#He can spit out both fire and some electricity

[ofcourseitsafurry]

The(3)main player characters

Aka my main monster prom OC and his friends along with their drinks to help describe their personalities or aesthetics

First Sparkles Glowbright,ex-prince of Villa of Monocerotem, a very magical adept White Unicorn

Sparkles is my main monster prom oc. He's calm, collected, and goes with the flow(Yes, like Brian.)Unlike Brian, he's more energetic, he enjoys dancing, walking, and magic tricks with physical requirements. He's also much more thoughtful than most of the monsters in Spooky High, resorting to murder less, more education-focused, and less sexually interested preferring to take it slow. Sparkles, despite(hopefully)what a lot of future art shows isn't actually in Spooky Academy, his reason for being there along with his actual school is to be discussed later for his backstory.

Next is Draco Lung, the son of a Western fire dragon and an Eastern lightning dragon(also the brother of an Eastern water dragon).

Draco, short for Draconic, is a stereotypical greedy dragon, he doesn't steal damsels and force them to marry him as he finds that sexist and weird. Unlike Vera, Draco is lazy, stealing from shops, kingdoms, and even fountains for his fix of money obsession. (Hell, that last one was how he met Sparkles in the first place.)Another example of his laziness is his obsession with sleeping, likely due to the energy of being such a huge beast. While he isn't a complete jackass he's rude and just as quick to violence as several monsters threatening to fight someone if they annoy him enough.

Next up is Feng Xuang, a FENGHUANG not a PHOENIX or a VERMILION BIRD

Feng is the one I have the least plot thought out for. He likes astrology and astronomy due to the real-life monster corresponding to Celestial bodies and beings. He's obsessed with fire, not like just an arsonist, he likes playing with it, eating it, looking at it. Fenghuang mating rituals have two Fenghuangs doing a mating dance of death that combines both parents' personalities into one egg making Feng an orphan. He hates to be referred to as other similar mythical bird species. He's cheery and upbeat but a general everyman who enjoys preppy culture.

Last but not least, Mh'athra.Deity of Sacred Secrecy and darkness

Mh'athra is technically canon, but I'm giving her a non-canon design. Sparkles became a mortal contact for Mh'athra when he snuck into one of the cult headquarters on his way to Monstropolis and read a book that allowed it to come into the monster realm with his magic. Mh'athra is an asshole, she’s extremely dismissive of Zoe and her choice of becoming part of mortal kind, like the carnival mirror event, unlike the mirror event Mh'athra is actively cruel and even dead names Zoe while alternate Z'gord is dismissive but tries to talk her into rejoining her "purpose." While it's evil, it's not actively malicious, not currently into recreating the Nothingness.

[nizhspo]

genre: mha imagine, fluff, smut

pairing: katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

summary: beachboy by mccafferty (seriously, go listen). senior week. north carolina coast.

“shut the fuck up.”

bakugo’s voice cracked through the hot, humid air of the car like a whip, low and guttural, sharp enough to cut through denki’s high-pitched cackling. the speakers were rattling. the AC was barely spitting. and the entire backseat smelled like spilled bud, mango juul, and red gatorade.

“bro,” denki wheezed, face buried in his lap as he desperately tried to realign the torn rolling paper, “bro, can you stop braking like that? you’re messing my shit up.”

“you’re rolling on my fuckin’ seat,” katsuki barked. “your dumbass ash is gonna stain the upholstery—”

“it’s not ash, it’s dust,” kirishima said, laughing way too hard for someone trying to be the voice of reason. “like, premium keef or whatever. it’s practically a blessing.”

“a blessing?” bakugo nearly swerved into the turn lane. “if one more fleck of your blessing hits my seat, i swear i’m dumping both your asses on the boardwalk.”

mina flinched beside him, one perfectly glittered hand flying to her ear. “can you not scream like a linebacker in my ear canal? you’re not the only one suffering in this metal oven.”

“roll the fucking window down, then,” he grunted.

“or just admit you’re being an asshole because you’re nervous,” she shot back, licking gloss onto her bottom lip and adjusting the strap of her tiny tank top in the mirror. “you’re not good with crowds, and you know your little summer thing might still be here. that’s what this is about.”

he didn’t answer.

she smiled. “called it.”

they were headed down to shorepoint, north carolina, that sleepy beachfront town that woke up every summer just long enough to let chaos bloom. it was the kind of place that barely scraped by in the off-season but turned electric by june, pulsing with flip-flop traffic and beach towels and 7/11 parking lot meetups. kids from every county within spitting distance descended on it like gulls, hungry for one last, sun-soaked bite of youth before fall slapped the future into their mouths.

last summer, they’d spent two months holed up in denki’s old little league coach’s vacation condo, free of charge, thanks to the likely fact that the guy was definitely fucking his mom. the summer had ended in a shattered bathroom window, one fully detached door, and a near kitchen fire involving tequila, leftover pizza, and a very misused toaster oven. safe to say, they weren’t invited back this year.

not that it mattered.

they were only staying for a week this time. senior week. the final lap. the week before jobs and boot camp and community college and life.

kiri had reserves lined up. mina was going straight to campus. denki had two semesters of GPA repair at community college ahead of him. bakugo hadn’t figured out what came after yet, only that this week still felt like a breath he was holding.

he kept his hands on the wheel. jaw tight.

he could already see it in the distance, shorepoint’s weatherworn welcome sign, sun-bleached and slanted, the big surfboard sculpture half-painted and tagged with “SENIORS!!” in faded black spray.

they curved down the main strip, same as it ever was. strip malls, old neon, the smell of fried shrimp and sunscreen. the boardwalk crowd was already thick, bodies in swim trunks and tank tops, bikes weaving between crosswalks, a group of girls walking barefoot and laughing with popsicles in hand.

and then they passed it, that motel. the seagrass inn.

across the street from their airbnb.

bakugo didn’t say anything.

but he saw it. the chipped stucco walls. the busted vending machine. the old chlorine-drenched pool out back where last summer, after stumbling out of a too-small, cigar-reeking motel room packed shoulder to shoulder with juniors and vodka breath, you’d grabbed his hand and pulled him straight into the water, shorts on, shoes off, giggling against his mouth, whispering some joke he couldn’t even hear over the sound of your laugh.

he’d tossed off his tank top and jumped in after you.

drunk on you. more than anything else.

the airbnb was two blocks from the beach and smelled like lemon cleaner and moldy HVAC.

inside was chaos.

mina called the biggest room immediately, claiming squatter’s rights and throwing her tote bag across the bed like a flag on a newly conquered nation. kirishima took the bunk bed room and almost hit his head on the ceiling fan. denki got the pullout couch after fifteen minutes of negotiating and threatening to sleep in the bathtub out of spite.

“i’m not sharin’ with any of you degenerates,” bakugo muttered, kicking open the door to the smallest bedroom and throwing his duffel on the bed. “i’ll sleep in the fuckin’ car if i have to.”

“you’ll sleep in your rage cave,” mina snorted from the hallway.

he flipped her off and shut the door.

it was barely three in the afternoon. the room was too bright. the ceiling fan squeaked. his head ached already, and he hadn’t had a sip of anything yet.

so he laid back. closed his eyes. breathed in.

tried not to think of you.

…

“hey, designated driver.”

mina’s voice yanked him out of sleep.

her phone was inches from his face, glowing with some blurry instagram story post, neon text over a hazy backyard: shorepoint kickoff @ 7 beachwear optional ;) music, jungle juice, plugs on deck + dj reese

bakugo blinked. “how the fuck did you already find that?”

“because, unlike you,” she said, too smug, “i actually kept in contact with people in this town.”

she shot him a look.

and he didn’t say anything. because he hadn’t. he hadn’t kept in contact. not with you.

not since last summer, since the motel kiss, since the promise, since the way you hugged him on the hood of his car the morning they left and said, “don’t be a stranger.”

but he was.

it wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to you. he just… couldn’t. not when you weren’t in front of him. not when your name lit up on his screen and made his chest ache. not when the texts piled up and he stared at them for hours and didn’t answer.

you were still in shorepoint.

he saw your posts. your selfies with the ocean behind you. the way you wore the same sundresses and made them look new every time. your nails were always fresh. your eyes still looked like trouble.

and he didn’t know how to face any of it.

but he was here now.

and he knew, no matter how long he’d ignored it, he’d be seeing you again. probably tonight. probably soon.

you were here, somewhere in shorepoint, barefoot on a back porch or dancing in somebody else’s kitchen, still impossible not to notice, and the idea of seeing you again sat heavy in his chest. like dread. like want. like both at once.

he didn’t have words for it. so he didn’t try.

he laced his sneakers in silence while the rest of the house spun around him, small, sticky, way too alive already.

mina had the speaker balanced on the stove, blasting rae sremmurd loud enough to shake the cabinets. her playlist was half old party bangers, half cursed internet relics that had no business making a comeback. the bass rattled the windows. the heat stuck to everything. the a/c unit was wheezing in the corner, doing fuck-all.

kaminari was shirtless, grinning wide, pouring blue raspberry svedka into three cups at once with no aim whatsoever. the counter was already tacky. the air smelled like weed, armpit, and bath & body works body spray.

mina had her phone out.

“i like to drink with kami,” she said, faux-british and too loud, swinging her arm over his shoulders. “’cause kami is my mate!” they shouted together, laughing.

“and when i drink with kami—”

kami lifted the cup above his head like it was a trophy, already grinning too wide.

“he takes it down in eight!” mina finished, throwing her arm up like a victory pose.

but denki was late. too busy laughing, too drunk to aim.

“eight!” he finally shouted, then tried to knock it back and wheezed halfway through it, chasing it with gatorade and pride. mina turned the camera on herself, sparkles on her collarbone catching the kitchen light.

kiri was on the couch, legs spread, already red from the heat and smirking like a dumbass, blunt resting easy between two fingers. “you guys are so loud.”

“we’re celebrating,” mina said, twirling in place, glitter puffing off her skirt. “it’s senior week. grow up.”

“we’ve peaked,” denki declared. “it’s all downhill from here.”

katsuki didn’t say shit.

he just watched the sun bleed through the blinds, streaking the wooden floor with gold. their bags were packed. their outfits picked. everyone was ready, in theory. no one was moving.

the night was waiting.

and he still didn’t know what he’d say.

mina emerged from the bathroom in a bikini top and cargo pants, hair pulled into two messy buns. she had a half-melted popsicle in one hand and was dancing while trying to put on earrings.

“don’t smoke in the fucking house,” bakugou barked, watching kiri spark up anyway, passing it to denki.

denki blew a lazy ring and grinned. “airbnb already has my card on file.”

“then you can pay the fee. I’m not helpin’ with that shit when they charge us three-fifty for burnin’ their curtains.”

“we won’t burn the curtains,” kirishima said from the couch. “we’re being super respectful.”

bakugou rubbed his temples. tried to breathe. didn’t help.

because behind the noise, behind the smoke and music and chaos, his pulse was already going.

he wasn’t drinking. of course he wasn’t. designated driver. mina had told him three times already. “we’ll be grateful when you’re the only one who doesn’t throw up in a cooler tonight.”

but he still felt buzzed.

not from the music. not from the smell of weed and sweat and perfume.

from the nerves.

the sun was setting outside, bleeding in through the slats of the blinds, painting long streaks of orange across the floor. it was golden hour, and shorepoint was waking up all over again.

from the back window, he could see it all. teens on every corner, flip-flops slapping pavement, shoulders glowing under the last light of day. a group was already gathering near the convenience store parking lot, passing a watermelon smirnoff bottle around in a brown paper bag. someone biked by with a towel slung over their shoulders. the silhouette of the boardwalk was just visible in the distance, a 25-minute walk, maybe, if you didn’t stop to flirt or smoke or hop a fence for a shortcut.

this was the hour the town glimmered.

this was when it all started.

and bakugou could feel it in his spine, the night unfolding. the chance of seeing you again sharp as salt on his tongue.

he tugged his shirt down. combed his fingers through his hair. adjusted his watch for no reason.

tried to act casual. failed.

and then—

“alright, let’s go!” mina shouted, already halfway out the door with a tote bag and a plastic cup filled with what smelled like betrayal. “driver to the front. passengers, don’t puke in the car unless you want to sleep on the porch!”

the screen door slammed behind her and bakugou followed. jaw set. eyes steady.

because it was time.

and he knew, somewhere out there, you were already laughing, already dancing, already dressed like sin and saltwater and everything he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for the past ten months.

they pulled up to the house just as the sun was sliding behind the trees, bleeding gold onto the roof and painting the windows peach-orange. it wasn’t even a house, really. more like a raised shack, pale wood graying from salt air, porch lights swinging as kids spilled out of it in swimsuits, half-buttoned shirts, and gleaming shoulders.

someone was already throwing up in the grass. someone else had two jello shots in each hand and was trying to climb the porch banister. the air reeked of booze, beach salt, sunscreen, and too many expensive body sprays.

“you comin’ in or what?” kirishima asked, already halfway out the car.

“i don’t do parties,” katsuki muttered.

“that’s not what bakugo last summer would’ve said,” mina sang sweetly, closing the passenger door behind her. “stop being such a wuss and go get your girl.”

he sat in the silence after they left. the engine ticking. the bass from the house pulsing through the ground.

the house was fuller now. sweatier. louder. bodies pressed wall-to-wall, beer cans on windowsills, sand tracked in on sticky floors. and then— he saw you.

standing near the open deck door, ocean air curling around your bare shoulders, sundress riding high on your thighs. your drink was half-melted. your hair was a little frizzy from the humidity. your eyes were crinkled, laughing at something the guy next to you said.

the guy was taller than katsuki. wearing a sleeveless tee and a chain, backwards cap tugged over a head of thick curls. he said something that made you grin, big, toothy, the kind of grin that used to make katsuki’s lungs feel tight. your hand lifted lazily to rest against the guy’s chest and katsuki’s stomach dropped.

not because he was jealous. not really.

but because that was his favorite version of you, flushed and smiling, talking with your whole face, dancing like the beat was made for you. and someone else was seeing it. soaking it in. breathing it like air.

he didn’t move. didn’t storm over. didn’t say your name.

but then you looked up and your eyes locked.

your whole body shifted. just slightly. something behind your expression flickered, surprise, maybe. recognition. something warm, but also a little tense.

you didn’t excuse yourself right away. of course not. you weren’t rude. you waited for the guy to turn his back, to get distracted by his friends, before slipping past him with a gentle hand to his arm and a soft smile.

then you crossed the room, weaving through people like you weren’t even touching the floor, and katsuki forgot how to breathe.

“hey, stranger.” your voice was light. unbothered. not even trying to be coy, just tossing it out like a shell into the tide, casual and smooth and dangerously you.

fuck. up close you were even prettier than he remembered.

sundress hanging off one shoulder. glossy lips wrapped around the edge of your straw. flower tucked behind your ear like you’d forgotten it was even there. you looked like a goddamn painting. like the sun caught in your collarbones and the corners of your mouth. like everything he hadn’t let himself think about since he disappeared on you.

