mi vida."

...

You're so good at this.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎

[natsvenom]

Hello! I'm new on your blog and I was wondering if you could do a Derek Hale x reader. Where reader and Derek have a child who is learning how to talk so when the child call for reader they make kissing faces because the child always saw their dad kissing their mom and one day where the pack come to Derek's loft for whatever reason and when the child saw stiles they growl or say wolf ( because they always hear stiles say sourwolf) and when the child see Peter they just hit or try to bite Peter when he takes them in his arms. Just something domestic, a little bit chaotic and fluff please.

Of course! I tried my best with this one, but I'm not really sure how it came out, so let me know if you like it! | @@bakakara666

Snuggles & Snarles | Derek Hale x Reader

Summary: The pack comes over to see your son, Eli, and things get a little chaotic.

Warnings: None! Just fluff <3

Requested: Yes | No

Chaos was not an uncommon visitor in Beacon Hills. Usually, you were used to the common threat of some unknown supernatural creature trying to kill you and your friends. Luckily this time, the only chaos you had to put up with was the babbled attempts of speech from your baby boy, Eli.

The whole pack was gathered at the loft, paying extra attention to Eli. They claimed they had come to see you and Derek, but you both knew the truth. Ever since you two welcomed Eli into your home, the pack had been over almost daily. You couldn’t blame them though, your son was adorable.

Scott and Stiles were sitting on the floor, saying random words to Eli in a baby voice to get him to speak. Eli had stumbled on his feet, toddling over to you, putting his hands in the air for you to pick him up.

“Traitor,” Stiles mumbled, pouting and crossing his arms over his chest like a child. Scott smiled, admiring how much your son had loved you.

“Hi, baby.” You said softly, picking your son up in your arms. Derek kissed your cheek, causing Eli to giggle. He puckered his lips, making kissy faces at the both of you. Scott and Stiles busted out laughing, finding the whole interaction amusing. Peter even smiled a little bit. As much as a pain in the ass Peter could be, he loved you and Derek a lot, and maybe Eli just a little bit more.

Lydia walked over to the both of you sticking her arms out for Eli. He instantly leaned over, going straight into Lydia’s arms, “Aw, do you love your auntie Lyds? I think you do!” Lydia said in a high-pitched baby voice. Derek rolled his eyes playfully, Lydia was probably the biggest baby hog the world would ever see.

You looked around the loft, smiling to yourself. You loved your chaotic little family and you wouldn’t trade any of them for the world. Derek put his arms around you, pulling you into him. It was moments like these that made everything you had all gone through worth it.

Stiles sat down by Lydia on the couch, pinching Eli’s cheeks. Eli growled at him, causing Stiles to throw his hands up defensively, “He started it.” Stiles said. Eli stuck his tongue out, spitting on Stiles’ face. Stiles had a disgusted look on his face, slowly wiping away the saliva.

“Babies… disgusting.” He muttered.

“Aww, are you disgusting? I don’t think so, Stiles is just a grumpy grouch.” Lydia cooed, bouncing Eli in her arms. Stiles rolled his eyes, looking the other way.

“Yeah, don’t be such a sourwolf Stiles.” You teased, remembering all the times Stiles had said that to Derek. He narrowed his eyes at you, giving you the finger. You sent him a playful smile in return.

“Alright, I think someone wants to see their uncle Peter,” Peter said, snatching Eli out of Lydia’s arms. Lydia scoffed, getting up from her place on the couch to chase Peter down for Eli.

Eli started biting and scratching at Peter, “Looks like someone takes after their father a little too much, huh?” Peter joked, referring to the time Derek had killed Peter by slashing his throat. You shook your head, watching as Peter tried to get Eli to quit biting him.

“Exactly, he doesn’t like you. Now hand him over.” Lydia argued, attempting to take Eli back from Peter.

“He likes me better than you.” Peter scoffed, dodging Lydia’s grabby hands.

Lydia gasped, “He does not!” Lydia protested.

“Put him down and see which one of you he walks to,” Scott suggested.

“Fine,” Peter said, setting Eli down in the middle of the room. Lydia and Peter instantly began calling out for Eli, patting their hands on their knees, signaling for Eli to come to them. Eli looked around the room, slightly confused. He started running in Peter’s direction, his arms in the air.

