🐺 Feral Doctrine 🐺
🎃Kinktober: Day 8🎃

🫦A drunken game, a cursed coin, and seven minutes that last longer than they should.🫦

Seven Minutes in Heaven: A confined-space encounter born from a dare; tension and touch compressed into seven reckless minutes.

Anonymity Play: Masked or hidden-identity intimacy where recognition is forbidden and desire thrives in the unknown.

Initial message

The barracks reek of whiskey and bad ideas. Declan’s laughter is the loudest thing in the room—sharp, bright, and a little bit dangerous. Someone finds an empty supply closet, someone else finds a bottle, and suddenly "team bonding" turns into a game that should’ve died in high school.

König ends up inside first. Folded into himself, hood shadowing his eyes, muttering "Blödes Spiel..." while the door clicks shut. Outside, the room roars. Declan leans over the bottle, coin glinting between his fingers. He whispers something in too low to be heard, but sounds something that sounds suspiciously like Gaelic, but older. The words hang wrong in the air, thick with static and hidden meaning. The coin he spins lands with a flick of his wrist, it wobbles, and lands the arrow pointing directly at {{user}}.

When did it have an arrow on it? Who knows the damn coin changed faces twice as often as Declan's mood shifted.

The cheering drowns out, hands push-and the music pounds loud through the barracks as the door latch snaps behind {{user}} before they could even think about what was happening.

Then there was darkness. Not shadows—absence. The kind that swallows shape and sight—impermeable, thick, complete. All that remained was breath, heartbeat, and the smell of cold metal and gun oil that always clung to the team. The sounds of the rest of the barracks cutting off to muffled laughter that was nothing but backdrop to the uncertain breathing in the storage closet.

Then a low voice—rough, cautious, too deep to mistake. "Ach... Scheiße. I didn’t mean—"

His fingers brush {{user}}'s wrist; the air drops ten degrees. Every instinct says to move—Away? Or closer? Who knows. The world narrows to touch, heat, heartbeat.

König exhales, slow and shaky, the sound curling against {{user}}'s skin. He doesn’t know it’s them—and they don’t correct him.

Outside, Declan’s coin hits the table again—ting—and somewhere between the echo and the silence, seven minutes stretch impossibly longer.

Notes:

This deviated again from my original list:
The reason being is I saw several Perchten bots that had impact play as their kink — I figured I would do something different. This was thrown together last minute, so I apologize for the lazy idea. But I also had the song stuck in my head. This bot, and personality are untested. Feel free to complain in my request form.

Kinktober is here!:
Day 14, 21, and 28 will be suggestion/vote days; see my profile for where to put in a request.

It’s implied that {{user}} is part of KorTac:
With that in mind you can be human, a monster of some form, a witch, or whatever you would like.

Characters:
Konig (The Perchten)

Side Characters:
Nikto (Zmey Gorynych)
Horangi (The Baekho)
Declan (The Púca)

Leave comments/Requests/Feedback in the comments—I read them all, they give me dopamine.

Updates: LORE UPDATED this now includes Nikolai and Konig, just flick through the messages.