“thought i scared you away,” you said, like it was nothing. like the silence he left you in hadn’t carved out months of wondering.

he felt the guilt immediately, a low, tight pull in his stomach. sharp. ugly.

but you didn’t look mad. didn’t look like you gave a fuck at all.

and maybe that was worse.

maybe he wanted you to be hurt. maybe he wanted some kind of proof that he mattered. that you weren’t just this perfect, untouchable girl who had someone new for every season: someone to kiss in june, someone to hold in july, someone to fuck before august ended.

he clenched his jaw.

“how was the drive?” you asked, like this was easy.

he swallowed. “shitty. shitty people.”

you smiled like you knew exactly who he meant. “so mina, denki, and kiri made it here in one piece i assume?”

“yeah.”

you took another sip of your drink, then lit up. “good. i can’t wait to see them again.”

he looked at you. really looked.

you were glowing. not just from the heat or the drinks or the party, but from the inside. like the year hadn’t dulled you at all. like every minute without him had only sharpened what made you irresistible.

and he regretted it. not texting. not calling. not trying. he regretted it with every cell in his fucking body.

you pulled your phone from your tiny bag, lit up the screen, checked something. then smiled.

“you know,” you said slowly, voice sweet, “today makes exactly one year since you fingered me on the boardwalk ferris wheel.”

he choked. like actually choked.

“what—?” his voice cracked. his eyes snapped to yours.

you just looked at him, lashes heavy, smile lazy. teeth sinking into your straw. “what?” you asked, all innocent. “you did it. not me.”

he stared. speechless.

you giggled, soft, sugar-high, lethal.

“you definitely had something to drink tonight, huh?” he muttered.

“maybe.” you stepped closer, so close he could smell you again, vanilla and vodka and sweat, warm and intoxicating. “you gonna do something about it?”

his breath hitched.

because you were right here. after all that time. after all those texts he never answered and nights he stayed up staring at your page and thinking about your mouth and the way you said his name when your legs were wrapped around his waist and your fingernails left half-moon dents in his shoulders—

you were here.

looking at him like you were already winning.

and you were. god, you were.

you held his eyes for a moment longer, head tilted just slightly, like you were trying to decide whether to push further, then smiled like you’d already made up your mind.

“you look like you could use a sip,” you said, offering him your cup, some half-melted cocktail mix of juice and something cheap, sloshing lazily in the glow of the party lights.

he blinked. “i’m DD.”

“okay?” your brows lifted, playful. “and it’s literally like 80% juice. i watered it down so bad. just have a sip. it’s no fun to party alone.”

he should’ve said no.

but that was the thing about you; you never even had to try. your voice didn’t beg, didn’t whine, didn’t press. it just suggested. it floated. and whatever you wanted— whatever crossed your lips, he found himself doing it like it was already decided.

he took the cup from your hand. brought it to his mouth.

and you watched him. not like it was casual. not like it was background. your eyes followed every movement, slow, steady, lashes dipped low. and when he sipped, he swore he could taste your lip gloss lingering on the rim. sweet. synthetic. sticky like melted candy.

you.

his tongue flicked against the inside of his cheek as he handed it back, jaw tight like he was holding something back.

you placed the cup behind you on the counter and smiled, pleased.

“that’s better.”

your hands rose, smooth and deliberate, sliding up his chest, fingers tracing the shape of him through his shirt. one hand hooked around his neck, the other playing with the edge of his collar, and then both arms looped behind his shoulders as you stepped in close, pressing against him like you were always meant to be there.

his hands found your waist instinctively, like gravity. like muscle memory. his thumbs pressing lightly into the soft skin there, right where your ribs curved in. he felt your breath catch just a little, the way your body molded to his like something made and remembered.

“mm,” you hummed softly, nose brushing his. “that’s better too.”

and then you kissed him.

not fast.not wild. not needy. just slow, soft. like a promise. like an apology he never gave. like a secret whispered between sunburned shoulders.

he leaned into you, and let himself sink. his mouth opened under yours, matching your rhythm, following the tilt of your head, the curve of your lips, the sweetness that lingered like peach juice and heat.

you kissed like you knew him. like you remembered what he liked. like you never forgot.

and his hands gripped you tighter. not rough, just anchored. grounding himself in the press of your waist, the slope of your back. the way your dress shifted beneath his fingers, thin fabric catching and sliding against sun-warmed skin.

you were too much. your taste. your heat. your goddamn mouth.

and when you pulled back, breath slow, lips parted—he nearly chased you down. his body tilted forward before he stopped himself, heart thudding hard against his ribs like it hadn’t caught up yet.

you smiled. not at him. not even for him. just to yourself.

“looks like you did miss me,” you said, eyes still soft, voice barely louder than the beat pulsing from the next room.

his ears flushed instantly. he grumbled, “maybe a little.”

your lips were still warm on his mouth when the shout came.

“bitch!”

you turned just as your friend came stumbling in, glitter on her arms, plastic cup in one hand, and the other outstretched toward you like she’d been looking for you in every room.

“come on,” she giggled. “they’re doing karaoke by the pool. someone brought a speaker and first day out is on the queue.”

you laughed. that wild, sun-sparked laugh that always made his shoulders drop, and gave katsuki one last look. mouthed a soft sorry, but didn’t wait. didn’t hesitate.

you never did.

you slipped your hand into your friend’s and disappeared down the hallway, hair bouncing, flower tucked just behind your ear, already lit up by the party again.

katsuki blinked. then turned back to the kitchen, lips still tingling, only to be met by—

“jesus christ.”

denki. leaning against the counter, mouth twisted like he’d just caught katsuki sneaking a second slice of cake.

“you good, bro?” he grinned. “i mean, damn. the kitchen?”

“like, people eat in here,” kirishima added, snorting. “she couldn’t wait till y’all found a closet?”

katsuki’s face went hot. “shut the fuck up,” he growled, but it was too late. denki was already wheezing, miming a kiss with both hands while kiri fake-moaned and slid down the cabinet.

“i’m serious,” denki said between laughs, “you were like—” he threw his head back dramatically, arms spread. “right here. next to the fucking microwave.”

“i said shut up—”

he wasn’t even sure why he was so pissed. maybe it was the embarrassment. maybe it was how easy you made him forget himself. maybe it was because you were already off, back in your element, while he was stuck here getting clowned by people who knew damn well he didn’t kiss girls at parties. didn’t kiss girls in public. didn’t do this.

but you weren’t just any girl. and that was the problem.

“guys,” mina said suddenly, appearing with a roll of her eyes and a drink in each hand, “can you stop making out with your own egos and leave him alone?”

she shoved a drink into kiri’s chest and shot katsuki a wink.

“some of us still remember what summer is for.”

…

the party moved.

spilled across rooms like dye in water. stretched into the backyard, where the pool glowed pale blue under string lights. someone pulled out a lighter. someone else lit sparklers on the porch. kids from three towns over were already half-naked in inflatable chairs.

katsuki made it as far as the back wall. saw two girls he vaguely remembered from home ec. one asked for his number.

“i’m gay,” he said.

she blinked. “oh.”

“yeah.” he walked off before she could ask any follow-ups.

and still, he ended up back in the kitchen. because no matter how far he drifted, he was always just trying to orbit back to you.

and like always, you found him again.

two arms snaked around his waist from behind, warm, bare, glitter-dusted, and he tensed instantly, shoulders locked, breath catching.

then he exhaled.

because only you would do that.

“katsuki,” you sing-songed into his back, breath soft against his shoulder. “you disappeared.”

“you’re the one who ran off,” he said, voice flat, but not angry.

“karaoke emergency,” you grinned, moving to stand in front of him, flower now tucked behind your other ear, hair a little more mussed, cheeks even more flushed.

you looked like you’d been living, like the party was yours and you were letting everyone borrow it for a night. “come on,” you said, tugging his hand. “come dance.”

he hesitated.

you pouted. “what, you’re too cool for me?”

“i don’t dance.”

“you do with me.” you said, like it was obvious. like you knew him better than he knew himself.

he didn’t argue.

the music was loud, a mess of old bangers and new remixes, the kind of shit that hit you in the chest and rattled through your bones. the crowd pulsed with it, jumping, shouting, hands in the air, drinks spilling.

and you were glowing.

dancing like you were built for it, like your hips moved on instinct and your shoulders rolled with the beat. you jumped, you laughed, you sang along like you were on stage and every word mattered.

katsuki stood behind you, hands on your hips, grounding himself. letting you take him wherever you wanted.

you reached back, fingers threading into his hair, pulled him down a little so your mouth brushed his ear.

“i hope we never die,” you whispered. “just like this. forever.”

he swallowed. tight.

because the way you said it, not heavy, not tragic, just true, felt like a wish he didn’t deserve to want.

he tightened his grip on your waist, pulled you closer. your back hit his chest. your body swayed into his like it was nothing. like it was everything. and he let it. because when it came to you: dancing, drinking, smiling with your eyes all blown and cheeks all flushed, he’d do whatever you wanted.

he’d fly.

and every time he thought he could breathe, you tugged him somewhere else.

back into the music. back into the crowd. back under the lights strung between palm trees and sagging porch rails, places he’d never have walked into on his own, places he didn’t belong.

but you made him belong.

you moved through the party like you were born inside it, and all he had to do was keep up.

your dress kept riding up as you danced, not indecent, but short enough that eyes followed, and every time, katsuki’s hands found your hem, tugging it down with a scowl, like it was a reflex. you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to. just grinned to yourself, leaned into him, kept moving.

you kissed him again after the cornhole game.

not just him, but everyone. you jumped up, arms in the air, shouting “we fucking won!” and planted messy, glitter-sticky kisses on the cheeks of every member of the winning side. kirishima. denki. some girl you barely knew who landed the final shot. and then him, last, your lips catching the corner of his mouth, breathless, laughing, sweaty from dancing, and radiant.

he swore the world blinked out for a second. just you. just the taste of you. just your hand in his again.

you worked the party like a hostess, like the queen of shorepoint. you pulled him from person to person, introducing him like he was yours, katsuki, the one i told you about. sometimes they knew you from middle school. sometimes they were your cousins from a street over. sometimes they didn’t even look old enough to be here.

he just nodded. gave gruff hellos. stood beside you while you chatted and hugged and laughed.

and every time your eyes found him again, he felt steadier. like he fit here. because you made room for him.

and then, you spotted someone in the crowd.

“oh my god—”

you didn’t finish. just grabbed katsuki’s hand and dragged, weaving through bodies like you were swimming. he muttered a few excuse me’s behind you, getting bumped by elbows and plastic cups, but you were already locked onto your target, one hand guiding him, the other lifting in a wave as you broke through.

“mina!” you squealed, launching into her arms. “i swear, i kept up with your prom pics, bitch, you looked gorgeoud.”

she hugged you tight, laughing, shoulder glitter catching in the light. “you’re literally insane. i’ve missed your ass.”

katsuki slowed to a halt behind you, catching his breath, watching the way you lit up. you were flushed again, not from embarrassment, just from energy. from the buzz of everything. your dress clung a little more now. your flower was halfway tucked into your braid. you looked like you belonged in this light.

you turned, beaming.

“obviously you already know katsuki,” you said, and mina rolled her eyes.

“unfortunately. notoriously bad driver.”

“rude,” he muttered, but his lips twitched.

“you still yelling at people in the car?” you asked, turning to him, cheeks heating, rocking back on your heels.

he couldn’t stop staring at you. not the way you talked, or laughed, or even moved. just the way you were. the way you charmed a room with nothing but your presence. the way you saw people, and they felt seen.

you were talking again, something about a friend of yours who had a crush on her. “i swear he told me he thought you were cute,” you were saying, nudging mina. “hold on—”

you waved someone over. a guy who’d been hovering nearby, pretending not to watch.

“this is him,” you grinned, and turned to the rest of them. “okay. group dance. now.”

no one argued.

the song changed. bass deep. familiar. bodies surged in again, sweatier, freer now. arms in the air, hands on hips, friends spinning friends, girls screaming lyrics that didn’t match the beat.

katsuki didn’t dance. except with you.

your back pressed to his chest. your hand gripped his. your hips rolled, and his body followed. your laugh was against his jaw. your lips brushed his throat when you turned.

he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun.

you made him laugh, loud, even, when you botched the lyrics to a rap verse and freestyled something so awful, so cursed, it made the girls around you double over.

you winked up at him and he thought, i want this forever.

you spun again. pulled him in. whispered something hot and stupid against his mouth, and he just nodded.

because he’d follow you anywhere. because this was the part he never got enough of. because you, loud, glittery, reckless, good, were it.

the party blurred, but you didn’t. you stayed sharp. you stayed his.

..

when you guys make it back outside, the deck is strung with paper lanterns and the night’s too warm for jackets. your sandals are gone. you’re barefoot, skirt fluttering just above your knees, moving like your body’s made of music.

he’s sitting in one of the sagging lawn chairs, half-sunk, arms folded, pretending he’s still above it all.

but his eyes never leave you.

you come back to him every few minutes. drape yourself across his lap. kiss his cheek, his temple, his jaw. murmur something stupid about the moon or how hot it is or how your thighs are sore from dancing.

he grunts. always grunts. but his hands find your waist every time. grounding you. keeping you.

you come back with a solo cup, glitter pink, half-melted ice, definitely too much. he plucks it right out of your hand before you can sit.

“uh-uh,” he mutters, holding it out of reach. “i think you’ve had enough.”

you pout, stumbling into his lap anyway. “you’re no fun.”

“nope. not tonight. not when you’re already—” he gestures vaguely to your everything. “this.”

you roll your eyes. press a kiss to his cheek. then another, slow and sticky, to the corner of his mouth. “mean.”

“you’ll live.”

your hands wander up his chest. slow. lazy. fingers splayed like you’re trying to memorize the shape of him again. you cup his face in both hands, fingers warm, firm, just beneath his jaw.

“you look so pretty like this,” you whisper, lips barely brushing his ear.

he doesn’t say anything. just exhales. closes his eyes for a beat too long. lets it sink in.

the house behind you has shifted. mellowed.

the playlist’s changed. no more scream-along anthems, just loose, messy pop songs about driving nowhere, fucking in back seats, talking about everything and nothing under gas station lights. someone’s cousin passed out facedown in the hallway. a dog showed up on the deck thirty minutes ago and no one’s claimed it. the beer pong table is now home to three strangers in wet hoodies tangled together like seaweed.

but you’re still glowing.

“alright,” katsuki muttered, jaw tight.

he stood. stretched once. cracked his neck. then turned to where kirishima and denki were leaned against the fence, giggling at nothing, half-dead. “hey, let’s go.”

“aw, already?” mina appeared from nowhere, sipping something clear from a mason jar.

“now,” katsuki repeated, already herding the three of them together. “get in the car. she’s coming too.”

you grinned, letting him hook a hand behind your back and steer you down the deck stairs.

at the edge of the lawn, you tugged his arm. “piggyback?”

he turned, one brow raised.

you blinked up at him, pout barely formed, voice low and innocent: “please? my feet hurt.”

he narrowed his eyes. “you’re not that drunk.”

you shrugged. “still in pain.”

he rolled his eyes but crouched anyway. you jumped, arms around his shoulders, chin on top of his head, laughing in his ear.

from the porch, kiri and denki were grinning like jackals. mina snapped a photo.