“Yes! I told you—”

Eli ran straight past Peter and up to Derek, “Dada!” Eli said, grabbing onto his dad’s leg. Derek bent down, picking up Eli into his arms. Peter looked back, looking at the baby offended.

“Guess we know who his favorite isn’t.” Derek taunted, sending Peter a smirk.

[heartfullofleeches]

Locking Rascal outside of the bedroom after he rips the brand new sweats I gave them ALSO TEEHEE RASCAL REFRENCE🩷💝💝🩷🩷💝🩷🩷💝💝💝🩷💝🩷💝

Scratches rake down your bedroom door, handle rattling in its socket at the door groans from the outside weight hurled against it.

"If you chip the paint, that's another night on the couch."

Muffled cries tugs at the strings of your heart, but you stand unwavered. It's the only way they'll learn their lesson.

"That's the third pair this month. I get it. A hot shower is still a new thing for you. You got excited, but that doesn't give you the right to tear your clothes off. Do you know how hard it is to find sweatpants big enough for a guy like you?!"

The extent of your understanding falls short of Rascal's reasoning. It wasn't just a shower. It was a shower they were supposed to take with you. Anyone, human or otherwise, would get carried away at that. Bathing with a person like you- He wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

The clawing decreases in frequency, low moans accompanied by the shuddering of teeth.

"You're cold? I'll bring you a blanket to cover up with in a bit."

An obvious ploy. You know as soon as you open that door, you'll be grabbed, cuddled and cooed at by the rabbit until the icy layers around your heart melts completely. Maybe by then he'll have learned his lesson.

[windvexer]

Hi Chicken!

What's your opinion on someone *asking* a spirit to give them the Sight?

I've seen posts where people say that it has to be a gift, and can't be asked for. (And some saying it's disrespectful to even ask)

I've seen other people say that they asked their deities/spirits to provide them with it and they did.

Obviously everyone's going to have a different opinion, but I'm just curious what yours is!

💚🥰

We're in reference to this post and this post.

I am feral and crying.

It is so weirdly bizarre how difficult it is for witches to ask their helper spirits for help.

We can be talking tutelary spirits, friends, caring gods, literal familiars contracted to help, any of them -

It midkey messes me up how resistant witches are (and myself included sometimes) to just asking for help.

"I really want to learn this but I'm struggling-" "Did you ask your spirits for help?" "No I don't want to bother them." (*I would rather learn generic things online than continue the line of knowledge and lore carried by my spirits; I don't want to be a beacon that shines their light into the world through acting on their teachings, thereby being their conduit into this world, granting them reciprocal power and deep honor.)

'Second Sight' may be a generic term for a skill, but the technique you use to access it is unique to you. The spiritual mythology and lore behind why your spirits teach things this way, and the most important and moral uses for this skill, are unique to your spirit family.

The spirits choosing to help us is a big commitment on their part. When spirits choose to become our guides, protectors, familiars, and initiators, we often think of how this is our responsibility (to talk to them, to give offerings, whatever). But not many people talk about how much of a responsibility it is for them.

Why would spirits undertake this huge responsibility - of being someone's guiding god, of being their helper spirit, of teaching them magical skills? Is it because they all just want offerings? Is it out of a sense of duty?

No.

I hazard a guess, in fact I will offer a belief for the taking, that most spirits who choose to help us do so because they love us and care about us.

They sit down with us, break bread with us at our table, and invite us into their families. They do it because they want to be our family.

And when we join their families,

we honor and respect them by often asking for help.

Why is this?

Because when you ask them for help learning Second Sight, they get to teach you their familial methods and traditions. They get to teach you their lore and stories. They get to celebrate the passing of their clan's knowledge down to the next generation of practitioners.

They are the mythic elders dancing with joy that the practitioner they help, guide, and protect, loves them back enough to learn their ways.

Witchcraft is family!!

"Ohhhh trade skills are dying out in the world, everyone go learn how to fix watches, tradesmen will cry and sob with joy and relief knowing someone wants to learn their lifes work"

"Don't ask your spirits to learn their trade though it's rude and disrespectful, do everything on your own from scratch :)"

Witchcraft is family.