“shut the fuck up,” katsuki barked.

they put their hands up in surrender, snorting.

…

he didn’t have to drop the others off first.

he could’ve taken you home on the way. it would’ve made sense. would’ve cut the route in half.

but he didn’t.

he parked in front of the bnb, nudged kiri and denki with the back of his hand. “out.”

“what about—” kiri yawned, rubbing his eyes. “you’re not—?”

“droppin’ her off last,” katsuki said. “just move.”

denki, half-asleep, winked as he tumbled out of the car. “have fun,” he slurred. “use protection.”

“what the fuck—”

“don’t worry,” you cut in, voice syrupy, leaning toward the window, “we will.”

the door shut. silence.

katsuki stared straight ahead, fists flexed on the wheel. his ears were burning.

the drive back to your place was short. quiet. not awkward, just full.

he didn’t remember the turns, even though he’d been to your house countless times last summer. you didn’t say much. just curled your legs up on the seat, flower in your hand now, twirling it absentmindedly. your head rested on the window. the streetlights streaked your face gold.

and then, the house.

when he walked you to the door, it was late enough that the neighborhood was dead quiet. porch lights flickered across trimmed lawns. a single moth circled the bulb above your steps.

your porch light was soft, warm yellow, fuzzy around the edges. it made everything feel smaller. safer. like it couldn’t touch the rest of the world.

you turned to him. still smiling. flower askew. hair frizzy. cheeks flushed.

he reached out. brushed his thumb along your temple, fixing the flower again. gentle. like it mattered.

“thanks for tonight,” you whispered.

he didn’t say anything. just leaned forward. kissed your forehead. soft. slow. the kind of kiss that wasn’t about being seen. the kind of kiss that meant more than he knew how to explain.

he started to pull back but your fingers caught his shirt.

“you know…” you said, voice low, light. “you can come in. if you want.”

your hand slid up his chest. one acrylic trailing up the line of his jaw, slow and sweet.

“just gotta be quiet.”

you winked and his breath caught in his throat. then, as if you knew he’d follow you inside, you turned and opened the door.

your house was dim. not dark, not eerie, just quiet, touched only by the blue glow of moonlight leaking through linen curtains and the far-off hum of cicadas. no hallway lights, no TV. just the soft creak of the floorboards under your bare feet as you led him through.

“don’t step on that stair,” you whispered over your shoulder. “it creaks.”

his hand stayed curled in the back of your dress. your fingers caught his, tugging gently as you tiptoed past the garage door, up the narrow stairs. everything smelled like detergent and citrus. like the place had been cleaned too fast, like someone was expecting company and didn’t know why.

you pushed open your bedroom door.

he remembered it, even in the dark. the faint shimmer of string lights, the shelves stacked with old books and folded notes, a cluttered desk that hadn’t changed since last summer. your bed was unmade. your fan was spinning. your walls were still covered in pinned-up postcards and disposable film memories, curling a little at the corners.

you stepped in first. turned. closed the door behind you with the softest click. and when you looked up at him, all quiet, all flushed, all his—he knew exactly why he hadn’t dropped you off first.

he didn’t even wait. didn’t ask.

just stepped forward, hands on your waist before you’d taken another breath, mouth catching yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you melted. instantly. like you’d been waiting for this all night, or all year, or maybe just since the moment he stopped calling.

slow. unhurried. soft as cotton.

you reached behind your neck and tugged the zipper down, letting the sundress slip off your shoulders, then your hips, until it puddled at your ankles. you stepped out of it, bare, glowing, gorgeous. your skin caught the light like it had been dusted in sugar. no bra. no shame.

his breath caught, sharp, staggered, when he saw you like that again. you weren’t nervous. weren’t posing. just you. standing there, looking at him like you’d been waiting for this exact moment all year.

“fuck,” he whispered.

and his hands were on you immediately.

they swept up your sides, over your ribs, slow and reverent. his palms skimmed your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples, just enough to make them harden under his touch. his lips found your collarbone, then lower. kisses open-mouthed, heavy, tongue flicking just to see you squirm.

he dropped to his knees in front of you, arms looping around your waist, face pressed against your stomach. his voice was rough, muffled: “you’re not fair.”

you giggled, threading your fingers through his hair. “never said i was.”

he kissed down, teeth grazing your hipbones, hands sliding behind you to cup your ass. you gasped softly when he squeezed firmer the second time, his mouth already kissing up your thigh, warm and wet and hungry.

“get on the bed,” he said, voice low.

you did. you climbed back, slow, the mattress creaking beneath your knees. you laid back on your elbows, eyes never leaving his, and opened your legs just enough to be inviting.

he followed.

he settled between your thighs, dragged two fingers through your folds, slow, deliberate— then circled your clit, gentle, coaxing. you moaned softly. legs twitching.

“already wet,” he muttered, almost to himself.

you bit your lip, nodded.

he pressed one finger in. then two.

your breath stuttered. hips jerked. one hand flew to his wrist, not to stop him( just to feel him.

his fingers curled. massaged. not fucking, just opening you, spreading you, easing you wider with soft, deliberate pushes. his thumb never stopped moving on your clit, not once, even when your hips bucked.

your thighs shook. your mouth dropped open. “katsuki,” you whispered, voice breathy, broken.

“shh,” he said. “just let me.”

and you did. you were panting by the time he finally pulled back, fingers glistening. he kissed the inside of your thigh again, then climbed up, bracing his weight with one hand, staring down at you like you were holy.

your legs wrapped around him, pulling him in.

“come on, sweetheart,” you whispered. “take ’em off.”

he did.

dragged his pants off, then his boxers, breath heavy, body tense. he looked wrecked already, like the taste of you had scrambled something in him he couldn’t fix.

you sat up, eyes wide, hand trailing down to guide him, slow, certain.

“wait,” you said. “can i…?”

he nodded. and you climbed into his lap.

hands on his shoulders. breath hot between you. your fingers guided him again, the head of his cock slipping through your folds, catching at your entrance.

he kissed your neck. gripped your hips.

and you sank. inch by inch.

the stretch was so deep it knocked the air from your lungs. your nails dug into his shoulders, head dropping, a sharp moan caught in your throat.

“you good?” he asked, voice hoarse.

you nodded, lips parted. “not… not yet.”

you paused halfway down, breath trembling. he kissed your throat. his hand stroked your back, slow, grounding you. and then lower. deeper. until he was fully inside.

you let out a helpless mewl, high and soft and desperate.

he groaned. “fuck. you feel—” he didn’t finish. just held you. let you adjust.

and then, slow, you rocked your hips.

he met your rhythm, matched every roll, every arch. his hands gripped your waist, guiding you, breath stuttering in your ear.

you moaned again, louder this time.

he clapped a hand over your mouth. “i’m not trying to get murdered by your fucking dad,” he hissed.

you whined behind his palm, breath stuttering, voice broken. “he’s not that harm—” you gasped.

he thrust deeper, silencing whatever was left of that thought. he didn’t stop.

neither did you.

you moved together, bodies slick and hot, mouths brushing but never quite kissing, hands everywhere. his forehead pressed to yours. your fingers clawed into his back. he moaned against your cheek.

your breath hitched. you were so fucking loud.

his hand didn’t leave your mouth, not until your body started to tremble, not until your nails dragged down his chest, not until your thighs started to shake from the edge.

you u were close. so close, and trying, trying so hard to keep quiet. you bit your lip, hard, teeth digging into the swell of it as you rocked against him, slow and steady, clenching around him tighter every time your hips rolled down.

your breathing got shallower. chest rising fast. back arching. he felt every twitch of your thighs, every gasp that broke past his fingers, hot, desperate, muffled into his palm.

and then—a sharp little whimper escaped you. high. panicked. real.

his eyes shot open.

your fingers gripped his shoulders. you stiffened suddenly. not from fear, not from sound. just sensation.

because the orgasm hit without warning.

it wasn’t violent. wasn’t loud. wasn’t anything you expected. it just happened, soft and drawn out, like your body forgot to hold itself together. like you were melting.

your mouth dropped open. your legs clenched tight. and you came with your forehead pressed to his chest, breath stuck in your throat, hips still rolling through it, slower now, like your body didn’t know how to stop.

his hand dropped from your mouth. he was too wrapped up to remember silence, too lost in the feeling of you, of your thighs squeezing him, of your walls pulsing around his cock, milking him.

you kept moving. barely. still grinding through the aftershocks, hips shifting mindlessly.

“fuck,” he breathed, voice tight. he wasn’t going to last.

you leaned into him, chest to chest, lips brushing his throat. still shaking. still riding it out.

and then— creak.

his head snapped up just as the bedroom door burst open like it had been kicked.

“what the fuck?” your dad’s voice cracked the air like a gunshot.

you froze.

katsuki didn’t even get the chance to breathe or finish. his whole body locked. he didn’t mean to look, didn’t mean to move, just stared. fucking stared as your father’s face contorted from shock to rage in real time.

you were still in his lap.

he was still in you.

naked. glowing. breathless.

your mouth parted like you were about to say something. anything. but nothing came out as you fumbled with the sheets to cover yourself.

“holy fucking shit—” he choked, hands suddenly frantic, trying to lift you off him, not roughly, not even fast, but like he couldn’t think. like every nerve in his body was screaming to move.

you slid off with a soft gasp, legs too shaky to catch yourself. he helped guide you to the mattress, hand on your hip, wide-eyed, panicked.

he scrambled for his boxers, found them on the floor by the fan, yanked them up just as your dad took another furious step forward.

“katsuki, the window.” you hissed, grabbing his pants and flinging then at him like a grenade.

he didn’t argue.

he was already climbing out in his boxers, half-dressed, pants in his teeth, sneakers in one hand, nearly slipping on the siding of your roof as he landed, hard, on the overhang below.

your father charged toward the window.

“i’m gonna fuckin’ kill you, boy.” he bellowed. “you better not ever show your goddamn face on the street again!”

katsuki didn’t turn around. he ran.

barefoot across the lawn. pants clutched in one hand, boxers twisted, socks still on.

he found the car. somehow. slammed the door shut, heart beating so loud it drowned everything else. his hands were shaking on the steering wheel. his chest was bare, legs scraped from the landing.

he drove home like that.

window down. shirtless. breath coming in gasps. he funbled with his pants at a red light and drove with his pant legs half-rolled.

heart still stuck in your mouth.

[ficsbyrike]

ummmm here’s a little caleb thing i wrote over on twt. ty to @/Arden_Quinn_ for the idea

902 words

caleb x reader

There was a moment of silence between the two of you. The sight of his face was so familiar, but the way he showed up again—unexpectedly, solemnly, without a word or a warning just as he had left—was so foreign. A thought flashed by your mind: had you ever knew him? Truly knew him? The boy you had grown up with who you once regarded as one of the closest people to you turned out to be not who you expected after all. When had he changed? He was the last person you expected to betray you, so what the hell?

The ride to your apartment had been a silent one. Not a comforting silence, but an awkward one—something that you hadn’t experienced with him since the time you were both kids, when he had broken your favorite toy.

You both sat on the floor of your grandma’s house that day. Grandma had went out to run some errands, leaving you both on your own, as she often did. A storm had broken out a while ago, and the power had went out just as you had started to watch cartoons on the TV. Something about bad wiring in the house had left you without electricity when it was so much as a little windy outside.

You continued to sit on the floor in the darkness, not willing to speak a single word to him. It was awkward. The tears you spilled earlier, and the harsh words you threw at him still lingered in your mouth bitterly. You couldn’t apologize because it was not your fault. He couldn’t apologize because his pride would be hurt. So after you had decided to get up off the floor, he grabbed on to the edge of your dress and started rapid-firing every excuse he could think of.

“It was not my fault. The toy had already been old, it was bound to break sooner or later.”

Now, however, he sat silently. His pride was still too big. The only thing that had changed was that he couldn’t come up with an excuse. And maybe if he did, it would’ve angered you more. But the fact that he wasn’t saying anything didn’t make the rage subside either.

Only when you had gotten to your apartment and you booked it to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea to cool down (Caleb didn’t deserve a cup of tea, so you didn’t offer him any), had he come and stood at the countertop for a while, watching you keeping yourself busy.

He looked like a guilty child even though his expression or body language didn’t convey a hint of that. You just knew him like that. And that only angered you more.

“Why are you standing here?” You finally snapped, regarding Caleb with a frigid expression.

He took off his hat, placing it on the countertop next to him.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice was low. You could barely hear it over the bubbling of water in your teapot.

“I’m sorry? Is that all you have to say to me?” You asked. “What about the year of my life you had taken away from me that I will never get back? What about the funeral I organized for you? What about the countless of sleepless nights when I rolled around in bed, thinking about how I was going to continue to live on without you? Do you have anything to say to that?” You slammed your hand on the countertop and Caleb flinched. “I wish you had never returned.” You spit out those words with finality and turned back to the teapot, not daring to look at his expression any longer.

A silence followed. You had began to question whether he had left before you heard his footsteps. He placed his hands on your shoulders and spun you around to look at him. You were about to say something else when he dropped down to his knees in front of you and wrapped his hands around your waste. His wet eyes looked up at you.

God, why was he making this so difficult?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice on the verge of breaking, “I am so, so sorry. You can look at me with anger or hatred or disgust. Just please look at me. There is nothing I can say to make you forgive me but please… I beg you—don’t turn away from me. You don’t have to forgive me. You don’t have to understand why I left. I don’t deserve those things. But God, I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you. I had no other choice. I think I’ll die if you never look at me again.”

With trembling hands, Caleb took off his black leather gloves. His fingers wrapped around yours. His hands were cold. They had never been this cold before.

Even though everything in you screamed to push him away—hurt him as much as he hurt you—you couldn’t force yourself to do it. Not when he swallowed his pride like this. Not when you finally understood the power you had over him. Not when his life and yours were intertwined from the very beginning. And so you couldn’t stop yourself from throwing your arms around him too, hands finding their way into his hair as they so often used to do.

“I’ll make you some tea,” you spoke into his hair.

[thegnomelord]

for the prompt game, if it's still open, maybe 8 with Ghost? maybe with hatefucking and at the point you're both at it's basically a routine but all of the nasty words and cruel moments are really just because you're both brutes that have trouble expressing emotions properly, and all you really want is just some kind of deeper connection with each other, but with your shitty use of words, arguing and eventual growling into into his mouth as you shove him down onto the nearest flat surface is the only way for you to get that. and perhaapps at one point, one of you, reader or ghost doesn't matter, let's something softer and more caring slip through the angry facade? ofc if you already have one for 8 or you just don't like this idea you can im really sorry and you can ignore me, no pressure and I love all your writing :')) <3

Okay anon holy shit this is GOOD! You should think of writing yourself like what I'm seeing in this prompt is good shit :D Play the game HERE

Prompt: "If this is a joke it isn't funny."

CW: NSFW, Sub Bot Ghost, Dom Top MReader, hatefucking, degradation, confessions, soft sex,

It always starts the same; Simon's roughly patting your shoulder and telling you to not cock it up, your equally harsh response for him to keep up with you, rough voices hiding the unsaid 'be careful's. Insults like 'dumbass', 'moron', 'dead weight' crackling over the radio when the other's pinned down by fire, the electric static and suppression fire muting the worry in your voice, the hint of care in Simon's tone.

And it always ends the same; harsh stares across the room while you debrief Price, casualty numbers turning into critiques of the other— you should have noticed the terrorist, Simon should have kept the sniper in mind — prickling barbs and venomed words turning into shoves and punches, leaving bruises on each other's skin instead of the kisses you want to lay down.

Soap loves comparing you to dogs, and that's what you are— animals; talking would kill you both so you end up expressing yourselves through teeth and claws. There's blood on your tongue as you push Simon onto the bed and he pulls you down with his teeth digging into your bottom lip, rough fingers pulling away clothes only to push into bruised flesh, drawing hisses and growls.

'I want you' Ghost wants to say, instead "Stop being a pussy," comes out, blunt nails dragging deep scratches down your back. 'I'm happy you're alive' "You fuck as bad as you fight." Simon tastes blood as he kisses you, both of you struggling to pin the other to the bed.

"Shut up." 'I missed you' you snarl and pin him on his front, trapping his massive arms behind his back so he has no support, his head pushed into the pillows and arse high in the air, your thigh parting his legs. You huff a laugh when you see his cock already hard, hanging uselessly between his thighs. "Slag, good for nothing but taking it up the ass." 'I care for you'.

'You're important to me' Simon swallows the blood and spit in his mouth, jerking in a half-hearted attempt to free himself. "'least ah have a use," he growls, chest stuttering for breath as you bear down even more weight on him. You push your fingers into his mouth to wet them and Simon bites down, loving you with his teeth first, the sting of pain binding you together.

"Yeah, as a cocksleeve." 'I'm sorry' You don't give him a warning, just pull your fingers from his mouth and push into his ass. It's only enough lube to not tear him, but the stretch hurts, burns, and Simon both loves and hates how this roughness makes his cock hard and heart flutter.

"That-hah-" Ghost pants into the sheets, eyes prickling with tears with how he tries to keep them open, body forced to submit to you as your fingers stretch him, fuck him, tenderly brushing against his prostate before pushing to the last knuckle, pain and pleasure burning up his spine. "-that's not true."

Pulling out your fingers you give him a sharp slap on his ass, "Sure is," You use what saliva you have on your hand to wet your cock, swirling the drool in your mouth before you spitting right on his hole for extra wetness, your sudden action making his spasming hole clench and relax reflexively. "Look at how you're clenching." You mount him, pushing your weight down on him until he can barely breathe, cock bobbing against his hole. "Acting like such a bitch!"

You ram in him to put emphasis on the word and Simon bites his tongue so hard it bleeds, resisting letting any noises out. He's never vocal in bed, no matter how hard you fuck him, how many bruises your hips leave on his ass or how many hickeys you lay on his throat, how often your balls slap against his, he never utters more than a low groan.

But he wants to; good god Simon wants to tell you how good you feel, how every brush of your cockhead against his prostate has him seeing stars, how much he loves feeling you pound into him, who bodies bound into one by such a primal connection. . . but he can't, his mouth clamps up when he tries and even if he manages to spit something out it just comes out as venom, earning him firm slaps on his ass and your weight bearing further down on him.

You spill into him, pinning him so hard beneath your weight he can barely breathe, only remembering to rub him into an orgasm when your balls are good and empty, cock plugging his hole full of your cum. Your hands are harsh, his panting ringing in your ears until his cock twitches and he cums onto the sheets beneath him, whole body shaking to hold his moans in.

You collapse onto him, just enough sense in your head to roll you two onto your sides so he isn't laying in his spend or suffocating beneath you. Uncomfortable silence rings in your ears as you pant, bile churning in your stomach; This is your usual, soon enough Simon will tell you to shove off, he'll get up, take a piss, and leave.

And this song and dance will repeat until one of you dies.

Even without sight you feel Simon open his mouth, vestiges of harsh words burning on his tongue. Maybe it's post-orgasmic bliss that makes you speak, "Hey," Your hands tighten around his middle, "Stay the night." You curl around him like a lover; something you know you're not.

He shuts his mouth so quickly you hear the 'click' of his teeth, whole body freezing because this is as new for him as it is for you. "If this is a joke," He growls, turns his head just enough for you to catch his glare. "It's not funny."

Your tongue burns with the usual words— 'Only joke here is you' — but you don't, instead a slow and low "I'm not kidding." escapes you, like something forbidden, something to keep secret lest you get divine punishment.

Simon's mind buffers like an old computer, too many thoughts stuffing his head that he can't understand a single one. This is too far removed from the usual, hummingbirds knocking on his skull as a warning. But his body relaxes while he's still thinking, a stagnant breath escaping his lungs. "Fine."

You think of saying something, but it's better not to. Instead you huddle closer to him, still connected in a carnal way but now it feels so much more. . . intimate. Your hands wander over his toros, a gentle exploration instead of a race for release, your fingers carding through his body hair down his happy trail and up again.

Simon's head tils back to give you access to his neck, your lips soft against his skin as you kiss the bruises you'd left, both of your bodies slowly moving to close the small space between you two, urged to share your warmth.

You shift your hips, only realizing you're hard again when Simon moans. Moans. "Sorry," You duck your head, hands gripping his hips to pull out but he stops you, a rough sound in his throat.

"No," Simon doesn't look at you though the blush across his face is easy to spot. "Keep going," Tilting his hips back into yours tears a moan from both of you. Your cum eases the slide in, his walls stretched and pliant, wetly sucking you in like a needy thing.

Another time you'd have laughed at how desperate he's acting, but the low moans and a little "Fuck, just like that," you earn by rolling your hips has your mind shutting off. You can't believe how vocal he's suddenly become, getting louder the slower and gentler you move your hips, your cock slowly pushing in and out of his hole.

You bury your head in his neck and blindly stroke his leaking cock, kissing the skin under your lips, your eyes closed shut as you thrust into him slowly, your tender and slow movements pulling moan after moan out of him. His hand winds back to cup the back of your neck, pulling you up just enough to give you an awkward kiss but it's sweet and raw and so desperate—

You don't notice he's cumming until his walls clamp down on you, Simon whispering "I love you," so soft and quiet under his breath that you don't hear him, too busy filling him up a second time, but your mind buzzes with warmth all the same.

You lay as you were, somehow so exhausted that even moving an inch is anathema to you. Both of you, it seems, if the way Simon's back is warm and pliant against your chest, his breathing slow and steady. Tomorrow you'll need to talk (or do your best substitution of it), but for tonight, you can hug him close and finally have an answer to what it would feel like to have him close without the sex, to just be with him. . .

[rainba]

Sweet Bunny Dreams (Yandere OC Luka x Bunny Hybrid! GN! Reader)

AN: This wasn't the original fic I had planned for Luka, but like... The Kairos stuff with the scarification + wet dream stuff, I got REALLY inspired to write this! Hope you all enjoy :3c

i specialize in men fantasizing stuff lol ⸜( *ˊᵕˋ* )⸝

TWs/Tags: NSFW 18+, cannibalism at the end, noncon/dubcon, predator/prey dynamic, slight degradation

MINORS DNI.

Word count: 925

It keeps happening.

Every night, he has the same exact dream: he’s chasing you through a dark forest, the trees twisting up into the sky and reaching impossible heights. His heart is always throbbing, the bottom of his feet are on fire, and adrenaline is pumping through his veins. His eyes are locked in on one thing, and one thing alone: you, his precious bunny darling.

In his dreams, you always look so horrified. There’s already marks on your body– perhaps some scratch marks on your arms, tears on your thighs, or bruises on your shoulders. In some of his dreams, you’re completely nude. In others, you have hardly anything on, as the rest of your clothes have been already torn to shreds. And in his dreams, there’s already blood stains on Luka’s hands.

And the blood smells so good. 

And it also tastes so, so good.

He always needs more of it. It drives him up the wall.

It doesn’t matter how fast you run, he’ll always catch you in the end. Tackling you from behind, forcing your face into the cold dirt, yanking your wrists behind your back as you scream and beg for him to let you go.

“P-please, mister fox..! I haven’t done anything to you! Please, just let me go!”

God, those words send electricity through his body. His head starts to spin by the time he reaches this part of the dream, and he figures that he’s getting dizzy because all of the blood in his head is going straight to his dick. The way you squirm and whine beneath him makes him so fucking horny.

He gets even rougher with you, growling into your sensitive bunny ears. “Maybe you shouldn’t have tempted me,” he spits out as he lifts your ass into the air and shoves your face even harder into the dirt. You scream even louder, but it only makes him laugh. Nobody can hear you. Nobody can save you.

“Keep screaming like that… I love it.”

He digs his sharp nails into your skin and yanks your hair, enjoying the way you squirm and squeal. In this part of the dream, he always rushes to unzip his black pants and pull them half-way down his thighs, then he rushes to pull his cock out of his briefs. 

“N-no, don’t put it in! Please! It’s too big!” Your words fuel his fire, a smirk grows on his face.

“If you want me to stop, make me.”

And in that moment, he shoves his entire length inside of you, not stopping until you reach the base of it. Your hole is so fucking tight, it takes his breath away. 

In this part of his dream, you moan like crazy– secretely enjoying the way he’s abusing you.

“Good little bunny,” he grits his teeth and huffs. His cock feels so good inside of you– so good that it’s borderline addicting. In his dream, he thrusts into you at ungodly speeds, the heated sounds of sex echoing through the trees. Your constant “no”s gradually turn into “please don’t stop!”

Luka then removes his hand from your hair and grabs both of your ears, pushing them together and tugging at them. “You bunnies… Your reputation for being whores, always fucking anyone that so much as looks at you… Breeding like there’s no tomorrow.” He leans down and licks your neck. “It’s your instincts– your reason for living.” He gives your ears one last jerk before moving his hands to your stomach, rubbing circles over it. He snarls, “your only purpose is to take my cock.”

Pleasure shoots through his body when he utters those words– and your body happily pushes back against him.

“You should thank me for helping you serve your purpose.”

Then in his dream, he does the impossible: he fucks you even harder, even faster. 

“Thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou!” You spew and sputter. And as you thank him, you convulse around his length, moaning with your tongue sticking out and your eyes rolled back. It’s so delicious, so very delicious– it makes him cum on the spot. He forcefully holds you in place, making sure not a single drop is spilled, and then his animalistic instincts kick into overdrive.

He then leans over you, his jaw opened wide, and he laughs without remorse.

But his last words are never the same. 

In one previous dream, he growled, “you should’ve ran when you had the chance.”

In another one, he said: “I’ll make sure you never take anyone else’s cock ever again.”

But this time, his words are unusually soft.

“I love you.”

However, after that, everything always ends the same. He wraps his hands around your throat, his legs straddle your hips, and he forces you to stay still. He bears his fangs and buries them deep into your neck, chomping down, and ripping out a large chunk. The taste is unbelievably mouth-watering. He eats and he eats until there’s nothing left.

…And when he awakes from his dream, Luka finds himself panting and sweating, cum dripping down his thighs. It’s embarrassing, it’s infuriating. The shame he feels as he walks to the bathroom every morning is intense.

It always takes him a long time to recover from the fantasy.

Luka looks at a photo of you– a photo of you smiling so innocently. It soothes him– it brings him back down to earth. He couldn’t possibly bring himself to actually ruin you. No, he doesn’t want that at all… He would never do that to you…

…Right?

[iamthecomet]

hear me out: dew lost his gills when he transitioned to fire but his neck is still very sensitive where the gills were

You're so right and forgive me if I lose my mind about it a little.

Some Dewther "gill" fucking filth under the cut.

It's an accidental discovery. Aether reaching up to trace his fingers over those silvery scars on his neck. Still fresh. Dew, staring up at him, vulnerable--afraid to let himself be explored like this. Body feeling somewhere between home and completely new. He keeps his hands at his sides, fists clenched, nails digging cresents into his palms. It's hard to be seen like this--touched like this. He's never been good with intimacy. Aether's reverent, devoted. Eyes big and wide as he touches Dew. Feather light, barely there, over every inch of warm skin Dew will let him. Watching as Dew's skinny chest heaves with each stuttering breath. Panic mixed with arousal. Aether has him naked--unable to hide. He dips his fingers into the hollow of Dew's throat and watches as Dew's cock twitches against his thigh. Dew stays as still as he can, would do anything to keep Aether like this. Despite the strange twist of anxiety he gets from letting himself be seen, it's the way Aether looks at him that fixes it. Like he is everything. Like there is something in him worth marveling at. The first touch of Aether's fingers on his scars is like lightening through his skin. A jolt. For a minute it's like he still has gills. That same alarm bell sensitivity of fingers aren't supposed to go here. Dew lets out a whine and Aether pulls his hand back. "Sorry. I didn't--do they hurt?" "Do it again," Dew whispers. Silence hangs, Aether blinks at him, fingers uncurling. "Please?" "I don't want to hurt you."

"Doesn't hurt," Dew promises. "Please, Aeth." Aether reaches out, drags the calloused pad of his index finger over the middle scar and Dew hisses. Eyes slamming shut, cock kicking to life. Almost fully hard now, twitching between his legs as Aether pets. Dew arches, tips his head to the side to give Aether better access. "More." He'd thought he lost this. This electrical current feeling. The brutal sensitivity of his gills that never fails to turn him to goo. It was an unfortuante side-effect of a transition that he needed--that he wanted. But to have it back? He shudders as Aether adds two more fingers, petting over each silver scar. A methodic back and forth motion that makes Dew groan. His cock spits pre into his happy trail. He thinks that if Aether decided to curl his whole hand around his throat, to press the pads of his fingers to the scars on both sides, if Aether was to squeeze--just a little--Dew could cum. He can't ask for it though--doesn't know how. Words are fleeting. All he knows how to do is unclench his fists and get his hands on himself. One to cup his balls, the other to polish the sticky head of his cock. "That good?" Aether teases. He starts to pull his fingers away and Dew's eyes snap open. He shakes his head. Pulling at his cock frantically, lips falling open. "Nononono don't--you gotta--fuck, Aeth--don't stop, please don't stop." Aether grins at him, bending forward to block Dew's view of anything but him. He kisses him, sweetly, on that pouting lower lip. "Never," Aether promises. Dew doesn't realize his mistake until after he cums, painting his belly and knuckles in creamy white. And Aether doesn't stop, fingers still dragging over. He fits his hand around Dew's throat, splaying his fingers across the scars on both sides. Dew's eyes fly open, he twitches. Overstimulation rocketing through him.

"Wait--Aeth--too much--" Aether leans down to kiss his sweaty forehead, his smile turns predatory. "You told me not to stop."

[hogtiedwhorestories]

Hogtiedwhore Gets Blackmailed (Part 3)

co-writer @lockemeup

part 1

part 2

-----------

The hour was finally up. I had been there tied in a blindfolded strappado position with electrical pads and plugs in delivering shocks every time I lowered my hands. It was an hour of hell for me, but it was finally over…I hoped. Deep down though, I know they're going to leave me to suffer a while longer, and sure enough they do. About 15 minutes past the hour I hear the door swing open again. "Well well well, look at the little slut. Is that sweat dripping off your nose?" Your owner gently wipes a bead of sweat off my face, then grabs my hair and wrenches my head back.