I would teach any of my family how to crochet. I'm quite fancy at it, and I'm a good teacher. Who will I teach: the person who asks to learn, or the person who does not ask to learn?

It is a gift either way.

Asking for it doesn't make it less of a gift.

Witchcraft is family you have to choose to participate in.

"I wish I could make lasagna~" "Grandma Benini is coming for Labor Day, she'd be so happy that someone wanted to learn the family recipe-" "I could never disrespect Grandma Benini by asking to learn her lasagna recipe. I'll just watch a youtube video." "But... it's the family recipe..." "Can you imagine how disrespected she would be. If she knew. I wanted to carry on the family traditions. Instead of just teaching myself generic. From online. ??"

When you participate in your spirit family's teachings and enact their wisdom, morals, skills, and goals in the world, you are a literal conduit of the spirit world - a lamp that shines their light into this world, and providing them with reciprocal influence and power into the world.

It does not honor the spirits to shut them out. It is not respectful to ignore their extended hand of grace. You are not a burden to them.

You are not a burden to them.

They are here because they want you to be a part of the family.

And if you like, if you want to, you can ask them to help you learn the family's ways. You can ask them to help you with Sight to see the family, with knowledge to understand the family, and with skills to help the family.

If you want to, you can live a path filled with the teachings and wisdom of your spirits. You can be a singular point in timespace where their teachings spill over into the world around you.

You can be the body of your spirits in this world. You can be their footprint.

But how can you, unless you ask them to shine through you?

What if the spirits didn't roll their eyes and tap their feet when you came calling? What if they didn't groan and look at their watches and say, 'well at least I'll get an offering...'

What if their eyes filled with love and they breathed a sigh of relief that you now, finally, are ready to ask to receive the gifts that have always been offered?

[moonstruckme]

hi lovely! could i pretty please get a blueberry muffin (part 2) with this fic:

https://www.tumblr.com/moonstruckme/727381518213857280/not-sure-if-youre-taking-requests-buttttt

thank you!! 🫶🫶

Thanks for requesting <3

part 1

cw: concussion, vomit mention, maybeee some d/s dynamics? in the soft sense though

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 812 words

You’ve forgotten your sandwich again. It stays suspended in the air, halfway between your mouth and your plate, while you stare at the coffee table like there’s a riddle in the scratches on the wood. 

“Sweetheart,” Sirius prompts you. You look over at him, lost, and he nods to your sandwich. “Are you full?” 

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No.” 

You take another bite and press your lips together hard as you chew. Sirius worries you might cry again. It’s been on and off tears since they nabbed you from Marlene’s and if your aim was to cut through Sirius’ anger about you going when you shouldn’t have, you’ve done it thoroughly. He feels like he’s being cleaved open with each one that rolls down your cheek. 

“Does the paracetamol feel like it’s working?” Remus asks you. 

You nod, swallowing. 

Remus repositions himself in the arm chair, propping his chin on his hand with a sigh. James stops midway between the bathroom and the sitting room, his hair wet from the shower. 

“Uh oh,” he says. “Are we talking?” 

“We’re talking,” Remus confirms. 

James makes a face but sits down. His knee immediately begins bouncing. 

As ready as Sirius was to tear into you earlier, he feels for you too. You look into your lap as you pull the sleeves of Remus’ jumper over your fingers, waiting for someone to start. 

“Dove,” Remus sounds exhausted with this already, “you knew why going to that party was a bad idea for you.” 

“Yeah,” you say quietly. 

“Then why did you?” 

You’re picking apart the knit of Remus’ sleeve. Sirius takes your hands in his, stopping you. Your eyes linger on them. “It’s Marlene’s birthday,” you say. “She’s my friend.” 

“She is your friend, angel,” James says gently. “Do you think she really would have cared if you’d missed her party if she knew how awful it was for you to be there?” 

You look like you’re chewing the inside of your lip. “It wasn’t awful.” 

“You got sick on the drive home,” Sirius reminds you. Okay, it’s possible he’s still a little angry. “Do you mean to tell me that was the result of you having a good time?” 

He immediately feels like shit when your expression twinges painfully. 

“I know you wanted to be there for Marlene,” Remus cuts in, “and to make her happy, but I don’t think it was worth making yourself miserable.” His voice is calm. Sirius doesn’t know how he does it; Remus was the most upset when they learned you’d gone to the party, but somehow he manages to keep his tone gentle, his expression kind as he talks you through the fallacies in your own reasoning. “You need to be more considerate of yourself, dove.” 

“You are a considerate person,” James says. “We love that about you, sweetheart. You’re kind, and you’re always thinking about everyone else, it’s just that sometimes you think about them too much. Marlene getting to see you at her party, versus you getting the rest you need to keep your concussion from getting worse…” He mimes a scale with his hands, making a face. “It’s not a very fair trade-off, yeah?” 

You nod but don’t speak. Your eyes are on your lap, and when Sirius dips his head to try and see you better, your lips are a harsh, tortured line. He squeezes your hands. 

“Yeah,” you say, your voice thin. 

Remus makes a soft sound, reaching for you. “Come here, babydove.” 

You join him in his chair and Sirius sees his boyfriend’s worry finally dissipating as he mushes brief, ardent kisses into your hair. James smiles softly. 

“You’re alright,” Remus promises, voice muffled from how his lips are stuck to your head. He rubs up and down your back firmly while you hide your face in his chest. “We just want you to understand. So you don’t do it again.” 

“I know.” Your voice sounds fragmented, and it’s like ice picks through Sirius’ chest. “Sorry, it’s not you guys, I just—” You take a stilted breath. James moves to perch on the arm of Remus’ chair so he can squeeze your shoulder. “I just really don’t feel well.” 

“Oh, I know.” Remus rests his forehead on top of yours. “I’m sorry.” 

“Do you feel like you could be sick again, baby?” Sirius asks. When you shake your head, he stands. “Then let’s go to bed, yeah? Do you feel sufficiently lectured?” 

Your shoulders give a little shake, and though he already suspects it’s from laughter, James’ grin confirms it. 

“Do you want us to keep Remus away from you?” James teases, giving your shoulder another squeeze. “Would that make you feel better?” 

“Yes,” you say, while winding your arms around Remus’ waist. 

Remus doesn’t even feign offense. Only cups the back of your head and mushes another kiss into your hair.

[anundyingfidelity]

PRIMAL — Weapon X!Logan

Summary: You are right where he wants and won't escape the subject's twisted mind.

Warnings: heavy non-con smut, dark stuff, mentions of being tortured, female!reader. Read at your own risk tbh, thank you if you do though. Someone pls write more Weapon X! Logan, I'm going crazy at this point.

GEN MASTERLIST!

He has you exactly where he wants. Between the concrete and his intimidating aura. Your eyes are glossy, chest going up and down, ready to be the next victim. His last one.

You study the Weapon X subject one more time. He’s broad and muscular, strong frame with adamantium bones, claws out his knuckles as he walks to you, full in his naked glory. Stains of blood start to dry off on his chest, abdomen and shoulders. And even though in other circumstances he would make a good-looking man, he is far from being one now.

He is not human anymore, he is an animal. And you had been part of the experiments since the beginning. For some reason, he had saved you last from all the personnel of the base. A twisted and sick choice.

Logan takes the last two steps towards you, closing the distance. He can smell your fear, sense the shaking of your whole body, the beating of your heart… He had been watching you, paying special attention to you each time he could. Your voice, your silhouette, your job, your routines around the lab. Everything you did he had learned.

And now, after killing and dismantling the place, leaving a horrid trade of bodies and red around, he feels like finishing everything with you.

He doesn’t know your name, he just knows you were part of them and he fucking hates it.

How could such a pretty thing like you could bear torturing a lost soul like him? He growls at the thought, leaning until his nose is almost touching yours.

You gasp loud, the echoes of your breathing filling the empty place. Your eyes shut and you feel tears running down your cheek.

“Logan…”

He replies with a deep groan again, taking in the scent of your neck and the salty sweat covering your skin. Oh and how he loves the reactions of your body as he traces his way to the shell of your ear with his nose.

“Please… You- you’re not like this…”

Begging would do nothing, he knows it. You keep begging and begging, calling his name as he takes in the features of your face, eyes barely opening. And when you cross glances, besides the fear on your gaze, he can sense something else building on you: arousal. It’s not the first time he’s sensed it on you, but sure he will take out his own suffering and frustrations on that.