When he does, my arms uncontrollably pull on the hook, sending more electricity through me, but I can't lift my arms enough to turn it off. I desperately try to hold my arms up high enough but i cant quite get there. I can also smell that they've been enjoying a few drinks all while I suffered in this room by myself. I'm screaming in pain, my entire body squirming and wiggling. "mmmmpphhhh! mmpphhhhhh!!!" I'm fighting as hard as I can but I can't get it to stop. I'm pleading through my screams to make it stop. The blackmailer pulls the blindfold off of me as I shriek into my thick gag from the shocks. My owner is looking down at me with a look that’s more sadistic than usual. “You want to fuck the whore’s mouth? I think we should take her from both ends for a while before storing her away for the night. Be a shame to have her dressed like a slut and not get fucked like one.”

“Fuck yeah,” the blackmailer says. “I’ve got just the gag to help out with that.” Mercifully, the electro shuts off. My owner still has your my pulled back, and my shoulders are on fire! He unwraps the tape around my mouth and pulls the panties out, while the blackmailer fishes around for another gag. I let out a huge breath of air as I spit the panties out. I'm exhausted. My chest pumping in and out. The adrenaline in my body is through the roof and with the gag out I begin to beg "Please…my arms hurt so bad. Everything hurts. Please. I'm so sorry sir. Please go easy on me!" I say with my head still ached back by my hair.

“No way we’re going easy on you slut. And for speaking without permission, we’ll add some clamps to your nipples for this next part.” My owner takes a leather a metal gag and shoves it in my mouth. Straps go around my head and buckle on tight. Then, distressingly, he ratchets the metal bit in my mouth, slowly opening my jaw against my will until it’s wide open. I groan with the metal gag shoved into my mouth. I'm trying to plead with my eyes to my owner, but I can tell its useless. There's nothing I can do. I can only accept what is happening. He then goes to the wall and grabs a set of nasty looking clamps. As he comes back to me, I feel the blackmailer quickly tying some rope into my hair, pulling my head back, then tying that off to my wrists, forcing me to keep my mouth in perfect position to be fucked. Meanwhile, my owner has pulled the latex dress down, just exposing my tits, and slowly biting the clamps onto one nipple, then the other, smirking into my pleading eyes as he does so. He knows I hate clamps. Which makes this all the more enjoyable for him.

“Alright go for it buddy, I’m gonna take her from behind.” The blackmailer comes around in front of me, unzipping his pants and pulling his thick, hard cock out right in front of me. At the same time, I feel my owner, pull the dress up to expose my ass, then roughly rips my tights open. As his cock is rammed into my open, drooling mouth, the plug in my pussy is taken out, though not the one in my ass. My reaction to the cock in my mouth is to suck, but the open gag preventing me to be able to. It doesn't matter though, as he forcefully fucks my mouth. Making me gag and drool. At the same time I feel the plug yanked out of my pussy, and my owners cock begins to penatrate me. All I can do is take the double team attack of cocks. I look up at my blackmailer, head bouncing back and forth. My tits bouncing up and down, I can feel the clamps tugging on my nipples. I'm groaning in pain, but I'm loving it at the same time. Looking up at him with my weak eyes, staring into his eyes. Feeling like such an object. I don't feel like a person but a fucktoy. Used in the only way they found a worth for me, like a dirty pathetic whore.

As they ream me from both ends, my owner smacks my ass and the blackmailer gives me some slaps in the face. After a while, a load fills my mouth, and he grabs the back of my head, ensuring that I swallow it like a good slut. He pulls out, leaving drool to spill out of my mouth as my owner grabs my hips, shudders and shoots his own seed inside me. After he pulls out, he stuffs another plug in my cunt, sealing it inside.

At long last, they release my arms, letting me stand upright. As the blood rushes back, pain and relief simultaneously flood through me. "You're on your way to earning my trust back, whore. But still a ways to go. We're going to strip you and get you ready for the evening now. Remember, you give us an ounce of trouble, and you'll have to endure full electro all night."

"Yes sir" I say back to him, direct as I can be to show him I will do as he says. The fear of the electros is enough to make me comply. I stand there naked, still recovering from the nipple clamps sting but notice the pads and plugs are still in. I don't dare question it and wait to see what happens. They set about undoing my ropes, taking out my gag, stripping off my dress, tights and boots. The clamps come off, once again setting fire to my nipples, but they leave the electro pads and plugs on and in.

My two captors begin to encase me in plastic wrap. Each arm and leg wrapped individually, then a full wrap around my whole body. I am forced to accept all the wrap being wrapped around me. I don't want to make this worse for myself. They leave my head exposed for now. Foam padding is placed between my knees and ankles, and at my elbows and wrists under the plastic. They also put a large stress ball in each of my hands and wrap those up. Already I'm barely able to move, standing upright, arms at my side and legs together. The foam is comfortable, but it also has the effect of further limiting my movement. The blackmailer gets numerous roles of black, shiny tape out, and starts encircling my body, starting at my midsection. At the same time, my owner buckles a leather muzzle on my head, and chains that up to a hook in the ceiling, holding me in place. The muzzle slips over my head, locking in a ballgag into my mouth. My eyes keep wandering down, watching my body encased more and more.

“You’re going into storage for the night, my little slut. Better get comfortable.” Once my head is secured, my owner joins in on the tape job, and before long, I'm covered from neck to ankle in the stretchy electrical tape. They did a good job of distributing the pressure evenly, so it doesn’t cut off circulation, but my limbs now feel like they’re welded to my body. As each minute goes by, I feel myself lose more and more mobility. My body being molded into just one piece. My limbs pulled tight against my body. A slight pressure all over me, like gravity pulling inwards. I try to glance up and see the chains by my head is held almost perfectly without movement. Storage over night like this?? Inside I'm panicking. I can't imagine being restricted like this overnight! I don't say anything but my eyes are pleading for this to be over. Regret coming over me for this night. The only sounds coming from is my breathing, and slight groanings coming from underneath the gag.

Startlingly, the blackmailer opens a panel in the wall across from me, and a padded platform slides out like a drawer. I notice it’s person-sized, and has metal rings lining both sides. They unhook the muzzle from the ceiling, hoist me up, carry me to the platform, and lay me down. I notice they’ve left the wires for your pads and plugs dangling out of my cocoon. The blackmailer plugs them into leads that are built into the board as my owner gathers up the rope that had been used on me not long before.

The rope is crisscrossed over me, pulled into the rings and cinched tight, until all I can move is my feet and my head. “Now, you’ll be in here until the morning, whore. If you’re lucky, you’ll be let out then, but you may spend tomorrow like this as well. All that electro may or may not randomly go off throughout the night too, but that’s up to the program. Even we don’t know when or if it will zap you, so you may not be getting much sleep.”

My owner attaches a clip to my muzzle, then hooks that to another ring at the top of the board, severely limiting my ability to even move my head. He stands over me, looking down with a smirk. Bending down, putting his face right up to mine, he says in a soft voice, “Oh one more thing. Me and him? We’ve known each other for a while. Yeah, the whole thing was a setup, you dumb cunt. The fact that you fell for it, hook line and sinker has been the best part. And means that you deserve every bit of punishment you’re going to get this weekend. Sleep tight! Or not.”

My eyes open wide. WHAT?! They know each other?! I begin to viscously stir in my restraints. Pulling desperately hard, but not able to make any progress. I'm completely sealed with no hope for escape. I feel so...used. More so then normal. Completely mind fucked and manipulated he would put me through this. After a moment of hopeless struggling, I stop and exhale. I admit my defeat. A feeling I am used to by now with him. Even after everything he puts me through, I gladly worship him and will always accept my defeat. He pushes me into the wall, and then shuts the door, sealing me in darkness, until the morning.

END

[chaotickasugaicrows]

Some stuff for the Training Dragons AU. 

Tanjirō’s dragon Suchīmu belongs to a species called Coral Aegis dragons and it can spit both fire and water blasts. It also has the ability to create an electricity shield (since Tanjirō used modified Thunder breathing we figured this fits). The temperament of this dragon is kind and gentle yet sometimes daring and tenacious. These social dragons will stop at nothing to protect other members of their species, especially the young.

Tanjirō was decently young when he found Suchīmu wounded in the forest and decided to feed it. He had a habit of feeding random animals in the woods near his home. 

There are several different attitudes towards dragons in the Japan of this AU. Where the Kamado’s live, dragons are shown extreme respect but in the way that a typhoon is shown respect. Dragons are considered dangerous so people are afraid of their wrath and generally bow and then get the heck out of there. There is no dragon killing of any kind because they are protected by the gods. If someone dies to a dragon, that’s on them. They surely pissed it off somehow.

There is a different attitude towards dragons where Zenitsu lives. For him, dragons are a person’s other half and are raised from hatchling stage to be their companion. There is a ceremony where the hatchlings choose their person. 

Which brings me to Zenitsu’s dragon, Chuntaro, which belongs to a species called Stormterror dragons. They shoot lightning blasts which they can either generate themselves or pull from the sky, depending on the situation. Surprisingly, the lightning blast that changed Zenitsu’s hair was not the fault of his dragon. He attempted to teach his dragon how to summon lightning from the sky, climbed a tree, and promptly got electrocuted. Thus, Chuntaro the dragon, not to be confused with Chuntaro bird, is under the impression that his rider can also summon lightning like he can and can change colors.

[skeletor-enjoyer]

MOTU-Themed Pokemon Teams - Part 1

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Going to split this into multiple posts because there is a lot of them. This first post will have teams meant to represent an entire faction. After this they will all be teams of 6 with a MOTU character trainer. All Pokemon are allowed, including shinies, legendaries, and even beta Pokemon. I imagine this all taking place on an alternate MOTU universe where all the Eternian/Etherian magical creatures are Pokemon instead.

Faction Team: Heroic Warriors

Credit to Rachel Briggs for official-style art of beta Pokemon Gorotora and Beta Octillery, check out more of her art here: https://x.com/RacieBeep/status/1301892632667398144

He-Man - GOROTORA: Very cute unreleased electric tiger Pokemon. This is Cringer/Battlecat, He-Man's faithful tiger. The electric type fits because both He-Man and Battle-Cat are powered up after the Power Sword 'charges' them with lightning.

Teela - RAPIDASH: Teela rides a golden unicorn in the original minicomics. The 'firey' red mane also suits Teela.

Orko - PORYGON-Z: Both travel through alien dimensions and are small levitating beings thought to behave strangely. Computers and machines struggle to analyze or make sense of Orko's existence, and Porygon-Z is a computer glitch. Their eyes and color palettes are also very similar.

Sorceress - HISUIAN BRAVIARY: The extra eyes above Braviary's face look similar to the Sorceress headress. The Psychic/Flying type fits her nature as a powerful magic user and ability to transform into a falcon.

Man-At-Arms - BETA OCTILLERY: The beta version of Octillery was designed to look like a tank, which fits Duncan well enough with his military experience, but also has Octillery wearing a matching helmet to its trainer. I imagine this version as a water/steel type.

Roboto - GOLURK: Roboto is a Robotican explorer from another world, and Golurk's robot-like appearance and ability to turn into a rocket fit this very well.

Faction Team: Evil Warriors

Credit to TonOfDirt726 for official art recolored to match Shiny Alolan Marowak: https://www.deviantart.com/tonofdirt726/art/105-Marowak-826417045

Credit to ExoticPoke for official art recolored to match Shiny Drednaw: https://www.deviantart.com/exoticpoke/art/0834-Shiny-Drednaw-979755953

Skeletor - ALOLAN MAROWAK: In one episode of the cartoon, Skeletor creates an army of miniature versions of himself. In this Pokemon-filled universe, he wouldn't need to go to that effort, as tiny skull-faced magic users already exist. Fire/ghost is a fitting type as blasts of flame and necromancy are some of Skeletor's most iconic magical abilities.

Evil-Lyn - WEAVILE: Same hat!

Beast Man - DARMANITAN: Both are red-furred primates with some form of psychic abilities.

Mer-Man - SWAMPERT: These two look like twins! Swampert is partially based on a mudskipper, a type of fish which can travel on land - Mer-Man is also a fish that travels on land.

Trap-Jaw - SHINY DREDNAW: Maybe the most perfect fit here! The discolored lower jaw, the tiny hole in the head protrusion for both (Trap-Jaw's is meant to allow ziplining, I don't know why Drednaw has it but glad it does), and the colors all make these two a perfect match.

Tri-Klops - SPIDOPS: Spidops doesn't shoot eye beams, but the ogre spider it is based on has incredible powers of vision just like Tri-Klops! The ogre spider's eyes are 2,000 times more sensitive to light than humans! These two also look very much alike, especially the head/helmet, and their names happen to also rhyme!

Faction Team: Great Rebellion

She-Ra - GALARIAN RAPIDASH: She-Ra's faithful unicorn steed Swift Wind! The psychic/fairy typing is a great fit for She-Ra as she has a wide array of magical powers herself.

Mermista - PRIMARINA: Primarina resembles a mermaid with flowing blue hair, making her a spitting image of her trainer. The fact that Primarina is a magical singing seal gives the two another connection: Mermista has the ability to change from her mermaid form to a human one, similar to the selkies of Celtic/Norse mythology who could don their sealskin to transform into a seal or shed the skin to appear human.

Castaspella - DELPHOX: Delphox is based on spellcasters, and the two share similar color schemes.

Sweet Bee - RIBOMBEE: Sweet Bee resembles both a fairy and a bee, though she is actually an alien species. Ribombee is fairy-type and resembles a bee, but is actually a different species called a bee fly.

Bow - HISUIAN DECIDUEYE: Bow is a guy with a bow. Decidueye is an owl that uses its curved wings as bows. The hisuian version has matching colors, and the patterning on its chest is closer to the heart on Bow's.

Flutterina - BUTTERFREE: They are both butterflies :-)

Faction Team: Evil Horde

Credit to Dark Domain for official-style art of Beta Liepard: https://x.com/DarknWindie/status/1845348376440676444

Credit to TrainerParshen for global link art recolored to match Shiny Eelektross and Mega Mawile: https://www.deviantart.com/trainerparshen/art/Shiny-Eelektross-Global-Link-Art-425672639 / https://www.deviantart.com/trainerparshen/art/Shiny-Mega-Mawile-Global-Link-Art-461310496

Credit to TonOfDirt726 for official art recolored to match Shiny Glalie and Shiny Cradily: https://www.deviantart.com/tonofdirt726/art/362-Glalie-819125686 / https://www.deviantart.com/tonofdirt726/art/346-Cradily-819121552

Hordak - SHINY GLALIE: Same face and red eyes.

Shadow Weaver - SHINY CRADILY: Yellow eyes in a black void, cloaked in red.

Mosquitor - BUZZWOLE: They are both buff mosquitos! Mosquitor also has legs similar to Mantenna, another red Horde member.

Catra - BETA-LIEPARD: Liepard's moody and vicious personality and dark typing fit Catra well, but this recently leaked beta version fits even better with the same color palette.