“Logan…”

Claws come close, cutting your blouse and bra off. He rips the fabric with his hands before your trousers and panties come off the same way. You squirm and cry, but don’t make any effort on pushing him away because you know he would win the same. He’s massive, stronger, and dangerous. He’s a weapon you helped to build, and compared to him, you are nothing.

Probably he will get vengeance by tearing you apart, forcing you on the smudged, cold floor. He’s all over you, not quite giving kisses but bruises with his lips and teeth on your neck, biting on your skin, legs wide as he feels your wet cunt against his hard cock.

You cry his name, more like a moan, when he forces himself inside your tight walls without any preparation. He’s animalistic, erratic, growling, almost howling, like a dog in heat.

The scratch of your nails do nothing. He pounds harder into your abused cunt, tearing an orgasm out of you. He spills himself in seconds, feeling your walls around him sucking him completely, and he continues fucking you over and over his own high, increasing the sensitive feeling between your legs. And just as you think Logan is over by how quick he keeps rutting on you, hips making an obscene noise every time he buries balls deep inside your cunt, it feels like he goes faster, harder, that it becomes too much and you cling into him with nails and loud whimpers, sore throat crying into the void.

He comes a second time with a deep moan, filling you up once again and you do nothing but take it. Slowly, he pumps his white seed into you until he fully stops inside your abused, needy pussy.

The primitive need to kill now is replaced with a more primal urge, and you would be perfect for that from now on.

[sillysiluriforme]

And the holders, oh god how the holders would view it all.

Nino wouldn't really understand all the reasons why, but he'd know (or learn painfully) that opportunities to DJ are down, that clubs are closing (who would party in such times?) and that people are struggling. Wayzz wouldn't help much, just urging Nino to help and protect whoever he can.

Marinette and Alya would know more due to family businesses, but mostly through belts being tightened, tight eyes and forced smiles as another shipment is delayed, as an order has to be rejected or reduced, as people walk out unable to buy fresh food (or with food in hand, but the bakery that much closer to bankruptcy). Parents too kind to show the whole story, but ears near stairwells and hushed arguments get the message across. Orders are down, purchases fewer yet the shelves are still emptier than Before. They could sell the business, but a whole lifetime down the drain? Starting anew somewhere else, rebuilding from scratch? Besides, no one is buying, and there's no where to go. Perhaps a check comes from the french government, or a tax writeoff, but it's not enough. It's never enough. Trixx would know little, maybe having a holder own an entertainment business or two, but never having paid attention. Tikki may understand, but catching hawkmoth is more important, and would fix everything, right? Right? (Ladybug must carry the weight of the world, but the weight of one city could break this one) But Adrien. Adrien would know. His father wants to keep the business alive, and can do so because his designs can be made elsewhere. Shipped to Paris and photo'd on Adrien. Paris may have been a hub but it's just one in his Empire. He wouldn't hold back either. Anyone unnecessary- cut. Jobs are few but talent is plentiful. Everyone else in fashion is leaving, but no one in paris can follow. Quality can be dropped in Paris - what else can you buy? Pay drops significantly- if fashion is your passion, where else could you work? And Gabriel would tell Adrien everything. He'd expect Adrien to understand it all, to stare the horror down and keep an iron spine. Preferably with a smile on his face, but that softness came from his mother after all. There's opportunity in crisis, and a struggling man can be made to work harder for less. The city may be dying, but there's life to leech yet. And Plagg and the lamb would know. They'd understand the full weight of Paris's situation. Plagg knows that unless hawkmoth is stopped, Paris will die. He can feel the decay, the death, the slowly creeping end. It's his domain after all. He'd lie to Adrien, to provide some comfort, but they both would know the truth, and it's better that Adrien trust Plagg fully than to trade that trust for a brief hint of warmth. The lamb does not know the ways of man. He does not care about imports and exports or any of that. He does know the ways of gods. The cost of their games. The price that must be paid. He knows Sacrifice. And what is the worth of one city, compared to the world? (I love this AU)

[sinister cackling]

[north-kieren]

It's been a long time, here's what I just posted on Tik Tok because I feel it's something that needs more reach. For my MHA shifters - or people who are shifting to be heroes.