Leech - SHINY EELEKTROSS: Not only do they look very similar, they both drain prey like a leech! Due to being a lamprey, eelektross also has a very fitting sucker-like mouth and even suckers on hands. I probably should have displayed Leech in the configuration that has sucker mouth and hands also.

Entrapta - SHINY MEGA MAWILE: Not only is the hairstyle and color very close, both can move and 'entrap' people in their hair!

Faction Team: Snake Men

Credit to Anarlaurendil for official art recolored to match Shiny Dudunsparce: https://www.deviantart.com/anarlaurendil/art/Dudunsparce-shiny-HD-994175646

Tyrantisaurus Rex - TYRANTRUM: As a beast of the Snake Men, Tyrantisaurus Rex would not ordinarily be a trainer, but it's fine for a team meant to overview the faction in general. Anyway they're both T-Rexes and the 'crown' on Tyrantum fits as this would be the mount of King Hiss.

King Hiss - SERPERIOR: Because King Hiss believes that 'serpents' are 'superior'! Also color scheme/nobility theme.

Reptilax - SEVIPER: Reptilax is a user of bladed weapons such as axes and swords, making Seviper a perfect fit. Could have also worked well for Fang-Or due to having the longest fangs of the snake Pokemon, but I like Reptilax a bit better.

Snake Face - ONIX: Snake Face is a snake man that turns people to stone with his scary snake face. Onix is a snake made of stone.

Kobra Khan - ARBOK: Arbok is Kobra Khan's first name spelled backwards. Also they can both spit venom!

Rattlor - SHINY DUDUNSPARCE: I am pretty sure this is the closest that the snake pokemon come to a rattlesnake, but this one has a drill instead! The red/yellow color scheme of the shiny fits well.

Anyway I hope you enjoyed, the trainer team parts will look slightly nicer than this.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

[rubylarkspur22]

Hear me out Demon Slayer characters in Legend Of Spyro setting

... I like the way you think, anon!

Now, I'm gonna hold off on drawing, but I will spit out some story ideas! Mostly nonsensical rambling about some bits and pieces.

So, we have some obvious parallels. Tanjirou fits very well into the role of Spyro, as the hero of our story, and Muzan would fit quite well in the role of main antagonist and Malefor. And it only makes sense for the Hashira to be the Guardians. But what else can I come up with for this AU??

Muzan was originally only capable of wielding one element, but was very weak and sick when he was young. He gained access to more power through artificial means, which ended up leading to him developing use of Dark Elements in his thirst for power.

Yoriichi and the Kamado family are the only dragons capable of wielding more than one element, a trait passed down to the eldest son. The Kamado family was actually actively hiding in the mountains to prevent drawing the attention of Muzan and his army(who are all dragons who have been corrupted by Dark Aether, some more willingly than others).

Nezuko was initially just a fire dragon. But Muzan attacks the Kamado family to try and find the dragon in the family that can wield multiple elements. In the midst of his attack, some of his Dark Aether latched onto Nezuko. It didn't fully corrupt her, but it did affect her, giving her access to some Dark Elements.

From there, the story is a mix of LoS and KNY. Tanjirou goes on a journey to undo Nezuko's half-corruption, master his elements(having already fully mastered Fire thanks to Tanjurou!)

Oh, hey! Both protagonists get temporarily corrupted by the antagonists in their respective franchises!(Dark Spyro and Demon King Tanjirou)

Some ideas for elements some of the characters use, some more obvious than others:

Kie would be an Earth Dragon. Tell me I'm wrong. The rest of the Kamado children are either Earth like her, or got Fire from Tanjurou.

Giyuu is a Water Dragon, as are Urokodaki, Sabito, and Makomo.

Obanai is either a Water Dragon or a Poison Dragon(because snake venom).

Shinobu is also one of those. And she's also tiny, so she will go for your kneecaps and ankles.

The Rengoku family are all Fire Dragons, obviously.

Zenitsu, Kaigaku, and Kuwajima are Electricity Dragons, Kuwajima being a former Guardian and the boys being slotted to be his successors. Zenitsu only knows one attack(I'm thinking it's the Electricity Primary from The Eternal Night; the ball of electricity you can launch and then proceed to set off), but he's damn good at using it. Kaigaku, of course, went the corruption route. Dick.

Gyomei is Earth.

Sanemi is Wind. And Genya is either an Earth Dragon, or he has no element. A rare case, but I assume to not be impossible.

Nezuko's extra elements are Earth(from Kie), and I'm thinking Fear.

I'm not sure what Michikatsu's natural element would be, but Kokushibo also has Fear and Shadow at his disposal after being corrupted. As well as a little Dark Aether, to compete with Yoriichi in the great one-sided dick-measuring contest.

Douma is an Ice Dragon.

Inosuke is either an Earth Dragon or a Wind Dragon. I have no clue which I prefer. Either way, feral tactical assault dragon. He's the one raised by another creature entirely.

Akaza is originally Earth. Not sure what Dark Element he wields.

Hantengu uses Wind(natural element), as well as Electricity, Fear, and Earth

Gyokko uses Water and Poison

Gyutaro is a Poison Dragon, and possibly was one from birth. Ume's element(s) are undecided.

All others, I do not know for sure, but would love to hear some ideas!

[emo-gremlin]

I'm really nervous to ask this because I feel like everyone's gonna judge me but

Could we maybe get some serpent puzzles vore hcs?

If it makes you uncomfortable, you don't have to do it ofc

So, a confession, I myself am not really into vore, but it made sense for him to be into it. This will also be the only vore fic I will be writing for him as a result. A huge thank you to Mr. Serpent's Co-creator @sneklover for helping me with this! Trigger warnings: vore (obviously), regurgitation (kinda?)

18+ ONLY!

🐍 So, The first time you bring it up, he's just like: "There'sssssssssss a name for that?"

🐍 He's pretty nervous honestly, he doesn't want to hurt you, but God does the idea sound appealing.

🐍 So you two come to a compromise. The first time, he wouldn't completely swallow you. You could just sit, like a hard candy. If things went OK, and his system worked like it was supposed to, you'd be ok, if not very...slimy after.

🐍 You can see the tips of his cocks peeking out as he bends himself to your level. "Are you ssssssure about thisssss?" He asks, his tone nervous and concerned.

🐍 You were touched by his care, cupping the corner of his head. "I'm sure my love. I trust you."

🐍 He took a shaky breath, still unsure. His lengths twitched. "Alright then. But...pleasssse, don't be afraid to ssssstart crawling out if itsssss too much, ok?"

🐍 You smiled, placing a kiss to his screen. "Ok."

🐍 You felt his hands grabbing your hips, him taking another nervous breath before lifting you.

🐍 Your feet disappear into his screen first. It feels like your dipping feet first into a pool of static electricity. Then you feel warmth, soft and wet, wrapped around your legs as if you were in a blanket burrito.

🐍You sigh happily; it felt strange, but in a nice way.

🐍 Mr. Serpent's dicks were on full display now, precum bubbling at the tips.

🐍 You felt a wet static against your crotch. His tongue lapping between your legs, trying to sneak a taste of you. You spread your legs a little, being mindful of making sure he could still breathe.

🐍He moaned against you, his tongue shaking with the sound, making you gasp. He could feel drool dripping down the corner of his screen. He swallowed, his grip on your hips like iron.

🐍 The moan you let out was pure sin, rocking against his static tongue as it sparked against your flesh.

🐍 Serpent thrust against the air, his cocks leaking and begging for affection.

🐍 He groaned, another sound shaking his tongue, moving in the best way possible for you.

🐍His tongue shot up around your leg as he slowly lowered you into his maw, until you could basically feel the edge of his smaller stomach with your toes.

🐍 He was so warm, so...comfortable. It felt like...like a warm weighted blanket wrapped around you on a cold winter morning. It made you a little tired, but you also couldn't deny the fire his tongue started between your legs.

🐍 Mr. Serpent kept his mouth open, letting the drool spill out to avoid possibly drowning you. Why did this feel...so good?! Both of his hands stroking his cocks, throbbing and pulsing like never before.

🐍 It was strange hearing him moan from the inside of his body. Seems he was really enjoying this.

🐍 He was so close, so quickly. He was whimpering.

🐍 You rubbed the inside of his stomach, quickly sending him over with a choked screech. Both cocks exploding with his seed as you felt his muscles start to push and contract against you.

🐍 A few moments later, you were blinking away spit and slime from your eyes readjusting to the light of your bedroom.

🐍 Mr. Serpent looked satisfied and giddy, his cocks sliding back inside his slit. "You ok?" He asked, looking you over for any acid burns or injuries.

🐍 He was a mess. His hat discarded, suit jacket open and tie undone, a sheen of sweat making his scales shine brighter.

🐍 "I will be if you do that thing with your tongue again." You purred.

🐍 "With pleasssssure~" Mr. Serpent hissed into your ear.

I hope I did at least an ok job!

[boobblog]

I've had a couple of really good days. I got my drains out finally and can do people things again, like bend and twist, and breathe. The pain is still there from the mastectomy, but that's is manageable. I've been trying to explain it to Luke, because it literally takes my breath away. It's like millions of electrical fires snapping all across my chest. It's especially bad after I've done literally anything.

I vacuumed the other day, (don't worry, the vacuum is light) and wanted to die. I was so out of breath and sweating, it made me realize that although I still look "good," I have such a long road ahead of me. I'm not really excited about it. In fact, if I think about it for too long I get mad all over again.

In the next 2 weeks I have a chemo class, pre op testing at the hospital, dr. appts with my gynecologist and plastic surgeon, my port placement surgery then 2 days later my total hysterectomy. I feel like I've been run over and then eaten and spit out already. I'm so grateful that everything is moving quickly, and it's all because I've pushed for it to happen this way. Remember that unhealthy sense of urgency I mentioned, well these are the results.

I was diagnosed in September. It is the beginning of December now and all I will have to do next year is chemo. After that it's port removal and reconstructive surgery. But the cancer treatment will be coming to an end.

That's the hope anyway. I got my pathology results from the mastectomy. All clear margins, and she even said I'm cancer free. It was such an enormous weight lifted off my shoulders. The thing living and growing inside my body, attacking me and making me sick is out. I was overcome with emotion. I wasn't expecting to hear that. If I'm cancer free then why am I still doing ALLLLLLLL these things? I know the answer to that, but telling someone they are cancer free and then telling them to celebrate feels insulting when they can barely make it up the stairs in the hospital parking garage.

My breast surgeon followed up her statement about me celebrating with, "oh, it says here that your right breast had a cluster of cancer cells as well, it's a good thing we took them both!"

Hold the fuck on! I've had 79575675035 imaging tests ran, some of them were even repeated, how was this missed? Why was it not sent for mammoprint testing? How do we KNOW that it's the same as the boob bandit in the left breast? Did we get clear margins on it?

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THIS CHANGE?

The answer is, I don't know, and they don't seem worried about it, so the only choice I have is to trust them. I do. But, now, theres a tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me that this has to change something. The one thing I keep thinking is that because my cancer is so aggressive and walking around like it's got an invisibility cloak, it will come back, somewhere else. Just because I'm having a hysterectomy and will be on hormone blockers for 5 years, doesn't eliminate the other areas in my body producing the hormones that caused my cancer.

I should have gone to medical school, damnit.

I am consumed with all the horrific prognoses I've gotten. Arthritis, menopause, weak bones, blah blah blah.... In my mind, I'm still young and fun. In reality, my body is not able to keep up.

Sometimes I dream about when I was still dancing. How I was so in tune with my body that I could do all the things with my eyes closed. In my dreams, my body is still mine. It doesn't feel like that anymore.

I feels like I lost something, something I never knew how to keep, or that it could even be taken from me.

I think I'm just unsettled. My soul is tired, if that makes sense. I spend the majority of my time, hiding how I truly feel. My boy is in online school and home with us, so he sees everything, and apparently I'm an excellent actress, because this fool was just going about life like I have my shit together enough to handle his foolishness and teenager tendencies.

I lost my shit with him. To be fair, I tried having a feeling circle. You know, like in The New Girl. I even had a feeling stick, which was a ruler I found. But I started the feeling circle and I guess my feelings were still too strong to try and have a calm discussion about priorities and helping mom out more. I lost it. I wasn't yelling. We don't yell in our home.

But, I was saying, "I have cancer....", I just kept saying that, it's like I was caught up in a hamster wheel, just repeating it. Partly because I needed him to realize how serious this shit is, but mostly because saying it out loud to my son, made it sink in.

Still, today, it doesn't feel real. Also, why in the hell is it NOW that my hair is the healthiest it's ever been? That's pretty shitty Gods. But whatever. I'm alive, right. That's what everyone says anyway. It just doesn't feel like I'm living.

I have been reading though. Alot. It makes me want to write fiction books. I am able to lose myself in these stories. The room around me fades away and it's like I'm in the room with the characters, watching as everything happens in front me. It's such a personal and special experience. And because of the type of books I'm reading, sometimes it's kind of SPICY....(that last part MUST be read in Stefan's voice from SNL).

But did you know, not everyone is able to have images in their minds like that? Luke cannot imagine moving images in his head, and has a hard time visualizing things based on a description. It has something to do with our brains. However, he says when I write, he can. Maybe he is just being nice, but maybe I write things in a different way, a way that other neurodivergents can participate in. That's a fun thing to think about.

Maybe I can try that out here too. Chemo starts 1/14. I'll have 4 rounds 3 weeks apart that last 4 hours each time. That'll give me soooo much time to write. Maybe.

I haven't done much soul searching lately. It's been nice to turn my brain off. After our family meeting, Killian got his shit together and is back to being the best human on the planet, so I've just been allowing myself to feel safe and peaceful, for the time being. So, no big revelations this time. For the moment, I'm enjoying not crying.

[dawsonskyelar]

The Spaces Between Us - chapter 8

Master post

Full work

The song faded out and Sebastian thought he’d finally get some respite. However, the next one blared out and it seemed to make his entire body thrum. He watched Nick and the blonde, who were at the centre of the dance floor. He held her hands against his hips; cheers and cackles rose as he rubbed them suggestively against her. It must be nice to not have a care about anything in the world. To not be haunted by the past. Even at this distance Nick still managed to occupy his mind.

Sebastian was aware that the scene was something out of a romance novel. The reserved brunet yearning for the outgoing blond at a club. But this wasn’t fiction, this was reality. There wasn’t a path that was going to lead him to a happy ending. He was going to stay like this, waiting for the day when Nick found his life partner and left him. He cursed himself. He should’ve insisted on going home.

His stomach growled. Of course he’d have a reason to stay in this hellhole. He looked around and saw a bar at the other side of the room. The elbows and feet felt sharper than knives as they jabbed and kicked against him. He took the only seat left and looked at the menu that was framed on the wall. The outrageous prices meant that the discount only lowered the items to what was normal everywhere else.

He waited for four whole minutes until the bartender saw him. She mouthed something that he couldn’t hear, and he pointed to a spot on the menu. And it was another eleven minutes until he received something. Not only was it an item he didn’t want, the portion wasn’t even sizable, and the flavour was non-existent. It felt like this night, and his headache, was never going to end.

He was halfway through the dish when Nick sidled up to the bar, arms linked with the blonde. They settled into the stools that had just been vacated; he hoped they were as uncomfortable as it was for him.

‘That was fun!’ Nick exclaimed. Sweat had drenched him completely, making his shirt cling to his toned chest.

‘You got some moves there, handsome,’ the blonde said, pressing her palm to it.

‘You like that? I can give you more,’ Nick said, smirking at her.

‘Now that’s what I like to hear.’

‘Hang on, lemme just get something to eat, I’m fucking starving!’

‘Who needs food when you have me?’ She hooked his necklace with her finger and pulled him towards her. Their mouths met and she pashed him as if she intended to swallow him whole. They rolled their tongues against each other in the open and their spit glinted under the flashing lights. Sebastian scowled and drank his water, but it only made him want to vomit more.

The blonde pulled away and smacked her lips. ‘Mmm. Not bad, tiger.’

‘Y’know, you taste pretty damn good. I might be just half hungry now!’ Nick laughed.

‘Duh.’

Nick turned to Sebastian and grinned. ‘’Sup, Sebastian? Jealous you can’t get someone to play with?’

‘No.’

‘Cool! More for me, then!’ Nick turned to his right and pulled a tall male with a green-and-white bandana towards him. The man’s eyes widened and then relaxed as Nick kissed him.

Sebastian couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight even though the fire in his stomach was threatening to burn him alive. He’d always known that Nick liked both genders, but it was rare for him to actually hook up with guys. Nick pashed the man like he had no intention of withdrawing. And of course the stranger responded enthusiastically, because who could resist Nick? Even the blonde had an expression of intrigue on her face.

The man shifted and the movement made Nick pull away like he’d just been given an electric shock to the brain. He blinked and for just a split second Sebastian couldn’t read his expression, but then the grin was back in place.

‘This is what you can get, but you just don’t wanna try.’

‘Say, handsome, want to do stuff at my place tonight?’ the blonde asked. ‘I want to see what else you’ve got. And you can pick anyone you want as your partner.’

Sebastian didn’t bother to see what Nick’s response was. He stood up and fought his way through the crowd, which seemed to have thickened, towards the entrance. He was sick of everything. The four walls, the buildings, the sky, the hurt, the nightmares. It was all one blur. He didn’t know how to differentiate the days anymore.

The cool air hit him as he passed through the doors, but the music was still trying to penetrate him. He slunk down towards the main street with his hands. He wished there would be a change, an overhaul, even. It’d at least be something new in his life.

[ihavenoideawhatthisblogis]

Untitled #4

word count 2.2k

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I frown when I open the front door of my house, and I see him standing right there.

"So this is where you live," Changbin says, stepping in and looking around. "It's a nice place." I frown deeper. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask, trying to block his way in. He looks at me up and down, just like he did yesterday, and electricity runs through my entire body, making me feel dizzy and not upset like I should.

"Those are your pajamas?" He quirks an eyebrow and smirks. His sight gets lost on my barely-covered thighs.

"Nothing you didn't see that disastrous day that it was yesterday," I roll my eyes and try to play it cool. "That didn't answer my question, tho."

He sighs, looking up at me, still keeping some kind of lust in his eyes. 

"Well, I didn't mean for things to turn out the way they did. I just wanted to push some buttons and have fun, but now neither Minho nor Hyunjin want to work with you."

I scoff because I met with Hyunjin last night when everyone went to bed. He was actually a bit relieved because his little act against me put Changbin at ease. He no longer believed they would betray him.

"Shit luck, I guess," I say, shrugging. "You should've thought about it." I try to move to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. But he stops in my tracks.

"You heard those little shits. They will fight us. We gotta keep working together." I roll my eyes. "Besides, I need to release some stress too." He smirks, absently brushing his dick through his pants.

"Fuck off," I snarl, getting a little too close to his face. "Do you really think I'll fuck you again after the stupid number you put up? You're delusional." He smiles like I've just complimented him.

"Baby, no matter how much you hate me, you can't deny how good it was. Besides," he licks his lips, smiling. Like keeping a straight face is a fucking challenge. "I meant what I said. You drive me crazy with all those little clothes you wear. That pajama included." He says, looking at my legs with an intensity that sets a fire in my lower stomach.

"Chris loves it too," I say, before thinking. Wanting a reaction from him. 

"Chris," He says mocking me, but still looking a bit mortified. "He's no match to me, and you know it," he states, coming closer to me. I step back, but I find myself cornered against the little table we keep next to the door. "You haven't stopped thinking about it either."

"You disgust me," I spit, knowing deep down, that it isn't entirely true. I hate that he's got this effect on me. I despise him. He set me up. He used me. He's done unforgivable things. Why do I still want him this bad?

"Bet you anything you're already wet," he whispers, and I hate that he's right. Have I lost my mind? What the fuck is wrong with me? "Stop thinking about it," he said softly against my ear. One of his legs is between mine. His hands grabbing the hem of my shirt. "We don't have to mix things up. You can still hate me and hold me accountable for all the things I've done. We can be on enemies' sides and be complete opposites. Hell, that would only make it better." He giggles softly, touching my core over my already-wet-panties, and we both moan quietly.

"You've- fuck, you've surely thought a lot about this," I stutter.

"I told you I'm always thinking about you," he hums, in agreement, kissing my neck. "Come on," he says as he grabs my ass with his free hand, "Take me to your room. We don't want them to surprise us fucking each other's brains out next to the door, do we?" he laughs softly but freezes when he feels me clenching. I'm officially out of my mind. "Do you want them to?" he asks in a surprised tone, he wants to show off as smug, and I clench again. He scoffs. 

"Be my fucking guest, then" he groans, putting my back right against the door.

 _________________________________________________________________________

Thankfully, Changbin is long gone by the time Chan and Jisung get home.

"Wow, you're glowing!" Jisung comments, greeting me with a forehead kiss.

I roll my eyes, but I feel guilt climbing through my neck.

"How was it?" I ask, changing the topic.

"Easier, since Changbin wasn't there, " I nod with my head and Jisung frowns. "Did you know?"

"What?" I ask.

"That Changbin wasn't there."

"No, what?" I frown a bit, too. "Why would I know that?" I scratch the back of my head. Nervous.

"Oh, sorry, you nodded, and I just thought..." he trails off, "anyways, we were able to talk to your brothers privately and we discussed a way to take him down."

"Don't call them that," says Chan annoyed, coming closer to me, to kiss my cheek. "How was your day here by yourself?" He puts some strands of hair behind my ear. Jisung clears his throat.

"It was alright," I gulp. Moving away from him. I might be paranoid, but I can still feel Changbin's smell on me. "You guys hungry?"

"Yes!" they cry out at the same time.

While we eat and get ready to go training with our guys, they tell me all about the strategy they discussed, and I feel some sort of discomfort in my chest that I can't shake off.

__________________________________________________________________________

"You okay?" Chan asks once I get out of the bathroom after a long shower. Truly I was just trying to wash Changbin's smell away. 

Chan's sitting on the edge of my bed. Only one button keeps his shirt from showing his entire chest and abs, and he looks incredible. I gulp.

"Yeah, why?" 

"Dunno," He shrugs, "you've been so absent all afternoon. I thought something was wrong, and I wanted to know so maybe I could help?" he offers a smile, and I smile back.

"It's okay, just many things have happened, and I'm a bit stressed," I lie, reaching his hand to reassure him. He grabs my hand, and I can almost see the engine in his head going full speed before he stands up in front of me.

"Maybe I can help you out..." he whispers, grabbing me by the waist, pulling me closer to him. So close I can almost feel him through his clothes. I tense up. I clear my throat. I want to disappear because what am I going to tell him now? He laughs a bit, and he looks a bit shy. He moves back a little.

"I'm sorry, was I too direct?" he asks, his cheeks and ears going a bright red.

"No, I just.." I laugh, embarrassed, "I'm just a bit tired today, Channie, I um..." I clear my throat again, trying to come up with something else. "I just need to get some sleep."

Chan looks a bit disappointed but he covers it up quickly, smiling.

"Yeah, no it's okay." He says, walking back, away from me. "I get it. It has been a long day." He leaves my room, closing the door a bit strongly after him.

I let myself fall into my bed and feel like shit. Jisung said this would happen. I just didn't expect it to happen so soon.

__________________________________________________________________________

A couple of weeks fly by, with all the training, and Changbin, the truces, the fighting, and Changbin, all the sneaking around, the strategics, and Changbin.

I feel exhausted.

We've become so shameless, that I've been spending most of the nights at his place. There's something oddly comforting in it. I haven't slept that well in so long, I can't bring myself to leave his place after recovering from my highs.

I'm the first one to wake up every day though, finding myself tangled in his arms and sheets. I go home and wash up for hours before I even muster the guts to look Chan and Han in the eyes.

There's something so intoxicating in his smell, his skin, his kisses, and I get lost in them.

But when I get home, I can't stop thinking about him murdering my mother.

__________________________________________________________________________

He's not amused to see me, but at least he came.

"You know I could be doing other things right now," Minho comments, implying his plans with Jisung, waiting for me to laugh maybe, but I just sit there and look disgusted. "What happened? I thought Hyunjin was your ally, not me."

"Well, that was before I found out you were fucking my best friend. I don't mean to pry, but honestly, what are your intentions? Cause I swear to god if you hurt him..." I trail off because I can't even imagine Jisung getting hurt, without me turning into an assassin. 

"Do you want me to get in detail, or...?" He smirks, but I'm not amused. He sighs and tries again. "We're just fucking. Do I really have to have any other type of intentions with him?" 

I haven't talked to Ji about his feelings or thoughts about it, so I really shouldn't screw anything up by saying things I'm not supposed to. Things like how he's not the type to just fuck around. His heart is too pure for that.

"Just don't hurt him, or I won't care about this stupid truce. I will fucking murder you."

"You don't care that we're family?" He pretends to look hurt. But I just give him a look. "No one cares about the truce anyways..." he scoffs, but I can see he knows I mean what I'm saying. "I do care about him, somehow. He just...gets to you, you know?"

I nod. Oh boy, I know.

"You didn't call me here in the middle of the night to threaten me, did you?" He abruptly changes the topic.

"I mean, you could use a heads up before you fuck things up, but it's true. I wanted to talk about something else. I'm starting to think Hyunjin isn't completely honest with me." I state, and he frowns, genuinely taken aback. "He's just been off lately, and I don't know if something's happened or he just doesn't want to keep on sneaking."

Minho just raises his eyebrows and huffs air before speaking.

"Well, he has been off, but I just assumed it was because he was 'double agent' mood, but if you feel him off, then maybe something is going on..." 

"Can you find out?" I ask, and he laughs.

"You want me to go 'double agent' too?"

"You're already doing that with Jisung." I shrug, and he rolls his eyes.

"Fine."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

On my way back to my place, I hear steps behind me, so I turn around, aiming my rifle everywhere, trying to find whoever's been following me.

I hear some sounds coming from the trash cans on my right, and then the same brown-haired guy who came to give us his leaders' envelope with information comes out. He's got his arms up in the air.

"You know that you have to be more sneaky than that if you want to follow someone, right?" I say, never pulling my gun down.

"I wanted you to know I was here. I need to talk to you," he says calmly. His gun is hanging on his shoulder, lying on his back, but there's something weird, so I keep mine where it is. "Fine, you don't have to put it down, then. Listen, your sneaking around put your leader in great danger, even if you think you're doing it to protect him."

"Why are you giving me tips on my job if you want to take us down?" I scoff, rolling my eyes.

"We're not like you, we said so, but it's clear that you think we're playing around," he huffs, "but anyways, leader Jeongin wants to get a word with Han Jisung. I'm just checking if it's safe, which is why I care if you do your job correctly."

"Everything I do, I do it to protect Han," I say honestly. "I'm not perfect, but I mean well." He nods.

"Seo Changbin didn't kill your mother." He says out of nowhere, looking me in the eyes.

"What?" I barely hear myself. Air leaving my lungs like I was just punched.

"He's covering someone else. I'm still trying to get that information, but I know he wasn't the one." He assures me.

"How? Why are you telling me this now? Who the fuck even are you?" I fall to my knees. My eyes losing focus.

"Ballistics." He shrugs like it's so simple. Like all my life decisions suddenly make no sense anymore. "He's never used that type of gun before, it's a pretty unique gun, but we haven't got a hold of it. We just know he's covering someone."

"Why?"

"It's what we're trying to figure out."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I thought it might help you get your anger out of the way and work towards a geniunely positive truce between both groups."

"Why?" 

It seems like all coherent thought has left my brain.

"We just want the best for everyone," he shrugs again. His composture is admirable. "If you don't believe me, you can check it yourself." He says handing me a folder, and turning around, walking away from me.

"Oh, my name is Kim Seungmin, by the way. I'll be in touch."

[moodymisty]

Ahh your writing is so wonderful! I have a request for Crosshair x F!Reader for “I’m not letting you out of my sight”

Like they both have a secret crush on each other but they are at a bar and Crosshair sees someone try to hit on you and he gets sexy possessive jealous?? 🫢🤌 NSFW is ok! 😈

❀ Milestone prompts list ❀

Author's Note: Ohhhh I love me some possessive tropes... Lets get it on~ I might come back and touch this one up a bit since i'm not totallyyyy happy with the way things flow, but I really wanted to write and post some naughty Crosshair; I've been doing so much fluff

Relationships: Crosshair/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, mild instances of a stranger being a little pushy flirty, Semi-public sex, Slightly rough sex, It's crosshair so any sort of emotional communication is awful, Unprotected sex

This bar is, shady. To put it lightly.

It could be worse, but it's very clear that this is the bar to go to when one is finished with some less than savory business, or you're persona non grata everywhere else.

But as such, it's also the only bar in this dank, dreary city that'll serve clones, so it's not as if you are all swimming in options. Of course you all finally get some shore leave, and it's on this sunken heap of a planet. The whole place smells like smog; Like some of the lowest, darkest levels of Coruscant.

The rest of the Batch is all late- held up by some repairs on the Marauder that needed immediate attention and multiple sets of hands. They encouraged you to head on without them and that they'd been done quickly, and Crosshair had decided to follow you.

You might normally have told him to stay and help them, but now that you're here, a part of you is a little bit glad that he didn't stay behind. He's a nice anchor point, as otherwise you'd be totally alone in a completely new place. A bar no less, one that doesn't seem exactly used to people like you and Crosshair inside of it.

"You look like a fish outta water, girlie."

You're not against petnames and nicknames, the Batch and most people you know rarely call you by your name anyways, but you're not a fan the way this bartender says it.

You also aren't fond of the way he's acting as if Crosshair doesn't exist, though he more than lets himself be known on the barstool right next to you as you respond.

"Just waiting for some friends," You respond. He fills someone's glass full of an unfamiliar and strong smelling liquor that burns your nose, giving it to them before looking back.

"Not more clones, I hope."

Crosshair speaks up, his eyebrows raised and shoulders firmly set. You'd say he's trying to seem intimidating and unfriendly, but that would imply it wasn't working.

"A problem?" The bartender makes a nonchalant noise in his throat and continues to serve some of the more demanding, drunker customers surrounding the two of you.

"Not if you're all payin'." Even if the answer isn't as negative as you would've expected, Crosshair is still less than pleased. The man looks at you, failing to give Crosshair even more than a wayward glance as he speaks.