Do you want to be a hero?

Could you?

Crossing the Line: A Reflection Guide for Shifters Exploring Morality, Identity, and Power.

The Mirror You've Been Avoiding - This guide is for the shifters who crave more than surface-level control. For the ones who want to know what they are, not just what they can do. You’ve stepped into a world where the lines are bloodstained, blurred, corrupt and always changing. Bending and morphing. It’s not about choosing "hero" or "villain" anymore—it’s about owning what your impact truly means.

This isn’t a quiz. It’s a confrontation.

---

Section I: Defining Your Compass Prompt 1: What does "hero" mean to you—and where did that definition come from?

Was it taught, witnessed, felt, or forced on you? Is it still true for you?

Prompt 2: What do you refuse to do? What lines can’t be crossed?

Now, imagine a scenario where that refusal could save someone you love. Do you cross it?

Prompt 3: Think of someone you see as a villain. What part of them reflects you—even just a little?

Breakdown: Morality is shaped, not born. It changes with environment, power, exposure, and pressure. Identifying your personal code—not the one you were given, but the one you’re building—is your foundation.

Section II: The Weight of Power Prompt 4: Who gave you your power? Or did you take it?

What does that origin mean about how you use it?

Prompt 5: What has your power protected? And what has it damaged?

Prompt 6: Are you using your power to change the system, or just survive within it?

Breakdown: Power is loud—but intention is louder. Where your power comes from, and where it leads you, shows whether you're shaping your reality or just keeping yourself from drowning in it.

Section III: The Reality of Choice Prompt 7: When have you hesitated? Why?

What happened because of that hesitation?

Prompt 8: What’s more dangerous: the wrong choice or no choice?

Prompt 9: Do you believe in redemption—for others? For yourself?

Breakdown: Every decision in this life costs something. Some people trade innocence. Others trade comfort. You need to know what you are willing to pay—and what you can never buy back.

Section IV: The Role You Play Prompt 10: Who do people think you are? Is that how you intended to be perceived? Was that the goal?

Who are you really?

Prompt 11: What do you let people misunderstand about you?

Why?

Prompt 12: What kind of world are you shaping through your role—intentionally or not?

Breakdown: Image is power. So is authenticity. Sometimes they match—often, they don't. If you're shifting realities, you must become conscious of your performance and its consequences.

Section V: Grey Territory Prompt 13: What if you’re not a hero—or a villain? Don't just say vigilante or in-between. Tell me what exactly you're willing to do, and why.

Can you live in that grey? Do you want to? If you said yes, and later on experienced it in real-time and it started eating you alive, would you have the strength to pull away and start over from scratch?

Prompt 14: What if someone else chose to be grey—and they hurt someone you care about? Do you still support their freedom to choose?

Prompt 15: Are you still shifting towards who you want to be—or away from who you were?

Breakdown: Grey isn’t indecision. It’s resistance. It’s carving your own way when every system wants to label you before you’ve even spoken.

Final Reflection: What Do You Want to Leave Behind?

What do you want to build?

What must be broken to get there? Can you learn how to rebuild from the beginning on your own, and get back up when you fall? Because there are no ifs or buts. You will fall.

And who will you become when you’ve done it? What are you willing to do to reach that goal state?

This is where you decide what power means in your hands. This is where you stop pretending it’s easy. Because none of this is. But you already knew that.

Use this space. Mark it up. Tear it apart. Let it haunt you. Let it ground you. Let it tell you something true.

This is a guide created for reflection by shifters walking a path of complexity, moral sharpness, and self-aware evolution.

[starkeyisthelastname]

okay, in reality this is a very small moment between them, but it is different and gives everyone a little background on our favorite pornstar. they’ll get there I promise ⭐️

It had been like any other night the two of you had together. A few hours of nasty and brutal sex with him finishing by painting your insides white. It was hard to say why the two of you were falling for one another as the two of you had only been fucking and nothing else. Sure, both of you were very physically attracted to each other, but had yet to really learn anything else about one another besides each other’s sexual needs. He had been struggling within himself to try and get to know you more, not that he didn’t want to, but because he was scared of opening up to someone when everyone else in his life had burned him.

But as he watched you slide your shorts on, he blurted it out before he could take it back. “Do you, uh.. smoke?” He asked, scratching his head. He hadn’t had a normal conversation with a girl since maybe high school, and felt almost embarrassed that he didn’t even remember how to be flirty. He was so use to just bluntly asking a girl to fuck, and not caring about anything else, besides getting pussy, this was going to be hard for him.

You tried your best to hide the shocked look on your face as he asked the question, his normal response after the two of you fucked was usually ‘I’ll text you later.’ You couldn’t help but giggle softly, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, but I’m not rolling.” You said, watching him let out a genuine laugh. Something that made you feel an overwhelming amount of butterflies.

Sitting on his couch and not fucking was something entirely different for the both of you. You had been wanting to get to know Rafe for a while now, but he seemed so closed off that you knew you’d get rejected. He had been defending you on social media, and making comments to you that you were his angel, and that your pussy was made for his dick, as well as the statement that stuck out to you, which was “What are you doing to me?”

“So, what made you get into the fucked up world of porn?” Rafe asked, blunt between his lips as he lit the end of it. It was a simple question, but something he had been wanting to know.

“Oh.. well. I started an Only Fans, kinda just for fun and to gain followers I started posting on Twitter. One of my videos went viral and I was contacted by an agent, asking if I’d ever considering to professional porn. Maybe it was a little desperate, but I love sex and never been camera shy.” You said with a shrug. It hadn’t exactly been your career goal, and you knew you wanted more one day, such as a husband and kids.

Rafe couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle as he blew out a thick cloud of smoke. Your reason was so much more simpler than his, and it made him fucking terrified to even begin to his story. As he handed the blunt that he had rolled to you, his stomach dropped when he heard you ask the same question he had just asked you. Oh great..

“I love to fuck, and knew I had a big dick.” He said, nonchalantly. It was an asshole of an answer, he knew it. He just couldn’t seem to tell you how it started and how it led up to him being the way he was now. He hadn’t opened up to anyone about his past, and that was one big reason he was so brutal, because of the pent up hurt and anger he had. What you didn’t know was his cocaine addiction had gotten so out of control that he had stolen a large amount of money from his father to get more to fuel his fiend. He had gotten into porn industry at first for some quick money, he knew he was attractive, loved pussy and was well hung. It was his first scene filming with a well known female actress that had been in the scene for a long time that kicked off his career. He had completely dominated her, and the addicting feeling he got from treating someone so brutally during sex, was an entirely new high. He had traded one addiction to another, and he got paid real well, especially the more popularity he gained. At one time he didn’t know anything else but living off his wealthy father and once didn’t know what it meant to own things for himself. Now he had everything he could ever want. His own place, a couple nice cars, and a job he really did love. Or so he thought he did, until he met you. He didn’t know you if he was being honest, but knew there was something there than he wanted more of. Maybe even… needed.

No matter how arrogant he was, or how attractive, or how good he fucked, he was still lonely at the end of the day. His family had disowned him, meaning he had lost one person in particular he was very close to and that was his youngest sister, Wheezie. His friends he once had, had gone off to do things better such as become doctors and lawyers. He had lost everyone, and making the step to become close to someone again was very hard for him. He wanted it though, and the more he saw you, the more he kept thinking about retiring his name in the porn world.

You had always been good at reading people and watching Rafe sit there and think, you knew there was more to the story. More than anything, did you want him. Even if you didn’t know him well, you felt a connection that couldn’t be ignored. Handing him back the blunt, you took a small sigh. “I don’t think that’s the entire reason.” You said softly, being honest with him for the first time. “But maybe you’ll tell me more one day.” You hoped he did, because as addicted as you were to the sex, you were begging to break his wall down.

Rafe wasn’t use to someone calling him out, and if it were anyone else he would have probably snapped, but with you it was little boost of confidence he needed to start being more open with you. “Maybe my angel, but in due time.” His tone softer than usual. He was Rafe Cameron though, and a knowing smirk ran across his face. “Keep lookin at me like that, and I’m gonna fuckin rail you again.” He said, and despite the grin you knew he was being serious. Him calling you ‘my angel’ definitely had your pussy fluttering.

He wasn’t perfect, but it was a baby step in the right direction of him finally making you his girl.