"Didn't think a chick looking like you would spend time with that kinda lot."

Your face curls into a bit of a grimace, even as the shout of another patron beings the bartender's attention elsewhere. But even as he's gone off you can still feel how testy Crosshair is, as if the air around him is almost electric. You glance towards the front door for what feels like the millionth time and still, no sign of the rest- so you lean in towards him and whisper.

"Crosshair, relax. Go splash some water on your face or something."

Sure this isn't the most comfortable scenario, but you could do without him snorting fire every which way. You can shove off someone being a little bit skeevy without his help.

Instead of calming down however he snaps right back at you, his lips as tight as his brow when he spits out a response.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight. I see the way everyone's looking at you."

You don't know what part to focus on; The fact that he's noticed some less than appropriate stares happening behind you that you hadn't, or that he's openly admitted to keeping such a keen eye out for you. You tuck a chunk of hair behind your ear and look around.

Part of you is a a bit hungry, but you'll probably end up just eating some of the rations back at the Marauder, at this point. Especially if the others plan on taking even longer, glancing towards the entrance with pursed lips.

"Still waitin?" He's back, and you can feel Crosshair bristle just as you stretch a thin smile and nod.

"I'm sure one of the guys 'round here could show ya a better time than this." He's smiling, and you don't know in what way he means 'better', but innuendo or not it's not a deal you're going to take him up on. Crosshair seems to agree, beginning to hiss something from between his teeth.

"How about y-" "I'm taken. No thanks."

Crosshair stops speaking, and looks over at you. The bartender shrugs. When he looks at the sniper beside you and clearly presumes you're both together, you don't correct him.

It fits with the narrative and, you wouldn't mind roleplaying Crosshair being your lover for just a moment. It's almost hard to remember when you'd first fallen for him, but you've yet to speak anything about it to a single soul.

"Shame. Worth a shot."

He seems to at least get the hint, and turns around to go about some more of his business. Your shoulders relax a bit knowing that you don't have to deal with any of that anymore, leaning back. When you look over at Crosshair however, he's looking off in no particular direction, clearly lost in thought.

"Cross?" You're one of the few people that can get away with calling him any sort of nickname, raising your eyebrows as you look at him and raise a hand to touch his shoulder. When he turns his face is firm set, and you feel your face get hotter under his stare. His eyes have always been intense, but it feels like he's almost staring into you, instead of at you. It's making your heart beat a little faster, heat going to your neck as his eyes flicker around your face thinking things you don't even have a chance at guessing.

Suddenly out of nowhere he grabs you by the wrist and tugs you off your barstool, walking in the direction to the back of the bar. When you attempt to ask him why, he doesn't answer.

There seems to be only a storage closet and a refresher back here, alongside the backdoor into presumably With one fell swoop he opens the refresher door and pushes you in, closing and locking it behind him.

"Crosshair! What are y-"

His lips press against yours before you can say anymore, feeling the small of your back press against the countertop. They feel surprisingly cool against your own, your still open eyes having barely caught the way his are squeezed shut.

You've had a thing for Crosshair for the longest time, and while there's far better ways in the galaxy to confess to someone that you don't hate them, you aren't going to look a gift kybuck in the mouth. Not when Crosshair is so impossible to read, how he really feels is usually seven layers deep.

It takes you more than a moment to get over the overwhelming sense of surprise and actually reciprocate, instead of standing frozen like a statue. You can feel the gentle ghosting of his breath across your face, the aggressiveness he'd had at the beginning of the kiss fading away to be almost lovingly gentle. His lips move slowly with yours, catching your bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before he pulls away.

"Why'd you let him assume I was your date."

It sounds like there should be another half of that sentence, but Crosshair doesn't say it.

"I thought you wouldn't mind, as long as it got him to stop talking." He keeps stepping closer in this tiny closet of a room, and so you hop up onto the countertop and part your thighs enough to let him in. It's never exactly been a secret that you've thought about this, and finally being able to indulge in him has your hands grasping his shoulders so tight he'd have to wrench them off to get away.

"I didn't think a random bartender would make you so upset. Why’d you never tell me you were jealous?" You say, before his lips quiet you again. When he pulls them away with a soft 'pop' you can't help but trail after them, more drunk off of him that any sort of liquor you could get at the bar. He's feeling the same, judging by the fact that his pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the dark brown of his eyes.

"I told you, I didn't like how he was looking at you." It's not the first time Crosshair has pulled a stunt like that, but you normally thought it was because he found any sort of flirting in his vicinity annoying. Not that he liked you that much. It's not as if you can blame yourself- as Crosshair is just that hard to read.

“I didn’t think it mattered to you that much,” You say, illuding to the fact that he’s never given you so much as a hint that he might feel some way about you. He doesn’t formally respond, but you think you might’ve barely utter something along the lines of ‘it does’ against your skin.

Body tangled with yours the way his hands clamp around your hips is like a vice, fingers slipping into the waistband of your pants and underwear. When he pulled off his glove you don't remember, but so much has happened so fast it's almost a blur. They brush along your outer lips and instantly the sensation makes you tighten around nothing, already anticipating them slipping inside of you. The way your cunt is already wet enough to soak his fingers isn't lost on him, nor is the way make a noise loud enough that you feel the need to bite your lip and try to silence it. His fingers slip between your folds and brush against your clit, thighs tightening around him as your hips twitch towards him. The sensation already feels intense, silently begging for more.

The room is tiny and stuffy, if you stretched your foot out you could probably almost brush against the opposite wall, but every sound bounces off of it and fills your ears. The soft rustling of clothing and harsh breathing, the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt pace limited by the fabric of your bottoms. Your body warms and stretches around him, wetness slick over his hands and staining the fabric of your underwear.

He only stops when your own hands start grasping at the front of your pants and impede him, trying to finagle them off. Slick hand pulling from where it'd been cupped around your pussy, he helps pull them off in one fell swoop, pants and underwear dangling by only your left ankle.

He'd not taken a piece of armor off when you had all arrived earlier, coming here in his full kit minus helmet. As such he's peeling away the only piece that offers resistance to his goal, it coming undone and falling to the floor as the fabric of his blacks gets awkwardly torn aside. Only then can you suddenly feel the heat of his cock against your thigh, heavy and hard as he pulls you close enough to the edge that he can grind it against your cunt. There's a quiet groan he lets out through his teeth while moving against you, wanting to just sink himself in you. His hot breath fans over your face, your arms tight around his neck and thighs squeezing his hips.

You're desperate- hot and wanting not in a mood to play around in some dirty dimly lit refresher, hand slipping between your bodies and almost forcing his out, guiding his cock to press against your entrance.

Fuck, you've thought about this. Far too many times. Crosshair has too but, it's only tonight that he's finally breached the awkward air that always hung between you two. When your hand returns to his shoulder he's already sinking himself in you, burying to the hilt as your body feels almost unbelievably tight and soft around him.

"You're gonna rip holes in it," Crosshair mumbles against your skin, slyly referencing the way your nails and digging into the fabric of his bodyglove in the small spaces your managed to sneak in.

You might've considered spitting some sort of demand from him, but instead you push your hips closer to his own, listening to him groan in your ear as he drives his cock deeper into you.

It's all awkward and clumsy, an unfavorable spot that's completely spur of the moment. Then again a lot of the things you end up doing with Crosshair are spur of the moment, like midnight runs for food or running off to the middle of nowhere for some quiet, so perhaps this confession is just par for the course.

He's rough and unforgiving, frantic nose pressed against your face as he deepens your kiss. His armor keeps brushing against your bare skin as he thrusts into you, rough and unyielding against your soft meat of your thighs. It's a bit uncomfortable, but any thought of him removing it involves him having to stop fucking you- stop having his hands clench your hips so tight you think he'll leave little bruises as he pulls you closer to the edge of the counter.

"Then throw it out. I'll get you a new one if I do." Slowly his lips drift to the corner of your mouth, before down your jawline to your neck before he responds.

"I'd keep it." His kisses are rough; Not rough enough to leave a mark, but you wouldn't mind if they did.

If you ever had any concern of someone noticing your absence it's long gone, skin hot to the touch in any spot it's exposed as Crosshair pulls you harder onto him. His cock keeps brushing against every soft, sensitive nerve and muscle, making you gasp and your toes curl in your boots.

It's all so much; Your stomach turning and twisting as every single thrust of his hips and brushing of his teeth on your skin fulfils and thirst you'd had for ages.

Your legs wrap around his hips ever tighter, as you cum and bite your lip enough to leave dents. Your ankles lock and have him trapped close to you, snug deeply against and inside of you so much so that he can barely move.

Maybe it's that feeling of closeness, or maybe he's just been barely holding on this whole time and your cunt clenching tight around him is what does him in, but it isn't to long later before you can feel his nails digging into the skin of your thighs, cumming inside of you with a hiss through his teeth.

The countertop feels cold against the back of your thighs, but your body is running so hot; Skin flush and nearly boiling underneath the clothing you still have on. It's all a wreck too, bunched in odd places and wrinkled. Not that it matters, in the long run.

Your legs flop limp away from him, and he leans back enough that his cock pulls out of you, as he quietly catches his breath. The insides of your thighs are slick and feel a mess, and you can feel the way his cum leaks out of you and onto the countertop.

Your legs feel like absolute mush; There's no way you'd be able to walk at the moment. Thankfully you don't need to, as your chest gently rises and falls with each caught breath.

"Warn a girl next time you're going to take her for a ride like that, yeah?" You joke, hoping to soften him up a bit. Crosshair is alway so aloof, no matter what the situation.

"You want a next time?" You glance up at him and see his softened eyebrows and tiny crook of his lips- he's clearly teasing you. It still makes you doubt for just a moment, however.

"Do you?" His face is close enough that you could tug him in for a kiss if you wanted, your hands now more gently just laying on the crook of his neck.

"Yes."

You'll stipulate that you'll be wanting a date first, but you can barter later.

Sliding off the counter with now steady legs you clean yourself and the refresher up to a presentable state and follow him out, thankfully not bumping into any unfortunate souls along the way. The worst thing imaginable, that would be.

But once you enter the main bar area again, it's not long before you notice the rest of the Batch, all standing around waiting. Echo is the first one to turn and notice you and his brother heading towards them, tilting his head.

"Where were you two?" Echo speaks up, raising his eyebrows. Instead of answering, Crosshair instead flips the question.

"Where were you? We've been waiting."

You were doing a little more than waiting it seems, having a silent conversation with Hunter as his eyes are on you. And, they look a little surprised. Any longer and he might just get keen, so you quickly invent a reason to leave them behind.

"I think me and Cross are gonna head back to the ship. We've had our fill of this place for tonight." They look about to speak up, but Hunter cuts off any objections.

"Be careful on the walk back, you two."

The two of you take your leave, the rest of the batch getting to have their night of fun while you two head back. The air outside is brisk but not enough to shiver, adjusting your clothes as the wind blows them awkwardly. Crosshair keeps exact pace with you, walking quite close- almost shoulder to shoulder.

"How long do you think they're gonna spend drinking?" You casually look up at him, swaying a little to the side while you walk and almost bumping into him.

"A while," He says, before glancing down at you with no shortage of suspicion. "Why?" You shrug.

"No reason."

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| 15. Overstimulation ||

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

Warnings: masturbation.

Author's note: this one is very much inspired by @briefcasejuice , and I really flippin enjoyed myself writing it 😁

"What's the matter, Devil boy?" Frank growls right in his ear, voice grinding as hard as his thick thigh between Matt's legs, right up against his crotch.

"Too much for ya, huh? Too real?"

Matt tries to disguise his moan as one of pain but he's only fooling himself, nevermind anyone else. The two of them had kicked each other's asses up and down his rooftop for what seemed like hours, trading punches, kicks, and headbutts like they were all just innocent flirting touches before they had ended up here. Matt pinned up against the bricks of the staircase wall, heaving and breathless, trapped under Frank's imposing solid frame. His head is spinning, and not just because of probable concussion from all the hits he'd taken (damn Frank was strong…). No, his body is vibrating, brimming with peaked adrenaline from the fight, all of his nerve endings dancing, electric and alight. But there's too much information, too much stimulation coming in from all of his senses. He can't pick it apart, doesn't know what it means.

"Fuckin' knew it…"

Frank is all he can feel. His skin itches like there's hot needles stuck all over him but at every point of contact Frank's body is making with his, it's blazing white hot pokers shoved in, burning and branding him.

"You like that, huh?"

Frank is all he can smell. His distinctive odour of gun oil, blood, dirt, and the underlying scent of cheap drugstore body wash impregnates his clothes, fills his head. He's repulsed by it, or maybe he’s attracted to it… he doesn't even know anymore.

"God, I'd love to be there when you tell your priest ‘bout this one…"

Frank is all he can hear. Oh fuck, wasn't that just the cherry on top. That gruff drawl spitting and snarling at him, telling him he was no better than he was, mocking him, teasing him. Altar boy. Doc. Red.

In the haze of all this Matt realised he'd never call him by his actual name, maybe he couldn't, maybe that would make it too real for him.

"Still with me, pretty boy?"

Matt's head snaps up at the sudden clarity of the rough question, his own voice as he answers distant and almost unrecognisable to him as he tries to parse it out from the overwhelming white noise of his other senses.

"Yeah, yeah…"

And then there’s the taste of him. Both of their flavours fresh on his bloodied lips. That was how it all started. Frank had him held up against the wall, right in his space, so close that his harsh breath warmed Matt's face against the December chill. So close that all he had to do was tilt his head up and…

"Fuck Red, how d'ya even piss in this thing…"

Matt came back to his senses, or tried to. Grasping around in the dark for some sense of- God, this was too much, not enough… no definitely too much. What was even happening? He's panting hard. His cock aches. Oh fuck. When he tries to move it just gets worse, the sensation flowing like a sine wave, sharp then dull then sharp again. Fuck, he's burning up. Are his legs shaking? Is he even standing? He can't tell, his sensory processing is a complete white out, his 'world on fire' is an inferno.

His head lolls back, something scratches rough at his neck. He moans. He can taste salt water, was he crying? Oh god his cock hurts. He reaches down to touch it but he's already holding it. No, it's not his hand. It's bigger, it’s moving. He tries to focus but there's too much damn feeling. It's gripping him, winding him around and coiling every atom of him up so densely he'll implode. The devil in him is silent, laying and lounging at the back of his brain and watching all this unfold, grinning like a fucking idiot.

"You want more?"

He finds himself nodding, moaning, crying. He can't control it, he’s never the one in control here. Warmth explodes through him, pulsing and throbbing through his veins. His mouth is so dry, his throat rough as sandpaper from his harsh vocalisations, but he manages to croak out a prayer to whoever will listen.

"Oh god…"

The feel of Frank's fist around him sharpens, all of those scents, those tastes and touches flickering into super fucking 4K high definition as he finally understands what's happening.

He comes unashamedly at the touch of his… lover? Is that what this is? Either way he finally lets himself feel it all, his torrid release dripping, flowing warm over the other man's cock and fingers as they slow their movements, merging and mixing with his own.

Frank leans his forehead against his.

"Nah, s'just me."